The Return of Kaelen Viremont

Chapter 003: This Life and Monstrous Talent

Kaelen’s eyes glimmered with quiet intensity.

“Though the Divine Empire of Creation vanished three thousand years ago, my father once spoke of a hidden treasury,” he murmured to himself. “Deep within an unknown land, only he and a few trusted retainers knew the location. Inside… unimaginable wealth, ancient treasures…”

But Kaelen shook his head. That pursuit was far beyond him—for now. His strength was still too limited.

He turned to the elder before him, robes coarse, expression calm but serious. “What grade could that sword possibly be?” he wondered.

Even a Yellow-grade sword—a step above Mortal-grade—would give him a huge boost in House Hanwynn.

“Please… let it be that.”

Clang!

The sharp ring of steel echoed through the room as Kaelen drew the blade from its case. His heart sank immediately.

“What? This… broken thing?”

The sword was rusted, dull, edges chipped like it might crumble in a single strike. Kaelen’s face darkened.

“You old geezer… are you messing with me?”

The elder only smiled, calm and knowing. “Never judge a sword by its appearance. Just as the sea cannot be measured by a single bucket, this blade may hold power even I cannot see. Its exterior is tarnished… but who knows what lies within? Perhaps it’s waiting for someone like you.”

Kaelen muttered, skeptical yet intrigued. He returned the sword to its case and slung it across his back.

Without another word, the elder tossed several thin manuals onto the counter.

“Take these. Free of charge.”

Kaelen caught them mid-air, scanning the titles: Bright Moon Sword Art, Fiery Dragon Sword Technique, Nine Swords of the Lonely Peak. All Yellow-grade, elementary-level techniques.

“Many thanks, senior. I am grateful,” he said, bowing deeply. To enemies, ruthless. To friends, loyal. To benefactors, endlessly thankful—a code instilled by his father, the late Emperor Therion Viremont.

The elder waved lazily. “Go now, Kaelen. Cultivate well.”

Kaelen left—not toward home, but into the untamed wilds beyond Thornreach County. The wilderness was unforgiving: ancient forests, savage beasts, blood-soaked soil. For those seeking true strength, it was sacred ground.

In the county’s bustling heart, he purchased a swift steed. Then, wind at his back, he galloped across the open plains. Hooves thundered. White robes trailing, sword case humming silently.

Under the vast sky, fire in his heart, he thought: This life… I will rise again.

“This… this is freedom!” he roared, disappearing into the horizon. From the city gates, many watched the lone youth racing into destiny.

By sundown, he reached Ravenhollow Town, tucked beneath the towering Vyrecrest Mountains. Mercenaries, martial artists, merchants—the town buzzed with danger. Strength ruled here. Robbery, ambush, murder… common.

His destination: the central Ebonflare Tower. Warriors accepted missions here—rare herbs, beast cores, noble commissions. Perfect for training and rewards.

Two rugged mercenaries blocked his path, eyes cruel.

“Hold up, kid. Pay a toll. Three low-grade spirit stones to enter. Frostfang Mercenaries rule,” sneered one.

“There’s such a rule?” Kaelen asked calmly. Whispers rose. Another newbie getting extorted… but who dares challenge the Frostfang Mercenaries?

Kaelen’s expression didn’t change. Inwardly, he sighed. As expected. The strong trample the weak. Strength is the only truth.

Then his gaze sharpened—cold, dangerous. “Move.”

The mercenaries froze.

Before they could react, Kaelen stepped forward.

“You brat—!”

“Seize him! Break his legs and—”

Boom!

Golden true energy exploded, slamming the two men across the square. They hit the ground hard, groaning.

“W-What?! He’s… he’s strong!” Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Kaelen didn’t glance at them. Quiet, composed. He walked past the fallen mercenaries and entered the tower.

Inside, he accepted three missions: retrieving rare spiritual herbs, promising a combined reward of one hundred thousand coins—immense for his stage. Without hesitation, he vanished into the dense forests of the Vyrecrest Mountains.

At the town gate, the mercenaries seethed. Hatred burned in their eyes.

“We have to get revenge,” growled one.

“But the captain won’t act. We’ll have to play dirty—frame him, force the captain’s hand,” the other said.

The Vyrecrest Mountains stretched endlessly, forests thick and unyielding. From here, the Desolate Wild Forest extended—a deadly region on the Velarion Continent.

Dressed in flowing white, sword case slung across his back, Kaelen entered the primal wilderness. His goal wasn’t the missions alone—it was deeper. To temper his sword. To temper his soul.

True progress is forged in life and death.

The Divine Creation Art demanded combat. Evolution came through battle—refining the body, expanding true energy, awakening the spirit.

Kaelen’s mind drifted three thousand years back, to his father, Emperor Therion Viremont. He had fought gods, kings, monsters. Crossed stars, slew beasts of heaven and earth, carved his name into the Spirit Realm. Blood and fire shaped him—the Divine Emperor.

“Like father, like son,” Kaelen whispered. “I refuse mediocrity.”

With a metallic clang, he drew the rusted sword—the same battered blade from the elder. It felt ancient, hidden.

He exhaled and began: Bright Moon Sword Art, Fiery Dragon Sword Technique, Lone Peak Nine Swords. Three Yellow-grade techniques flooded his mind, intricate, demanding focus.

He wasn’t rushing. Then something awakened.

A wave of energy surged from the golden divine pill in his mind. Fog lifted. Clarity blazed. Comprehension soared.

“This… what is this?!”

Sword strikes flew—one, two, three. Perfect. Shadows of the blade sliced the air, radiating raw power. Kaelen’s eyes widened. Even as the son of a Divine Emperor, he had never wielded such mastery.

Weren’t they calling me talentless in this life…?

He tested it—full strike from Bright Moon Sword Art. Clang! Brilliant sword light burst forth. A glowing illusion of a bright moon shimmered above. Perfect execution.

Next: Fiery Dragon Sword Technique. ROAR! A blazing dragon silhouette surged along his blade, strike heavy as a falling mountain. Perfect.

The golden divine pill pulsed, releasing unfathomable force. Fate rewritten. Martial failure transformed into monstrous talent.

Ordinary disciples took months, even years, to master a Yellow-rank technique. Kaelen? Two tries. That’s all.

The pill revealed two powers:

At breakthroughs, it releases overwhelming spiritual energy—no fear of injury or failure.

• It transforms martial talent—from below average to heaven-defying.

Armed with this knowledge, Kaelen ventured deeper into the Vyrecrest Mountains. No hesitation. No fear.

Martial power is the foundation. I must grow stronger—strong enough to challenge her.

Her. Aurelia Duskryn, Second Miss of House Hanwynn. The death of Mirelle would not remain a secret.

Sooner or later, she would come.

And when she did… Kaelen would be ready. Blade in hand, eyes unblinking, standing tall even in the storm.