That morning, sunlight pierced the small glass window of Arven's room, casting a reflection onto the cold stone wall. He sat on the floor, palms facing upwards.
"Inhale... exhale... compress."
He regulated his breath, trying to gather mana at his fingertips.
A drop of faint blue light appeared, then burst with a small spark.
*BZZT!*
Arven hissed. "Still unstable..."
His new body had very little mana. Forget grand magic—even channeling mana to a single point was difficult.
Yet he persisted, training every morning and night.
He refused to give up.
As he rose and left his room, a young man in a black suit stood bowing respectfully.
"Good morning, Young Master Arven."
Arven raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?"
The young man bowed deeper.
"My name is Diablo. I have been sent by your father to be your personal secretary, and to serve you. I am skilled in archiving, document analysis, and... espionage."
Arven narrowed his eyes.
*A secretary? Or a watchdog?*
Suspicion arose, but he recognized the look in Diablo's eyes—a mix of sincerity and determination.
"Very well, Diablo. I have your first task."
"Name it, Master."
"Starting today, you will gather complete information on Lord Feran."
Diablo's eyes widened slightly. "Lord Feran... that cunning noble?"
Arven nodded. "He monopolizes the wheat tax, extorts farmers, and... my father doesn't dare oppose him."
Diablo gave a faint smile. "With pleasure, Master. Information like that... is easy."
He disappeared with a swift, shadow-like movement.
A few days later...
Arven fell into a routine:
Morning - mana training
Afternoon - managing the village & listening to the people's grievances
Evening - studying basic economics from his modern memories
Occasionally, he practiced Summoning:
a nail
a screw
a small rope
a mini screwdriver
All were small objects, but useful for repairing the waterwheel, farming tools, and the broken warehouse door.
This ability amazed the village chief.
However, rumors began to spread throughout the Eastern region:
> "Baron Alfordshire's son... has gotten smarter?" "Did he meet a shaman?" "Or did he sell his soul to a demon?"
Petty politics began to churn.
The 7th Night
Diablo returned and dropped a thick folder onto Arven's desk.
"All the data on Lord Feran, Young Master."
Arven opened it, sheet by sheet:
fake tax records
proof of bribery
evidence of illegal levies
illegal monster trade
There was even a secret order to kidnap talented farmers from Alfordshire village.
Arven clenched his fist tightly.
"He wants to starve my people... and sell them?"
Diablo nodded. "For Eastern nobles, that is common, Master..."
Arven let out a soft, cold laugh.
"Common? That's the reason the Eastern region is failing."
He stood up.
"Prepare a declaration of duel. Tomorrow morning."
Diablo's eyes widened. "Master... a duel to the death?"
Arven's gaze was steady.
"If I remain silent... he will slowly destroy this village."
Diablo bowed respectfully, this time without hesitation.
"Understood, Master."
**Small Dueling Arena, Noon**
Dozens of minor nobles gathered, curious.
> "That poor Baron's son is challenging Lord Feran?" "Has he gone mad?" "This will be interesting."
Lord Feran strode in with a large sword slung on his back. His body was large, muscles bulging.
"Little Arven... I can crush you with one hand."
Arven gave a faint smile. "Try."
There was no Duke overseeing the eastern region, so the duel was supervised by the Elder of the Noble's Guild. They permitted an official duel until one surrendered... or died.
**The Duel Begins**
Feran attacked first, his movements crude but powerful.
*CLANG!*
Their swords clashed.
Arven was pushed back several steps.
*He's strong... but slow.*
Arven channeled a small amount of mana to his left hand.
*Summon: Iron Nail!*
A small nail appeared on his finger.
With a swift motion, Arven drove the nail into the joint of Feran's gauntlet—jamming its protective mechanism.
Feran was startled. "What—?!"
Arven pushed his sword, twisted his body, and sliced the leg of Feran's armor—making it difficult for him to move.
"Your movements are too heavy, Lord."
Feran flew into a rage, unleashing a barrage of attacks.
*CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!*
Diablo observed with sharp eyes. "Beautiful... breaking the opponent's rhythm."
Finally, Arven executed his finishing move. He kicked Feran's knee and swung his sword.
*SWISH*
Lord Feran's head separated from his body, falling with a *thud*.
The arena fell silent.
> "Impossible...!" "Lord Feran... lost?!" "That Baron's son... actually beheaded him!"
Arven raised his sword high, drenched in blood.
"Anyone who oppresses my people... will end up like this."
The nobles shivered.
That day, Arven's name was recorded in the East.
**After the Duel**
Diablo bowed respectfully.
"Master... you have opened the door to the political world. The other nobles... will start to move."
Arven smiled.
"Let them come."
He felt a slight increase in his mana after the stress of the duel.
His body was evolving.
*"Mana training... and real combat increases my capacity..."*
Arven gripped his sword tightly.
The first step towards wealth and influence...
had begun with blood.
**TO BE CONTINUED...**