Chapter 6: Five Years Old

Five years had passed, and the man once known as Nikolai no longer answered to that name, even in the quiet isolation of his own mind.

He had discarded it without a single shred of regret. In his previous life, a name was simply a label given by an organization to identify a tool. It carried no weight, no family, and no legacy.

Now, he was Sigurd Di Zierghardt.

He had fully accepted his new identity and his new fate. The past was gone, destroyed in an explosion under the rain. The present was all that mattered, and the present required him to be the tenth child of the Zierghardt Clan.

Today was his fifth birthday, the day his entire life was scheduled to change.Over the last two years, since the blue panel had first appeared in the garden, Sigurd had established a firm, calculated foundation.

The estate he lived in was not the grand, monolithic seat of the entire Zierghardt Clan; it was a smaller, separate estate belonging exclusively to his mother, Sylvia. Yet, even within these boundaries, Sigurd had built an immaculate reputation.

He had developed relationships with the household staff. The servants did not fear him as a tyrannical young master, nor did they look down on him as a helpless infant. They respected him.

He was the quiet, unnaturally disciplined child who never threw fits, never wasted anything, and spoke only when it was absolutely necessary.

To the maids, cooks, and guards of Sylvia’s estate, he was The Little Genius.

Inevitably, this reputation had begun to leak past the estate walls. Gossip was the one thing no security could completely stop.

Whispers of the brilliant tenth son had already begun circulating through the wider branches of the Zierghardt family, reaching the ears of distant cousins, vassal houses, and perhaps his older siblings scattered across the family’s vast territories.

Sigurd understood the structure of the family perfectly now.

He had spent his time systematically absorbing every text available in his mother’s private archives.

He understood the surface-level reality of the world he was in. He knew that today, on a child’s fifth birthday, the underlying foundation of an individual’s entire life was determined.

Today was the day of the Soul Revelation Ceremony.

He understood the basic theory behind it.

Every five-year-old around the world undergoes such a ceremony.

He didn’t know the exact secrets behind what a Martial Soul truly was but he knew it was the absolute core of a person’s path and survival capability.

Without an awakened soul, a person in this world was nothing.

For the past two years, Sigurd had also been quietly studying the System that had appeared when he was three.

However, after that initial setup, the interface had remained entirely silent. The blue status panel would appear whenever he called upon it, but the numbers never budged, the missions tab remained blank, and the internal energy ledger showed a flat zero.

It was waiting for today.

"Stand still, Sigurd, just for one more minute," Sylvia complained, her fingers flying across the intricate silver clasps of his formal tunic.

Sigurd stood perfectly rigid on a raised wooden stool in the center of the dressing room.

He didn’t move a muscle.

He kept his arms extended slightly to the sides, his posture perfectly still like a soldier undergoing a final inspection.

"I am standing still, Mother," Sigurd replied, his voice calm, level, and entirely devoid of the standard whine of a five-year-old.

Sylvia sighed, smoothing down the heavy, deep-crimson fabric of his coat. She looked radiant, her health fully restored over the years, her deep blue eyes wide with a mixture of intense pride and underlying anxiety.

The coat she had selected for him was lined with dark fur along the collar, embroidered with the subtle, interlocking chain patterns characteristic of the direct Zierghardt bloodline.

"You look so handsome," she murmured, stepping back to view the final product. "But those eyes... you still look like you are evaluating a target rather than going to a celebration."

"It is a ceremony, not a celebration," Sigurd corrected neutrally.

Beside the wardrobe, Aunt Mira adjusted her stiff white apron and let out a rare, quiet chuckle. "Let him keep the expression, my lady. A Zierghardt who enters the Soul Revelation arena with a soft smile is a Zierghardt who invites the branch children to test their luck. The young master’s gaze is exactly what is required." ℴℴ𝘮

The energy within the estate was palpable. Outside the dressing room doors, the low hum of excited voices echoed through the stone corridors.

The servants were in a state of high anticipation. For weeks, the domestic staff had been discussing what kind of Martial Soul the little genius of their estate would manifest.

"A weapon soul, surely," the head cook had argued during the morning meal preparation. "Have you seen the way the young master tracks the movements of the guards during their drills? His eyes never miss a single swing. It will be a blade. A grand, high-grade sword."

"No, a beast soul," a junior maid had countered, her voice hushed. "The way he walks through the corridors... he doesn’t make a sound. Like a predator stalking the grass. It will be a phantom panther or a shadow wolf, mark my words."

Sigurd ignored the ambient noise as Sylvia finally finished adjusting his cuffs. He stepped down from the stool, his small boots hitting the polished obsidian floor with a firm, solid thud.

He didn’t care about the speculations of the servants, nor did he care about the grand expectations of the family branches.

He cared about the system initialization that would occur the moment his core unlocked.

He called the interface up in his mind, checking the static display one final time before departure.

------

[ STATUS PANEL ]

Name: [ Sigurd Di Zierghardt ]

Age: 5

Species: [ Human (Zierghardt Lineage) ]

Title: [ None ]

Physique: [ None ]

Bloodline: [ Zierghardt Bloodline – Dormant ]

Bloodline Rank: [ Unblooded ]

Ancestral Chains: [ 0/ 100 ]

Martial Soul: [ Unawakened ]

Martial Rank: [ Null ]

[ SKILLS ]

• Active Skills: [ None ]

• Passive Skills: [ None ]

[ ACTIVE MISSIONS ]

Main Mission: [ None ]

Side Mission: [ None ]

------

"The carriage is prepared, my lady," a senior guard announced from the doorway, bowing deeply. He was a hardened man wearing the standard iron-plated armor of Sylvia’s private guards, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his short sword.

"The escort is assembled in the main courtyard."

Sylvia took a deep breath, her demeanor shifting from the doting mother back to the rigid, high-ranking noblewoman.

She straightened her spine, her long dark hair shifting over her shoulders as she looked down at her son. "Let us go, Sigurd. The elder council does not tolerate lateness, and your older brothers will be watching."

"Understood," Sigurd said.

They walked out of the dressing chambers, flanked by Aunt Mira and four armored guards. As they traversed the long, high-ceilinged corridors of the estate, the servants lined the walls.

Cooks, maids, laundry workers, and stable hands all stood in respectful silence, their eyes locked onto the small boy walking at the center of the group.

There was no shouting or cheering, this was a serious household but the air was thick with their silent support. They wanted the little genius of their estate to prove himself against the arrogant branch descendants at the central Spire.

Sigurd kept his gaze fixed straight ahead. He didn’t look at the faces of the servants, but his sharp senses mapped their locations, their breathing patterns, and the subtle shifts in their postures.

He was paying attention to everything, observing his immediate surroundings out of pure habit.

They exited the grand arched entrance of the house and stepped out into the crisp, biting air of the outer courtyard.Waiting for them was a massive, luxurious carriage constructed from dark, sturdy hardwood and reinforced with heavy iron bands along the base.

The vehicle was entirely devoid of flashy gold trim or unnecessary decorations; it was built for pure durability and security, matching the simple philosophy of the Zierghardt line.

Harnessed to the front of the vehicle were four gigantic warhorses. These were specialized martial steeds, standing nearly eight feet tall at the shoulder, their muscles rippling beneath coats of midnight-black hair, their hooves reinforced with thick iron shoes that cracked against the frosted stone of the courtyard.

A dozen elite guards on horseback formed a circle around the carriage, their lances held upright, their expressions completely hidden behind their steel helmets.

Sylvia climbed into the carriage first, assisted by the guard captain. Sigurd followed immediately after, refusing the guard’s extended hand as he gripped the iron rail and pulled his small body up using his own limited strength.

He took his seat on the heavy leather cushion opposite his mother, his back perfectly straight, his hands resting flat on his knees.

The heavy oak door of the carriage slammed shut, the iron bolts clicking into place with a definitive, metallic seal that cut off the noise of the courtyard.

"Move out!" the guard captain bellowed from outside.

A sharp crack of a whip echoed through the air. The four gigantic warhorses lunged forward simultaneously, their massive hooves thundering against the stone ground.

The carriage moved forward, stabilizing quickly as the heavy build absorbed the bumps, and the vehicle accelerated through the grand iron gates of the estate.

Sigurd turned his head slightly, staring out the narrow, reinforced glass window as the walls of his childhood home began to fade behind them.

Ahead lay the massive, mountain-sized silhouette of the Martial Soul Hall, rising into the grey clouds like a jagged iron spike.

That was where the rest of the Zierghardt Clan waited.

That was where the awakening will take place.The long carriage ride had begun, and with it, the countdown to his awakening.

Sigurd leaned back against the leather seat, his dead-grey eyes fixed on the distant Spire, waiting for the test to begin.