With his right hand wrapped in a lace-trimmed white glove, Charles grasped a pen and drew a bold, scarlet circle around today’s date on the calendar.

"The last day…"

He stifled his excitement as he dressed, steadying himself for the culmination of years of anticipation. Ever since he'd come to this world, Charles had dreamt of wielding power like the legendary figures who shaped destinies. He remembered his grandfather’s words, engraved on his tombstone: "When all tricks could not prevent tragedy, I raised my fist, and then tragedy succumbed." For Charles, those words were both a warning and an inspiration. The title of Duke’s son marked him, making him a target in a world rife with rivalries and plots. But if his fists were strong enough, he believed, he could survive anything.

After carefully placing the Dagger of Greed into his pocket, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. The door opened, and the head servant gestured for him to proceed.

Outside, a crowd awaited. Nobles, servants, and soldiers all gathered, flanking a plush red carpet that stretched from his door to the grand altar outside the castle. Charles strode forward, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Along the way, he spotted familiar faces: his mother, watching with a blend of pride and worry; his sister Jenny, who stuck out her tongue mischievously; and Freya, with her head held high and an air of unspoken challenge in her posture.

As he walked, whispers trailed him like a persistent shadow.

"That’s Master Charles! Is he ready for this?"

"How much power will he awaken?"

"I’d say there’s a thirty percent chance…"

The tide of murmurs pressed in on him, weighing down his slender frame. But he squared his shoulders, letting his sapphire-blue eyes gleam with resolve. He was almost at the exit when his gaze met his father’s, Duke Xiuyin West, standing dignified at the edge of the carpet. The Duke offered him a small, approving nod.

“Charles, get ready to meet your world,” he said, placing a firm hand on his son’s head. Charles felt an unexpected warmth, as though his father had allowed him, for a brief moment, to glimpse a kinder side. It was fleeting, and he dared not linger on it. Instead, he took his first step onto the grass, his boots making a resolute, rhythmic sound as he approached the altar bathed in light.

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Around the grand altar stood all manner of people. Nobles in their finery, servants in modest attire, soldiers in gleaming uniforms. Each one had come to witness the moment that would mark Charles’ passage into a higher echelon of nobility. He was to stand on the largest altar, a rare honor reserved for the Duke’s children, while smaller altars were designated for those of lesser bloodlines.

The priest awaited him at the top, holding a ceremonial silver dagger aloft. His solemn gaze met Charles’ as he approached, every step heavy with destiny.

Taking a breath, Charles reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of Saint Crystals, setting them carefully around the altar before kneeling in its center. Saint Crystals were believed to amplify the awakening process, a boost for those undergoing initiation. Typically, a child of the Duke would have around fifty Saint Crystals, thanks to their family’s connections. But Charles had only twenty—ten from his father and ten from the late Richardson, who had unwittingly contributed to this moment with his failed schemes.

The priest gave no reaction, but his eyes were piercing as they settled on Charles’ determined face.

“Are you ready, Charles?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

Charles, holding the dagger, looked up with unwavering resolve. “Let’s begin.”

Unbeknownst to the priest, the other dagger in Charles’ pocket, the Dagger of Greed, seemed to hum with energy. The initiation ceremony began in full splendor, an age-old ritual meant to unlock the hidden powers within Charles.

The air around the altar grew heavy with anticipation as the priest recited ancient words, his voice rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence. Charles’ grip on the silver dagger tightened. He could feel the weight of the Saint Crystals around him, each one pulsing as if responding to the call of awakening. Beneath his gloved hand, he felt a warmth growing, a deep, almost primal force stirring in his chest.

A tremor went through his body. The world blurred as he became aware of the power gathering around him. It felt like an energy reaching out, probing, testing, and then—unlocking. His vision filled with blinding light, his senses heightened to a razor’s edge.

As the power flooded him, Charles could feel it: strength beyond his imagination, the very essence of what he’d long sought. And as the energy surged, he sensed the Dagger of Greed’s hidden potential. The lore he’d discovered had spoken of its ability to capture rare energies, including the blue blood that marked nobility.

In that moment, he knew his gamble had paid off. The blue blood, that coveted essence, began to swirl within him, binding to his own. With each breath, he felt it fuse deeper, until he was sure it was truly his.

The murmurs of the crowd fell silent. Charles opened his eyes to find all eyes on him, their faces a blend of awe, envy, and disbelief.

His gaze drifted over the faces below, to his mother’s proud expression, his sister’s grin, and the Duke’s solemn nod. His heart surged with pride and triumph. This was his moment—his rise among them all.

Standing tall, Charles felt the weight of his grandfather’s words settle upon him, a solemn reminder of the path he’d chosen.