Morning light spilled gently through the tall windows of the manor, painting gold across polished floors and velvet drapes. The world beyond was still and quiet, birdsong distant but clear. Argon opened his eyes with purpose.
He lay still for a moment, assessing.
There was ache in his body, yes—but it was manageable. His body remained lean, bordering on frail, but there was weight behind his breath now. Strength in the core of him.
His newly-formed mana core pulsed softly beneath the surface, distributing healing energy with each breath. Though his internal organs had suffered during the expulsion of the old core, the regenerative property of mana—especially when shaped by a soul of his strength—was already repairing the damage.
"Good. The worst is over."
He sat up, the motion smooth and controlled. His body, once something he tiptoed around, now obeyed him.
"To think this world shares the same laws as mine… even the same structure of mana."
It was uncanny.
The plants, the reagents, the methods—even the behavior of the mana core—were all eerily similar to those of his homeland. It was as though someone had repainted Aetherion, replacing its name but keeping its shape.
It struck him as eerie. This world, Lunafreias, mirrored his old one so much that it could be considered a parallel. Was it just a coincidence? Or perhaps some deeper connection?
He pondered these thoughts as he reminisced about the rift expeditions in his former empire. Back then, they often stumbled upon ruined civilizations and forgotten worlds overrun by apocalyptic beasts. The knowledge he had gained now whispered to him from every page of the reports he had read the night before.
Still adjusting to this new life, he wondered if he could ever return to his empire. But even if he couldn't, Argon believed it would endure. He had left behind a powerful nation filled with capable leaders and loyal citizens. They would survive without him.
But this world—this Lunafreias—was once the greatest threat to his own empire. He still couldn't sense the presence of rifts, but the warning from his researchers haunted him.
A chill of suspicion passed through him.
"Could this be a parallel world? A split timeline?"
He recalled the warnings from his researchers. Unprecedented mana density. Temporal distortion. A dimensional pattern never seen before. Something about this world had terrified even the best minds of his empire.
Yet, what he had found so far was… tame. Functional. Structured.
"Too calm. Where is the threat?"
Perhaps the danger was still hidden. Or perhaps, like so many ruined worlds his empire had conquered, this one simply hadn't broken yet.
"The calm before the cataclysm."
The thought faded as he swung his legs off the bed and touched the ground with bare feet. His muscles held. His core steadied.
He dressed in simple, clean clothes—noble silk robes, blue and silver, now fitting his improved posture. Then, for the first time in days, he opened the door to his room and walked out.
The hallway greeted him with soft echoes. Maids and servants halted mid-step as he passed. Gasps, hushed whispers, and startled eyes followed him like shadows.
He did not speak. Did not acknowledge. He walked the path of the young Argon Von Feind, but with the bearing of a man who had once ruled a continent.
The stairs felt steep, but his steps were sure. Finally, he entered the main dining hall—vast, high-ceilinged, lined with long tables and portraits of grim-faced ancestors. The morning sun streamed through the arched windows, catching the dust in golden halos.
A maid jolted to attention, eyes wide. "Y-Young Master! We were just preparing to serve your breakfast in your chambers—"
"I'll eat here," Argon said, his tone calm but final.
She hesitated. "But… your parents…"
"I know."
She bowed low and hurried to the kitchen.
He took a seat at the head of the long table.
The room echoed with emptiness. No father. No mother. No siblings. Just servants, bustling out of sight, preparing meals for a child they all pitied.
He waited in silence.
The food, once brought, was elegant yet simple: buttered eggs, roast tomatoes, baked bread with clover honey, and a cup of black tea. Lavish by common standards, but modest for nobility.
Dominic, the ever-loyal butler, appeared at his side after a respectful delay.
"My Lord," the old man said softly, "it warms my heart to see you well again."
Argon nodded once, finishing his sip of tea. "Give me the current report on the Feind Territory."
"Yes, my Lord." Dominic's tone shifted to formality, the old habits of court service overtaking his paternal care. "The territory remains stable, though certain pressures have begun to mount. Financially, we are self-sufficient. Your estates generate enough to sustain household operations, but the treasury is running thin—largely due to your medical expenditures over the past years."
Argon listened quietly, though his thoughts drifted deeper.
The Feind Territory. A southern domain of considerable size—a noble heartland with history, once drenched in the blood of the first Monster Invasion. The original Marquis Von Feind had been granted the land as a reward for defending the southern borders. In time, the forests were cleared, the monsters thinned, and the settlements expanded.
But it had been left behind.
The boy who had once lived in this body… he had known his parents, at least for a time. He had memories—faint, painful ones—of a towering figure in shining armor with eyes like iron and calloused hands that once ruffled his hair. Of a beautiful woman who smelled of old parchment and lavender, her touch gentle but fleeting.
And then… they were gone.
Duty had taken them.
His father, Marquis Leon Von Feind, had long since turned his attention to the east, establishing dominance over the Eostalian frontier. Though the Empire still referred to him formally as the Marquis, it was in truth a title of legacy. Among the people, he was known as Grand Duke of Eostalia, ruler of the eastern front and the unshakable Wall of the Empire.
His mother, meanwhile, held no land but floated above it all—the Archmage of Eagle Spire, scion of the Flaventine ducal line, whose magic was etched into the very foundation of the empire's arcane laws.
"The boy mourned their absence."
"But I… I do not know them."
Their absence didn't sting him the way it had the boy. He had been an orphan once already, long before rising to rule. Loss was familiar. But here, it felt hollow. Distant.
As Dominic continued his report, Argon returned his focus.
"—furthermore, we've had recent migration from border tribes," Dominic was saying. "Dwarves, wood elves, even beastfolk. The old lands are no longer safe, and many seek shelter in the inner territories."
Argon nodded. "And the monsters?"
"Still active. We've had minor incursions from the southern woods. Nothing serious yet. But the patrols are stretched thin."
"And the southern district of Red Nest?"
Dominic's face darkened. "There… lies our greatest concern."
He opened a ledger and laid it out before Argon. "The southern district has seen a rise in crime, including smuggling and extortion. A cluster of slums near the old as theywell has reported cases of dysentery. Sanitation is failing. And the city guard—understaffed are—has little presence there."
Argon narrowed his eyes.
Red Nest City—capital of the Feind region—was the core of his inheritance. A vast land of farmland, rivers, scattered towns, and unexplored ruins. But it had become hollow. Without oversight, it had rotted from the edges inward.
"My father may hold the East. My mother the skies. But the South is mine."
And he would rebuild it.
He pushed the plate away, appetite waning.
"Send for the magistrate," Argon said. "Have him compile a report on sanitation and guard activity. I want it tonight."
Dominic looked hesitant. "Young Master, I understand your will… but your health—"
"I said tonight."
"…Yes, my Lord."
Argon stood, placing a hand on the edge of the table for a moment—partly to steady himself, partly to gather resolve.
His body was not yet whole. But his will had never been sharper.
The world had given him a second chance.
And now, he would become more than a forgotten heir.
He would rise again—not as a child grasping for affection, but as a leader reclaiming his land.