All Chapters of Vengeance of The Reborn Heir: Chapter 71
- Chapter 80
171 chapters
The Assessment of Two Paths
Morning mist swept across the Eastern Pavilion as Ronan Crowne approached its towering arch. This was his first formal lesson under Thalric Valeheart.The doors slid open with a solemn hum.Thalric stood at the center of the training hall, arms crossed behind his back, gaze sharp as tempered steel. His posture alone emanated the kind of dominance that made lesser warriors avert their eyes.“You are on time,” Thalric said.Ronan bowed respectfully.“Reporting for my first lesson, Instructor.”Thalric circled him once, silently evaluating his condition. His expression remained inscrutable.“Your performance yesterday earned you recognition,” Thalric said, tapping the floor lightly with the tip of his boot. “But do not mistake that for approval. Power without discipline is waste. You will not disappoint me.”Ronan stood firm. “I understand.”“Good. Begin by circulating your essence.”Ronan centered his breathing and guided the energy through his meridians. The hall vibrated faintly. Thal
The Hidden Report
The door to Thalric Valeheart’s private chamber closed behind them with a muted thud, sealing the space in a heavy stillness. The room was neither ornate nor luxurious. Instead, it was immaculate, lined with shelves of crystal tablets, disciplined notes, and intricate instruments designed to measure essence flow with absolute precision.Ronan stood respectfully at the center while Thalric walked past him, activating a crystalline projector embedded into the wall.“There is something you must see before we proceed any further,” Thalric said, his tone as cold and controlled as ever.A beam of light spread across the room as recorded text, diagrams, and fluctuating energy signatures manifested above the projector. Ronan recognized some of them immediately: data from his duel with Tristan Blackthorne.“This is an internal report from the Academy Council,” Thalric stated.Ronan’s eyes narrowed slightly as graphs charting his essence flow appeared—uncomfortably precise readings, far more de
Fragments and Whispers
Ronan unfolded the scroll beneath the pale light of the private training hall and felt, once more, the gravity of Thalric Valeheart’s expectations.The parchment was dense with diagrams and sequences—breathing cadences synchronized to meridian pulses, footwork patterns that described impossible rotations, and a final regimen stipulating sustained essence stability under an intensity ten times the usual threshold for a novice.He began.At first the motions were mechanical, a rote repetition of the instructions. Gradually, however, the work took shape within him.Each breath mapped to a subtle contraction and release of his internal channels; each step arrived where it ought.Pain flared along his meridians, a serrated awareness that urged surrender, yet he pressed on. The adaptation that followed was not merely perseverance but something quieter and stranger: his essence responded with a speed and steadiness that belied his rank.A patrol of students crossed the courtyard and paused a
Echoes of a Twisted Future
Ronan Crowne returned to the Crowne Estate late in the evening, exhaustion tugging faintly at his limbs. Yet the moment he stepped into his private cultivation chamber, the familiar hum of the pod greeted him, a quiet reminder that here, at least, the world felt quieter than the academy.He entered the pod, let the door seal, and sat cross-legged in the hollow center.For several seconds, nothing happened.Then—A sharp chime resonated through the chamber.Ronan recognized it instantly.The Will of Arken.Bright sigils shimmered around him in a slow, deliberate rotation.[Your actions have altered destiny.][The timeline has shifted.]Ronan inhaled deeply.[Be warned: individuals who were trustworthy in the original timeline may not act the same in this one.][Paths have diverged. Loyalties may change.]His expression tensed. He had expected deviation… but not to this extent.Then came the tasks—stern, immovable.[Task update:]—Lower Lucien Cross’s Luck to Grade D.—Uncover the hidde
The Mentor Who Smelled Profit
Aveline stood by the tall window of her office, watching the evening wind ripple across the academy courtyard.The moonlight carved pale silver lines across her desk, illuminating scattered reports, most of which she skimmed only long enough to determine whether they might benefit her.When a whisper reached her ears about Ronan Crowne and the supposed Scroll of Heavens, she lifted her gaze slightly.So Ronan Crowne had managed to stir the world.Not bad.But not her problem.Still… rumors of a celestial relic carried their own gravity. If powers outside the academy believed House Crowne held something of such magnitude, then the academy would soon become a nest of political predators.Aveline tapped her finger lightly against the windowsill.“Chaos invites opportunity,” she murmured.A knock interrupted her thoughts.“Enter.”A junior aide bowed. “Instructor Aveline… a small matter. Concerning Lucien Cross.”Aveline did not react outwardly, but her interest did sharpen.“Yes?”“He ha
The Drunkard’s Shadow
Morning light seeped weakly through the narrow windows of Elder Stoneclaw’s quarters. Lucien Cross arrived earlier than usual, steps steady despite the turmoil that had plagued him the night before.He opened the door quietly.Elder Stoneclaw was—unsurprisingly—still slumped on the sofa, a half-empty bottle in hand. His breath was laced heavily with alcohol, but unlike the previous days, there was an empty dinner bowl beside him.Lucien’s eyes narrowed.‘He ate something’, he thought.‘That means he’s not entirely hopeless today.’A small, practical calculation flickered in his mind.If Stoneclaw could eat, then Stoneclaw could drink more.If Stoneclaw drank more… perhaps his guard would slip further.Lucien rolled his sleeves and began cleaning again.He swept the floor, wiped dust from shelves, folded discarded robes, aired out the room, and finally returned to the kitchenette, where he prepared another simple meal and a restorative soup, something mild enough for a drunk to tolerat
The Spoiled Daughter’s Tears
Calista Sable spent the night curled on her bed, sobbing into her pillow until her throat burned and her eyes stung. The echo of Lucien’s voice—sharp, harsh, completely unlike the gentle praise he used to give her—kept replaying in her mind.“Calista! Enough!”It stabbed deeper each time she remembered it.By morning, her face was swollen, her hair a tangled mess, her breathing uneven. She hadn’t slept, barely moved, barely spoken. Anyone who passed by her room could hear muffled crying.And one person finally did.The door slid open with a soft creak.Benedric Sable stepped inside.His expression darkened instantly at the sight of his daughter huddled on the bed, trembling with silent sobs.“Calista,” he said sharply. “Enough crying. Sit up.”She didn’t move.Benedric’s tone sharpened. “Calista.”She finally turned toward him—eyes red, cheeks wet, lips trembling.The moment she saw him, her tears welled again.Benedric frowned. “You met Lucien again, didn’t you?”Calista’s face twist
The Wine of Intent
Aveline arrived at Elder Stoneclaw’s residence under the dim shimmer of late evening wards, her steps unhurried, her expression perfectly composed. The lacquered box in her hand glowed faintly beneath the lanterns—its contents more dangerous than its elegant exterior suggested.She knocked once.No response.She knocked again.This time she heard movement—slow, heavy, but steady enough to betray that the elder was not quite as far gone as he often appeared.The door opened.Stoneclaw stared at her with bleary yet strangely lucid eyes, holding a half-empty bottle. His posture was slouched but not collapsed—more like a man pretending to be worse off than he was.“Aveline,” he grunted. “I haven’t had a guest in years. And I do not want one.”Aveline bowed gracefully, the perfect image of courtesy.“My apologies for disturbing your rest, Elder,” she said softly. “I came only to offer a small gift.”Stoneclaw eyed the box suspiciously. “A gift?”“Yes,” she replied, lifting it slightly. “A
Dinner at House Blackthorne
Ronan was just finishing an evening cultivation cycle when a soft chime echoed through his private pod. A message crystal on his desk began to glow blue. He stepped over and tapped it lightly.An official transmission voice announced:“Message received from House Blackthorne.”Then, a gentler voice followed — Selene’s voice:“Ronan, I would like to invite you to a private dinner at my home tomorrow evening. This is not a formal banquet or academy function — just a personal gesture of gratitude. I truly hope you will accept.”There was a brief pause before her last line:“—Selene.”Ronan stood still for a moment, thoughtful.A private dinner.Not a political event.Not a public spectacle.Just sincerity.He responded into the crystal:“I will attend.”The light dimmed.***The next evening, Ronan stepped into the luxurious flying car reserved for House Crowne’s distinguished members. Its obsidian-black surface gleamed like polished midnight as it lifted into the sky on silent thrusters
Under Watchful Eyes
The next morning, Thalara Academy did not feel the same.The buildings were identical, the training grounds unchanged, the sky washed in the same pale blue light of Arken’s early hours. But the atmosphere had shifted—charged, curious, edged with something Ronan Crowne could only describe as weight.As he walked through the central plaza, conversations softened. Heads turned. Some students outright stared. Others pretended not to, only to glance again the moment he passed.He ignored it.He had more pressing concerns than gossip.Still, the words found him.“He really came in a Crowne flying car yesterday,” someone whispered near the fountain.“I heard he had dinner with Minister Dorrian himself.”“And with Selene. Alone.”“Not alone, idiot. Family dinner.”“Still counts. Do you think they’re—”“Engaged? Some say that already.”And beneath the softer rumors, darker ones lingered:“They say his family is hiding something.”“A relic.”“Maybe the Scroll of Heavens.”“If that’s true… no wo