The night pressed heavily upon the Ivanhart mansion. Guards watched the gates and gardens in monotonous silence, while shadows thickened as if they were guarding secrets deeper than the mansion's walls.
Inside his chamber, Adam sat on the bed, fingers brushing the metal collar clasped around his neck—the invention the Union had placed to monitor him since the moment of his awakening. A cold smirk tugged at his lips. He raised his hand and released a complex rune. Luminous lines danced across the lock before it snapped open, the collar dropping to the floor with a muted thud.
"Fools, to think I'd remain a pawn in someone else's game," he whispered. Sliding a finger along his skin, he etched delicate runes of concealment. His aura shrank until it resembled nothing more than a fading shadow in the darkness.
He rose and moved toward one of the room's walls. Placing his palm against a faint carving known only to the head of the family, he watched as a section of the wall shifted aside, revealing a secret doorway into a passage drowning in shadow. The draft that escaped carried the scent of old earth.
Adam paused, his eyes reflecting fragments of memory.
"This is it… the same path that saved me in the first timeline, when the Ivanhart family collapsed in its entirety four months from now."
His hand tightened into a fist, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
"But this time… I won't be just a survivor."
He stepped into the passage with steady strides, leaving the grand mansion behind. Emerging from a hidden exit at the edge of the gardens, he made his way toward the rear gate where the man who had been forced into obedience awaited him: the auction host.
The man's face was pale, his eyes clouded with fear. He bowed quickly, his voice trembling:
"Y–Young master… your requests are dangerous. If Lady Eliza finds out, she will kill me."
Adam's glance alone sent shivers into his bones. He pulled a small note from his pocket—the letter that bound the man's will, written in sharp strokes carrying an undeniable threat. No further words were needed.
The host quivered and rushed to open the car door.
"I'll do it… I'll do it."
Adam slid into the back seat and closed his eyes. Their destination was no random place, but the slave district. There, he had demanded two things:
1. The purchase of five slaves, to kill them and extract their hearts for use in the mana crystal ritual—building his own mana chain, just as he had planned in Chapter Eleven.
2. The location of a particular child… one whose face he hadn't forgotten, even after his return.
The car stopped before a massive stone gate etched with ancient carvings. Tall walls and iron towers gave the place the form of a shadowed fortress.
When the gate creaked open, the stench of rot and blood spilled out. Narrow alleys lined with iron cages, frail bodies crammed together like livestock, weak cries dissolving in the foul air. The host trailed behind Adam in fear, while the boy's eyes remained cold and detached.
"This isn't hell… it's a market," he muttered. "And everything I see here… are tools waiting to be consumed."
He walked between the cages until he reached a side courtyard. There, amidst the noise, he saw them. Two children standing close together, their clothes torn, their bodies smeared with dust. A pot-bellied man beat and cursed them while the crowd around laughed and jeered.
The brother—Mark—fifteen years old, tried desperately to shield his twin sister. Both bore jet-black hair and violet eyes that gleamed against the darkness. The girl clung to his sleeve, trembling, while he spread his arms before her in defiance of cruelty and scorn.
Adam stopped, his gaze narrowing with an icy edge. He did not approach yet, but etched the scene deep within. These two were no ordinary slaves… but pieces of a far greater plan.
A faint smile curved his lips—not the smile of a child, but the glint of a blade in the dark.
"This is only the beginning."