Cosmic Realm

Main Manor of the House of Hestia.

“Congratulations, Lord Marcus. With this change in fortune, the rise of the House of Hestia is a matter of course.”

A mustached middle-aged man wearing fine noble clothing leaned forward and presented an elaborately-decorated long box to his counterpart. “Please accept this gift from the Silia Clan.”

“Many thanks, Sir Ambassador,” A handsome-faced man in his mid-thirties returned the bow and accepted the present.

Flashing a reserved smile, he said, “It is my family’s fortune to give birth to a daughter and of hers to be chosen as a Champion by the Gods.”

Looking down, he saw the subject in question; a young girl, eleven or twelve years of age, with a headful of fine abyssal-black hair, was clutching onto his robes and hiding behind his back.

Seeing his daughter, his pride, the Champion of the Gods who would lead the House of Hestia in its rise, a warm smile filled the handsome host’s face.

Gently lowering his freed hand, he slowly patted her head.

Feeling her father’s warm touch, the shy little girl showed a simple smile on her face. Her eyes closed and her head lowered, relishing the feeling of warmth. Her hands tightly clutching her father’s robes, loosened.

To tell the truth, she had been feeling quite alien and scared in recent days.

Ever since that day when a voice spoke to her in a dream and a ray of light descended upon her body in the middle of the night, the little girl had been subject to numerous new experiences.

Her father, whom she previously only met once every week, was always beside her. Strange uncles and aunties arrived from distant lands and showered her with gifts and praise. The servants had suddenly dropped their indifferent attitudes and answered to her every want and need.

All because a strange voice has told her these words within a dream; You are the Chosen Champion of Aotrom. Do nothing but prevail in the Contest.

The young girl had no idea who spoke those words or even of what half the words meant. Nonetheless, she was glad that it had happened.

Looking at the shy girl’s face of happiness, the Ambassador of Silia and the many others who stood behind him sported warm expressions themselves. This smile, however, did not reach their eyes.

More importantly, it did not lessen the envy inside their heart.

“That will be all, yes? Sir Ambassador of Silia Clan?” their host, Marcus de Hestia, patriarch of the House of Hestia and the father of Chosen Champion, coldly asked.

Taking the hint present within his tone, the middle-aged Ambassador quickly nodded his head.

“Of course, Lord Marcus. I was simply enthralled by the young Champion’s presence.” He performed a perfunctory bow and retreated.

Just before he fully left, however, he said his final lines.

“I do hope you consider our proposal with greater interest. The benefits it represents will help both our sides.”

“I shall consider your Clan’s marriage proposal to my daughter with just as much interest as I would do with the rest. Do not fret too much and simply enjoy the banquet, Sir Ambassador,” Marcus politely replied.

His answer earned a forced smile from the Ambassador of Silia and approving nods from the rest of the ambassadors waiting in line for their turn to greet the Champion.

The incident quickly passed and the procession continued. Food was endlessly served and music was endlessly played.

More ambassadors continued to arrive at the Main Manor of the Hestia Family to greet the young prodigy and participate in the banquet, bearing gifts and veiled threats.

It was a calamitous yet opportune time for the noble House of Hestia which was on the verge of falling from grace.

Were they to grasp this opportunity, they would have the honor of leading the new millennium at the very front. If they were to fail, however, they would simply become another group of fools that grasped at what they could not possess.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

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Within the same grounds, inside a closed training ground far away from the sounds of the banquet halls, another young girl, fifteen or so years in age, smacked at a metal training dummy with a blunted iron sword.

Her body was clad in a white training uniform and her abyssal-black hair was tied into a ponytail. Her stoic face, which closely resembled the young Champion’s own, was set with determination and beaded with sweat.

Blood dripped from the young girl’s hands as she tightly dripped the iron sword and smacked away at the metal dummy. Her undeveloped chest rose and fell with exhaustion, yet her movements showed no signs of resting.

“Minerva.”

A firm voice called out to her, yet was unheard of by the girl.

“Minvera.”

The firm voice repeated, this time introducing power into its tone. Still, the young girl failed to notice it as she single-mindedly focused on reducing the metal dummy into a pile of scrap.

Lunging forward for another strike, the young girl was just about to land another powerful blow when she felt strength draining from her legs. Losing her balance, she crashed onto the floor with her blunted sword flying from her hands.

The sword continued to fly through the air before it was caught by a tanned, muscular hand.

“Working yourself to death isn’t going to earn you a Blessing.”

Minerva saw a strong pair of feet covered in leather boots arrive before her. Her lowered head did not possess the strength to lift itself and identify the owner, however, she did not need to do so.

For the man who firmly chided her was her master.

“Why wasn’t it me?” Minerva spoke while listless staring at the ground. “Why was my sister chosen, but not me? What did I fail to do?”

“Have I not trained my magic since before I could walk? Have I not held the sword and trained in its ways, not missing a single day’s practice since I was seven? Have I not been faithful to the Gods or filial to my family?”

“What have I not done that has failed me to earn my qualifications, master?” The girl asked, withholding her tears.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, her master gently kneeled before the young girl and enveloped her inside a warm hug. Patting the heartbroken girl’s head gently, he spoke.

“You have done everything that you can, child. It is the Gods that are fickle and cruel.”

His warm words and enveloping hug finally seemed to break the young girl’s fragile resistance. Tears fell from her eyes continuously as she cried.

Her master, a man who had known more war than peace in his life, did not know how to comfort the heartbroken girl. And even if he did, he wasn’t sure that it would help her.

“Cry, child. Cry your heart out and your eyes dry.”

Minerva tightly hugged the man and bawled. He, a stranger, was more family to her than her real family ever was; he had provided her with the strictness of her absent father and the love of her deceased mother.

After crying her heart out for nearly an hour, young Minerva finally raised her head. Meeting her master’s warm, earth-brown eyes, she asked.

“What should I do now, master?”

This had been the question that had been haunting her for the past week.

With her younger sister rising to the rank of a Chosen Champion, Minerva, the firstborn and previous heir candidate of the House of Hestia, was automatically ousted from the line of succession; the very thing that she had been desperately working towards.

She no longer had any place or status amongst her expansive family.

She could stay and continue her training, yes…however, she would no longer receive assistance or funding from her family to aid her growth.

Not because the family did not want to do so, but because it ‘could’ not do so.

The House of Hestia was poor and on its last legs. Cultivating one Champion with the assistance of its alliance was tough enough, but to cultivate another descendant, one who no longer served any purpose within the family…

It was a simple question of profit and loss.

And even IF, by some herculean leap in logic, the young successor managed to gain the family’s assistance to cultivate, what would she be doing it for?

At best she would become her Champion sister’s retainer. At worst, a glorified maid to be sold off as someone’s concubine.

“You know the answer to that question, child.”

Her master gently answered, his words sending tremors down her body. Indeed, like always her master had once again been right.

She DID know the answer to her questions.

“I will run away.”

Minerva quietly yet firmly declared.

Hearing his beloved and only student’s resolute tone, he sighed once again and spoke, “The Cosmic Realm is vast. You might not have earned God’s Grace, but even They cannot deny you of your opportunities.”

“Explore the world, child. Seek yourself the opportunities that will allow you to control your fate.”

“B-but, my family…” the young girl timidly asked.

Running away to grow on her own was no different from deserting her blood and kin. It was a crime that would not be lightly looked at.

“I will buy you time.”

Her master resolutely answered.

“I will buy you all the time you need. So run, child. Run as far away as you can.”

Rising to his feet, he towered over the young girl and coldly declared, his voice brim with violence.

“Do not stop and do not return. Not unless your family throws themselves at your feet and begs you to.”