Chapter 426
Xavier, whose neck was still lowered, whose body was still trembling from fear and grief, whose mind was still in chaos from the death of everyone he loved, slowly realized that something was wrong.
This sudden silence was not an ordinary silence. The silence was too deep, too absolute, too perfect.
He raised his head slightly, his swollen eyes moving to the left and to the right, and he saw a sight that made no sense.
All the soldiers had frozen.
All the swords that were ready to strike hung in the air.
All the gazes that had once been filled with hatred were now empty and meaningless.
Xavier was confused, more confused than he had ever been in his short life.
What happened?
Was this also part of a dream?
Had he already died and entered another realm?
Had the gods finally intervened to stop this madness?
No answer came—only a silence that grew thicker, more suffocating, making his heart pound uncontrollably.
And in the midst of that choking confusion, in the middle of a silence so complete that he could hear the beating of his own heart, Xavier saw him.
An old man appeared out of nowhere, walking slowly past the soldiers who stood frozen like statues.
His hair was completely white, long and unkempt, falling down to his shoulders.
His face was full of wrinkles—deep wrinkles like a map of mountains that had existed for thousands of years.
His eyes, though old, emitted a strange light, a light that was not unfamiliar to Xavier.
The light was golden yellow, exactly the same as the light he had encountered in his dreams for five days.
The old man walked with the help of a simple wooden cane, yet every step he took felt so dignified, so meaningful, so heavy—as if he carried the history of the entire universe upon his frail shoulders.
He stepped past the frozen soldiers, past the thickening pools of blood, past piles of flesh that had long lost their shape, until finally he stopped right in front of Xavier.
The distance between them was only an arm's length, close enough for Xavier to see that within those old eyes, behind the blazing golden-yellow light, there was something similar to what he saw every time he looked at his reflection in the calm river water.
And when the old man finally opened his mouth, when the voice that came out of his wrinkled lips reached Xavier's ears for the first time, the voice was not unfamiliar at all.
It was the same voice he had heard in his dreams for five days.
The same voice as the mysterious young man who resembled him.
The same voice that had always said he possessed a potential that had yet to be awakened.
But this time the words were different.
Congratulations, Xavier.
Congratulations, for you have succeeded in breaking through your potential.
Congratulations, for you have awakened the talent that has slept within your blood for thousands of years.
Congratulations, for you have passed the final trial that separates ordinary humans from those destined for something greater.
"Stop your sweet talk. My childhood was dark without the faces of my parents. There were only my grandparents with the same old story. They went to war and never returned. That was the only inheritance I had."
"Then listen carefully. The blood flowing in your body is royal blood. Not merely that of a noble or a soldier—this is the direct legacy of the legendary Xavier. Your hidden name is Xavier XVII."
Xavier could only stare at the old man with an empty gaze mixed with disbelief.
The words congratulations for breaking through your potential, congratulations for awakening your talent, congratulations for passing the final trial—all of them sounded like a foreign language he had never learned.
He had just watched everyone he loved slaughtered before his eyes.
He had just nearly lost his own head. He had just knelt in a pool of blood, most of which belonged to his friends.
And now an old man appeared out of nowhere, stopping time at will, then offering congratulations as if all this tragedy were an achievement worth celebrating.
Xavier wanted to scream, to curse, to spit in the old man's face.
But his body could not move.
His mouth could not produce a sound.
All he could do was continue staring with tear-filled eyes, waiting for an explanation that might never be enough to make any of this make sense.
The old man seemed to understand the confusion that overwhelmed Xavier.
He smiled again, this time softer, more patient—like a grandfather facing a grandchild who had just seen snow for the first time.
He planted his cane into the ground beside him, then began to speak with a deep yet calm voice, a voice that sounded as though it had told the same story thousands of times yet never grew tired of repeating it.
Listen carefully, Xavier.
Because what you are about to hear now is the answer to all the questions you have kept buried.
About who you truly are.
About why you were raised by your grandparents without ever knowing your parents.
About why the blood flowing in your body is different from the blood of the other village children.
About why you have always felt that something inside you was empty, something missing, something incomplete.
Hearing this, Xavier—though his body was still weak and his mind still chaotic—suddenly felt something strange in his chest.
A vibration, a warmth, a feeling he had always sensed but never been able to explain.
He remembered how, since childhood, he had always asked his grandparents about his parents, and how they always awkwardly changed the subject.
He remembered how he often dreamed of a great palace and a golden crown—dreams that made no sense for a simple village boy like him.
He remembered how sometimes, when he was alone, he felt a strange urge to do something great, something important, something he could never put into words.
And now, before this mysterious old man, in the middle of a silence that froze time, among the still-warm bodies of his friends, all those questions might finally be answered.
You are the descendant of a king, Xavier.
Not the descendant of an ordinary noble family, not the descendant of a local ruler who governs only one or two valleys.
But the descendant of a legendary bloodline whose name has been written in history for thousands of years.
The same bloodline as your name now.
Because the name Xavier is not merely a name your grandparents gave you by coincidence.
It is a name passed down from generation to generation—a name that may only be borne by those who are truly worthy, a name that signifies its bearer as the rightful heir of a dynasty that has long vanished but never truly perished.
Your full name is Xavier the Seventeenth. Xavier XVII.
The seventeenth successor of the first king whose name was also Xavier.
And the blood flowing in your body, the blood that has always made you different from the other children, is the purest royal blood—the blood that has been awaited to rise again for centuries.
"The Obrim Dynasty is not merely a greedy conqueror that happened to discover this village. They are the long shadow of the past that has deliberately hunted you since the day you were born."
The old man drew a long breath, a breath that seemed to carry thousands of years of memories and regrets with it.
To be continued…