Without warning, he struck—a body shot to the midsection from the right side that released a highly compressed wave of Fist intent.
BOOOOM!
The blast slammed into Rogan's ribs, knocking him back.
The floorboards of the staircase cracked and spider-webbed, and the big man slipped three steps back down the stairs until he hit the flat ground, his boots scraping against the tiles.
However, all that resulted was a grunt of approval from the giant man.
"Not bad, pup." Rogan rolled his shoulders as if loosening the straps of his armor. "My turn again."
He lunged. The tiles beneath him cracked with each step, but Riven darted aside, leaving an after‑image.
Grymvald joined the fight, trying to catch that blur with a sweeping spear arc.
Riven jumped up high onto a nearby pillar to dodge the spear sweep. The spear tip grazed the pillar, giving the stone pillar a new battle scar.
Riven had just adjusted his position when he saw Caldor, who was plummeting down towards him.
Just at the right distance, the man swung his sword.
The blade gleamed under the moonlight. There was no time to dodge. Riven narrowed his eyes, circulating energy to work his brain to capture as much information as possible.
At the 1.3-second mark, he saw a small flaw. Riven raised his hand, but this time his palm was open.
He slapped the flat side of the blade and redirected the sword slash. He used the same momentum to strike the side of Caldor's face with his elbow, which seemed to hurt more than the old man expected.
Riven jumped past him and landed elegantly on the tile pathway.
As Caldor hit the ground, he rolled once, with a palm on the floor, he swept his feet, and spun himself around 180 degrees, standing in a low horse stance with the sword tip pointing down.
"Again," Caldor grinned, exhilaration shining in his eyes.
Riven, however, looked down at his right sleeve, which had a clear sword cut.
He was absolutely sure he had redirected the sword. So... how could his sleeve get cut?
There was only one conclusion. 'Sword intent,' he thought. 'Fuck... this is worse than I thought.'
He narrowed his eyes at his opponents.
Three had joined the fight. Two did not. They have obviously underestimated him and are holding back.
That old man could have done much more damage than just a 'sleeve cut'.
But Riven couldn't do much against one he couldn't probably win.
He can delay one. But against three, it was impossible.
He could escape, but what good a man would he be if he left his family in the times of danger?
While thinking of a solution, he did not stop moving. He kept a part of his working mind on the two stationary soldiers.
Riven dodged another spear thrust and a swing of Rogan's sword. While moving, he noticed Weyland, the shield woman, shifting position.
Weyland stepped forward, shield raised—didn't attack, but intercepted a stray shard of Riven's energy that threatened a porcelain vase.
"Mind the furniture," she scolded, voice mild and comfortable despite the chaos.
Her tone startled everyone into a half-second lull.
Riven blinked, caught between battle focus and sudden absurdity. Then all four burst into motion again, trading blows that thundered in sound, but didn't threaten the garden.
They fought across the pathway and around it: staircases, along walls, through tree tops that shed all their leaves in the aftermath.
Riven's Grand Ancestor Fist left glowing footprints on air; Caldor answered with sword crescents that hummed like tuning forks. Melodic but deadly.
Grymvald bounced from place to place, hurling the butt of his spear at pressure points only for Riven to dodge by a breath.
Rogan simply soaked up punishment. This mountain-sized man seemed to grow stronger the more he absorbed impact.
Suddenly-
BANG!
...…..
On the upper balcony, a door slammed open.
The upper floor's light lit up. A second later, the garden array also lit up in full power, lighting up the surroundings.
All six had to half close their eyes due to the sudden brightness.
A ceiling light gleamed, throwing a gold glow across a stern, weathered face.
Lavinia Ashvale—Riven's grandmother, widow of the fallen general—stood in a night robe trimmed with red rose embroidery.
Her sharp eyes scanned below. And they widened in shock, looking at the carnage below.
Surprisingly, it was not fearful shock or anger… but it seemed to be a nostalgic surprise. For a moment, she stood there frozen.
"You-YOU!
Caldor? ROGAN!? And even Weyland???!! Saints preserve me—what the hell are you doing to my grandson's manor?!"
As the old woman's voice boomed, the scenery below shifted instantly.
Everything froze. Riven halted mid‑punch, fist hovering an inch from Rogan's jaw. Caldor's blade lingered beside Riven's collar like a silver petal.
Grymvald had already moved near the other two, acting as if the fight had nothing to do with him.
After a small, awkward silence, Weyland decided to break it and come clean.
She cleared her throat. "Misunderstanding, my lady." She lowered her shield with a sheepish clank. "We sought you and found… spirited hospitality instead."
Lavinia hurried down the stairs, robe sweeping. She cupped Riven's cheek, checking for bruises. "Child, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Grandmama," he muttered. "They broke in, so I responded. Err…standard procedure."
Rogan coughed. "The door broke itself, really."
Lavinia looked at the eight-foot-tall broken door and then at the nine-foot-tall giant. She said without blinking. "Fix it."
Rogan gave a guilty nod the size of a small bow.
...…
Minutes later, they gathered in the dining hall, damage left for servants to mend.
Lavinia presided at the head, Riven to her right, the five strangers opposite. Steam from hastily brewed tea curled, chasing away the lingering tension.
Weyland kept looking at the elderly lady and spoke. "My lady.... We... came looking for you and the last of our General's bloodline."
She inclined her head toward Riven. "We did not expect the young lord to greet us with a… fist ."
Riven snorted into his teacup. "You crept in like burglars. What am I supposed to do? Invite you for tea?"
Grymvald grinned, unrepentant. "Stealth is a habit. Sorry about the vase."
Caldor impatiently leaned forward. "Young lord is seventeen years old, right?
And you traded blows with three Spirit‑Harmonizing warriors without blinking. How did you? Even the general wasn't this fierce!"
As he asked the question, the others also turned towards him. The elder lady had a proud smile creeping onto a weathered face.
Riven set down the cup and thought for a moment.
What made him fight with such a calm mind? One might even call that psychotic.
But he knew why.
"Absence of fear. Absolute rationality. And my techniques have been refined to perfection, which I used to my absolute capability."
He gave them three answers. Each with a brief stop in between.
The five narrowed their eyes at Riven's response. That was not the answer of a child genius who climbed the realms through talent.
No, they sounded more… hard-earned. Much more grounded in reality. Without a shred of arrogance.
However, it was quite hard to believe. What can a child barely eighteen know about the hardships of the world?
Edric tapped the table, black shadowy eyes narrowing in good-natured appraisal. "General's blood indeed."
A ripple of appreciative laughter circled the table. Even Rogan, whose arms sported new bruises from Riven's fist strikes, grinned like a proud uncle.
Lavinia set down her cup. "Alright, I'm guessing Magnar is coming too? You six have risked coming out of retirement just to see us. Did Rosa tell you about us?"
Weyland's braid shimmered as she straightened. "Little Miss, *cough* I mean Lady Rosalind, told that enemies of the general might move."
Rogan's deep voice resounded in a tone of faith, "It is our general that shielded us when everything was going dark. Our promise was to shield and protect his descendants, we deem worthy."
Edric, in his shadowy cloak, nodded, "We apologize, my lady, but the other young masters are just... not up to standard..."
What could they say? They couldn't possibly say they would rather retire than protect those mongrels, right?
Lavinia shook her head, "You don't need to sugar coat your words. I know my other children are just wastrels."
Lavinia, speaking her mind openly, took the soldiers by surprise. The five soldiers fell silent, intrigued and startled by her words.
For a while, the situation descended into an awkward silence.
Riven studied their faces—weathered by time, scarred by grim battles, but! They were alive with purpose.
A warmth spread through his chest, a mix of gratitude and cautious hope.
'Seems my dead grandpa was a good man,' he thought.
"When this plan was initiated, Riven had been notified that life would not be the same anymore when my husband's enemies got wind of this news."
The elder lady voiced softly. "By me and Rosa."
Riven looked at her, then looked at the soldiers and nodded.
"I am fully ready to face the consequences of my actions. I have died once in mediocrity. In that lake, I promised myself… No more."
He made his conviction clear without hesitation. He spoke with a calm, commanding tone in a slow, deliberate pace.
"So whatever comes, we will deal with it with the best of our abilities. If in doing so, death is the price I am to pay, then… so be it."
Riven sat in his loose robes with both elbows on the armrests. Confidently leaning back on the rest.
His eyes carried absolute promise that he would die for his dream, his conviction.
Weyland's mouth parted slightly. The rest too sat there, gobsmacked.
Goosebumps ran over their skin as they recalled a man who looked like this seventeen-year-old boy. Just older, taller, a bit more battle scars, and a light stubble.
I will hold this fort with my hands and my spear. If death is the price I am to pay, then… so be it.
It was an unspeakable, unvoicable feeling.
In their eyes, the general's figure blurred and coincided with the child's.
Weyland was the first to stand. She walked around the table, reaching near Riven, who looked at her in question.
She placed her tower shield in front of her and knelt.
"Riveron Ashvale, scion of Varkkos Ashvale. Bearing the solemn vow unto mine lord, I do pledge my shield, my warrior code, and mine destined path. Will you accept?"
With one fist over her heart, one on the floor, she declared with her head bowed.
Riven had an almost stupid look on his face. This was the first time he faced such a situation after all.
He glanced at his grandmother, who smiled gently and nodded at him.
Riven turned to look at the kneeling woman. Parting his lips, he asked in a puzzled tone, "Why?"
Without lifting her head, she said, "Your words, my lord."
Riven, however, narrowed his eyes. Her words were not convincing: "Just that is enough to pledge your life?"
The hands of his grandfather… why pledge to him?
The person who answered him was not Weyland, but Rogan.
He too stood up, towering above all. "That is her ability, Intuition, young lord. A power that got us in trouble and got us out more times than we can count."
He too walked around the table, kneeling in front of Riven, placing his giant sword standing straight on the floor.
Just as it had sparked the momentum, the other three placed their respective weapons in front of themselves and knelt in front of him. Declaring the same words.
Riven wasn't a child. He knew more than anything that if he accepted their pledge, he would be directly responsible for five more lives.
Five more strengths… or five more burdens.
Yet. 'Can't build an empire by myself,' Riven thought, staying silent, looking at them.
Life would get increasingly complicated for him as he moved forward. More enemies, more allies, everything.
Who can he trust? He didn't know.
But from his point of view, at the present time, the best decision would be…
"I see," he finally broke the silence.
"Then let it be known that I, Riveron Ashvale, accept your allegiance, your code, your path.
Let this be my pledge to you.
With my hands, I will under all circumstances try my absolute best to build the path for us to walk into the future."
He stopped and added, "I will also try not to smear the great name of my grandfather."
"HAHAHAHAHA," Rogan laughed out loud and jumped up, standing. "General told me to fuck off when I first pledged my sword to him. Young lord is much too gentle!"
Edric: "He kicked you out into a river. Don't lie."
Weyland: "Yeah. Who would have thought General would accept a mountain bandit?"
Rogan: "OII???!"
Riven: "…."
Lavinia: "…(＠＾◡＾)…. |3"