Vikir's life was a constant battle, fraught with hardships and obstacles at every turn. As a bastard child, born to a lowly concubine, he was deprived of the honor and prestige that came with a prestigious surname like 'Ra' or 'Le'. Instead, he was forced to toil and struggle relentlessly, working twice as hard as his half-brothers to earn his place in the family.
Despite his tireless efforts, Vikir's luck seemed to run dry. He found himself embroiled in a dark world of espionage, assassination, kidnapping, intimidation, and smuggling, all in the name of protecting and providing for his family. He crossed over countless lines, big and small, sacrificing his own well-being and safety for the sake of those he loved.
Yet, despite his valiant efforts, fate was not kind to Vikir. He was accused of being a spy for the demon tribe, a charge that was unjust and unfounded, but one that would seal his fate nonetheless. In the end, he was executed, his life snuffed out in a cruel and unfair manner.
But even in death, Vikir could not let go of his fervent desire to live. His thoughts lingered on the hope of a second chance, a new beginning that would allow him to start over and live life to the fullest once more. "I want to live," he thought with a fierce determination, "I want to live again."
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In the grand and spacious room, the cries of babies resounded, their wails overlapping as dozens of cradles lay scattered about. These were the offspring of the Baskerville family, a lineage of iron-blooded swordsmen known for their fierce temperament and unwavering dedication to the craft of combat.
Marquis Hugo Baskerville, the family's patriarch, cast a cold and indifferent gaze over the newborns, his initial assessment of them harsh and unfeeling. "They don't seem worthwhile," he remarked, his words carrying an air of disappointment and disdain.
But then, something caught his attention. Amidst the sea of crying infants, he noticed one cradle that was silent and still. It belonged to Vikir Van Baskerville, an illegitimate child who had no right to be there, unlike his legitimate brothers who were already several months old.
Hugo's eyes lingered on Vikir, and a hint of softness crept into his previously unyielding expression. It wasn't that he saw anything particularly special about the child - in fact, he thought of Vikir as little more than a piece of refuse. But in a room filled with wailing, squirming babies, the stillness of Vikir's cradle had a certain appeal.
With a sense of purpose, Hugo gave an order to the nannies who stood behind him. "Move the children to the 'Cradle of Swords,'" he commanded. It was a test that all Baskerville children underwent, from the moment they were born until the day they died. The first trial had just begun, and it would continue until the very end.
The Cradle of Swords, a ritual unique to the Baskervilles, was a brutal rite of passage that began from the moment of a child's birth. Countless knives were placed in a circular pattern, forming a deadly maze that awaited the newborns. Each child was placed in the center of the labyrinth, left to wander among the blades, where even the slightest misstep could lead to severe injury or death.
As they crawled through the maze, the babies were tested and forced to confront danger head-on. And yet, the true test was yet to come. To become a true member of the Baskerville bloodline, the babies must immerse themselves in the Styx, a river that flowed around the outside of the maze. But this power was limited - only those who immersed themselves in the river before they turned one year old could benefit from its transformative power, making the stakes impossibly high.
Hugo Baskerville, the patriarch of the family, knew the value of the Styx River's transformative power. He understood that when one baby absorbed the maximum amount of power, the others would have to make do with what was left. And so, he watched as his children, including the family's eldest son, along with cousins, brothers, and sisters, competed against each other in the Cradle of Swords.
Thirty-two children born that year, each vying for the opportunity to be transformed by the power of the Styx River. As they crawled through the deadly maze, the blades led them on a thorny path that would determine their future. For in the Cradle of Swords, the first child to make it out of the labyrinth and into the river would secure their place in the Baskerville bloodline.
The scene was one of chaos and despair, with babies crying out in fear and agony as they struggled to escape the perilous maze of knives. Some were quick and nimble, crawling with ease as they searched for their nannies, while others were slower and more hesitant, bleeding from the sharp edges of the blades. And then there was the one child who seemed to have no intention of escaping at all, content to lay still and suck on his fingers as if oblivious to the danger all around him.
To most, these were just ordinary babies, fragile and helpless creatures in need of constant care and attention. But to Marquis Hugo Baskerville, a renowned swordsman and iron man, they were insignificant things, weak and pitiful beings who could not survive on their own. For him, the only way for these children to become strong enough to fight the demons of the demon realm was to subject them to the unique rite of passage known as the Cradle of Swords.
As Hugo watched the river Styx flow around the cradle of swords, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of sadness and longing. The secret river, which only flowed in the holy land of the Baskervilles, had the power to make the body tough and hard as steel, but only for children under one year old. If only he could soak his own body in its pure aurora, he would become even more powerful than he already was.
But then, something caught his attention. A commotion was brewing among the guardian knights, and they were all pointing towards the river Styx. Hugo turned to look, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. And then he saw it.
A child, covered in blood and cuts, was making his way through the dense, cutting-edge forest towards the river. And he was moving with an agility and determination that no other child had shown before. In that moment, Hugo's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope, and he knew that this child was special, destined for greatness. The Cradle of Swords had claimed another victim, but it had also revealed a hero.
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