For the clan

Reyanald, although this man was responsible for his birth, didn't once treat Jagnar as his son. He didn't even talk to him, not glance at him. Likewise, Jagnar didn't have any familial bonding with any of them, except for the two.

Reyanald frowned, but he could tell that he was Jagnar for sure.

Jagnar leaned to the left, looking at the patriarch. He said, "Is it enough, patriarch?"

Reyanald asked again, "Where did you find this technique?"

Jagnr then said, "I found it in the tomb behind the Battenmore sword mansion."

Murmurs spread across the hall, and an elder asked, "But the tomb has nothing of the sort inside it. How would we not have known such thing existed in the tomb?"

Behind the sword mansion, lay the tombs of the ancestors of the clan.

The sword mansion was the place where the young men and women of the clan trained until they reached adulthood. Jagnar had spent five years in the sword mansion and disappeared one day. Everyone thought that, he had fled, was not able to endure the training, and was soon declared dead.

He had already retreated as an outcast, and seeing that he was no more, no one bothered to look for him.

Only Gloriana had sent men looking for him, but she didn't find him.

Then suddenly, the patriarch raised his hand, and his voice boomed in the hall. "Silence!"

"Jagnar Sirius, that young man is my grandson, and I believe him."

Everyone was surprised to hear the patriarch, and Reyanald remained indifferent. Seraphina, from the sidelines, bit her lips.

Gloriana was smiling as she heard him.

Then the patriarch said, " Everyone, leave the hall and prepare for the upcoming feast. Guests will be arriving."

Hearing his order, everyone left the hall. Reyanald reluctantly left the hall too, along with Drannor, who stood aside earlier.

Jagnar watched him leave as they both locked their gazes. He was his mother's cousin. Jagnar's mother was an elf, named Eliwynn. Their union was formed by the long friendship between Rodoreus and Eliwynn's father. But after Eliwynn's death, her family ceased their contact and has never visited since then.

Only Drannor, who was close to Reyanald, has maintained a connection with Reyanald and his family. Despite the strained relations, Drannor was treated with respect by the clan and the Sirius family.

Gloriana quickly approached Jagnar and said, "After you talk with him, come to my chambers."

Jagnar nodded, and she caressed his cheek and left right after.

After, everyone left; only the patriarch and Jagnar were left.

Then Rodoreus said, "Summon the Spectral blade."

Jagnar was startled. How did he know the name of the sword?

The patriarch smirked and said, "Yes, I know about the sword and who its owner was too."

Jagnar only smiled, thinking that his grandfather, the patriarch, would know about such things. After all, he had been ruling the clan for decades and was quite knowledgeable about the clan's affairs.

A hush fell over the hall as Jagnar raised his right hand, the ancient signet ring glinting on his middle finger. An azure radiance began to emanate from the carved runes, growing brighter and brighter until it seemed to fill the entire space with its azure luminescence.

The very air around Jagnar shimmered and distorted, whipping his cloak and garments about in an unfelt wind. The air swirled around with the azure light.

Patriarch Rodoreus watched in stunned disbelief as seven pinpricks of sapphire light coalesced and began orbiting the young man in a tight circular pattern.

With each rotation, the motes elongated and solidified into distinct shapes—the unmistakable outlines of swords. The seven similar yet different swords formed and hovered around Jagnar.

The pressure in the great hall seemed to increase tenfold as the azure blades continued their dizzying revolutions. The very stones underfoot trembled, shaken by the immense and incredible forces being channelled and contained within this sacred space.

Rodoreus maintained his equilibrium, his expression a mask of implacable tranquility. But even his prodigious talents for masking his emotions could not disguise the look of utter astonishment that crept across his craggy features.

For what he was witnessing was nothing short of the stuff of legends—an ability lost for centuries to the clan. Those astral blades could only be one thing: manifestations of the mythical Spectralblade, the Seven Swords of Convergence.

The tales spoke of the Spectralblade as the ultimate fusion of arcane craftsmanship and primal forces of nature.

When wielded by a master of unfathomable power, the bearer could channel and manipulate the very fundamental forces that shaped and governed existence itself.

But the legends also stated that no single individual had ever been able to access the full, terrifying potential of the Spectralblade. Even the most skilled warriors of antiquity could only utilise a fraction of their power before being utterly consumed by the ferocity of the elements they sought to control.

Over the centuries, the Spectralblade had faded into obscurity, becoming little more than a semi-mythical tale told to children—until this very moment.

Rodoreus' forebears had sought them for generations, scouring ancient ruins and long-forgotten libraries for even the faintest whispers of their whereabouts, all without success. He had reluctantly abandoned that quest upon ascending to the mantle of Patriarch.

And yet here was his grandson, this young, unassuming man, somehow able to summon forth the Spectralblade with seemingly little effort! The implications were staggering, though Rodoreus could not yet grasp their full meaning.

As if in response to the thunderstruck expressions around him, Jagnar clenched his outstretched hand into a tight fist. The seven blades seemed to shudder and distort, their revolutions becoming more erratic and frenzied.

Then, with one final burst of azure luminance, they streaked inward and merged into a single point of brilliance.

When the light faded, a lone longsword remained, its design, unlike anything the witnesses had ever laid eyes upon. The blade almost seemed to ripple and flow like water, refracting the hall's crimson light in dazzling fractals across its surface. Rather than a conventional crossguard, a spherical-shaped rain guard encircled the base, etched with the same runes as Jagnar's ancestral ring.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Jagnar banished the longsword in an inverse of how he had summoned it earlier.

One moment it was there, and the next it had simply... disappeared, as if it had never existed at all.

The silence that followed was profound, stretching out for nearly a minute.

Finally, Rodoreus seemed to find his voice once more, gravelly tones laced with a rare hint of wonder.

"By all that is sacred..." The words came out in an awed murmur. "The Spectralblade... after all this time..."

He turned to face his grandson, newfound respect and something almost approaching reverence in his penetrating stare.

"You have unlocked abilities and powers that our clan had long assumed were permanently lost to the obscurity of myth and fable. This..." Rodoreus shook his head slowly.

An expectant hush lingered in the great hall as Rodoreus seemed to consider his next words. Finally, he let out a world-weary sigh, the sound reverberating through the vast space with surprising force.

"It seems I am indeed showing my age..."

As the words left his lips, a rippling wave of energy pulsed outward, causing the very stones underfoot to shudder. The braziers' flames danced wildly, casting flickering shadows that elongated and contorted in dizzying patterns along the walls.

Yet Jagnar remained utterly unperturbed, casually anchored in place as if the disturbance were little more than a gentle breeze.

"Damn! This geezer, he only sighed, but what the fuck is this?' Jagnar thought inwardly.

Rodoreus' bushy eyebrows arched inquisitively. Even he could not nail down the true depths of his own power and abilities after decades of transcendent growth and the accumulation of sword knowledge.

Jagnar's presence radiated a familiar aura, like a half-remembered dream. At first blush, it resonated on a similar profound level as a five- or six-star Elite Knight. And yet... something deeper gnawed at Rodoreus' perception, whispering that such stratifications were a mere simplification when applied to this singular enigma before him.

Rodoreus then said, "Your own aura and essence seem to defy such crude mortal categorizations. Did Morgaine instruct you in the deeper workings of magic during your stay?"

The faintest hint of surprise flickered across Jagnar's chiselled features, though he recovered quickly. "You know of her?"

Rodoreus let out a rumbling chuckle, seeming to relish his grandson's reaction. "I am aware of the day you sought her out, yes."

Leaning forward, Rodoreus fixed Jagnar with an intense, studious look. "I will not pry into the intricate details of the Spectrablade or other closely guarded secrets," he said, raising his hand in a placating gesture. "However, there is one thing I must know from you."

Jagnar regarded him levelly, seemingly unsurprised that his grandsire was privy to more intelligence than he had assumed.

Spectralblade had already chosen Jagnar as its owner, and if you had taken the sword from him or killed him, there was no guarantee that the sword would choose you as its owner.

"What use do you intend to make of these powers you have obtained?" Rodoreus' tone took on a weight befitting the magnitude of the question.

"Will you wield them for the continued ascendance of our clan's glory and dominion? Or have you simply been seduced by the allure of raw ability for its own sake?"

A slight smile played across Jagnar's lips as he seemed to weigh his response carefully. At length, he inclined his head respectfully.

"Of course, I shall employ all my knowledge and skills in service of the clan's interests, Grandfather. We are Sirius clan members; the blood of conquerors and architects of destiny flows through these veins."

"Look at this brat..." he chuckled fondly to himself, though his gaze shone with sly calculation and perhaps a hint of wariness.

The words seemed to bring Rodoreus immense satisfaction. A broad grin split his craggy features as he settled back into his ornate chair with a contented sigh.

"So assured of his own prowess and certainties. Though I suspect there are entire worlds of enlightenment still awaiting you on your path, my precocious grandson..."

Inwardly, unbeknownst to the Patriarch, Jagnar's own thoughts perfectly mirrored the older man's lingering doubts.

Of course, I shall devote everything to the clan, he mused silently. For one day very soon, its full power and dominion shall be mine to command, as is my birthright.