The Sovereign Chronicles novel Chapter 7

Kaelen leaned heavily against the stone vat, his injuries far more severe as he gasped for breath. The scorched flesh on his chest from The Crimson Viper Strike radiated the smell of burnt meat, and his ribs felt as though they were fracturing. But he didn't cry out. He didn't show an ounce of weakness. Instead, a wicked smirk crept onto his face. "Lady Moria, keep your voice down. People might get the wrong idea."

"You lunatic! Bastard! You absolute bastard!" Moria screamed in humiliated fury. She tried to lunge again, but the movement tore at the wound in her shoulder, making her pale face contort in agony.

"If you can cripple me, do it. If not, crawl away." Kaelen spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, drawing another throwing knife from his waist. Fighting through the pain, he shifted into a strange stance, channeling every ounce of his remaining strength into his right hand.

This throwing knife technique was his ultimate trump card. Had Moria not outclassed him by so many Phases, he would never have revealed it so easily.

"He knows throwing knives?" Moria made no effort to hide her glare at Jaden. That knife technique wasn't something cobbled together in two or three years. It was unnaturally precise, and combined with Kaelen's brute strength, it was devastating. It didn't look self-taught; it looked like a formal Martial Codex. But The Azure Sky Sanctum didn't possess any throwing knife manuals.

"I honestly didn't know." Jaden was both frustrated and terrified, realizing just how lethal that blade was.

"Hey, Lady Moria, your skirt is riding up." Kaelen let out a sharp whistle.

"Shameless!" Moria frantically tugged at her shredded dress. Kaelen's eyes narrowed, seizing the momentary distraction to snap his arm forward. But just as the blade was about to leave his fingers, the sharp hiss of displaced air echoed nearby. A young man carrying an iron sword on his back sprinted toward them. The blade was a brilliant gold, radiating an oppressive, cutting aura and blinding light from a distance.

"Corvus of the Golden Blade? Damn it, what is he doing here?" Moria's face fell. Clutching her torn clothes tight, she bolted into the dense woods, shooting one last venomous glare at Kaelen before vanishing.

"Sister! Wait for me!" Jaden recognized the newcomer and scrambled after her in a panic, completely abandoning his vendetta against Kaelen.

Kaelen frowned deeply and stowed his knife.

A moment later, the young man in black stood before Kaelen. He was strikingly handsome, but not in a delicate way—his features were chiseled, radiating an imposing, masculine edge. His deep, hawkish eyes naturally exuded a suffocating pressure.

Even his simple black robes couldn't hide his extraordinary aura. But the most eye-catching detail was the golden feathers embroidered on his collar. It was the mark of absolute elite status—a Gold-Crest Paragon!

The Azure Sky Sanctum maintained a brutal hierarchy: Initiates, Prime Initiates, and finally, the Gold-Crest Paragons.

Initiates were further divided into Lower, Middle, and Upper ranks.

Of the Sanctum's eight thousand members, the vast majority were mere Initiates. Only six hundred were chosen as Prime Initiates by the elders. But there were only thirty Gold-Crest Paragons in total, and among the younger generation, a mere five.

The young man standing here was one of those five prodigies—Corvus of the Golden Blade.

His talent was unmatched, having forged countless miracles within the Sanctum. The golden sword on his back was personally forged by the Sanctum Master, a legendary weapon that bled a lethal aura all on its own.

Kaelen was an Initiate—and a Lower Initiate at that. Worse, he was a penalized Servitor, the absolute bottom of the food chain. Compared to Corvus, it was the difference between a soaring eagle and a rat in the mud.

"What happened here?" Corvus demanded, his tone freezing. He had been heading to Mount Veridia to requisition some Aether-flora when he heard the sounds of battle. The area was devastated, the ground still smoldering with embers. A brutal fight had just taken place.

Kaelen was heavily wounded, but Corvus made no move to help. Instead, his gaze upon Kaelen was strictly hostile.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." Suppressing his agonizing pain and exhaustion, Kaelen turned to leave.

"Halt!" Corvus barked.

Kaelen clutched his scorched chest, keeping his back to Corvus. "Speak."

"I have warned you more than once. The more you resist, the harsher your punishment will be. You will never leave The Azure Sky Sanctum. You'd best play the obedient Servitor. Revere everyone above you. If you can lower your head, do not look up. If you can bend your back, do not stand straight. Only then might you earn a pardon. If you ever want to return to The Stormhold Citadel, you will do exactly as I say."

"I appreciate the sentiment!" Kaelen didn't even turn his head as he walked away from the summit.

"Fool."

"None of your business."

"Do not think that reaching the Spirit Warrior Tier earns you any respect. Your parents are sinners of the Sanctum, and you will spend your entire life paying for their crimes. Without a Martial Codex to guide your Aether, you will never progress further. I guarantee you will stagnate at the Sixth Phase," Corvus scoffed coldly. He was a revered Gold-Crest Paragon; normally, he wouldn't spare a glance at a wretched Lower Initiate like Kaelen. But there was one specific connection between them—Lyra!

Lyra was another of the five new-generation Gold-Crest Paragons. With her ethereal beauty, peerless talent acknowledged even by rival factions, and a presence like a descending goddess, she was the undisputed idol of the Sanctum.

Corvus was fiercely in love with Lyra and pursued her relentlessly.

But Lyra's heart was entirely indifferent to him.

Kaelen ignored him, dragging his battered, exhausted body away from the peak. A faint, indifferent smile touched his lips, though it was a smile that would break a watcher's heart. Over the past eight years, he had endured too many of these exact beatings. He knew that as his power grew, the threats and sabotage would only multiply. Yet he felt no fear. He refused to lower his head and live like a beaten dog.

As long as he drew breath, he would stand tall.

And if he stood, he would stand with defiance.

By noon, a light drizzle began to fall across the mountains.

Kaelen returned to the storehouse, cooked lunch, checked in on the Old Man, grabbed a quick bite, and then vanished into the rocky mid-levels of the mountain behind the storehouse.

It was a desolate place, choked with jagged boulders and ancient, twisted roots. No one ever paid attention to it, let alone visited.

This secluded patch of wilderness had become Kaelen's private training ground.

Here, his smile vanished, replaced by an unbreakable solemnity.

From noon until midnight, Kaelen breathed in the ambient Vitality of the world, replenishing his spirit and gradually knitting his wounds together.

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