The moon hung high when he opened his eyes in the cave.
His arm was wrapped in fresh bandages, though he felt no pain—his body had already healed from the inside out. His F-rank skill, [Internal Organ Regeneration], had always been active, but after five years of harsh self-experimentation, its speed had nearly doubled.
Punctured lungs? He could recover in under a minute.
Damaged kidneys? Fixed in less than half that time.
Even shattered ribs knitted back together given enough time.
But as he stared at the shallow cut along his forearm—deliberate and bleeding freely—he felt nothing but cold frustration. The wound didn't close.
"My insides heal like steel… but my skin is still paper. If I bleed out, I still die like anyone else."
He clenched his fist, blood dripping onto the stone floor. This is my limit for now… but not forever.
---
The next morning, sunlight poured into the dining room. His father, seated at the head of the table, folded his hands as his mother placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Son," his father began, voice calm but absolute, "your mother and I have decided on your future."
He raised an eyebrow, expressionless. "My future?"
"Yes," his mother said gently, though her eyes carried a trace of worry. "You will go to House Verdan as a butler apprentice. They are a higher noble family, and it will be a stable life for you. we had watched you for years and we did not your skill but we can still tell from your routine, you don't have a talent for combat and magic. we decided this is best for you. "
His father added, "You are polite and well-mannered. While you are not talented in combat or magic, a service position will suit you."
He lowered his eyes, hiding the quiet burn in them. Not talented, huh…
"I understand. But… may I have one week before I leave?"
His father frowned slightly. "Why?"
"I have some friends to say farewell to. It would be improper to leave without seeing them."
There was silence at the table. His parents exchanged a glance.
"Friends?" his mother asked softly. "You… have friends?"
"Yes." His answer was steady, almost convincing because of how calmly it was spoken.
His father hesitated, whispering to his wife, "Have you ever seen him with anyone?"
She shook her head. "No, but he often leaves the estate. Perhaps he has kept them private."
After a pause, his father nodded. "One week. No more. Do not wander too far."
He bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Father. Mother."
One week is enough to erase everything, he thought.
---
That evening, whispers filled the halls:
"Poor young master… always polite, so kind."
"Never arrogant, never cruel like other nobles."
"He must be lonely. I've never seen him with friends."
A maid sighed. "I once saw him giving food to a stray cat in the garden. Such a gentle heart."
A butler nodded. "House Verdan will be lucky to have someone like him. He'll do well."
They pitied him, believing he was simply a gentle, slightly lonely boy. None of them knew what truly happened in that cave.
---
He woke before dawn every day, leaving for the mountains an hour from the estate. The cave—the heart of his research for five years—waited like an open grave.
Shards of broken flasks and rusted instruments crunched under his boots. Drawings of human anatomy, mana pathways, and diagrams of experimental failures were torn apart and tossed into fire. Bloodstains were scrubbed away with lye and sand.
On the third day, he dug into the earth with bare hands and buried skeletal remains—commoners and slum dwellers who had simply "disappeared." No one would miss them, and no one had ever suspected him.
He paused in front of a rough stone table stained a faint brown. Five years of my life right here…
For the last time, he performed a test:
He cut his own forearm. Blood ran freely, warm and red. His mana surged inside him, protecting his organs, knitting small tears within his body instantly, but the bleeding on the surface refused to stop.
He stared at it coldly. "My organs are immortal… but one sharp blade on the outside, and I can still die like anyone else."
The thought twisted into something darker: This is weakness. I need mana-infused skin, bones reinforced like steel. I need more… and stronger subjects. Knights, mages… people worth dissecting.
He bandaged his arm and whispered, "This isn't over. It's only beginning."
---
On the final day, a carriage waited at the gates of the estate.
Servants stood in two lines, watching him as though he were a beloved son leaving home.
"Such a kind boy," one maid whispered.
"House Verdan is lucky to have him," said another.
His mother smiled faintly, voice soft. "Do well, my son. Live honourably."
His father nodded firmly. "Make us proud."
He bowed, polite and calm as always. "I will."
Inside, his thoughts were ice: Honor? Pride? Worthless. I only need strength… and nothing will stop me.
The carriage door shut with a heavy click, carrying him away—not to servitude, but to a future where blood and mana would once again stain his hands.