The next day found Vincent hiding in the White Rose Mansion library, two doors down from his new chamber.
The library was vast and impeccably clean—a sign, he supposed, that the entire mansion was maintained with relentless precision. Well, after all, the maids seem to be cleaning maniacs.
He sighed, the memory of the previous night's embarrassing incident resurfacing. The head maid, Dona, had insisted on feeding him, and the entire staff had been overreacting to his fall with suffocating concern.
Haaa… I can't blame them, he thought, a pang of guilt threading through him. Their 'cute little young master' suddenly started speaking like a weary soldier of course they're alarmed.
He pushed himself up from the floor and flexed his small, unfamiliar arms, assessing their pathetic strength.
"From the information I gathered yesterday," he whispered to the silent, book-lined room, "in a little time… this body belongs to Vincent Volcravak. Youngest son of an Archduke." He paused, a frown creasing his child's brow. "Strangely enough, I seem to be the only family member staying in this huge, white mausoleum. Aren't nobles usually swarming with relatives? Unless they conduct their rules like a king's court, separate and distant…"
His voice trailed off. The analytical exercise couldn't stifle the deeper, aching confusion.
Is this even the legendary reincarnation I've heard tales of? Why did that bastard dragon send me to a future where my family doesn't exist? What about the Kurtkin Kingdom? What about my family…?
The silence of the library offered no answer, just the heavy weight of centuries lost.
But Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the loud groan of the library door.
A Man in a dark suit entered, followed by Sara, the maid from yesterday. They spotted Vincent standing among the shelves like a lost pup.
"Greetings, Young Master." They bowed in unison.
The Man in the suit was none other than Zero—his personal butler, menservant, and de facto right hand.
Vincent paused, then summoned a smile befitting a five-year-old. "Hello, Zero. What brings you here?"
Zero walked toward him, his hand lifting as if to ruffle his dark hair. Vincent dodged on instinct, a king's reflex in a child's body.
He paused, staring at his rejected hand. "Ahem. I see the Young Master is going through a growth phase. Perhaps you're feeling shy? Or is something bothering you?"
"Zero," Vincent said, quickly steering the topic. "Can you tell me more about the outside world? I was reading about a place called the Kurtkin Kingdom…"
"The Kurtkin Kingdom?" Zero tilted his head. "You mean the Empire."
"Empire?!" The word hit him like a physical blow. The same small kingdom he was sure wouldn't last… was now an empire?
"It's been centuries since the Empire of Kurtkin was established. It has grown immensely in both size and influence." He studied his stunned expression. "Why do you ask? Have you taken an interest in history?"
"Wait,Mr Zero," Sara interjected, her brow furrowed. "Aren't you surprised? Those are complicated books for a five-year-old."
"He is a Volcravak. They grow fast." Zero's reply was simple.
Vincent hesitated as the mood shifted. Haaa… He sighed inwardly. The main reason the atmosphere had been so strained since last night was this boy's unnatural traits—vivid red eyes and slit pupils, like those of a true dragon. A constant, visible curse.
"Are you sure you're okay, Young Master?" Sara asked, her worry evident.
"I'm fine."
This time, Zero succeeded in patting his head. His touch was gentle. "It is okay to say if you are sad or in pain, Young Master. If there is anything troubling you, you can ask me."
Vincent looked up, his strange pupils fixed on him. The child's voice was soft, but the king's will was iron behind it.
"I want to know about Kurtkin. Tell me about the first king… the one who ruled after the Final War."
"Do you mean ten thousand years ago, after the Final War?" Zero asked. "The Founder King, Jeffrey Lionridge the First?"
Vincent felt a surge of relief. His brother had kept his promise. He'd protected their kingdom but what about him ?
"And what about…" Vincent's voice was barely a whisper. "Prince Ivan? Has there… has there ever been an Ivan?"
Zero's polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "You seem deeply interested in history, Young Master. But there has never been a King Ivan recorded. Perhaps you are thinking of the First Archduke, Ivan Volcravak?"
The name was a hammer blow. "Ivan Volcravak? But… isn't Prince Ivan Silva's only son?"
The room went utterly still.
Zero's gaze grew distant, his voice dropping into a tone reserved for old, tragic tales. "You are… technically correct. They are considered the same person. The histories say that after the Enemy of Humanity, was slain, the God Kotah… punished the old king's line. His wife and son were stripped of the royal name 'Lionridge.' They were given the name 'Volcravak' and cast into obscurity. Whether it was truly the work of the god, or merely political vengeance… we cannot know. It's a grim footnote."
"Mr Zero," Sara interjected softly, her face pale. "Perhaps that's enough. This is a sensitive—"
"NO!" Vincent's shout was raw, echoing in the vast library. Both of them startled. "LET HIM TALK! Tell me what really happened!"
Zero looked at the small boy, his fists clenched, his strange red eyes burning. He continued, his voice now hollow. "That is the recorded history. The Volcravak line rose from that exile. Our strength… our very existence… is built on that foundation of divine
punishment."
The words did not just hurt they unmade him.
Vincent's legs gave way. He didn't collapse so much as dissolve, crumbling to the floor as if his bones had turned to ash and a silent, wrenching sob tore from his throat, followed by another. Hot, shameful tears streamed down his face—a child's helpless response to a king's ultimate grief.
His son,His beloved wife, Stripped of his name and his legacy was erased.
The maid rushed forward, but Zero held out a subtle hand to stop her. They watched, helpless, as the small body was wracked by silent weeping he could not control.
In that moment, drowning in a sorrow ten thousand years deep, Vincent finally understood the dragon's curse.
This was it. Not fire or chains, but the unbearable weight of truth. He had not just been reincarnated to witness the future but to witness the utter annihilation of his past.