The Conquerors Path

Chapter 927: Chapter 925-Small Talk.

Profession, in a sense, is not easy to quantify with just a single rank. Even if a blacksmith belongs to the so-called ’normal’ class, there will always be special divisions within it, with even pioneers who lead toward a new profession—ones far more powerful and not easily ranked by ordinary standards.

That is why there is such a deep attachment to professions, and also why, when practising your profession’s moves, you often do so in secret. The moves you wield belong to you alone; they are a part of your essence, techniques that must be guarded carefully. The reason is simple—studying the flow of one’s mana, aura, or essence can grant insights into how the entire system functions, a knowledge that no one can afford to reveal lightly.

’She is beautiful yet deadly.’

I mused over that thought, my eyes following the elegant arcs of my mother’s body as she moved. Her steps were fluid, yet every shift in her stance carried raw, bubbling power. It was this strength, restless and untamed, that pushed her deeper into her craft. My gaze lingered on the sight, enjoying every detail as her sword traced impossible trajectories, the blade shimmering with force. Her movements tore through the air with such intensity that it seemed reality itself bent to accommodate her.

The truth of professions lies in the ranks within them—the growth stages that lead one toward the peak of mastery. Each level builds upon the last, carrying its user closer to the end of that path, where the highest power resides. Yet even that apex is not the true end, for the limit of a profession often coincides with the limit of the one who first forged it.

For instance, the pioneer who created a profession defines the ultimate boundary of that path. The end of the road rests where that founder once stood. Of course, there exist exceptions—rare individuals of extraordinary talent who inherit a profession yet outgrow its limitations, extending its framework to heights previously unseen. Such cases, however, belong only to the most exceptional of geniuses.

This truth explains why the choice of profession carries such weight. The path you commit to may impose limits far earlier than you expect. A profession might never ascend to the Imperial realm if its founder never reached such heights. If no predecessor has walked that distant road, then your own chances of doing so through the same path are faint at best.

And yet, history has always known those rare prodigies who defy even this law. Through sheer brilliance and indomitable will, they shatter the boundaries of their professions. Such individuals become legends precisely because they break rules believed to be absolute. Still, for the vast majority, a profession’s final limit remains a daunting cage, which is why the knowledge passed down by peak-level mentors is treasured beyond measure.

’And that is also why my master remains a legend.’

Then comes the question: does this mean everyone today uses the same profession as Eleanor? After all, it was only after her that archery itself underwent such transformation. Surely that must mean her path alone spread across the world, shaping everything that followed. How else could such changes have come into being?

’And that is why she still is loved so much by all.’

I let that thought linger. In truth, it was not quite so simple. Much of Eleanor’s legend was born not from mere inheritance but from her own unique adventures. She had once discovered a historic world that rewarded her with treasures beyond imagination—a realm of ancient knowledge where countless books lay preserved, tomes that detailed professions long forgotten, with teachings that shifted the balance of power itself.

Of course, Eleanor’s own profession remained her own creation, unique and personal. Yet she elevated it far beyond what anyone else could have achieved by drawing upon the teachings she had uncovered in that lost world. With wisdom from those forgotten texts, she carved a future greater than anyone imagined.

The best of what she found, she used to train her followers. From her guidance, the famed Quiverlords were born—archers who carried her teachings into every battlefield. The remaining knowledge, still formidable, was spread through the Quiverlords themselves, who passed it along and boosted the growth of archers worldwide. In this way, Eleanor opened a completely new path, one that changed the world and reawakened what history had left behind.

That was why Eleanor became so deeply loved and respected. She could easily have kept that priceless knowledge to herself, hoarding it for her own rise. But instead, she chose to share it, giving the world a new direction. For this reason, even the highest war councils could not move against her easily. Whether or not every archer belonged to the Archery Tower mattered little—across every faction, powerful figures respected her legacy and owed debts to her deeds.

’And the one my mother is using right now comes from the Imperial line.’

The Crimson Warlord traces its origin to the Imperial collection, crafted from the legacy of a powerhouse who once commanded the Imperial army. That individual reached unimaginable heights, their path leaving open doors to the Imperial realm itself. Because of that, my mother’s future stands secure—so long as she continues pushing herself ever forward, nothing will hold her back.

I watched calmly as the redness around her deepened, a blood-like aura wrapping itself around her frame and forming a fearsome armor. Butterflies of crimson energy swirled in greater numbers, growing larger as the atmosphere in the training hall grew oppressive. Her movements became sharper, faster, every strike carrying lethal weight.

And as I continued to watch, I finally spoke.

"Are you only going to keep watching? Come out, Mia."

My voice was soft, but the moment my words fell, the shadows nearby stirred. From within them stepped a figure—Mia, the maid who had once cared for me when I was younger. She still bore the same graceful maturity, her adult form contrasting with her youthful face. This time, however, she was dressed in sleek black garments that fit her perfectly, clothing that highlighted her poise and strength.

A gentle smile touched my lips as I saw her. She walked to my side, bowed respectfully, and spoke in a soft, familiar tone.

"It is good to see you, young master."

"It is good to see you too. I suppose mother finally brought you here."

My words drew a small smile from Mia as she replied,

"Yes, the mistress wished for me to remain with her."

Smiling faintly, I turned my eyes back toward my mother and remarked,

"You do not look as though you have aged at all."

My words made Mia chuckle lightly before she answered,

"Your words are far too kind, young master."

I smirked at her reply, still watching my mother’s flawless movements, before asking,

"So this is the back you once fought alongside?"

My question, more about the image of my mother in battle, was understood easily by Mia. She responded without hesitation,

"Yes. She was a force of nature for us all. A leader we would have followed into death itself, one for whom we were ready to lay down our lives. She redefined what loyalty truly meant—a woman who achieved the impossible."

My smile widened at Mia’s words. I turned my gaze upon her again and asked,

"And what has my mother told you?"

Mia’s eyes flickered briefly in surprise before she answered,

"Only to prepare for war. The lioness who slept all this time is rising again from her rest."

"That is true."

I replied at once, then shifted my full attention to Mia. She stood at Origin Level Seven, strong indeed, and someone I valued. With a smooth gesture, I drew out a spatial ring and tossed it to her. She caught it quickly, a questioning look in her eyes.

"It contains resources to aid your growth," I explained. "Items I acquired on my journey. Use them well—and protect my mother."

Mia looked as though she wished to protest, but one firm glance from me silenced her instantly. She knew well that my decisions could not be reversed. Keeping the ring in her grasp, I continued,

"I hope you have been well during all this time."

"I have. I am doing well."

"Good. Because you do not have the right to be hurt."

My words startled her at first, but then her eyes shone with steel. A gentle smile of nostalgia and quiet joy curved her lips as she bowed and answered,

"Your words are my command."

As she lowered herself respectfully, my gaze returned to my mother. She exhaled softly, her eyes meeting mine. The ruthlessness within them melted into tenderness as I stepped forward. Moving out from the wall, I approached her directly. When I stood before her, she reached out, pulled my head down, and placed a kiss upon my forehead. A smile lit her face as she asked,

"How long have you been watching me?"

"For some time."