Arkanis. A world ruled by magic but bound by the same physical laws as Earth.
There are nine continents in total, and the one Vael stood on is called Eldoria. Each continent is ruled by an emperor and an empress, forming what are known as empires. Eldoria is divided into twelve kingdoms, each governed by a king and a queen. The Seraphis estate belonged to the Azeron Kingdom, just one of the many lands under Eldoria's rule.
Every person in this world is born with magic and a skill engraved into their soul from birth. No skill was inherently superior or inferior—each had its strengths and weaknesses. It all depended on how well a person developed and used their abilities.
"So this world isn't like those manga I used to read, huh?" Vael muttered to himself.
In those stories, combat skills were always ranked at the top, while non-combat skills like crafting or creation were treated as worthless. The stronger your fighting ability, the more important you were. That was the logic of those fantasy worlds.
But this place was different.
"I mean, I knew those manga were just fiction, but still..." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "The authors only wrote what they could imagine, but reality doesn't work that way."
A warrior who slacked off and didn't train would eventually become weak, no matter how powerful their skill was. A craftsman without knowledge was just as useless, even if they had an incredible skill for creation. But if a warrior kept training, they would grow stronger, and if a creator kept learning, they could make things beyond imagination.
"Skills aren't what define a person's worth," Vael realized. "It's how they use them and who is using them."
Vael scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. This world didn't follow the predictable rules of fantasy stories. It wasn't about who had the flashiest abilities—it was about how far someone was willing to push themselves.
And Vael had every intention of pushing himself to the top. He knew he had what it took to become the greatest in the world.
But first, he needed people he could trust. Not just subordinates, but those who would follow him without hesitation. He needed allies who would carry out his orders without doubt, who would help him build something greater than what he had before.
He had accepted this life. Now, he would do everything he never could in his previous one.
Vael decided to meet his father today. He needed to understand the situation—politics, military strength, everything. He already knew their family had little political power left in the kingdom. House Seraphis is on the brink of ruin.
"So what?" Vael muttered to himself. "So what if the previous Vael was a coward? So what if he let this house fall apart? So what... so what..."
He clenched his fists, pushing those thoughts aside. What mattered was what came next.
With that resolve, he decided to meet his father.
_
As he approached the entrance to his father's manor, two knights stood guard. They straightened upon seeing him, exchanging brief glances before one spoke.
"Young Master Vael, what brings you here? You never visit Viscount Seraphis."
"I want to speak with my father."
The knight hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping inside to relay the message. Vael waited, his expression unreadable.
When the knight returned, he simply opened the door without a word.
Vael stepped inside. The heavy door shut behind him with a quiet thud.
The morning sun cast a pale light through the tall windows of the manor, illuminating the heavy oak desk where Viscount Alistair Seraphis sat. The room smelled of parchment and ink, the air still and heavy with silence.
The Viscount was engrossed in his work. Stacks of documents surrounded him, an overwhelming weight of responsibility that had long since become routine. He did not look up when the door creaked open.
A voice, steady yet unfamiliar in its resolve, broke the silence.
"Father."
Alistair paused mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable as his eyes settled on the figure standing before him. Vael had never come here before. Not once had he shown interest in matters of estate, finance, or politics. And yet, here he was.
"You never visit my study," Alistair said at last, setting down his quill. "To what do I owe this unexpected audience?"
Vael stepped forward, his posture composed, arms clasped behind his back. "I wish to understand the state of our house. The truth, without embellishment."
Alistair's expression did not change, but a slight shift in his gaze betrayed his surprise. He studied his son carefully, as if searching for insincerity, for some trace of mockery or fleeting curiosity.
"The truth is not something one asks for lightly, Vael. It is heavy, unpleasant, and often far from what we wish it to be. Are you prepared for that?"
"I would not ask if I were not."
Silence stretched between them. Then, with a slow exhale, Alistair reached for a bundle of documents, sliding them across the desk.
"These are our ledgers. They detail our income, expenditures, and debts." His voice remained level, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You will see for yourself what state we are in."
Vael took the papers, scanning them carefully. He had expected difficulty, but even so, the figures were grim. Taxation pressed down on them like a weight, their debts growing, their assets dwindling. Land holdings were being lost, piece by piece, to noble creditors who would pick their bones clean if given the chance.
"We were not always like this," Alistair said, his tone quieter now, yet no less firm. "Your grandfather commanded respect. Our name held weight. But years of mismanagement, unwise alliances, and betrayal have drained us."
He hesitated, then continued, his gaze never leaving Vael's. "Your own actions did not help matters."
Vael's fingers tightened slightly over the parchment, but his expression remained composed. He would not flinch from this.
"And our standing?" he asked, setting the documents down.
Alistair leaned back slightly, regarding his son with measured patience. "Dwindling. We have no true allies. Those who once stood with us have distanced themselves. Others wait for the right moment to strike. If we falter even slightly, House Seraphis will crumble."
A heavy truth indeed. And yet, Vael did not feel despair. If anything, it solidified his resolve.
"Then we must rebuild."
His words were met with a faint arching of his father's brow. "We?"
"House Seraphis will not fall," Vael said, his voice calm, assured. "I will not allow it."
Alistair was silent for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a quiet chuckle. It was not a sound of amusement, nor of disbelief. If anything, it was curiosity.
"Bold words." He steepled his fingers. "Tell me, then, how do you propose to accomplish this?"
Vael met his father's gaze without hesitation. "First, I need information. Every detail on our enemies, allies, and resources. I cannot act without knowing where we stand."
Alistair exhaled through his nose, considering. "You expect me to hand over everything to you?"
"I expect you to test me." Vael's lips curled in a faint smirk. "And when I prove myself capable, I expect you to stop doubting me."
Alistair studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward slightly. "You have never shown interest in this before. Never cared for your responsibilities. Why now?"
Vael did not look away. "Because I am done running."
Another long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Alistair reached for another stack of papers, tapping them against the desk before sliding them toward Vael.
"Then prove it. Study these first. They contain reports on our holdings, our remaining allies, and those who would see us ruined. If you can make sense of them, if you can show me that you truly intend to take responsibility, then we will speak further."
Vael took the documents without hesitation. "I will return soon."
Alistair watched him for a moment longer before inclining his head slightly. "Then I shall wait."
"Please, take care of you health father."
No more words were exchanged. Vael turned and left, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders—not as a burden, but as a challenge.
For the first time, Alistair did not see a careless boy in his son. He saw something else—something dangerous, something promising.
Perhaps, at long last, Vael had chosen to become a Seraphis.