From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 47: Ascension

When Leon emerged from the Vault, the stone walls of the lower sanctum no longer felt oppressive.

But they did feel heavier.

Not with magic.

With expectation.

Marien walked beside him, silent since the door closed behind them. The others—cadets, instructors, the wounded—parted without a word. Others watched with wide, unreadable eyes.

The sigils that once sealed the Vault flickered one last time, then went dim.

By the time they reached the surface, dawn had broken.

But the light didn’t feel warm.

It felt like a witness.

Waiting at the foot of the upper terrace, robed and ringed in guards, stood the Highmaster’s Council.

Five figures. Each cloaked in black and silver. None smiling.

Highmaster Idran stepped forward.

"You’ve returned, Leon Thorne," he said, voice calm. "And it seems you’ve passed the Vault’s judgment."

Leon nodded.

"I have."

Marien’s hand brushed his. He didn’t flinch.

Idran’s gaze swept them both. "And yet the Crest flared for two."

"She’s of house Thorne," Leon said. "Always was. Always will."

One of the council members—Elda Vyren, Keeper of Inheritance—stepped beside Idran. "Blood does not matter in the vault. The Vault has always opened for one, since the beginning of this academy child."

Leon’s jaw tightened. "Then speak to the Vault and ask why it let her in and see what others could not."

The air snapped—wards engaging.

Dozens of instructors flinched as the Council’s guards raised hands to swords.

Marien didn’t move. "You don’t scare him. So stop pretending it’s your right to judge."

The Fifth Councilor—Davoris Rhane—stepped forward. "And what would you be done instead, girl?"

Marien didn’t blink. "That no throne stands on a hollow name. And no council holds a house not their own."

Idran’s voice cut through. "Then let it be decided."

The plaza stone lit beneath their feet, revealing ancient runes—binding, verdict, truth.

"You will face Three Questions," Idran said. "And your answers will decide whether you’re truly worthy like the vault has declared... or you’ve simply trespassed on academy property."

Leon stepped forward with defiant eyes.

Without waiting.

"Ask them."

A hush fell over the council.

The first question came from Elda: "What is House Thorne?"

Leon answered without pause. "A wound that never healed. The sword that guards its edge. And a blade about to be destroyed"

The second came from Rhane: "Why do you still bear its name?"

"Because I earned it where they tried to bury it. I am the legacy and heir of Thorne and as such i must bear the weight of the name"

The final question came from Idran himself.

No hesitation.

Only a simple, quiet ask:

"And would you die for it?"

Leon looked past the council. Past the sky.

And answered.

"No."

Gasps rang.

"I’d live for it," he said. "And make damn sure no one forgets why."

The plaza burned blue.

The Crest above the Terrace flared brightly one last time.

And the Council said nothing.

Because the Vault already had.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace. It was the tension of power shifting.

Idran’s jaw tightened. Behind him, Rhane whispered something to Elda, who nodded once and stepped back.

A page sprinted from the perimeter, halting only when Idran raised his hand. The boy whispered urgently into the Highmaster’s ear. Something changed.

Idran’s eyes narrowed. "So be it."

He turned, slowly, to the assembly gathered on the steps. "From this day, the Crest of House Thorne shall hang again over the Eastern Terrace."

A ripple spread across the council. and the onlookers inside the vault. Shock. Protest. Awe. No one spoke loud enough to be heard.

"But the house will be watched," Rhane added, stepping forward. "And judged again if it falters."

Leon’s voice was steady. "Then let all houses be judged the same."

Elda’s lip twitched, not quite a smile. "Spoken like a man who understands the blade’s double edge."

"Good," Idran said. "Because there’s no war coming. There’s one already here."

He looked out beyond the courtyard.

Smoke still curled faintly from the distant towers.

"The breach was no accident. Nor is your timing. Something far worse moves beneath this city."

Marien’s hand went to her sword.

Leon followed Idran’s gaze. "Then let House Thorne be the first to meet it."

But as the Council turned to disperse, a figure stepped from the shadows of the upper gate—slow, confident, wrapped in the uniform of a northern sigil-commander.

He didn’t bow. Didn’t wait for permission.

"Too late," he said. "They’re already inside."

A gasp moved through the outer ring. The instructors reached for their weapons.

The commander tossed something into the centre of the court.

A black ring. Twisted iron, scorched at the edges.

"The seal from the Western Bastion," he said. "They burned through it. There was no breach."

Leon’s stomach dropped.

"They were invited."

Idran stepped forward, his composure cracking for the first time. "Who gave the order?"

The sigil-commander didn’t answer. But the look in his eyes said he knew more than he was allowed to speak.

Behind Leon, Marien’s grip tightened on her blade. "We don’t have time for a tribunal."

"No," Leon agreed. "But we have more than enough for a reckoning."

A tremor passed beneath their feet—a subtle but growing quake. Somewhere deep below the citadel, something stirred. Old stone groaned in protest.

Elda turned sharply toward Idran. "We’ll need to seal the inner ring. All exits."

Rhane cursed under his breath. "If they’ve reached the core..."

"They haven’t yet," Leon cut in, eyes already scanning the ramparts. "Then we move now. Marien—form the cadet line. Tell the Fifth Cohort to follow Ashveil’s crest."

"And you?" she asked.

He drew his sword. Ashveil sang in answer.

"I’ll find whoever opened the gate."

The cadets surged to action. Orders barked. Armour scraped. The banners of each cohort flared to life, responding to old enchantments keyed to their captains. And at the centre of them all, Ashveil’s fire streaked the sky as Leon raised it high.

"You heard him!" Marien’s voice cracked across the chaos. "Cadets—move in file, breach formation! Protect the core first!"

Dust shook from the eastern archway. A low groan echoed up the stairs.

A shriek followed it.

One not born of any beast they knew.

Idran turned to Elda. "Whatever’s coming, it didn’t come alone."

Leon’s eyes narrowed. "Then let’s make sure it doesn’t leave either."