**Chapter Three: The Path of Strength**
The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the lingering aroma of the torches lining the grand Everhart estate. The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting eerie shadows across the vast castle grounds. The distant howls of beasts echoed from the dense forests beyond the walls, yet within the towering stronghold, all was silent—save for the quiet footsteps of a lone figure moving through the corridors with calculated precision.
Leonhardt Valerian Everhart had not yet retired for the night. The grand banquet had long since ended, and the nobles had retreated to their chambers or departed for their own lands. But while they indulged in comfort and slumber, he walked a different path. A path unseen, unknown, and unfathomable to those who believed he was merely an exceptional noble heir.
Tonight, like every other night, he would continue his secret training.
Reaching the secluded western wing of the castle, Leonhardt approached an ornate bookshelf, its polished mahogany surface reflecting the flickering candlelight. With a silent motion, he pressed his hand against the spine of an unassuming tome. The magic woven into the structure responded instantly.
A deep rumbling sound filled the corridor as the shelf slid aside, revealing a hidden passageway carved into the stone. Without hesitation, Leonhardt stepped inside, the wall sealing itself behind him. Darkness engulfed him, but he did not need light—his senses had long adapted to the abyss. His footsteps echoed softly as he descended the spiraling staircase leading into the underground chamber he had claimed as his own.
The chamber pulsed with an ancient energy, the very air tingling with power. Intricate runes glowed faintly across the stone walls, remnants of an era long past. In the center of the cavern stood an altar upon which lay an **ancient grimoire**, its pages inscribed with magic that had been lost to the world for centuries. Leonhardt's fingers grazed its cover, and at his touch, the inscriptions flared to life, bathing the chamber in a soft, ethereal glow.
This was where he belonged. Not in the grand halls of noble gatherings, not in the idle chatter of aristocrats, but **here**—in pursuit of power beyond mortal comprehension.
With a deep breath, he began his training.
---
### **The Training of a Reincarnated God**
Leonhardt extended his hand, channeling his magic. Unlike modern mages who relied on verbal incantations or wands to weave their spells, **his magic required neither.** It was a force far older, one that resonated with the very fabric of the world itself.
"**Ignis Inferna.**"
The runes beneath his feet flared, and in the next instant, the entire chamber was engulfed in a whirlwind of black fire. The flames coiled around him, obeying his command, yet holding a destructive force so immense that **any ordinary magician would have been reduced to ashes.** This was no ordinary fire—this was **Primordial Flame,** an element thought to have been lost to time, a magic that only gods had once wielded.
He moved swiftly, weaving intricate symbols in the air with his fingers. Each movement summoned more energy, more power, bending reality itself to his will. The walls of the chamber groaned under the sheer force of his training, cracks forming where the raw energy had begun to destabilize the surroundings.
"Not enough."
Leonhardt clenched his fists, dispersing the flames. **He had yet to reach the level he needed.** Strength alone would not be enough—he needed mastery. Control. A power so absolute that when the time came, nothing, not even fate itself, could stand in his way.
He turned his gaze toward the far end of the chamber, where **an enormous stone statue** loomed over the space. A relic of the past, enchanted to serve as an opponent for warriors seeking to test their limits. With a flick of his wrist, the statue came to life, its glowing eyes locking onto him with artificial intelligence.
The battle began.
The golem charged forward, its colossal stone fist crashing down toward Leonhardt. With inhuman reflexes, he sidestepped, his movements **flawless, precise, and deadly.** A surge of energy crackled around him as he summoned his sword—not an ordinary blade, but one forged with ancient magic, unseen by mortal eyes.
The weapon hummed with power as he struck, slicing through stone as if it were mere parchment. The golem retaliated, its massive limbs swinging with destructive force. Leonhardt did not retreat. **He met its attacks head-on.**
The clash of magic and steel echoed through the chamber. Dust and debris filled the air as the battle intensified. He moved like a shadow, swift and relentless, his every strike calculated. **He did not falter.** He could not afford to.
Minutes stretched into hours as the battle raged, his body pushed to its limits, yet he did not stop. Every wound, every strain, every exhaustion was irrelevant. He had endured far worse in his past life. This was nothing.
With one final, decisive blow, he **severed the golem's core,** reducing the towering beast to rubble.
Silence filled the chamber once more.
Breathing heavily, Leonhardt stood amidst the remnants of his opponent, his sword still crackling with latent energy. **And yet, he was unsatisfied.** It was still not enough.
Clenching his fists, he turned back toward the altar, his mind burning with a singular thought.
**Stronger. I must become stronger.**
---
### **Dawn and Deception**
By the time Leonhardt emerged from the hidden passageway, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon. The castle was stirring, servants bustling about in preparation for the day's duties. To them, he was merely returning from a night of quiet contemplation, perhaps from the library or a secluded balcony.
No one suspected a thing.
As he walked through the halls, he caught sight of his father standing in one of the training yards below. **Duke Damian Everhart, the strongest swordsman in the empire, was already honing his craft.** Even at this hour, the man never faltered in his pursuit of strength.
A flicker of acknowledgment passed between them as their gazes met. His father gave a small nod—a silent recognition of effort. But neither spoke. There was no need for words.
Reaching his chambers, Leonhardt washed away the sweat and dust from the night's training, dressing in his usual attire. By the time he stepped out, his mother was already waiting for him.
"Come, Leonhardt. It's time for your magic lessons."
He followed without hesitation, masking his exhaustion behind an impassive expression.
**No one knew. No one would ever know.**
To them, he was merely the genius heir of Everhart.
But in truth, he was much more.
**He was a god reborn.**
And **his true journey had only just begun.**