Chapter 526: Meeting with Lord Harthorne

Max’s gaze lingered on the small Chaos Tree pulsing quietly in his inner world, its four glowing leaves resting gently at the end of the four branches that had sprouted from the embryonic seed. Each leaf shimmered with the essence of a concept—Sword, Space, Flame, and Lightning—each one distinct, vibrant, and ancient.

His expression was thoughtful, reflective, as he observed the gentle stillness that had settled over the tree. ‘It seems the growth has stopped,’ he mused inwardly, recognizing the subtle stillness within the energy flow.

The expansion, the transformation—it had all come to a temporary halt. The Chaos Plant, or Chaos Tree, had reached its first phase of growth. But it left him with questions.

Was this temporary? Would it grow again? And more importantly, would it always require chaos energy to evolve? Or had it only drawn from the primal energy of the totem stone because this was its first awakening?

Max exhaled slowly, smiling faintly as he dismissed the thought. ‘I guess I’ll find out eventually.’

Some truths, he knew, could not be forced—they would unfold with time and experience. He gave one last inward glance to the now-settled tree before returning his awareness to the world around him and rising to his feet.

His allotted two hours were nearly over, and it was time to finalize his choice.

Turning, he exited the quiet, mist-veiled Primal Hall and walked with steady steps back into the main corridor. The atmosphere shifted instantly—where the Primal Hall had been timeless and silent, the outer hall buzzed with the anticipation and conversation of other geniuses who had already made their choices.

As Max emerged, the eyes of several others turned toward him, curious, cautious, and intrigued, but none dared speak.

The red-robed old man standing near the entrance caught sight of Max and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Don’t tell me what you’ve chosen,” he said simply, his voice filled with quiet approval. “Let me take you to Lord Harthorne. He will take care of you.”

His gaze flicked toward the path ahead, then back at Max, and for a moment there was a hint of satisfaction in his tone—he thought Max had shown great wisdom in using his full time, not rushing through the totems like so many others did.

Whether he had chosen from the Novice Hall or the Primal Hall didn’t matter. What mattered was intent, and Max had walked out at the very last minute—a sign of someone who thought carefully and chose deliberately.

“I understand,” Max replied calmly, nodding once. Deep down, he too was eager to meet Lord Harthorne again. He wanted to learn—not from books or relics, but under the guidance of true power, of figures from the Divine Realm.

“Come. Follow me,” the old man said, his robes trailing behind him as he turned and began walking.

Without hesitation, Max followed him, leaving behind the Hall of Trials.

***

Max came to a stop before a tall, black wooden door—ornately carved with dragon motifs coiling around the frame like living symbols of ancient authority.

They were standing in hallway right now and beside him was a window showcasing the entire Obsidian Dragon City.

From this height, Max could see the towering pagodas interwoven with gleaming spires, the blend of ancient architecture and subtle modernity, the veins of lava-like fire essence pulsing beneath the stone roads, and the hazy aura of law energy draping the city in an almost sacred light.

‘What a view,’ Max thought, a flicker of genuine admiration passing through his eyes.

Beside him, the red-robed old man gave a respectful nod. “Lord Harthorne is inside and waiting for you,” he said with a touch of formality that hadn’t been present earlier. Even his posture was straighter now, as though the very presence behind the door demanded reverence.

Max nodded in return and stepped forward, knocking gently.

“Come inside,” came a voice from within—low, deep, and carrying the weight of power.

Without hesitation, Max opened the door and stepped into the room. The moment he crossed the threshold, the door shut itself with a muted thud.

Inside, the space was simple but refined. It was no grand chamber or throne room, but a personal office—modest in size but heavy in atmosphere.

A low-burning brazier stood in the corner, casting a subtle warmth into the air and sending a curling trail of crimson smoke into the air that smelled faintly of incense and molten stone.

The furniture was minimal—just a long obsidian desk carved from a single slab of volcanic rock, some bookshelves filled with jade scrolls, and a rack on the far wall holding several strange weapons and sealed artifacts radiating quiet pressure.

Seated comfortably behind the desk was Lord Harthorne, his robe now draped loosely around him, exposing a fitted inner tunic woven with patterns of golden flame dragons. He radiated effortless power, a man whose presence alone could shake nations.

His eyes lifted to meet Max’s with quiet interest.

Standing to the side, leaning casually against the far wall, was Lady Virelia, her crimson hair glowing faintly in the brazier’s light, her arms crossed and her gaze sharp yet unreadable.

As Max stepped inside, both figures watched him—evaluating, calculating—but not with condescension. There was curiosity in their eyes.

“You must be Max Morgan,” Lord Harthorne said with a calm, composed smile, his deep voice echoing faintly in the small yet profound room.

He leaned slightly forward in his obsidian chair, his presence neither imposing nor arrogant—just quietly powerful. “I am the current master of Obsidian Dragon City. You may address me as Lord Harthorne,” he said with a faint gesture of welcome, as if acknowledging Max not just as a visitor, but as someone worthy of standing in this space.

Then, with a graceful wave of his hand, he gestured toward the elegant woman standing silently by the wall. “And she,” he continued smoothly, “is one of the very special instructors here in Obsidian Dragon City.”

The woman pushed off the wall gently, stepping forward. Her posture was straight and firm, her crimson hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of fire.

Her sharp eyes met Max’s without flinching, and though she was beautiful in a way that seemed distant and otherworldly, there was no trace of coldness in her tone as she spoke.

“You may call me Instructor Virelia,” she said with poise, her voice smooth and crisp like a blade cloaked in silk.

Max, understanding the level of respect these two commanded, nodded immediately and bowed in a gesture of genuine respect. “Lord Harthorne, Instructor Virelia… it is my honor to meet you both,” he said sincerely, his voice steady yet humble.

Lord Harthorne gave a pleased nod, clearly appreciating the boy’s composed and respectful demeanor.

“You have a good head on your shoulders,” he said, the smile never leaving his face. “You’ll need that, Max. From this point forward, you’ll be under the personal guidance of Instructor Virelia. She will train you herself and ensure that you are equipped with everything in the trial. Techniques, knowledge, preparation—you’ll be taught all of it under her watch.”

Max could sense their goodwill, their intent to train and guide him through the path ahead. But before stepping into that training, there were questions that weighed heavily on his mind—questions he couldn’t ignore.

He looked toward Lord Harthorne and spoke, his tone calm but curious. “I want to know… what exactly is the Mark of Divinity?” He asked.

Lord Harthorne’s expression didn’t change much, but the faint smile on his lips grew just a touch more knowing.

“Mark of Divinity…” he echoed softly, almost as if tasting the words. “There are many rumors about it. Some say only the strongest genius of an entire era—someone who stands unmatched in their generation—is ever granted the Mark. Others say it appears only to those with the potential to become the strongest, not necessarily the strongest yet.”

He paused, letting that idea linger in the air for a breath. “But… rumors are rumors,” he said, the smile slipping into something a little more serious. “There’s very little truth in most of them.”

His gaze deepened, steady and unflinching. “What I do know, as the master of Obsidian Dragon City, is this—the Mark of Divinity is only granted to those whose bloodline is unique… deeply special. Not simply strong or ancient, but something that transcends the normal classification of power. When such a bloodline is recognized by the Ancient Dragon Scroll, and only then, the mark may be bestowed.”

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!