Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 278: Comprehending Saint Power

Barki let the silence linger for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. Then she pulled back slightly and looked Ethan in the eyes—eyes now glowing faintly with restrained power.

"Now that you understand what the Saint Realm is… it's time to understand how to wield it."

Ethan nodded slowly. "I'm ready."

"Good," Barki replied, her tone firm yet warm. She raised her hand and a faint pulse rippled through the air, creating a wide circular formation beneath them—floating symbols swirling like a galaxy of knowledge. Ethan recognized some of the runes: time, soul, will, energy, nature, void…

"The Saint Realm isn't about how much power you have—it's about how deeply you're connected to your essence and the world itself. It's not brute force anymore, love. It's resonance."

She pointed at the rune for Will.

"Your will is the first anchor. In the Saint Realm, your thoughts—intent, emotion, desire—shape your power. If your will falters, your power collapses. It's no longer about learning a spell or technique. It's about making your own law real by sheer force of will."

Ethan frowned. "So it's like… rewriting the rules of reality?"

"Exactly. But your rewritten rules are only as stable as you are. That's why Saints who lose themselves become disasters."

Barki moved to the next rune, Soul.

"This is your second core. Your soul, now in the Saint Realm, is unshackled from mortality. You must learn to listen to it. It knows things your mind has forgotten. Dreams, memories from bloodlines, even echoes of ancestors. The deeper your soul understanding, the more refined and terrifying your power becomes."

"And how do I listen to it?" Ethan asked.

"Stillness. Focus. Meditation. And through pain."

Ethan's expression tightened slightly. She touched the Energy rune.

"Now energy. Mana, essence, blood-force, psychic power—whatever you use, Saint Realm lets you merge them. No more separation. You can create storms with thoughts, freeze time with instinct, tear apart space with emotion. But again—it requires balance."

She touched Nature, and then Void.

"You'll begin to feel things you never noticed before—the pulse of ley lines, the slumber of beasts beneath mountains, the whisper of stars. And the Void? That is the silence between truths. That is where new power is born."

She stepped back and looked at him.

"Your Grimoire of Origin is your second foundation. It holds echoes of the System and the First Being, yes—but it's also you. Read it. Converse with it. Let it challenge you. You will not fully comprehend your Saint power without it."

Ethan closed his eyes, breathing slowly.

"I sealed everything else so you wouldn't rely on external strength," she continued gently. "Now, it's just you—your Saint Realm, your Grimoire, and your Origin. From here, the path is yours to carve. Not with force. But with understanding."

"And if I fail?" Ethan asked.

"You won't," she said, touching his cheek. "Because you have one thing every true Saint needs."

"What?"

"Purpose."

Ethan sat cross-legged atop a floating stone platform Barki conjured—an island of silence amid a swirling sea of starlight. Everything else had been muted: no sound, no movement, only the pulsing presence of his own breath and the faint hum of power radiating from within.

"Let your mind fall," Barki said softly, standing behind him. "Not into thoughts. Not into memories. Into yourself."

Ethan inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower, releasing the knots of tension knotted deep in his spirit.

And then, he fell.

Not physically—but inwardly. The sensation was terrifying at first. His mind, soul, and essence untethered themselves from the outer world. The wind stilled, the light dulled, and his awareness spiraled downward through a dark and endless tunnel of ancient silence.

He passed by flickers—fragments of his past: the hospital he was born in, the fierce battle with Luciel, the rage and sorrow of seeing his family bruised and battered, the first time the system had spoken to him, the bloodshed, the loneliness… and then, calm.

And then—nothing.

A white plain stretched out before him. Boundless. Silent. A void not of darkness but pure potential. Here, there was no pain. No identity. No system. No powers. No expectations.

Only him.

Then a pulse.

A slow, thunderous heartbeat. It didn't come from him, but it answered him. The ground rippled like a lake and out of it rose a throne—not golden, not silver—but obsidian. Smooth, reflecting the stars that weren't there.

And seated upon it… was himself.

Or rather, a version of himself. Bare-chested, crowned with a simple wreath of woven silver vines, third eye glowing steadily, and a cloak that seemed to be stitched from night sky and dragon scale.

"You've come," the figure said with a quiet smile.

Ethan stared. "What are you?"

"I am your Saint Self. Your Will, your Soul, your Origin. I am the part of you that governs power. The part you have ignored for too long."

Ethan took a cautious step forward. "Why am I here?"

"To learn the first truth," the Saint Self replied. "Power does not begin with strength. It begins with awareness."

The void trembled. A spiral of color formed in the sky above—a cyclone of memories and future possibilities: Ethan leading nations, Ethan battling titans, Ethan cradling a child, Ethan dying alone. Hundreds of paths. None of them certain. All of them possible.

"You exist across many outcomes," the Saint Self continued. "The Saint Realm is the beginning of choice. It is when power no longer follows fate but rewrites it. Do you see?"

"I… think I do," Ethan whispered.

The figure pointed to his own chest. "Then answer me this: Who are you without the system, without the Primogenitor bloodline, without your allies, your enemies… who are you when everything is stripped away?"

The question struck harder than any weapon ever had.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn't come. Because he didn't know.

The Saint Self stood from the throne and walked toward him until they were face to face. "Your first step is this: define yourself. Not by what you've gained. Not by what you've lost. But by what you choose to be."

The figure raised a hand and pressed two fingers to Ethan's third eye.

Instantly, a flood of visions consumed him.

A silver dragon coiled in the stars.A blood-red moon howling above a battlefield.A tree made of light growing in the void.The System—transformed into the Grimoire—pages flipping in reverse, unwriting time.A colossal throne built from the bones of forgotten gods.Barki.Trevor.Zark.Angitia.

His family.A girl with his eyes, calling his name.A crown—cracking.A heart—mending.A world—watching.

Then silence again.

He gasped as he returned to himself. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

The stars above the platform twinkled faintly.

He had no idea how long he'd been inside the vision. Minutes? Hours? Days?

Barki was still there, sitting nearby, calmly waiting.

"You've returned," she said softly.

He nodded. "I saw… myself."

"And what did you learn?"

"That I don't know who I am yet. But I want to."

Barki smiled. "Good. That is how Saints are born. Through intention, not inheritance."

Ethan looked down at his hands. Power pulsed within them again—but this time, it wasn't a storm.

It was a song.

And it had only just begun.

"Wait, does that mean Luciel was a false Saint?" Ethan suddenly asked.

"Seems you figured it out. He was a false Saint. If he were to be a real, true Saint, the war and battles would never have happened. He could just take everything with his Saint power. Luciel was only powerful because of his Primogenitor power, which also granted him some authority; otherwise, I could've ended him the moment I appeared," Barki answered.

"Mm. I understand."

"So what is your next move?"

"I will talk with the grimoire first. If it's part of my power, then I will need it too,"

"Good."