Chapter 7: Awakening Ceremony

The carriage finally slowed to a halt, its massive iron-shod wheels grinding against the smooth stone of a colossal plaza.

The doors unlocked with a heavy, metallic click. Guard captain and his men immediately formed a protective perimeter around the vehicle as Llewellyn stepped down, followed closely by his mother, Sylvia.

Before them lay the heart of the inner ring: the Martial Soul Hall.

The structure was a breathtaking masterpiece of ancient architecture, carved entirely from a single, seamless mountain of dark obsidian and reinforced with pale white stone borders that gleamed under the grey sky.

Towering pillars, each wide enough that ten grown men couldn’t clasp hands around them, stretched hundreds of feet into the air to support a vaulted roof. The sheer scale of the building was designed to make anyone approaching it feel completely insignificant.

The air around the hall vibrated with a heavy, invisible hum, thick with the weight of raw energy that had settled into the rock over centuries.

The gigantic plaza surrounding the hall was already packed with a dense crowd. Carriages of all shapes and sizes, bearing various insignias, lined the outer edges.

The Seven Great Family Branches had arrived with their five-year-old children. Alongside them were the Vassal Houses and high-ranking subordinates of the Zierghardt Clan, all bringing their young descendants to face the ultimate test of their lives.

Sigurd stood at the forefront.

Today, he was the only child present from the direct main line of the house. As he and Sylvia walked through the open square, the sea of people parted instantly.

Every knight, noble, and branch member bowed their heads slightly, offering their silent, mandatory respect to the main bloodline.

Sigurd maintained a completely stoic face, looking straight ahead as they reached the grand, tightly shut iron gates of the hall.

Suddenly, the heavy atmosphere shifted. Nine elderly figures materialized at the top of the stone steps, appearing right before the sealed gates.

These were the hall elders, the ancient custodians responsible for overseeing every Soul Revelation Ceremony. They wore long, dark grey robes that dragged against the floor, their faces weathered and severe.

The entire plaza bowed slightly to show respect.

When the nine elders turned their gaze toward the very front of the crowd and spotted Sigurd, they didn’t treat him like a mere child.

They lowered their heads in unison toward the five-year-old boy.

"We greet the Tenth Son."

Sigurd offered a calm, polite smile and bowed back, executing the formal greeting flawlessly. He had no interest in causing unnecessary friction with the inner administration.

The lead elder stepped forward. He raised his hand, and when he spoke, his voice was amplified by pure Vis, traveling easily across every corner of the massive square.

He didn’t waste time with grand poetry. He kept his speech brief, outlining the sacred duty of the bloodline, before instructing the children to form a single line and enter the hall one by one.

The ceremony began. The process was methodical and cold. A child would step out of the line, the gigantic iron gates would creak open just enough to let them through, and then snap shut immediately.

A few minutes of absolute silence would pass.

Then, a massive shockwave of invisible pressure would radiate outward from the walls of the hall, sweeping across the plaza.

The mechanics were simple: the higher the pressure released from inside the hall, the more powerful the awakened Martial Soul was.

"An Exceptional level Martial Soul. Excellent," one of the elders murmured as a child from a minor vassal house walked out, a faint silver light still clinging to his body.

Sigurd watched the line slowly move forward. He learned the general categories through the comments of the elders. Common souls, Good souls, and Exceptional souls were manifested regularly by the vassals.

The standard of the Zierghardt Clan was incredibly high; there were no weaklings here. This was a family where talent was common, and the arrogance of the branch houses was backed by genuine ability.

As the hours dragged on, the long line slowly decreased, but it was still incredibly long. Sigurd let out a tiny, silent sigh. If he had wanted to, his status as the Tenth Son of the main line allowed him to bypass the line and go first.

He had been ready to step forward, but Sylvia’s hand gently caught his shoulder, holding him back.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice low and calm. "Let the branches show their cards first."

Sigurd nodded, remaining stationary beside her.

Just then, a boy from the seven branch houses stepped out of the queue and entered the iron gates.

A few minutes passed.

Suddenly, a massive, suffocating pressure descended upon the entire plaza. The grey clouds above the mountain seemed to twist, and the Martial Soul Hall emitted a blinding, brilliant yellow light that forced many in the crowd to shield their eyes.

The elders’ eyes lit up instantly. The lead elder nodded with immense satisfaction. "A Legendary Martial Soul. Not bad at all."

A few moments later, the heavy iron gates ground open, and the boy walked out. He looked remarkably sharp for a five-year-old. He possessed the signature look of the direct bloodline: hair that was a stark, ash-white at the tips but ink-black at the roots.

As the boy walked down the stone steps, his eyes locked directly onto Sigurd. He didn’t say a word, but a prominent, arrogant smirk formed on his lips before he turned and walked off toward his relatives.

Sigurd paid him absolutely no attention, his dead-grey eyes remaining completely vacant. However, he felt his mother’s posture stiffen beside him.

Sylvia’s expression had turned incredibly grim.

"That is the third son of the Head of the Eisenwald Great Branch," Sylvia murmured, her voice carrying a cold weight. "The number one ranked branch house in the clan."

Sigurd’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the boy disappear into the crowd.

He knew about the Seven Great Branch Houses from his extensive reading in the archives.

They weren’t jealous nobodies; they were powerful factions raised their entire lives to believe they had a legitimate chance to surpass the main line if the direct heirs showed any weakness.

Their pride was entirely justified. Shortly after, another young girl from the branches stepped forward and entered the hall. The resulting pressure was equally intense, another blinding flash of light confirming the awakening of yet another Legendary Martial Soul.

When she emerged, she possessed the same confident smirk, casting a sharp, testing look toward Llewellyn as she passed.

"The fifth daughter of the brother of the head of the Drachenmark Great Branch," Sylvia introduced quietly, her grip tightening slightly on Llewellyn’s shoulder.

As time continued to pass, the pattern became absolute. Every single child belonging to the Seven Great Branch Houses successfully awakened a Legendary Martial Soul. Even the children from the highest Vassal Houses achieved Exceptional or Legendary ranks.

Not a single person from the major factions manifested a mere ’Good’ or ’Common’ soul.

This was the Zierghardt Clan. It was a dense ecosystem of monsters and geniuses. The branch children weren’t cartoon villains shouting insults; they were highly talented rivals who had spent their childhoods hearing about Llewellyn, the famous "Little Genius" of the sub-estate.

They wanted to see if the Tenth Son of the direct main line was truly a mountain worth fearing, or just a title waiting to be stripped away. Just as Sigurd was completely losing his patience with the length of the wait, Sylvia finally released her grip on his shoulder.

She looked down at him, her blue eyes reflecting a deep, silent intensity.

"Go," she said softly.

Sigurd offered a small, passing smile to his mother. He adjusted the collar of his crimson coat, stepped out from the front of the crowd, and walked toward the center of the grand stone staircase.

The moment his small boots left the main floor, the ambient chatter across the entire plaza died down completely. Thousands of eyes shifted instantly, locking onto the small, disciplined figure of the Tenth Son.

Everyone from the branch houses, vassal houses, and every elder watched his approach. Sigurd kept his face entirely stoic, his dead-grey eyes fixed solely on the dark opening of the iron gates ahead.

The lead elder raised his staff, his amplified voice echoing with total finality across the silent square.

"Next: Tenth Son, Sigurd Di Zierghardt."