The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

Chapter 120 The Youngest Swordmaster (3)

As Klaus stood amid the grandeur of the ballroom, he couldn't ignore the scrutiny of those around him. Whispers traveled like currents, subtle yet ever-present. Though he was clad in the imposing aura of a Swordmaster, his age—barely entering his teenage years—was a curious anomaly. The silver-haired, blue-eyed youth seemed as though he belonged among men of power twice his years, but his youthful face betrayed the truth.

Nobles approached, introducing themselves with varying degrees of sincerity. Most sought to align themselves with his rising star, while others carried veiled motives. Some foreign dignitaries, dressed in attire that spoke of lands far from the Lionhart domain, came forward, offering compliments that bordered on flattery.

"My lord Klaus," one began, a broad-shouldered man from the eastern kingdoms with intricate braiding in his beard. His daughter, a poised young girl with fiery red hair, curtsied beside him. "It is an honor to witness such prodigious talent. I have heard tales of your skill, even beyond these borders."

Klaus nodded politely, though his heart wasn't in the conversation. The girl stared at him, her wide green eyes filled with something between awe and curiosity.

"Thank you," he replied, his voice carrying the same practiced courtesy that had been drilled into him since childhood and his past life.

Another noble, a woman from the southern regions with skin as golden as the sands she hailed from, stepped forward with her two daughters. They were slightly older than Klaus, their gazes lingering just a little too long.

"Young Master Klaus," the mother said warmly, "your name has become a beacon of inspiration to many. My daughters insisted on meeting the Lionhart prodigy."

Klaus forced a small smile, nodding again. He could feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken comparisons being made to his grandfather, Roman.

It wasn't unusual for the young scions of noble families to become topics of interest at such gatherings, but Klaus's unique position magnified the effect tenfold. He was not just a rising figure within the Lionhart family; he was an enigma, a prodigy with the achievements of a man twice his age.

Amid the mingling, Klaus caught snippets of conversation drifting his way.

"... barely thirteen, they say. Impossible..."

"... carries himself like Roman... uncanny resemblance..."

"... imagine what he'll become by the time he's grown..."

The attention, though inevitable, left him uneasy. He had never sought the limelight, nor did he relish it now. Yet, his reputation had outpaced his years, forcing him into a role he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to play.

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The ballroom's gilded splendor seemed to dim momentarily when the herald announced the next arrival. "Lord Caldris Veylen of the Shadowlands."

The name froze Klaus in place, his mind reeling. Memories surged unbidden from a life that no longer belonged to him—a life as Klaus Zagerfield, the mage.

In that past existence, the Shadowlands had been synonymous with peril, a dark and enigmatic region where laws meant little and power ruled absolutely. Lord Caldris had not merely been a man of influence there; he had been its shadowed overlord. Known for his cunning and cruelty, Caldris commanded fear and respect in equal measure. Klaus recalled a mission that had brought him face-to-face with the man—a harrowing encounter in which he had almost lost his life.

Caldris had been a force of nature, his skill in both politics and combat unmatched. As Klaus Zagerfield, he had barely survived that mission, retreating battered and scarred, knowing he had only delayed an inevitable reckoning. Now, standing in the body of Klaus Lionhart, the sight of the man—unchanged, with his dark hair streaked with silver and piercing eyes that seemed to see into one's soul—sent a chill through him.

The noble made his way into the hall with measured grace, dressed in somber, elegant attire that reflected his origins in the Shadowlands. Unlike the vibrant finery of others, his garments carried an austere sophistication, a quiet declaration of authority.

As Caldris approached Klaus, the surrounding nobles seemed to step aside instinctively, creating a small, reverent circle around the man. When their eyes met, Klaus felt the weight of Caldris's gaze. Did he recognize him? Was there some spark of familiarity buried in those cold, calculating eyes?

"Young Lord Klaus," Caldris said, his voice smooth and deep, like velvet wrapped around steel. He offered a polite bow, but the movement held no warmth. "A pleasure to finally meet the prodigy of the Lionhart family. Your reputation precedes you."

Klaus managed a polite smile, though his heart thundered in his chest. "Lord Veylen, the pleasure is mine. I trust your journey from the Shadowlands was uneventful?"

"Uneventful, yes," Caldris replied with a faint smile, though his eyes seemed to scrutinize Klaus with an intensity that made him feel exposed. "Though the Shadowlands are rarely without their intrigues. I find it fascinating how this continent seems to produce such talent and ambition, even in ones so young."

The comment could have been taken as flattery, but Klaus knew better. Caldris rarely spoke without purpose, his words often layered with veiled meaning.

Before Klaus could respond, a young woman stepped forward from Caldris's side. She was striking, with raven-black hair and pale skin that contrasted sharply with the darker tones of her father. Her eyes, however, were unmistakably her own—sharp and calculating, yet laced with a curiosity that felt almost disarming.

"This is my daughter, Lady Serina Veylen," Caldris introduced, his tone carrying a faint note of pride. "She has been eager to meet the youngest Swordmaster in the continent."

Lady Serina dipped into a graceful curtsey, her gaze never leaving Klaus's. "Lord Klaus," she said, her voice soft yet commanding. "Your achievements are nothing short of inspiring. My father has spoken highly of the Lionhart family, though I must admit, seeing you in person surpasses any tale."

Klaus inclined his head. "You honor me, Lady Serina. I trust you find the Lionhart estate to your liking?"

"It is breathtaking," she replied, her lips curving into a small smile. "Though I suspect it is the company that will leave the greater impression tonight."

The conversation continued, but Klaus remained acutely aware of Caldris's lingering presence. The man said little, allowing his daughter to engage Klaus, but his silence was far from idle. Klaus could feel the weight of Caldris's scrutiny, as if the noble was cataloging every word, every gesture.

As Lady Serina spoke of her fascination with swordsmanship and her desire to learn more about the Lionhart legacy, Klaus maintained his composure, but his mind raced. What was Caldris doing here? Why now? The Shadowlands rarely mingled with the greater nobility unless there was something to gain.

When the conversation drew to a close, Caldris inclined his head again. "We shall not monopolize your time further, Lord Klaus. But I look forward to seeing how you shape the future of this continent. Greatness often emerges from the unexpected."

With that, the Shadowlands lord and his daughter moved on, leaving Klaus with a gnawing unease.

Who else could say the same? Caldris had recognized something in him. Not his past as Klaus Zagerfield, perhaps, but the echoes of it, lingering just beneath the surface.

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"Congratulations, Klaus."

The familiar voice pulled Klaus's attention. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Lady Elara Lionhart, a noblewoman from the Lionhart collateral family. Her deep blue gown shimmered like starlight, and her golden hair was swept into an intricate braid. She exuded an air of quiet confidence, her piercing green eyes sharp and calculating.

"Lady Elara," Klaus greeted, inclining his head respectfully.

Elara smiled, though there was a hint of amusement in her expression. "Mother of Myre Lionhart," she added, as if sensing that Klaus might prefer clarity.

Klaus's expression remained impassive, though the mention of Myre brought a flicker of acknowledgment. Myre, along with his cousins Keeryl and Ken, had become his followers within the Lionhart Youth Training Grounds—not by loyalty, but by fear. Klaus had established his dominance early with an overwhelming show of force. A single, decisive confrontation had left no doubt in their minds: defiance was not an option.

"I've heard much about you from Myre," Elara continued, her tone casual but probing. "He speaks with... let's call it reverence."

Klaus's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "I hope he has learned to respect his training."

"Oh, he has," Elara said, her voice laced with a subtle undertone. "Though I must admit, I never expected someone from the collateral line to make such waves. You've certainly redefined expectations for our family."

Klaus tilted his head slightly, catching the edge in her words. While he, too, was considered part of the collateral line due to his father Ludovic's fall from grace, Elara's phrasing carried the faintest hint of condescension.

"You flatter me, Lady Elara," Klaus replied smoothly, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp. "Perhaps Myre and his cousins can aspire to similar discipline."

Elara's laugh was soft but genuine, and her gaze lingered on Klaus. "You're an interesting one, Klaus Lionhart. I wonder… does the partriach see you as a weapon, or as something more? Perhaps even his successor?"

The question struck a chord, but Klaus masked his reaction with an impassive expression. Elara's words lingered, though—especially the implication that Roman, the patriarch, might view him as more than just a tool.

Before Klaus could respond, a steward approached, bowing low. "Master Klaus, the patriarch requests your presence on the dais."

Klaus nodded and turned back to Elara, offering a polite smile. "If you'll excuse me."

"Of course," Elara said, her smile enigmatic. "I'll be watching closely, as will everyone else."

Her words followed him as he moved through the crowd. The steward led him to the dais, where Roman awaited, flanked by prominent members of the Lionhart family. The murmurs of the assembled nobles grew louder as Klaus ascended the steps.

Roman raised a hand, and the room fell silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Roman began, his voice resonating with authority, "tonight we gather not just to celebrate the legacy of the Lionhart family but to honor a young man whose achievements have brought us great pride. Klaus Lionhart, the youngest Swordmaster in the history of our house, stands here as a testament to our family's strength and potential."

Applause erupted, but Klaus barely registered it. His focus was on Roman, who stood as imposing as ever. Despite the celebratory tone, there was an inscrutable edge to the patriarch's expression, one that made Klaus feel both acknowledged and judged.

"The path of a Swordmaster is one of discipline, sacrifice, and unparalleled skill," Roman continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "Klaus has proven himself worthy of the Lionhart name, and I have no doubt that he will continue to bring honor and glory to this family."

The crowd roared in approval, their claps and cheers filling the hall, but Klaus's attention remained fixed on Roman. The patriarch stepped closer, his voice dropping to a tone only Klaus could hear.

"The world is watching you now, boy," Roman said, his eyes locking onto Klaus's with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him. "Don't falter." Stay connected via empire

Klaus inclined his head, masking the storm of emotions Roman's words stirred within him. They were both a challenge and a warning, a reminder that expectations for him were as high as the stakes.

As Klaus descended the dais, the weight of countless eyes upon him, one thought lingered in his mind: How much of this recognition is earned, and how much is just another trial in their endless games?