The Outcast Peasant Claimed the Legendary Sword That the King's Strongest Champion Couldn't Budge

A Sudden Storm of Steel

The moment Arthur's fingers locked around the hilt, a blinding shockwave of golden light erupted from the fissure in the stone. The mockery of the soldiers instantly died, replaced by gasps of sheer terror. The heavy fog that had choked the ravine for decades began to dissipate in seconds, swept away by an unnatural, warm wind. The ancient blade, cold and silent for three centuries, began to glow with a brilliant, celestial fire.

Borin’s face paled. He recognized the signs from the ancient texts—the awakening of the true heir. Panic seized the champion. If this filthy peasant boy drew the sword, the current king's reign would be declared illegitimate, and the entire royal line would fall.

"Stop him!"

Borin bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation.

"He is using dark magic! Cut him down!"

Two heavily armed guards lunged forward, their steel halberds raised to strike the defenseless boy. But as they closed the distance, an invisible barrier of pure energy rippled outward from the stone, throwing the guards backward into the mud. Borin drew his own massive broadsword, his eyes wild with fury. He stepped forward, bypassing his fallen men, determined to end Arthur's life before the blade could be freed.

Arthur felt the immense power flowing into his veins, but he was also paralyzed by the sheer force of the magic. He could hear the whispers of his ancestors in his mind, revealing a truth he had never dared to dream. He was not an orphan of Cresthaven; he was the last surviving descendant of the lost dynasty, hidden away as a baby to protect him from the usurper king. As Borin raised his sword for a lethal strike, Arthur closed his eyes and pulled with his entire soul.