From Deadbeat noble to Top Rank Swordsman-Chapter 95: Flamefront

The first step onto scorched earth felt heavier than it should. Leon pressed forward. The ground beneath his boots was blackened stone, still warm with traces of something ancient. Every breath tasted of ash.

The others followed close. Behind them, the bridge cracked—just slightly—as if warning there would be no turning back.

The ash-beasts did not attack.

They circled.

Shapes towered along the edges of the ruined hills—silent, monstrous. Some drifted like smoke. Others crouched low with heads that brushed broken spires. The air around them shimmered. Not from heat. From something else. Something watching.

"They’re not moving yet," Callen said quietly.

"They’re waiting," Mira replied, daggers drawn.

"For what?" Tomas asked.

Elena narrowed her eyes at the horizon. "To see if we burn like the others."

The boy said nothing.

They kept walking. Through broken streets and melted stone. Towers leaned against each other like dying trees. In one place, they passed a field of statues—people turned to glass mid-scream. Frozen in the moment of death.

Alden looked away.

No one spoke for a while.

Then a tremor passed through the ground.

It wasn’t violent. It was rhythmic.

"Footsteps," Leon muttered.

He was right. Something enormous approached—slow, deliberate. Each step landed with a boom that shook the ash from distant rooftops.

Then it appeared.

A giant made of fused armour and coal, its eyes burning red. It walked with a long staff, dragging a chain behind it.

Elena stepped beside Leon. "That’s not a beast."

"No," Leon said. "That’s a Herald."

The creature stopped at the center of the street. It turned its head toward them, metal grinding as it moved. It raised its staff and struck it against the ground.

A shockwave rippled outward—not harmful, but piercing. A test.

The boy stepped forward.

Light pulsed from his palms, steady and soft.

The Herald bowed.

Just slightly.

Then turned.

And walked.

Creating a path.

Leon didn’t move.

"That’s an invitation," Tomas said.

"No," Mira said. "It’s a challenge."

Leon finally stepped after the Herald. "Let’s see what they want us to see."

They followed the creature through a gate of melted iron. Beyond it lay a courtyard of fire—pillars still burning, sky the colour of blood.

In the center stood a monument—half-crushed, still glowing.

It was a memorial.

A hundred names were etched into the stone. Names of those who burned keeping the seals in place.

Leon stepped forward. One name glowed brighter than the rest.

His father’s.

His throat tightened. But he said nothing.

The Herald turned once more.

And pointed to the far wall.

Another seal.

Not broken.

Barely holding.

The boy stepped forward. He looked back at Leon.

"This one... you’ll have to open yourself."

Leon stared at the seal.

Unlike the others, this one pulsed weakly—like a dying heartbeat trapped in stone. Black scorch marks lined its edges, but something deeper held it together. Not magic. Not fire. Will.

And it felt like his.

He stepped toward it slowly. The stone underfoot was marked with blade-gouges—some old, some fresh. Burned sigils ringed the seal’s perimeter, carved in a language he didn’t understand but somehow recognized.

"Elena," he said, voice quiet. "This one feels... different."

She moved beside him. "Because it is. This seal isn’t just locking something away—it’s tied to you."

Leon placed his palm against the surface. Warmth met his skin. Not threatening. Familiar. The pulsing grew stronger under his touch.

The boy spoke, voice steady, "This seal was forged from a soul. Not just any soul. One that stood between the fire and the world."

Leon’s jaw clenched. "Whose soul?"

The boy didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The warmth grew. A rush of memory—not thoughts, but feelings—flooded Leon’s mind. The scent of cold steel. The weight of a father’s hand on his shoulder. The final look his father gave him before leaving for war.

Leon stepped back. His hand fell away.

"I can’t destroy this."

"You’re not meant to," the boy said. "You’re meant to decide."

Behind him, the others stood quiet. Watching. Waiting.

Leon turned back to the seal. "What happens if I choose wrong?"

The Herald, still standing at the courtyard’s edge, finally spoke. Its voice groaned like a furnace.

"Then the fire chooses for you."

The seal cracked slightly.

Not from pressure.

From indecision.

Leon took a breath and stepped forward again. His fingers brushed the runes, then pressed deeper—this time not as a warrior, but as a son.

"I won’t destroy you," he whispered. "But I can’t leave you either."

The seal responded.

A thin stream of light split across the surface, tracing the shape of a blade—his father’s blade. The one buried years ago. The one he now carried.

Shadow-edge flickered at his hip, then glowed. A low hum rose from the weapon. A memory trapped in metal.

Leon drew it.

As the sword left its sheath, the seal burst open with light—not shattered, not destroyed, but transformed. The runes bled gold. The stone peeled away. And in its place stood a figure.

Not a ghost.

Not an echo.

His father.

But younger. Whole.

The figure opened his eyes. Looked at Leon.

And smiled.

"You carried it well," the man said.

Leon’s mouth went dry. "You—this isn’t possible."

"No," the man said. "But it’s real."

The others stepped closer, uncertain.

"Is it really him?" Tomas asked.

Elena nodded slowly. "A piece of him. Preserved in fire."

The boy spoke again. "This seal didn’t just guard the world. It guarded memory. Lineage. Legacy. Now it guards you."

Leon sheathed his blade. "What does that mean?"

"It means," the figure—his father—said, stepping toward him, "your fire no longer comes from the seals."

He reached out.

"It comes from what you’ve chosen to remember."

Their hands touched.

And the fire passed from father to son.

The air rippled. A wave of energy pushed outward from their hands, golden and warm. It didn’t burn—it cleansed. The courtyard lit up. Pillars of flame dimmed. The ground stopped trembling. The ash-beasts that had lingered at the edges stirred, then backed away.

The Herald knelt. Deeply.

"Witnessed," it rumbled.

Elena blinked at the shifting sky. "Did it just swear allegiance?"

The boy nodded. "Not to you. To the fire you carry now."

Leon didn’t speak. His gaze stayed fixed on the fading image of his father. The figure was retreating—slowly dissolving into gold.

"I’m proud of you," his father said. "Keep going. Don’t stop where I did."

Then he was gone.

The courtyard fell silent again.

But not empty.

Something new hung in the air—a thread between worlds, thin and glowing. A call to the next seal. A bond that hadn’t existed before.

Mira broke the silence. "Do we follow it?"

"No," the boy said, turning toward a collapsed stairway leading down into the ruins. "We follow him. The one who tried to break this seal before you."

Leon looked up. "Someone else was here?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. But he failed. And what’s left of him still burns beneath."

Leon looked at the others. "Then we go down."

He took the first step.

And the fire followed.

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