PUT ME DOWN, DAMN YOU!
Lance thrashed in protest, but Frederick, his elderly butler, remained unfazed as he scrubbed him clean in the warm bath. Lance scowled. He had better things to do than sit here like a helpless baby—like exploring his new home and figuring out the possibilities of this new life.
From what I've gathered, I'm the fourth and youngest heir of a noble family. This bald geezer is my personal butler, Frederick, and I apparently have three older siblings. He exhaled. Well, being born into royalty is definitely an upgrade… but I hope Julia is somewhere in this world too.
Once the bath was over, Frederick dressed him in a formal suit, carefully tying a miniature tie and slicking back his jet-black hair. As Lance caught his reflection in Frederick's polished bald head, his striking red eyes stared back at him.
At least I look cool… but why a suit? Who dresses a baby like this?
Without a word, Frederick picked him up and carried him down a long corridor. Through the massive windows, Lance saw rolling green grasslands stretching endlessly into the horizon. He wanted to take it all in, but exhaustion was already creeping in.
Where is this old man taking me? I need sleep if I want to grow tall in this life.
They finally stopped at a set of relatively small wooden doors. Frederick pulled out a key and unlocked them, revealing an enormous room filled wall-to-wall with books. Towering shelves stretched toward the ceiling, overflowing with more books than one person could read in a lifetime.
Frederick set Lance down and straightened. "Your father has requested that you spend at least eight hours a day here," he said smoothly. "Though you are still a newborn, please try to entertain yourself… and stay out of trouble."
And just like that, he left, shutting the door behind him.
Lance stared at the massive library in disbelief.
Seriously? Stuck in a room full of books for eight hours? Who enjoys reading this much?
Grumbling, he began crawling, searching for something—anything—interesting enough to pass the time. He scanned the massive library, crawling along the cold marble floor, his small fingers brushing against the intricate patterns carved into the stone. The sheer number of books towering above him was overwhelming, yet none seemed to call to him—until his eyes landed on a book lying face-down, its pages splayed open like broken wings.
Something about it felt... wrong.
A strange unease curled in his chest as he stared at it. The sight of the upside-down book sent a shiver down his spine, stirring something deep within him. It was as if a locked door in his mind had creaked open, and before he could shut it, the memories came flooding in.
September 3rd, 1173 - 12:42 AM
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The whip cracked through the freezing night air, the sound echoing against the silent fields. The world seemed to hold its breath between each strike, as if mourning the boy tied to the wooden post. Blood trickled down his back, his torn shirt offering no protection against the relentless lashes. Damian's body trembled, every nerve set aflame, but he bit down on his lip, refusing to give his captors the satisfaction of a scream.
A dark figure loomed before him. King Warui.
The man stood tall, dressed in a worn leather vest, his long, unkempt black hair whipping in the wind like the tattered banners of a fallen empire. His piercing gaze bore into Damian, amusement curling at the edges of his cruel smirk.
"You must be wondering… why you?" Warui's voice was smooth, almost gentle, yet laced with venom. He chuckled, as if the question itself was absurd. "Out of all the insects scurrying in my land, why did I pluck you from the dirt?"
Damian's jaw clenched. He wanted to spit in the bastard's face, but his body refused to move.
Warui sighed dramatically before pulling a worn, gray book from his belt, the cover emblazoned with a silver crescent moon. He tapped it lightly with a gloved finger.
"This," he said, his tone reverent, "holds the history of me and your father. Our triumphs, our battles… the glorious moment when I took his head for myself."
Damian's breath hitched.
No… no, that's a lie.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Warui's face as he watched the boy's expression twist with rage.
"Ah, so you didn't know?" He let out a low chuckle. "Your father was a remarkable man—until your mother ruined him. She turned him into something weak." His voice dipped into something colder, something crueler. "Your whore of a mother ruined your life ki—"
Before the words could fully leave his lips, a sickening crack rang through the air.
Warui's head snapped to the side as blood splattered across the grass. A jagged cut marred his cheek where a gardening hoe had struck him. He staggered, blinking in stunned silence.
Damian's head jerked up, his vision blurring with tears. Standing just a few feet away, gripping the weapon with white-knuckled fists, was Falco. His best friend. His brother in everything but blood.
Falco grinned despite the tension crackling in the air.
"Falco…?" Damian's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "How did you—"
"I could hear that scream from a mile away," Falco said, eyes darting toward the unconscious king. "But we don't have time for questions. We need to move. Now."
Damian's vision blurred as hot tears welled in his eyes. "Why… why are you throwing away your life just to save me?"
Falco let out a short laugh and reached down, cutting the ropes around Damian's wrists. "Because that's what friends do."
Lance gasped, his tiny chest rising and falling in short, frantic breaths. The memory dissolved like mist, leaving only the dim glow of the library around him. His hands trembled as he reached for the book. The same grey book and that crescent moon. His fingers hovered over the worn cover, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself.
King Warui. Falco. That night…
A sharp pang of sorrow twisted in his gut.
With newfound determination, he clenched his small fists. He had been given another chance at life. He wouldn't waste it.
Lance sat cross-legged on the cold marble floor of the grand library, the towering bookshelves stretching endlessly above him. At just five years old in this new body, he had spent nearly every waking moment here, devouring book after book. Tales of legendary battles, complex mathematics, intricate magic theory, and even whimsical fictional stories had filled his mind, shaping him into someone far more knowledgeable than he had ever been in his past life.
Five years… He clenched his tiny fists. I've learned more in these five years than I ever did in my previous lifetime. But it's still not enough.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the heavy wooden doors opening. Instinctively, his head snapped toward the entrance. A tall woman strode inside, her black hair cascading down her back like silk, her piercing green eyes sharp and calculating. The moment her gaze landed on him, it hardened into something almost hostile.
Lance didn't need an introduction.
This must be Petra Gilthunder… one of my three older siblings. Well, half-siblings.
His mother—his new mother—had died giving birth to him. Petra and the others still had their mothers. That difference alone made him an outsider in this family, even if they shared the same blood. This was the first time he was seeing one of them in person, and the reception was… less than welcoming.
Petra scoffed, the sound filled with disdain, before turning away as if he weren't even worth acknowledging. She strode toward a nearby bookshelf, her eyes scanning the spines with an air of impatience.
Lance exhaled slowly, his fingers lightly tracing the leather-bound cover of the book in his lap.
It's just like before. Always an outsider.
His thoughts drifted back to his past life, to the night they had fled the Shiwagami province. The bitter cold, the frantic footsteps, the looming, unrelenting darkness of that ravine… and the monstrous beast that had awaited them beyond the gate.
We never had a chance.
But this time—this life—was different. He had power now. He had knowledge.
And I won't be powerless ever again.
Lance closed his eyes and focused inward, pulling at the mana buried deep within his core. He could feel it stir beneath his diaphragm, flowing through his body like an unseen current, weaving through his mana nodes like blood through veins. The sensation sent a thrill through him. A deep blue glow enveloped his small frame, the energy humming around him like an untamed storm—
Until his chest tightened.
A sharp cough wracked his body, his fragile frame trembling as the mana scattered and dissolved into nothing. He gasped for breath, frustration burning in his chest.
Damn it… this body is still too weak.
A cold sensation crawled up his spine. He wasn't alone.
Turning his head, he caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway. His breath hitched as he took in the familiar black hair, the sharp green eyes identical to Petra's—except this time, they were filled with quiet scrutiny rather than open contempt.
Lance didn't need to guess.
Lloyd Gilthunder. The second-oldest sibling.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the older boy.
And if I remember correctly… our eldest brother is out exploring the newly discovered continent, surrounded by the strongest warriors in the world.
The tension in the room crackled like an unspoken challenge.
"What do you think you're doing here?" Petra's voice snapped through the silence, sharp and irritated.
Lloyd's lips parted slightly, but whatever words he had died on his tongue. His expression darkened, and with a quiet mutter, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor without another word.
Lance's gaze flickered back to Petra just as she plucked a dark red book from the shelf.
That one… His fingers twitched. I've read it before.
How to Circulate Mana.
Lance watched her silently, the book clutched in her slender fingers.
Silence.
Lance exhaled through his nose, his fingers absentmindedly drumming against the book on his lap.
Hmph. Just like that, huh?
He glanced toward the towering shelves that surrounded him, the endless sea of books once again his only company.