Richard's eyes opened slowly, squinting against the sharp light that met them.
"Is this… the afterlife?" he muttered, his voice dry and unsteady.
"Young Master? Are you awake?"
That voice. Richard froze for a second.
"I… I know this voice. Lucien?"
"You're awake! Thank the heavens, Young Master!" Lucien's voice sounded genuinely relieved.
Richard pushed himself up, his arms trembling slightly. The pain that used to linger in his body was gone. Everything felt lighter—almost unfamiliar.
He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the familiar walls, the desk, the curtains. Even the faint smell of polished wood was the same.
It was his room.
"No way…" he whispered. "Did I... go back?"
Richard touched his face and chest. Smooth skin. No scars, no burns. Everything felt real.
His heartbeat quickened. This was his bedroom, exactly as it had been twenty years ago.
"I really came back," he murmured under his breath.
Lucien stood there, unsure whether to say something. Richard didn't speak further. He just sat there quietly, trying to process what was happening.
He was trying to figure out the reason as to why and how he was sent to the place where it all started, The Duchy Of Frostpeak.
--
[The Duchy of Frostpeak]
The Serdin family was known across the continent for its long line of mages. They ruled a large territory in the east of the Falconridge Kingdom—the Duchy of Frostpeak. Richard was the heir to this influential family, one with a proud history of producing archmages.
His father, Duke Voltair Serdin, was considered one of the most powerful mages of his time, having reached the 9th circle—a feat that few in the entirety of the continent could match.
Over the years, many had considered attacking Frostpeak, but its terrain alone discouraged war. To it's east lay the Frostpeak Mountains—a deadly expanse of ice and snow.
To the west was the Falconridge Kingdom itself, they were no threat because, when Voltair developed his 9th magic circle, the Falconridge King personally proposed a defensive alliance, which the Duke eventually accepted.
The northern and southern borders consisted of several smaller baronies, viscountcies, and counties—most swore loyalty either to the Duchy or the Kingdom, while some stayed independent.
Despite this stability, the Serdin family eventually fell... All because of one singular man, the 17th Ruler of Frostpeak, Duke Richard Serdin.
---
[Several Years Ago -- Year 194]
After his father's death, Richard succeeded the title of Duke. Though he was already an 8th-circle archmage, he lacked the temperament and leadership required for the position.
He isolated himself, avoided gatherings, and rarely spoke to anyone outside of formal occasions. His family doubted his capability, and his power-hungry vassals grew restless.
In time, the barons, viscounts, and counts serving under Frostpeak united and rebelled against him as they saw him as an easy target.
The result was obvious. The Serdins were crushed under the weight of their own disunity.
That was how the once-great Serdin family fell. Richard went down in history as the worst duke Frostpeak had ever known and was forced to take refuge in the Falconridge Kingdom.
---
[Present]
"No way I'm letting those damn insects overthrow me again," Richard muttered, tightening his grip on the bedsheet.
"Lucien?" Richard called with a hoarse voice.
"Yes, Young Master?" Lucien replied, rather calmly.
Richard paused. There were too many questions to ask, but he had to act carefully.
"What happened to me?" he asked calmly. After all, to Lucien, he was just a fourteen-year-old boy.
"You returned from closed-room training two days ago," Lucien replied. "You said you were tired and went straight to sleep."
"You've been sleeping since then," Lucien continued.
"Oh, right," Richard thought.
That made sense. In his youth, he had often locked himself away for training, avoiding almost everyone around him.
"What's the date, Lucien?"
"It's January 3rd, Year 188, Young Master."
Richard froze.
Year 188—the beginning of everything that would later destroy him—four years before he would become Duke.
He had time now. Time to set things right.
But this richard knew that strength alone wouldn't be enough. If he walked the same path again, the same mistakes would follow. He needed to change how he lived—his choices, his mindset, his relationships.
The problem was how to do it without making it seem suspicious.
Then he had an idea. The simplest way forward was to speak directly to his father and build his trust first.
So Richard decided to speak up the same day during dinner.
When the time came, he finally mustered the courage to speak. Interrupting the quiet meal, he said,
"Father, I need your help."
The table went silent.
His mother looked startled. His brothers froze in place.
And Duke Voltair was caught off guard, his eyes widened and there was a visible half-smile on his face
"Did you just... speak?" the Duke asked proudly, almost tearing up.
Richard's expression stayed calm, but inside, he could only sigh. The fact that him speaking was enough to surprise even an 9th circle archmage like his father said everything about his former self.
But deep down richard was satisfied with their reaction, because, he finally got the answer to one of the many questions that were left unanswered in his previous life--"Did my family ever care about me?"
The moment changed something. For the first time in years, the family dinner didn't feel suffocating.
---
[Somewhere in the Serdin Palace]
Clara, the newest maid, was speaking to Beryl, a seasoned hand.
"Did you hear him? The Young Master, he actually spoke. I thought he was just mute, a side effect of that intense mage training."
Beryl rolled her eyes.
"Mute? He was avoiding us, dear. He hadn't uttered a proper sentence to anyone but Lucien in three years. It's not mage training; it's arrogance. Or pure social ineptitude."
A heavy sigh came from Thomas, the Duke's personal footman, who sat nearby.
"It's a tragedy, really. The Duke is a magnificent man, a Ninth-Circle Archmage, yet his heir is more interested in books than breathing. You know Baron Vayne has already been talking about our 'weak line' at the monthly council."
"Well, not anymore," Beryl said with a sly smile. "He spoke. The dam has broken. Watch how quickly the wind changes now that the heir might actually be present."
Thomas snorted.
"One sentence doesn't change a decade of silence, Beryl. But it certainly makes for a better conversation than the weather." He paused, his expression turning serious. "Still, if the Young Master truly changes... that could postpone the inevitable mess the Duchy is heading toward."
The servants whispered in awe, and by morning, everyone in the estate knew...the Duke's silent heir had finally spoken.
---
The following morning, Voltair summoned him to his office.
"Come in," the Duke said, his tone neutral but curious. "What made you seek my help, son?"
"I want to know more about the Falconridge Kingdom's Annual Swordsmanship Tournament," Richard said without hesitation.
"What exactly do you want to know?" the Duke asked.
"I would appreciate any information you have on it," replied Richard, maintaining his composure.
"Hmm." Voltair leaned back in his chair. After a sip of tea, the duke started-
"The tournament is held to find hidden talent from across the land. The King personally observes the matches and chooses a few to serve as commanders in the royal army. Others who show promise are recruited as soldiers."
He paused briefly to take another sip before continuing.
"On the fifth day, however, a separate contest is held for participants under fifteen years of age. Most of them are noble sons representing their families from nearby territories."
"That's... interesting," Richard thought out loud.
"What was that?" the Duke asked.
"Nothing," Richard said quickly.
He half-expected Voltair to ask why a mage was interested in a swordsmanship event, but the Duke didn't say anything further and returned to his work.
As Richard left, Voltair didn't immediately turn back to his papers. He steepled his fingers, staring at the closed oak door.
"A swordsmanship tournament..." he murmured, a faint, almost pained smile touching his lips. "The boy didn't even mention magic. After eight years of monastic silence, his first request is about swordplay."
Voltair picked up a heavy, leather-bound report detailing the latest grumblings from Baron Vayne's territory. He tapped the report thoughtfully.
Voltair knew his son was brilliant, but that brilliance had been entombed by crippling shyness and indifference. Richard's silence was a political vulnerability the vassals were already exploiting.
Voltair nodded slowly, satisfied. He would indulge this sudden curiosity. It was the first sign of life the boy had shown in years.
Richard spent the rest of the evening quietly in his room. He couldn't shake the weight of his memories. The mistakes, the weakness, the humiliation--it was all still there, sharp as glass in his chest.
He sat by the window, staring at the faint lights flickering across the Frostpeak estate. Snow drifted lazily outside, coating the training grounds in a soft white sheet. Somewhere out there, the soldiers were already preparing for dawn drills.
He remembered the same drills from his previous life--how he had ignored them completely. He'd believed magic was all he needed. He'd thought strength came from talent alone. But that had been one of his biggest mistakes. His body had been too frail to endure long battles, his stamina pitiful even for a mage. He couldn't hold a barrier spell for more than a few minutes without feeling dizzy.
That wouldn't happen again.
The next morning, long before sunrise, Richard rose from his bed. Lucien entered with a candle in hand, nearly dropping it when he saw his master already dressed in light training clothes.
"Young Master? Why are you awake so early?"
"I'm heading to the training grounds," Richard said simply, fastening the last strap on his boots.
Lucien blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. "The training grounds, sir?"
"Yes." Richard glanced at him. "I need to test my mana flow and physical condition. It's been a while since I've done any real training."
Lucien opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the calm determination in Richard's eyes, he swallowed his words and nodded reluctantly. "I'll accompany you then."
By the time they reached the grounds, a pale morning light was beginning to creep over the walls. The air was cold and sharp, and the ground glistened faintly with frost. Dozens of soldiers were already there, running laps or going through combat drills under the watch of the knight-captain, Marius.
Their movements slowed as soon as they noticed him.
"Is that the Young Master?"
"What's he doing here?"
"Don't tell me he's going to train…"
Richard ignored the murmurs and walked toward one of the knights overseeing the mages' section. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, quickly bowed.
"Young Master Serdin! You honor us with your presence."
"No need for that, Captain Marius" Richard replied evenly. "I want to take part in the morning training. I need to test my limits."
The knight hesitated. "With respect, Young Master, these routines aren't light. They're designed for soldiers."
"That's fine," Richard said. "Just tell me what to do."
After a brief pause, the knight nodded. "Understood. We begin with a three-lap run around the grounds."
Richard joined the line of soldiers without another word. The field stretched wide and open, the cold air biting at his face. He started running, the sound of boots striking frozen ground echoing across the yard.
It didn't take long for the strain to hit him. His younger body wasn't used to physical exertion. His lungs burned, and his legs screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. The soldiers occasionally glanced at him, expecting him to stop. He didn't.
By the end of the third lap, he was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. His vision blurred slightly, but he refused to fall behind. When the run ended, he leaned against a wooden post, steadying himself.
The knight approached. "That's enough, Young Master. You've done more than expected."
Richard shook his head. "Not yet. What's next?"
The man hesitated again before sighing. "Push-ups, squats, core work. Basic strength conditioning."
Richard dropped to the ground and started the next set without hesitation. His arms trembled after a dozen push-ups, but he didn't stop. Every repetition reminded him of his old weakness--how easily he used to tire, how often he relied on spells to cover his shortcomings.
Lucien stood at the edge of the field, pale with worry. "Young Master, please, that's enough! You'll collapse at this rate!"
Richard finished his final push-up and looked up, his face dripping with sweat but his eyes calm. "Lucien. If I can't handle this, I don't deserve the Serdin name."
That silenced him.
When the physical drills ended, the knight led him to a quieter part of the field reserved for the mages' training. Here, the air felt different--denser, charged with faint mana. Several robed figures were standing in formation, controlling spheres of elemental energy between their hands.
Richard sat cross-legged on the ground and began to circulate his mana. His breathing slowed as he focused on the flow inside him. It was faint but steady, flowing through his core like a quiet river.
He extended a hand, and a small orb of blue light appeared above his palm. It flickered, unstable at first, before settling into a steady glow. A few of the nearby mages turned to watch, murmuring among themselves.
"He hasn't lost his touch…"
"To think the Young Master can already stabilize mana that smoothly…"
Richard ignored the voices. He was too focused on the sensation--the steady pulse of power moving through him. His control wasn't what it had been in his previous life, but the fundamentals were there. His pathways were still intact, his understanding sharper than before.
When he finally opened his eyes, the orb faded away into thin air. The knight overseeing him approached again, visibly impressed.
"Your control is excellent, Young Master. I hadn't expected this level of precision."
"It's still rough," Richard said, flexing his fingers. "But it'll improve."
He stood slowly, his muscles aching but his expression calm. "That's enough for today. I'll return tomorrow."
"Yes, sir," the knight said, bowing slightly. "We'll make arrangements for your regular participation."
As Richard turned to leave, a few of the soldiers bowed deeply. It wasn't mockery--it was respect. Even if they didn't fully understand why the Young Master had suddenly changed, they couldn't ignore his determination.
Lucien rushed to his side the moment they left the grounds. "Young Master, what has gotten into you? You've never trained like this before."
Richard smiled faintly. "I wasted too much time before. I can't afford that again."
Lucien looked at him for a long moment before sighing. "At least let me prepare some tonic for recovery. You'll be sore for days."
"That would help," Richard admitted. "Thank you."
--
Richard didn't show his frustration on the training grounds but
Later that evening, Richard sat on the floor of his room, his body aching but his mind sharper than it had been in years. The air around him shimmered faintly as he began his mana circulation once again.
He remembered his old habits--how he used to spend days locked away, obsessing over magic theory. The solitude had given him power but had cost him everything else. This time, he wouldn't isolate himself from the world. He needed allies, understanding, and discipline--not just raw strength.
"I have time, I need to make the most out of it"
A knock came at the door.
"Young Master?" Lucien's voice was cautious. "Dinner's ready."
Richard rose slowly, his muscles protesting. "I'll be there."
Down in the hall, the rest of the family was already seated. The smell of roasted meat and warm bread filled the air. His younger brothers chatted noisily, while his mother smiled softly at their bickering.
When Richard entered, the conversation faltered. His hair was still slightly damp from washing, and faint bruises marked his arms.
"Richard?" his mother asked. "Were you training?"
"Yes," he said calmly, taking his seat.
His third brother Cedric blinked. "You? Training?" He let out a short laugh. "What's next, you joining the knights?"
Richard ignored him and started eating. "I was at the grounds testing my mana and endurance. It's been too long since I last did any proper work."
Their father looked up from his seat at the end of the table. "Physical training?"
"Yes," Richard replied. "I realized my body was too weak. That will change."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, to Richard's surprise, the duke smiled faintly. "That's good to hear."
His mother nodded in quiet approval. Even Cedric, though still smirking, said nothing more.
--
After dinner, Richard excused himself and returned to his room. He sat once again by the window, watching the snow fall. The path ahead would be long, but for the first time in years--both in this life and the last--he felt steady.
Tomorrow, he would return to the training grounds. Not as a fragile mage locked away in theory, but as someone rebuilding himself from the ground up.
Feeling the soreness spread through his limbs. The day's training had taken a toll, but it was a welcome kind of pain. He loosened his collar and stretched.
"Not bad for a start," he muttered, rotating his wrist to ease the stiffness. His mana control had been surprisingly stable for his age. In his previous life, it had taken him years to reach this balance, but now, with experience guiding him, it came almost naturally.
Lucien entered quietly, holding a small tray with a steaming cup. "Young Master, your tonic."
"Ah, perfect timing." Richard took it and nodded in appreciation. "What's everyone saying about today?"
Lucien hesitated. "Well, the servants were… shocked, to put it lightly. No one expected you to train with the soldiers. But I think they were impressed."
"That's fine," Richard said, leaning back slightly. "Let them talk. It's better than being forgotten."
Lucien chuckled softly. "You've changed, Young Master. It's… not a bad change."
Richard didn't respond. He simply gazed out the window, where faint snow still drifted across the grounds.
---
The next few days followed a similar pattern. Richard woke early, joined the soldiers for physical drills, then trained quietly on his own to refine his mana control.
His body, at first fragile, began to adapt. The burning in his muscles lessened day by day, and his breathing grew steadier. He didn't push himself recklessly -- just enough to build a rhythm.
By the end of the week, even the knights had stopped doubting his presence.
"Morning, Young Master!"
"Good to see you back again!"
The soldiers had grown used to him running alongside them, his determined silence speaking louder than any boast.
It didn't take long for word to reach the duke
---
One evening, as Richard was reviewing a few old notes on elemental theory, a knock came at his door.
"Young Master, His Grace wishes to see you in his office," said a butler from outside.
Richard set down the papers and stood. "Now?"
"Yes, sir."
He followed the butler through the dim corridors of the Frostpeak manor, the flickering light of the torches reflecting off the marble walls. When he entered, Duke Voltair Serdin was seated behind a heavy oak desk, sorting through a pile of parchment.
"Father, you called for me?"
Voltair looked up. His sharp eyes studied Richard for a moment before he gestured for him to sit. "You've been training with the soldiers lately."
"Yes," Richard said simply.
"That's unusual for you." Voltair leaned back slightly. "When I heard, I thought it was some kind of rumor. But even Captain Marius confirmed it."
Richard met his father's gaze calmly. "I realized I was relying too much on magic. My body was weak, and that's a flaw I can't ignore anymore."
For a long moment, the duke said nothing. Then a faint smile tugged at his lips. "You sound different. More grounded."
"I had time to think," Richard replied.
Voltair folded his arms, considering. "In that case, I have something for you."
Richard tilted his head. "Something?"
"A small assignment," Voltair said.
"There has been unusual monster activities recently in the northern villages. I was going to send one of our reconnaissance teams to investigate, but…"
He paused, looking directly at Richard. "You'll go instead."
Richard blinked. "Me?"
"You'll be accompanied by knight commander, Gareth and a senior mage for safety. I want you to see how the world outside Frostpeak really works. Consider it a test of discipline."
Richard thought for a moment before nodding. "Understood."
"Good." Voltair returned his attention to the papers. "You leave tomorrow. Report directly to me when you return."
As Richard stood to leave, Voltair added, "And Richard--don't treat this like another lesson. Treat it like reality. There's a difference."
"I will" Richard said, bowing slightly before walking out.
---
That night, as he prepared for bed, Lucien entered once again, frowning. "Young Master, are you sure about this trip? The northern villages are dangerous. There are reports of strange monsters appearing near the forests."
Richard shrugged lightly. "That's why I need to go. It's better to see things firsthand than read about them in reports."
Lucien sighed. "I'll prepare everything you need."
"Thanks," Richard said. "I'll handle the rest."
He lay back on his bed after Lucien left, staring at the ceiling. His body was still sore, but his mind felt clear.
"A test, huh?" He couldn't help but smirk slightly.
It wasn't a grand mission or a major threat, but it was a step forward--and that was enough.
---
The next morning came with an eerie quiet. The snow had thickened overnight, blanketing Frostpeak in silver and white. Richard stood by the training yard, watching the knights prepare the carriage that would take him north.
Every breath came out as mist, swirling into the cold air.
Lucien hurried toward him, carrying a satchel filled with tonics and a small dagger.
"Everything's ready, Young Master. Sir Gareth--a tier 7 swordsman and Elwin--a 6th circle mage will accompany you as instructed." Richard nodded and adjusted his cloak.
"Good. We leave at dawn."
As the stable hands secured the last of the supplies, Duke Voltair appeared at the steps of the manor.
His presence silenced the soldiers immediately.
"Richard," the Duke said, his voice clear against the wind. "Remember what I told you--observe, learn, and think before you act.
Richard bowed slightly. "Understood, Father."
Voltair studied him for a moment, the faintest hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Good. Then go."
The carriage began rolling out from the manor gates and Richard settled back against the seat. Lucien rode alongside on horseback, close enough to respond if needed. Elwin, a stoic man in his fifties with streaks of gray in his beard, kept quiet, while Sir Gareth adjusted the sword strapped across his armor.
The journey north was cold and tedious. For two days, the carriage wheels crunched over frozen earth and packed snow. Richard spent the time in quiet thought, occasionally glancing at the passing landscape, dense, dark pine forests that bordered the wild mountains. He knew this region well from his past life's reports; it was a hunting ground for minor monsters.
On the third day, they reached the first village, Oakhaven. It was a small cluster of wooden houses huddled for warmth against the bitter wind. The villagers looked gaunt and scared.
Knight Commander Gareth, spoke first. "We're here on the Duke's order. What's been happening?"
The village elder, a frail man with trembling hands, stepped forward. "Sir Knight, it's the Crimsonfang Wolves. They've always been near the forests, but now they attack in daylight. And they're bigger, faster, different."
"Crimsonfang Wolves?" Richard murmured, remembering the creatures from old textbooks. They were large, sure, but easily driven off by a small patrol.
"Show us the tracks," Richard instructed, his voice cutting through the tension.
The elder led them to the edge of the forest. The snow was churned up, and a dark, coppery smell hung in the air. Gareth immediately pointed to a set of paw prints.
"Impossible," the knight muttered, kneeling to examine them. "These are a wolf's, but look at the size. And the claw depth. A regular Crimsonfang doesn't weigh this mu-."
Suddenly, Elwin, the mage, interrupted Gareth. "The mana residue... it's corrupted. The animals aren't just bigger; they're being influenced by dark energy." Elwin said in a fearful manner.
Richard's heart sank. Corrupted mana wasn't a natural phenomenon; it suggested a deliberate, malign influence. This wasn't a monster problem; it was an intrusion.
"A Dark Mage?" Richard thought, his gaze sweeping the forest line.
They followed the tracks deeper, leaving the fearful villagers behind. The air grew colder, and the silence of the woods became oppressive. After an hour, they came to a small, frozen stream. The tracks led across it to a clearing.
"Stay back," Gareth warned, drawing his greatsword. "I hear something."
Richard and Elwin positioned themselves behind him. Elwin began charging a defensive spell, a faint blue glow enveloping his hands.
The sound grew louder: a guttural snarl, followed by a sickening, wet crunch.
Gareth crept to the edge of the clearing and froze. He didn't speak; he just slowly raised his hand, palm flat, the signal for immediate retreat.
Richard felt a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing air. The sound of tearing flesh continued, far too loud, far too deep for a simple wolf.
As the wet crunching finally stopped, the creature seemingly paused its meal. The rustle of pine needles was the only sound now. Richard strained his ears, and then he heard it--a heavy, dragging sound, like a massive body, shifting position.
The air itself felt heavy, the palpable sensation of a powerful, malignant presence fixing its gaze right on their position.
Richard knew, with terrifying certainty, that whatever was about to emerge from the clearing was far worse than anything he had imagined.