Augustus (POV)
Sixteen years later…
"If you're not mine, then there's no need for you to exist."
No. Not again. Not this damn dream.
I jolted awake, heart pounding, cold sweat sticking to my neck. That voice still echoed in my skull—like a curse that refused to fade. I don't know whether to thank that smug bastard for letting me keep my memories or curse him for making me remember that b*tch.
Whatever. Deep breaths, Augustus. In. Out. Pretend you've reached enlightenment.
After a while, I calmed down. My reflection in the mirror didn't help, though—messy black hair, faint bags under deep black eyes, and a face that still looked too much like my old one. Just younger, sharper… aristocratic even.
Even my name barely changed—from August Richmen to Augustus Ironcreed. Only difference is, this time I'm actually rich. A rich young master, to be exact. After all, I'm the only son of a high elder from the Second Branch of the Great House of Ironcreed, in the Kingdom of Eternal Forest.
Still, it's weird that even after sixteen years, I can get just as angry as the day that damn truck ran me over. I'm usually a pretty chill guy, after all.
"Victoria, prepare my bath."
A calm, crisp voice answered from beyond the door.
"Yes, young master."
Victoria—my personal maid, or as I like to call her, the angel who keeps my idiocy from getting me killed. Efficient, polite, and terrifying with knives. She's been with me since I could crawl, and I'm ninety percent sure she could assassinate anyone below a High Elder if I asked nicely enough.
As the sound of running water filled the room, I dragged myself out of bed and stretched. The chamber was unnecessarily huge, with gold trim and a chandelier big enough to commit homicide if it ever fell. Nobles and their obsession with "aesthetic grandeur." I miss my old three-bedroom apartment. Small, efficient, honest.
Still, being the son of a High Elder only places me somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy—high within the family and general populace, but low compared to the upper nobility and royalty.
Fine by me. I don't want the spotlight. Last time I got noticed, I ended up trucked.
"Your bath is ready, young master."
"Thanks, Victoria. You're a lifesaver."
"I try." Her expression didn't change, but I swear I saw the faintest flicker of a smirk.
After bathing and changing into my uniform for morning lessons—a crisp white shirt, black vest, and silver insignia—I stepped out into the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the colossal silverwood tree towering above the manor, painting everything in a soft green glow. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
I've learned to distrust peace.
This world is crawling with hidden dangers—monsters, dungeons, political schemes, and things that make "corruption" back on Earth look like a kindergarten game. It's a place where power literally shapes reality. And here I am, the reincarnated idiot trying to fly under the radar while figuring out how to survive long enough to actually enjoy this second life.
Still, I have to admit… being reborn with full memories has perks. I've got a solid grasp of theoretical magic from years of obsessive study, a knack for economics from my previous life, a body that's unreasonably fit from training, and more sarcasm than should be legally allowed. Combine that with a decent bloodline and enough common sense not to duel every loudmouth noble brat, and I'm doing fine.
Mostly.
Except for the dreams.
Every few nights, I see her—Mia Darkheart—standing beside that truck, smiling like she's proud of her handiwork. It's not just a memory. It feels real, like she's out there somewhere, alive, watching. Maybe it's paranoia. Maybe it's destiny's echo.
But deep down, I have this awful feeling…
That b*tch isn't gone.
That she's coming.
What a pain. I can't even enjoy my new life properly with this feeling hanging over me.
Well, whatever. The Awakening Ceremony is coming soon—and after that, I won't be the same helpless, everyday nobody I was back then.