The Ascender's Legacy [A CHAOTIC STORM LITRPG]

While champions clashed in the skies above sector 5, and monster ravaged through the lands, a few cities were naturally left untouched. Unsurprisingly, most of these untouched cities were concentrated around the sector's center, far from Nematon, Norbuik, or Luthmaris, which were the most affected.

The reason for this was clear. The central cities were heavily protected, guarded by a larger number of elites, security officers, and private armies—thanks to the high concentration of noble families residing there. With such overwhelming defense, any rampaging creature was cut down before it could cause more than a second of trouble.

Within these secure cities, life carried on as if the kingdom hadn't just been invaded. People moved through the streets, conducting business without concern, their daily routines uninterrupted by the destruction unfolding beyond their borders. The closer one got to the heart of the sector, the more detached the cities seemed, until finally, in Aurannon—the capital—it became clear that war was nothing more than a distant rumor to them.

They had, of course, been notified the moment the aerial shields were breached, but since the breach hadn't happened directly above them, the people of Aurannon were certain they had nothing to worry about, and indeed they didn't. Hedged by the beautiful forest of Nilhal, the nexus of sunsets itself, and surrounded by the guards of the Solaris estate, the people were certain of their safety.

However, there was one person whose mind refused to rest, and that was Cyrus Valerion himself. It wasn't because he was worried or concerned for the safety of the people, but because Sunstone's retaliation couldn't have come at a wronger time.

He sat within his cultivation chamber, feeling so close to an inspiration yet too distracted to actually grasp it. The fact that they could be attacked at any time made it all but impossible for him to focus, even though he knew no harm would come to him, whatever the case may be. He was, after all, the first and only legitimate son of his father. He was the heir and the genius. The Solarian name couldn't continue without him.

With a sigh of frustration, Cyrus forced himself to concentrate, letting the dense amounts of spatial essence in the chamber undulate around him in waves. The sensation comforted him greatly, but by the time Cyrus felt calm enough to grasp the inspiration that had teased his mind earlier, it was gone.

Pushing down his frustrations, Cyrus took in a deep breath and began taming his willpower. It was all he had been doing for the past two weeks—all he'd been able to do—and although the process had enlarged his willpower pool significantly, it still wasn't enough to compare or compete against the willpower of an Inheritor.

It was truly unfair that he should lag behind a commoner despite all his hard work and dedication simply because he wasn't an inheritor.

Cyrus felt his frustrations rise again, tearing through the feeble layer of calm he had erected in his mind. Annoyance bubbled, and in a fit, he unleashed a wave of spatial blades at the opposite wall. The attack struck without any fanfare, not even a slight flare of runes, and Cyrus gritted his teeth as annoyance turned into a rage.

Rising to his feet, he attacked the wall again, pouring a ton of willpower into the skill until the runes reacted, flaring brightly to absorb the force of his attack and tear them apart. For a moment, his anger was replaced by satisfaction, until he realized just how much willpower he had wasted just to make a small-already-repaired dent on the wall. He had made an impact, but at what cost?

He had been gathering that willpower for weeks, hoping to utilize it during the tower challenge when the academy resumed, but now he had wasted it. Fuck!

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Cyrus forcefully pushed his anger and frustration aside and took in a deep breath, struggling to keep himself under control. With Kellan back at his family estate, there was no one to help him manage his emotions any longer, leaving the tedious job to him as if he didn't have too much on his plate already.

Battling his emotions cost him nearly an hour—precious time that could have been spent doing something productive like trying for another seal or trying to regain his lost inspiration. It was torture, this constant mediation, but if there was one thing Cyrus had learned during the second half of the term, it was that he was becoming weak, or more appropriately, that the other first-year students were gaining strength at a much faster rate than he was.

Aodhán had surpassed him already, and at this rate, it was probably a matter of time before Daruk and Cameron did the same thing, pushing him out of the top three altogether.

The thought caused him to shudder, and Cyrus hastily doubled his efforts. He couldn't let that happen. He was the genius, the monster of spatial cultivation that had wowed even Artemis's instructors. He had to find a way to repair his reputation and place himself back at the helm.

His thoughts and emotions, however, made his task impossible, and after another hour of futilely bashing his head against the wall without result, Cyrus eventually gave up. He couldn't wait to return to the academy, where he would have Kellan's help in managing his emotions. Perhaps he would get more done that way.

Still, he didn't get up to leave. Even if he couldn't meditate, he could do other things. He began by creating willpower weaves, his proficiency vastly surpassing that of any first-year student by far. His control was astounding; even Master Lamarr had said so. Why then was the commoner stronger than him?

Cyrus groaned, cursing his mind for redirecting his thoughts back to Aodhán Brystion. Clasping his head in his hands, he gritted out. "Get out of my head, you fucking peasant!"

Saying the words out loud seemed to work, chasing the frustrating thoughts away, and once again, Cyrus tried to dedicate his mind to something else. Wanting to occupy his mind fully and keep it from wandering, Cyrus decided to do something a little more mentally challenging than creating willpower weaves. Perhaps with a lot of dedication and hard work, he could create a class-scaling skill without having to rely on the system.

The task was challenging enough that his mind managed not to stray too much, and by the time he eventually opened his eyes five hours later, he was satisfied with progress. Pulling up his status screen, he began reviewing it to understand and appreciate the progress he had made so far.

Halfway through the screen, though, a small knock sounded on the door, and a voice came through. "Master Cyrus, her ladyship has instructed me to inform you of dinner."

"I'm kind of busy right now, Cassius, but—

"I'm sorry, young lord, but she has requested that you must be present. You have five minutes."

Closing his eyes to ward against the fresh wave of anger that erupted within him, Cyrus sighed. "Thank you, Cassius. I'll come down immediately."

The footman hesitated for a moment before leaving, after which Cyrus pushed himself to his feet and took in several deep breaths to keep his emotions under control.

His father might be one of the worst fathers in the world, but his mother—the duchess, was certainly the worst mother. Oh, she loved him dearly and actually called him by his name rather than a number, but that was where the good things ended. His mother was brutal, a torturer and a murderer, but who could blame her, his father had made her that way because of his unceasing promiscuity.

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Steeling himself against what was sure to be another miserable dinner, Cyrus teleported out of his cultivation chamber and into his room, changing into more suitable attire before teleporting out once more.

He reappeared at the entrance of the dining room and walked in to find his father and mother already seated at different ends of the 10-meter-long dining table, which was probably for the best lest they lunged at each other with barely concealed hatred. His younger sister, and father's only other legitimate child, occupied the middle chair on the left, and when he walked in, she smiled and gestured to the opposite chair.

For some reason, his younger sister wasn't quite as traumatized and mentally scarred as he was by his parents. Perhaps it was because she was still young—only six—and shielded from their extremities, but Cyrus would kill to keep her that way. Beautiful and innocent. Untainted by his parents.

Before even greeting his parents, he smiled at his sister and asked. "How are you, Elise?"

She giggled and dipped into her food without responding, but that was fine by Cyrus. She was okay and uninjured. That was fine by him. It was after that he turned his attention to his parents and greeted them. "Evening, father; evening, mother."

They both ignored him, each one focused on whatever matter they were dealing with mentally. Despite the dour atmosphere, Cyrus sighed in relief. It was better to be ignored by his parents than addressed more than half the time."

Still, he should have known that no good thing lasted for long. The moment he dug into his food, his mother snapped back to reality and smiled. "Good, you are here. You haven't joined us for dinner in nearly a week."

Cyrus hesitated, weighing his response before uttering them. "My apologies, mother. I was training."

"And how did that go? Any new seals or skills to show off?"

His father looked up at that, and Cyrus nearly choked. "No, not yet. I've significantly improved my willpower, though, and I almost gained an inspiration."

"Oh." The disappointment on his mother's face hurt, but it was nothing compared to the resignation on his father's face as if failure was exactly what he expected from him.

It cut Cyrus deeply, but it was nothing new, so he simply brushed his pain aside and changed the subject. "So, any news concerning the war?"

"You won't have to protect the estate if that's what you're scared of." His father replied and looked up. "Is that what you're scared of?"

Cyrus tamped down on his anger. "I'm not scared to fight, but I'm glad I don't have to. If push comes down to shove, though, I would gladly protect the estate with my life."

"Of course you will, Cyrus." His mother replied dryly. "It's your inheritance after all. You wouldn't want to be like that fallen noble champion who calls himself Zero."

There was a beat of awkward silence before she continued. "I myself wouldn't mind protecting the estate either as long as I get to choose which part to protect and which part to destroy myself. Some things in this estate need to be eradicated."

"What?" his father asked with a scowl. "The joy, whatever piece of that is left."

"And passion too." His mother nodded, ignoring the glare his father sent her way. "Some maids have been scurrying in and out of places they shouldn't be. It's unfortunate that I had to find that out myself when I have a son who could have just told me."

Cyrus froze, his blood cooling as his mother's gaze settled upon him. He was aware of his father's affairs with the maids, but was it so wrong that he didn't want to get on his father's bad side any more than he already was?

His father looked away, not concerned that those poor maids would most definitely not see the next day. This was the way it usually was in this house, and had Cyrus not been unwilling to let go of his inheritance, he would have left by now, taking the exit like all his half siblings had done.

A terse silence descended after that, and Cyrus slowly picked apart his dinner, not daring to eat too quickly lest he court his mother's ire. The torturous silence lasted for a total of fifty-two minutes and twenty-seven seconds before help finally came in the form of their butler, who poked his head into the room and announced. "My lord, we've received a report concerning the current status of the war."

His father looked up from the document he was reading, but it was his mother who responded. "Come in, Virgil, and read it to us."

Virgil stepped in and asked. "Should I begin with the bad or the good, your ladyship?"

"Don't be a fool, Virgil. Begin anywhere."

"Of course, your ladyship." Virgil nodded and began reading. "It has been eight hours since Sunstone's retaliation began, and we can finally say it has come to an end. Their armies have been defeated, their champions either killed or chased back, and approximately 95% of the rampaging monsters have been dealt with. This victory is, however, a bitter one judging by the scale of destruction and havoc wreaked in each of the attacked sectors."

"On the scale of destruction, sector 4 seems to have been the most affected, losing thousands of people in the chaos, along with one of the most recent additions to the champion circle, Champion Cyridian Lightweaver, who gave her life to protect the people of Citadelia from an attack that could have wiped the entire city off the map entirely."

"How dreadful." His mother interjected, dabbing at her lips with a handkerchief as if Virgil had simply announced bad weather.

"I'll have to send Lightweaver a condolence note soon." His father murmured with a bit more concern. "Perhaps, I'll get Malik to write it."

"That would be prudent, my lord." Virgil responded and continued. "Now to much better news. In Sector 6, Champion Ryntharion managed to hold off the invasion until help arrived, and although she is injured and currently undergoing treatment, she is alive and able to move on her own. The 10th sector is also safe, having been protected by Ali Hassani and Uduak Goradon. However, the same cannot be said for Sector 5, my lord. Apparently, we have lost a significant number of elites and citizens, especially those near the port city of Nematon, Luthmaris, and Norbuik."

"Any detailed accounts?" His father interjected; his expression creased in concern.

"Not yet, Milord. I'm sure they are still compiling it."

"Proceed."

Virgil did, his tone sober as he explained the situation of the invading champions and how they had been dealt with. The account lacked any great details, but it gave a good overview of what was going on within the kingdom. Sunstone had also taken several hits from this attempt, losing not one but two champions in one fell swoop—Vectoris and a faith champion nicknamed the Valkyrie.

Virgil continued reading, detailing the scale of destruction and the number of safety houses that had been destroyed during the attack. Not interested in all of that, Cyrus's mind drifted to Artemis's battle against Warp, wishing there was a clip for him to study or, even better, a memory impartation. It wasn't until his father spoke again that Cyrus was dragged out of his thoughts.

"That's a lot of devastation for a single retaliatory attempt. I doubt Supreme Daystar will like that at all. What about the battle at sector 9? Any reports?"

"Yes, Milord. Good news, in fact. The battle at the Rocky Shores was a success, thanks to the honorary members who left their various academies to help out. However, it seems the battle at the Steppin' Plains was an even greater victory."

"The Sigma 15-25 battle zone?" Duke Solaris asked in surprise, and Cyrus frowned in confusion. In all his life, he had never heard of a great victory, not to mention that it had been achieved by green and inexperienced soldiers.

"Precisely, Milord." Virgil responded; his expression tinged with excitement. "It says here that in a drastic turn of events, our soldiers defeated the Sunstonian army so thoroughly that by the end of the battle, only a few dozen of them remained."

"What?" His father blurted out, echoing the thoughts in Cyrus's mind. "How is that possible?"

"Apparently, it's all thanks to the young lord's classmate, Aodhán Brystion. How he did it wasn't stated, but the victory is apparently as a result of his actions."

Cyrus twitched, and then twitched again, fighting against the urge to snap his own neck in fury. Of course, Aodhán was involved. While he had been slaving away in his cultivation chamber, taming willpower and trying to create new skills, the commoner had been making himself a hero of the kingdom.

Anger surged within him like water from a broken dam, and the emotion only got worse when his father suddenly smiled and said. "Finally, some good news. Impressive. Very impressive."

"It is, Milord. I daresay, he has earned the title of a champion candidate in the eyes of many."

"Certainly." His father laughed. "If he was at the right tier, he would have been made a champion instantly."

"I'm more concerned with how he did it." His mother interjected, injecting a healthy dose of bitterness into the atmosphere. Cyrus was grateful.

"A class-scaling skill most likely." His father responded with a grin, and then turned his gaze to Cyrus. "Don't you think so?"

Cyrus took a second, having a much harder time pushing down his anger before speaking. "I wouldn't know, Father. We are not exactly friends."

His father's grin collapsed, and he sighed. "Of course you aren't. You're not in the same…league after all."

"The boy is an inheritor." His mother scoffed, not in his defense, but not against him either. "Surely we can cut my son some slack. After all, he has far more potential than that bastard of a champion you bore."

"Has or had?" His father replied, and Cyrus contemplated taking a knife and stabbing his heart right there and then. Without care, his father continued. "The boy is also a commoner with little to no resources to aid his cultivation. I doubt Nine can say the same."

"I have a name." Cyrus shouted out, his entire body shuddering from barely restrained anger. "And no, I can't say the same, but I bet you can't either."