Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest

No one came to bother Renard after the duel.

Whether it was because word had spread that he has beaten up Aedric, or because people had simply lost interest in him, he didn't know.

Whatever the reason, it worked in his favor.

Renard was able to focus entirely on his training. With heavy sandbags strapped to his limbs, he swung his longsword over and over until his body was drenched in sweat and his arms trembled with exhaustion. Only when he was satisfied did he allow himself rest.

And at last, the day arrived—the day of the Awakening Ceremony.

"Young Master, we can depart if you're ready," Lyla said, knocking gently on Renard's door. She had already prepared everything for the ceremony.

Renard, who'd been waiting patiently after a hearty breakfast, stood up.

"Let's go."

Lyla chatted on the way about the main annex, giving directions and commentary—but Renard barely listened. He didn't need a tour. He had already walked these paths once before in his previous life.

After a short carriage ride from the eastern annex, they arrived at the massive front gates. Two guards stood on either side, but it wasn't the guards who caught Renard's attention.

It was the beasts beside them.

Elarions.

Elegant, elk-like creatures with crystalline antlers and bodies larger than warhorses. Their very presence radiated majesty and latent power.

The beasts at their peak could match a Master Zone warrior in combat.

They were the pride of the green grasslands—symbols of raw, untamed strength.

And yet here they stood, reduced to mere gate sentries for the Grims.

That just went to show the power of House Grim as one of the Eight Great Houses.

The carriage halted at the gate, and the driver informed them they would need to continue on foot. It wasn't discrimination—other guests were being asked the same.

So Renard and Lyla stepped down and began their walk.

The gates yawned open, revealing a vast road stretching forward, but the main building still wasn't in sight, which alone spoke volumes about the scale of the estate.

As they crossed the threshold, the gravel beneath their feet gave way to smooth, blackstone tiles inlaid with ancient beast runes.

Step by step, the grandeur of the main estate came into view.

Not a mansion. Not a palace.

A fortress—hewn from dark marble, threaded with glowing celestial ore.

The Grim Estate loomed like a titan among buildings. Its towers clawed at the heavens, each crowned with statues of mythical beasts frozen mid-roar. Six immense wings like structures extended from the central building, like limbs of a slumbering giant.

The front facade was guarded by two massive archways shaped like the open jaws of wolves. Their fangs were crafted from gleaming steel.

Torches burned with white and gold flames that cast a ghostly glow across the stonework.

Above the grand entryway hung the Crest of House Grim, sculpted with meticulous detail.

A proud white wolf stood at its heart, fur caught in an eternal wind, its eyes blazing with divine fire. Coiled protectively around it was a sleek black panther, its obsidian body blending into the marble save for the violet gem in its forehead.

Together, they were a symbol of balance—of might and instinct, of beauty wrapped in danger.

This wasn't just a home.

It was a throne—a monument to dominance, carved not from politics or wealth, but from blood, battle, and beasts.

It was the main house of Beast Tamers!

It's amazing, no matter how many times I see it.

Renard marveled as an attendant led them deeper into the heart of the mansion, toward the main hall where the Awakening Ceremony would soon begin.

This wasn't the only location where such ceremonies were being held today. The lesser nobles and commoners were being guided toward the fifth and sixth wings, where their awakenings would proceed quietly. But those bearing the blood of House Grim—or connected to its main branches—were summoned to the central hall.

After all, the Lord of Grims would be attending today. He would see the talents of his bloodline with his own eyes.

It made sense that the ceremony here, in the main building—the very heart of the Grim Estate—felt different.

There wasn't a single ordinary soul present.

From the soldiers to the attendants, even the quiet maids lining the halls, each person exuded discipline. Their eyes gleamed with focus and pressure. Not one moved without purpose.

"We're almost there," Renard murmured, more to himself than to Lyla.

The young maid only nodded behind him. Her steps were measured, quiet—nearly drowned out by the weight of the corridor around them.

Together they walked down the grand hall of the first floor, its polished obsidian floors reflecting the banners overhead: midnight-black silk embroidered in silver with the emblem of House Grim—a white wolf wreathed in divine flame, coiled around by a black panther with glowing violet eyes.

At the far end stood a massive iron gate, tall enough for a giant. Its dark surface shimmered faintly under the torchlight, carved with the snarling visages of beasts thought extinct—now frozen in eternal fury.

The entrance to the Audience Chamber.

Where the Ceremony would begin.

A soldier in black-plated armor stepped forward. Renard didn't speak. He simply raised an insignia etched with his name. It glowed softly in his palm, reacting to the magical verification seal.

"Renard Grim of Taira."

The soldier bowed, but gave no honorifics. Here, before the Awakening, none of the children held any status. Until they awakened, they were nothing.

Renard didn't care though.

Then the soldier's eyes turned to Lyla.

"She cannot enter."

Lyla froze. She looked at Renard for only a moment, then bowed and stepped back without protest.

Renard didn't look back.

He simply walked forward, falling into line with the other youths who waited before the obsidian door.

Five minutes passed.

Then—

Creak—

The gate groaned open, as if disturbed from centuries of slumber.

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What lay beyond felt like a different world.

Light rained from a ceiling of enchanted crystal, casting golden shafts across the chamber. The walls were lined with relics— artifacts, beast horns, priceless gems.

This was no simple hall. It was a sanctum, heavy with reverence... and judgment.

The great doors slammed shut behind them.

Boom.

And just like that, the stares came.

"Here they are..."

"The next generation, huh?"

"Some look promising..."

"There are always a few who think they'll be special."

The voices weren't subtle. They slithered through the chamber like knives in velvet.

Renard recognized the tone. These weren't greetings. They were assessments. Dissections.

His gaze rose past the whispering nobles of the collateral lines.

And then—he saw them.

Seven figures.

Seated at the top of the grand platform, draped in crimson seats carved from beastbone and gold.

The Seven Patricians.

They didn't whisper. They didn't sneer. They simply watched. Like dragons atop a mountain of judgment, their gazes weighed everything without need for words.

Their silence cut deeper than any insult.

Renard's chest tightened—not from fear, nor from anxiety.

But from regret.

'She should've been there.'

Among those seven seats—his mother should've sat proudly.

Instead, the one seated in her place was the current commander of Tiara Castle.

Renard's jaw clenched. Rage flickered within him like a struck match.

But he didn't act. He breathed, forcing himself to calm.

He took the ceremonial path where the other children stood.

His steps were silent. Controlled.

He stopped at the marked position at the base of the platform.

Clang!

Just at that time, the doors slammed again as soldiers lowered their spears in perfect synchrony. The chamber fell into immediate silence.

And amidst that silence, a voice bloomed!

"The Lord of House Grim—Warden of the Untamed, Supreme Master of Beasts—Lord Zephyr Grim has arrived!"

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