In the blink of an eye, two weeks passed.
Riven had burned that small island to cinders after spending two weeks ripping his most hated enemies bit by bit until there was nothing left.
His sweet, sweet revenge had come to a finale.
The storm had calmed, and the blood had dried—but the echoes of what had happened still rippled through every corner of the Sun Dawn lands.
Madam Ashvale's strategy unfolded like clockwork—swift, quiet, and with precision. The intellect that stood behind the mighty General who massacred millions of Khitian barbarians was unveiled in full.
Not long after the Lockwood incident, messages were discreetly dispatched across the many branches of the House of Ashvale. The contents were clear:
A new Innate Seed has emerged.
The announcement was followed by a private assembly of high-ranking elders, where the decision was made. Although it earned the grumbles of some who wanted their descendants to hold such a glorious position.
What can they do? They didn't have a descendant that has completed acquired training at seventeen years of age…
Riveron Ashvale was to be the face of the new era.
Their assistance didn't stop there. The conspiracy involving Patriarch Lockwood and his cousin—to seize the Ashvale inheritance and eliminate the heir—exploded into scandal.
The timing could not have been more precise.
Though Silas Ashvale, Riven's biological father, had long since faded into obscurity within the imperial registers, his name remained in the royal genealogy. The Ashvale bloodline, however diluted, was legitimate.
Now, with the attempted assassination of his son brought into the light, the story gained weight. Too much weight to ignore.
Did a noble family really attempt to murder an heir of imperial descent?
The facts were undeniable. Riven had survived. And the outrage his survival stirred became a wildfire.
Thanks to Rosalind Ashvale's huge influence, the issue ended up in the capital, where it was blown way out of proportion. Truly making a mountain out of a mole hill.
It had even been forced into the Imperial court.
By the time it reached the Emperor's ears, voices were already calling it a political strike—one fueled by old factional grudges.
Once we confirmed that Child Riveron Ashvale is a highly talented Innate seed with the potential to evolve his life form to Innate by age eighteen, the case gained significant weight.
Whispers spread that the Lockwoods had been manipulated by forces aligned with House Ashbourne, aiming to weaken House Ashvale and disrupt the Emperor's reforms.
It was no surprise that the Ashbourne faction had pushed back against recent changes, as the Emperor aimed to tap into the military power of several established Houses.
This incident gave their opponents the ammunition they needed to act.
It is an increasingly peculiar situation. For the first time, an Ashenvale Emperor doesn't seem to favor the Ashbourne house too much.
Princes from distant branches of House Ashvale—many of whom had never seen Silas Ashvale, let alone Riven—nonetheless found cause to act. Their 'pride' as a royal lineage had been trampled.
In a rare display of unity, they submitted formal petitions to the Emperor, demanding that justice be served without mercy.
Of course, to preserve imperial dignity, Ashbourne lineages drew clear lines and denied any support for the Lockwoods.
The result was swift and brutal:
The Lockwood family was declared traitors.
Treason charges. Entire bloodline implicated. Three generations wiped from the register.
But amidst the ruin, a new title was born.
As a gesture of imperial favor—and perhaps as a veiled signal to the noble clans—the Emperor was forced to enfeoff Silas Ashvale as the Duke of Sundawn, granting him ownership of all lands surrounding the Sun Dawn city, including the best Great Lake port in these lands.
And naturally, Riven Ashvale, his surviving heir and now-recognized Innate Seed, was named Crown Prince of the Sundawn State.
The reason 'his surviving heir'? Simple.
The First Lady and her son had mysteriously vanished.
Investigators claimed they fled the nation. No bodies. No proof. Just absence and silence.
As for one-armed Patriarch Lockwood… he was found washed ashore. The official inquiry declared he had overdosed on illicit drugs aboard a pleasure boat.
'A fitting end to filth,' many nodded.
Missing arm? Probably a fish. That was the conclusion.
The Emperor's edict was issued with elegant finality.
In addition to the noble title, all assets of the Lockwood family—fields, shops, estates—were seized and granted to Duke Silas Ashvale.
The surrounding lands were renamed under the Sundawn duchy.
Known as the largest city in these lands, where the Governor's residence was located, it was formerly called 'Verdant Veil' and has since been renamed:
Sundawn City, the capital of the Sundawn Duchy.
Earlier, the 'Sundawn city' Riven grew up in has transformed into the thriving 'Sundawn commercial hub', thanks to its proximity to the Great Lake.
An extension of the Sundawn capital.
Among the Imperial gifts, the jewel among them was a rare imperial estate that was in the heart of the new Sundawn Capital: Exile's Garden.
A sprawling, breathtaking property... originally serving as a private residence for an Imperial Chancellor, this estate was acquired from a scholar who retired from his political career in pursuit of tranquility.
Hills, forests, streams, and misty glades surrounded the manor—a land designed for reflection, peace, and quiet power.
The origins of how the Emperor came to possess this estate remained cloaked in silence.
But its symbolism was understood by knowing circles.
Exile's Garden tells a story that emphasizes stepping back from politics to embrace peace and tranquility, mirroring the Emperor's goals and vision for the new Dukedom.
'Avoid getting involved in politics. I respect your strength. Spend your days there, distanced from power.'
On the day the estate was formally handed over, a new plaque was erected at the archway:
Residence of the Duke of Sundawn.
Dignitaries arrived in waves. Nobles from neighboring provinces. Scholars from the prominent academies. Clan envoys. Even princes sent messengers with gifts.
And though Silas Ashvale reaped the benefit of this fortune, he bore it with a strange and almost lifeless weight.
To realize that the son you raised for two decades wasn't yours—that was a wound few could carry with grace.
He smiled for the guests. He raised cups in toasts. But his eyes were hollow.
Thankfully, the household still had one senior stabilizing force left: the Matriarch.
An elder from a powerful military family, who ruled in her husband's absence—sharp as ever, commanding as ever.
Many gossiped -
Riven Ashvale, son of a commoner, orphaned young, shunned by the First Lady… had managed to survive only because the Matriarch had protected him.
She had ensured he received books to read, instructors to guide him. She had made space for a scholar to grow in a house that never wanted him.
Now, under her watch, the Residence of the Duke of Sundawn ran like a polished clock.
Guest receptions. Gift handling. Protocol and formality. Not a single misstep.
Three days after the grand banquet.
Sundawn Manor slept under a velvet night, the garden lanterns guttering in a breeze that hinted at the start of spring.
Inside the old audience hall, seventeen‑year‑old Riven Ashvale frowned at a ledger. Columns of grain levies blurred before his eyes, but the puzzle that bothered him was not written in ink.
Something stirred on the edge of his senses—five distinct pulses of qi, each one heavy as a war drum and closing fast. They were not the muddled signatures of local officials, nor the timid sparks of household guards.
These presences moved with a strange sense of purpose, disciplined and perfectly spaced, like the fingers of a hand.
Riven snapped the ledger shut.
Transparent energy curled around his knuckles, the first form of the Grand Ancestor Fist Canon. A single touch of that technique had once split an anchor chain; tonight, he prepared to use it on intruders who dared breach his roof.
Not again will he let someone strike him unprepared.
Squeeekk
The front gates to the inner compounds groaned in a sound that they should not produce; after all, they were brand new!.
Later, Riven would wonder about that detail, but at the moment, he only felt the rush of displaced air as he looked up to see a man glide overhead on a silent bird.
As the moonlight poured in, with it dropped a lean figure whose cloak still smelled of high clouds.
Caldor landed lightly on the marble foyer, eyes scanning like a hunting eagle's.
Close behind him, the main door burst inward—Rogan stooped through the splintered frame, broad shoulders filling the space.
With a swift move, Grymvald flipped over the wall, the spear haft tapping an idle rhythm on the rail.
A shadow detached itself from the pathway—Edric, more shadow than man.
Last came Weyland, tower shield strapped across her back, braid coiled like silver rope; she stepped in with an ever-calm look on her face.
Five strangers now occupied the manor's entrance to the inner compounds, and every tile creaked as their combined energy pushed outward.
Riven stood at the foot of the main staircase. He wore only a plain night robe, half of his chest exposed. Translucent intent coiled around him, razor sharp.
'What a menacing aura… they aren't your everyday martial artist.' He thought.
"State your business, intruders," he said, voice calm but carrying authority.
Grymvald's grin faltered. "Polite kid." He lowered his spear tip. "We're here to see Lady Lavinia—private family matter."
'Meet Grandma? Impossible,' Riven wanted to snap back, but the combined aura of these individuals was too much to handle nonchalantly.
"You break doors for family calls?" Riven asked.
Rogan shrugged a mountain‑sized shoulder. "The door was in the way."
Edric's soft chuckle threaded the shadows. "We meant no harm. Let us pass."
"All five of you are... Innate. What family matters do you have to handle with my grandmother?" Riven countered.
The moment he said the word 'Grandmother', the five warriors froze for a moment, looking at each other discreetly.
Riven noticed this.
With that, he confirmed that they really were looking for his grandmother. Feeling a bit at ease, he was about to ask what they meant by 'family'.
However, all plans to talk were lost when he suddenly saw a Giant sword being swung down on his head.
Without any expression, Riven twisted his body and side-stepped to the right. This was instinct.
"Fast for a little boy," Rogan's granite voice reached Riven's ears, to which he lifted an eyebrow.
Riven's brain increased its speed tenfold.
He saw the sword passing by him, inch by inch. If that fell on him, he would have… died.
Died.
Died?
DIED?!!!!
In that split second, a decade of suffering flashed before his eyes. He bled, fell, stood, and bled again. That feeling of dodging an attack was so… so… exhilarating.
'Kek, so that's how it feels to dodge!' A long-dormant battle lust started to stir beneath the boy.
Without any reply, he moved at an almost imperceptible speed.
BOOOOM!