Birth of the Demonic Sword Chapter 3 - 03. Power

In his previous life, Noah rejected the notion of souls, since existence hinged on evidence and facts, with no space for faith or mysticism. However, post-rebirth, he began entertaining the possibility that realities beyond sight or technology's grasp truly existed.

His mind plunged into disarray as he gazed upon the elderly figure poised gracefully at the balcony's brink, having seemingly materialized from nothingness.

'A dragon chased a sheep earlier. Dragons exist here. The wall then glowed and wounded it, right? Enraged, the dragon aimed to incinerate us all, but this old man—my grandfather—halted it single-handedly in mid-air and glared until it fled.'

After mentally recapping the chaos, just one idea gripped him.

'What insane world is this?! This man flies, battles dragons, and they expect me to shield them? Are they deranged? Hold on—if they think I can protect them, surely I can master some skills too.'

Thomas's arrival on the balcony, approaching them steadily, shattered his train of thought.

"Yes, Lord Patriarch. This is Noah, son of Rhys and my own son."

With a lowered head, Lily presented Noah tenderly to Thomas for a closer inspection. Perhaps she hoped to spark affection in the patriarch for her child, ensuring future safeguards, or terror at his presence simply made her hands shake as she offered her baby.

Meanwhile, Noah fixed intense eyes on the elder.

He remained oblivious to the eagerness and intrigue shining through his gaze.

'Folks here soar and clash with damn dragons! Old timer, see how adorable I am! Show me flight!'

Only babbling noises escaped his lips, mimicking speech yet meaningless. Thus, Noah extended his tiny arms toward Thomas to tug at his heartstrings, beaming joyfully as the patriarch drew near.

'You battle dragons, but family still matters, yeah?'

The dragon episode had etched itself indelibly in his psyche. Legends in his old world portrayed dragons as invincible titans, their power boundless in tales. Here, though, they could be confronted—and defeated.

"Oh."

Seeing the infant reach out gleefully, Thomas's stern features softened with a hint of warmth. He lifted Noah by the armpits and regarded him with a faint grin.

"Ooh, he shows real interest in me. There's definite cleverness in those eyes. He might truly grow into a fine family advisor. I'll watch over him occasionally."

Lily beamed with joy at those words, rushing to voice her deepest gratitude.

"Many thanks, Lord Patriarch. Your mere glance guarantees his lifelong safety."

She bowed deeply, hands clasped in prayer.

"No one wields such power. Here, take Rhys's son back to his room. Today's spectacles aren't for such a young child."

Thomas returned Noah to Lily and vanished from the balcony. Overcome with thrill once alone, she showered her baby with cheers.

"Did you catch that? He'll watch over you! The Balvan family Patriarch protecting my son. Hahaha, incredible! And he sees counselor potential in you—perfect! Not just safeguarded by a powerful cultivator, but spared from battlefields forever."

As mother to a bastard child, Lily recognized Noah's dimmer prospects against main family heirs, so the patriarch's assurance washed relief over her.

Heading to their quarters on the first floor's heart, she overlooked the quiet infant in her hold, whose gaze hardened with resolve.

'Counselor? Bullshit! Why advise when raw power solves everything—like that old man's fiery lance? Such might truly exists! I need it. Risks ahead: Balvan blood purity obsession means talent might draw jealous eyes from main branch kin. Still, intel's essential to grasp this realm.'

From devoured books, he foresaw succession wars or envy from superiors spilling blood.

'Died once by mishap. No repeats in schemes where I'm helpless.'

A fierce resolve surged through his infant frame as Lily readied his cradle.

'Power earned inwardly, unbound by society—personal might alone. Lily named him a "cultivator." Must uncover it. Hurry to walk, read; gain autonomy, flash literary gifts early. That path leads to cultivator tomes and initiation secrets.'

From then, he devoured more food to bulk up, shedding his frail birth form. He pushed walking—cradle first, then floors—alarming maids and mother with tumbles, yet pain meant little.

'Bullet wounds sting worse.'

Thus, at merely eight months post-birth, Noah stood firm and took initial strides.

'Pathetically sluggish. Train harder. Jog occasionally for vitality, body mastery.'

Though irked by slow growth, Lily and maids gaped in awe.

"He's strived to stand three months straight, and now succeeds. Bravest part: falls without tears, just retries. Without our interventions, serious harm loomed."

Lily dismissed their chatter, pride swelling as her eight-month-old tottered forth.

"Patriarch's blessing for sure. Knew fortune followed that encounter."

Fortune or curse, Noah's feat got credited to the enigmatic Thomas Balvan.

Guest building's first floor held more shocks in store.

Balance secured, Noah inched deliberately toward his mother. Steady, aided by the wall, he reached her radiant smile.

"Come to Mummy, little one—you shone today. Mum's overjoyed!"

She dropped to half-kneel, arms wide for his approach.

Noah grinned back, toddled arms-open, and cried just before plunging in:

"Mommy!"

He tumbled into her hug amid stunned stares from Lily and maids.

'This ought to snag early schooling.'