Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 19: The Festival Begins (1)

'I am so, so fucked!'

Zain stood outside the infirmary, where Renard was being treated, his mind racing through all the creative ways he might die.

Drawing noble blood in a duel? Bad.

Injuring a kid whom he was supposed to guard? Worse.

Managing to do both at once? That had to be some kind of record.

'Will I be hung or will they just cut my head off? Maybe they'll get fancy and throw me to monsters...'

"You are so done for..."

The senior Blood Hound beside him wasn't helping. Sara had arrived with Aria the moment news of Renard's injury spread—probably just to watch his execution in person.

He wanted to say that it was an accident and that it was Renard himself, who had started all this. But who would believe him? He would be lucky if they didn't skin him alive.

Zain wanted to cry.

Two knights from Draemir flanked him. His sword was already taken and both his hands were bound.

He felt like a pig waiting to be slaughtered.

Then came the footsteps.

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Zain turned—and his soul tried to leave his body.

Lord Augustus was approaching, his eyes blazing red like some demon from an old tale.

Before Zain could even think about writing a mental will, Augustus was in his face.

"You dare!" The lord's hand clamped around Zain's throat, lifting him like he weighed nothing.

"You dare hurt my grandson!"

'This is it,' Zain thought as he dangled in the air, his legs kicking uselessly.

'I'm going to die because I got beaten up by a kid with a sword too big for him. What a stupid way to go.'

"Leave him, Grandfather."

The voice cut through the chaos like a sword through cloth.

Renard stood in the doorway, his shoulder bandaged, but his stance steady.

"It was I who asked for the duel," Renard continued, calm as ever. "Accidents happen in duels."

Augustus's grip didn't loosen. If anything, his scowl deepened as he looked at his grandson who now had a bandage around his shoulder.

"Accidents? He ran you through with a sword!"

"Actually, it was more of a pierce than a run-through," Renard corrected, sounding for all the world like he was discussing the weather.

"Very precise. Clean entry and quiet exit. Quite professional, really."

Zain, still dangling and starting to see spots, wasn't sure whether to be flattered or terrified by the compliment.

"That's... not... helping..." he managed to wheeze out.

Augustus's eye twitched.

"You find this amusing, grandson?"

"Not really. Though I do find it touching that my grandfather cares so much for me" Renard replied.

"Hmph!"

Lord Agusthus scoffed, finally loosening his grip.

"And if you kill my new instructor, who will teach me proper sword work?"

"Instructor?" Augustus and Zain choked out the word simultaneously, though Zain's version was considerably more strained due to the whole being strangled thing.

"Yes." Renard smiled that unnervingly calm smile of his.

"I have decided to learn swordplay from him."

He pointed at Zain.

Both Zain and Lord Augustus looked at each other.

Lord Augustus's gaze seemed to be asking. 'What have you done to my grandson?' while Zain's seemed to scream - 'I am innocent'

Finally, Lord Augustus released his grip and Zain flopped to the ground.

'I'm saved!' he thought joyfully - but before he could digest those words. Renard spoke again.

"Oh, and Grandfather—can you allow him to participate in the Festival of Warriors?"

"Huh?"

Once again both Lord Augustus and Zain exclaimed in unison.

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What makes a true warrior?

Skills? No. Skills can be learned through practice and determination.

Crest abilities? While powerful, they're merely tools, not the measure of a warrior's worth.

The true essence of a warrior lies in something far more precious: Experience.

This truth resonated clearly in Renard's mind as he reflected on his duel with Zain. The young Blood Hound's sword sang with potential, but it lacked the tempering of real battle. His Blood Crest lay dormant, yes, but that wasn't what held him back.

After all, the legendary Sword of Honor hadn't risen to supremacy through his crest alone—it was his unyielding blade, tempered against countless challenges, that had forged his legend.

Renard saw the irony in their match. Zain possessed raw talent but needed experience, while Renard's mind brimmed with battle wisdom which his young body struggled to wield. Yet fate had provided an answer: The Festival of Warriors.

Though the mightiest of the Grims wouldn't participate - they were Tamers, after all, not mere Warriors - the festival would draw remarkable fighters from across the land. The Wandering Warrior Jin, Lord Augustus's Shadow Kasim... Such legends would gather, each bringing their own style, their own story written in steel.

It was perfect. Renard didn't need Zain to win; he needed him to learn, to grow by facing warriors who could teach him lessons no training yard ever could. Even Lord Augustus had agreed, though he'd muttered something about his grandson losing his mind.

As night settled over the castle, Renard's thoughts drifted toward the coming months. The 396th year of Chronos was drawing to a close, bringing with it the Awakening Ceremony.

In just two months, he would face an interesting challenge - consuming the Essence of Providence despite having already awakened. Common wisdom said it would have no effect, but Renard had learned not to put one's complete trust in common wisdom.

Beyond that lay Tiara's Castle... and his mother.

His heart ached at the thought of her. How long had it been? He yearned to hold her, to share all the words he'd kept locked away. But first, he needed to cure her illness.

The cure itself wasn't the mystery—he knew exactly what was needed. The challenge lay in reaching it. He needed allies. Not promising talents who might grow strong someday, but warriors who were ready to face the monsters that guarded his mother's salvation. He had someone in mind, though convincing them might prove to be... interesting.

There was always the backup plan of asking Lord Augustus for help, but that would lead to uncomfortable questions.

Questions about how he knew of the cure.

Questions he wasn't ready to answer.

'It will work out somehow,' Renard thought, a small chuckle escaping his lips as sleep began to claim him. His last waking thought was of Zain's tear-streaked face as he'd run off, wailing about needing to see his sister "before I end up dead one of these days!"

The future was filled with uncertainty, yes. But it held hope, too. And sometimes, that was enough.

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