《Cultivating Technology in a Magical World》


 Chapter 1: Shadows of the Past, Echoes of Power

    Stumbling out of the neon lit bar, he couldn¡¯t help but grin at how ridiculous everything seemed. The streetlights spun in his vision, and his stomach churned a warning. He had stayed for that last round, and now his head felt thick with booze, his tongue twice its normal size. His coworkers were gone, leaving him to nurse his grievances and half-baked dreams alone on the slick sidewalk.


    He thought about the day, the never ending blueprints, the meticulous calculations, and the countless revisions that seemed to spiral into infinity. Hours spent refining structural models, optimizing load distributions, and ensuring not a single bolt was out of place. The office party had been billed as a celebration, a rare reprieve from deadlines and corporate drudgery. Well, he had embraced that reprieve a little too eagerly, it seemed. His ears still rang from the bass heavy music and the chorus of half drunken engineers exchanging war stories about impossible projects and clueless managers.


    ¡°Tomorrow¡­ tomorrow¡¯s the day I show them,¡± he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he groped for his car keys, only to remember he had left them back at the office so he wouldn¡¯t drive. A wise decision, really. In his current state, steering anything larger than a barstool would have been an accident waiting to happen.


    His shoes scuffed the concrete while his mind rattled on in a half coherent rant about how underpaid he was, about how smug managers congratulated themselves for assigning impossible deadlines. Would any of them notice that he had slipped away from the bar? Did they care? Probably not.


    A single street lamp flickered overhead, casting fitful shadows on the deserted street. The city seemed unnaturally quiet this late, and his coat felt heavier than usual, whether from sweat or the booze making everything hazy, he wasn¡¯t sure.


    ¡°Just gotta get home,¡± he told himself, fumbling for his phone to call a ride. The screen blurred, and each tap missed the mark. It was as if his fingers had entered an agreement with gravity to sabotage his every move.


    He tried to focus on the future, on the plans he once had. Learning new skills, traveling, maybe starting his own company. Silly ideas, he told himself now, especially when every week left him half dead from overtime.


    A single blaring horn thundered through the night, followed by the roar of a truck engine. His head snapped up. Somehow, he had wandered right into the middle of the road. The truck¡¯s headlights bore down on him, blinding him as though he were staring into the sun.


    ¡°Move, idiot!¡± he warned himself, but his feet refused to obey, weighed down by alcohol and fatigue. Adrenaline flared briefly, just long enough for him to comprehend the impending impact.


    Then it was too late.


    Metal, glass, and unstoppable force slammed into him with a sickening thud, the screech of tires echoing in his ears as the world twisted and slowed, edged in darkness. Pain barely registered, overshadowed by a sudden pang of regret. Office squabbles, trivial problems, none of it mattered now. In the face of death, all the petty frustrations and meaningless concerns of his old life seemed laughably small. This can¡¯t be it, he thought. There was so much left undone, so much he had never dared to reach for, and now it was slipping away beyond his grasp.


    Then, as the final moment stretched into an eternity, images exploded through his consciousness: birthdays and heartbreaks, quiet triumphs and long-buried regrets. He prepared to embrace the end, until something else flickered across his thoughts: memories not of this world. Towering mountain peaks shrouded in mist loomed before him, and he recalled forging his spirit core beneath a storm swept sky, his bones throbbing with the raw power of harnessed spiritual energy. He remembered facing down demonic beasts in brutal, life or death battles, and meditating through nights that seemed to crush his soul under the weight of cultivation. It was a life of endless strife, where the heavens themselves tested the courageous, and fate bowed only to those resolute enough to challenge it.


    And then, nothing.


    <hr>


    Darkness stretched endlessly around him, a quiet, suffocating void where time and space lost all meaning. He wondered if this was the afterlife, or some purgatory where lost souls drifted aimlessly. His thoughts spun, returning to the mysterious memories that had surged through his mind at the moment of impact: towering mountains, roaring skies, and a life steeped in cultivation. Scenes reminiscent of those fantastical Xinxia novels he used to read online, yet now alarmingly real.


    Before he could piece together the fragments of that other existence, an unseen force tugged at him. Slowly at first, then with an urgency that made everything else fade. There was a glimmer ahead, a sliver of light that grew from a pinprick to a shining portal at the end of a tunnel.


    He felt himself being thrust forward, closer and closer, until he was consumed by brilliant, blinding radiance. Then came warmth, almost too intense, and a rush of unfamiliar noises. When his eyes finally adjusted, he could make out hulking shapes towering over him, speaking in a language he didn¡¯t recognize.


    They were giants, or so it seemed to his bleary eyes. He tried to reach out, only to realize his arms were tiny, his movements clumsy. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt: he was a baby.


    Panic seized him, and an irrepressible cry burst from his lungs. Gone were the aches and burdens of his old body, replaced by a vulnerable new form. He wailed in confusion and fear, unable to fathom how he had been hurled from one life into another so abruptly.


    <hr>


    Months passed, though time felt meaningless when you couldn¡¯t walk or talk, let alone hold anything meaningful. Despite his tiny body, his mind remained sharp, yet tangled in a storm of fragmented memories. The clash of two worlds raged within him. His past life as an engineer, vivid and clear, and the remnants of something far older, something ancient and powerful. His cultivator days, though undeniable, were a mess of disjointed recollections. Some moments stood out with striking clarity. Standing atop a windswept peak, defying the heavens, or channeling raw spiritual energy through his veins with the force of a tidal wave. Others were frustratingly blurry, like faded ink on an old scroll, impossible to decipher. And then, there were gaps. Vast, empty voids where memories should have been. What had he lost? What had been taken from him? The missing pieces gnawed at him, a puzzle he could not yet solve.


    One day, as he was being carried by his mother, he noticed tapestries on the walls depicting grand castles and warriors locked in battle. The high arched windows let in streams of light that bathed the spacious halls. This was definitely no ordinary house, everything pointed to a castle of some sort. The grandeur surrounding him only deepened his frustration. He had once walked among celestial palaces, bent the fabric of reality to his will, and now he was reduced to a babe in arms, struggling to reclaim fragments of a life that had been torn away. Yet, even in his helplessness, a resolve was growing within him. He would recover what was lost. He would find a way to reclaim the power that had once been his.


    His mother, the woman cradling him, was striking in appearance. Her golden hair cascaded in soft waves down her shoulders, catching the light like spun silk. Her blue eyes, gentle yet unwavering, held a warmth that softened the nobility etched into her every feature. There was kindness in the way she looked at him, a quiet tenderness that contrasted with the poise of someone raised among aristocracy. She wore an elegant gown, its embroidery intricate, shimmering like the sea at dawn, an unmistakable mark of high birth. Yet, despite her regal aura, there was something deeply maternal in the way she carried him, as if the grandeur of her lineage mattered far less than the tiny life in her arms.


    His father, whom he had seen towering over servants with an air of command, was the embodiment of a warrior turned noble. He was broad shouldered, his presence filling the room with effortless authority. His dark blonde hair was neatly tied back, revealing a chiseled jaw and grey eyes that gleamed with determination, the gaze of a man who had earned his place through sheer will. Dressed in a fitted doublet adorned with a family crest, he moved with a confidence that commanded respect. The crest itself was striking. A regal beast, part lion and part wyvern, its body encased in jagged, armor-like thorns that curled menacingly around its form. Its piercing eyes and poised stance exuded power and resilience, a symbol not just of strength but of the unyielding will to survive and thrive even in the harshest of conditions. Yet, when he approached the crib at night, speaking in a low, unfamiliar tongue, there was a certain warmth to him, one that softened the edges of his otherwise imposing form.


    While the towering figures who tended to him spoke in unintelligible babble, they were clearly trying to communicate. Sometimes they would babble excitedly while waving a wooden toy in front of his face, like a kindhearted jester. Other times, they would chatter while bouncing him on their knees, looking expectant whenever he gurgled. He once tried to respond with a serious nod, like a wise elder from his cultivation days, only to discover that controlling a baby¡¯s neck required more effort than any foundation building technique he¡¯d ever practiced.


    It was through this constant repetition and exaggerated gestures that he came to recognize a single word, spoken over and over again with enthusiasm, his name. Whether it was his mother¡¯s gentle cooing, his father¡¯s firm yet affectionate voice, or the delighted tones of the maids, they all seemed intent on making him understand that he was Edwin. The realization struck him as oddly profound. He had once been an adult with an identity of his own, yet now, he was merely Edwin, an infant in a world he barely understood. The absurdity of it made him want to laugh, but all that came out was an uncontrollable, gurgling giggle, much to the delight of his caretakers.


    There were moments he¡¯d lie awake in a cradle, listening to the echo of footsteps on stone floors. He¡¯d think back to his old life, engineering projects, looming deadlines, that ill-fated truck, and also to the more ancient memories of harnessing spiritual energy under stormy skies. Could a baby even harness spiritual energy? He tried once, focusing all his infant will on channeling some cosmic force, only to end up with a thunderous rumble in his stomach that prompted a hasty diaper change. So much for unstoppable cultivation prowess.


    Yet, as frustrating as this was, he couldn¡¯t deny the odd hilarity of it all. Here he was, a grown man trapped in a baby¡¯s body, in what seemed like a medieval fantasy setting. Each day, a new test of his patience arrived, be it fumbling for a rattle or attempting to crawl without face planting on the marble floor.


    The people around him, servants perhaps, appeared gentle, though no one seemed to suspect he possessed a lifetime of memories. Their language eluded him, but they pointed to themselves and repeated names or words, clearly hoping he would mimic them. He made token attempts, usually culminating in giggles from the adults. If only they knew he understood more about cosmic energy than he did about goo-goo-ga-ga.


    Despite the strangeness of it all, a small flicker of excitement brewed inside him. If this castle was real, if his cultivation memories were more than a delusion, who knew what awaited him in this new life? But for now, he had more pressing concerns, like conquering the fine art of crawling, and maybe one day holding his head up without wobbling like a newborn deer.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    <hr>


    Months passed until finally, he reached his first year of life. In that time, the strange words spoken around him had begun to make sense. At first, it was just fragments, scattered pieces of meaning he could barely grasp. But gradually, patterns emerged, words gained definition, and before he knew it, he could understand the language spoken by those around him. He was no longer lost in a sea of unintelligible sounds. He could follow conversations, recognize names, and piece together the world around him with clarity.


    To mark the occasion, his parents dressed him in a finely tailored outfit, far too extravagant for a child who could barely walk. The fabric was rich, embroidered with golden thread, befitting the son of a noble house. The household bustled with preparations as his parents invited important and close figures from the domain to celebrate. Servants hurried through the stone halls, arranging grand feasts and decorations, while Edwin, oblivious to the weight of aristocratic expectations, merely tugged at the stiff collar of his tiny doublet, wondering why infants had to suffer for the sake of appearances.


    His parents paraded him proudly through the great hall, presenting him to the assembled guests, though calling them nobility might have been a stretch. The frontier was no place for grand dukes or high lords, and the people gathered were mostly well to do merchants, minor landowners, and a handful of lesser knights who swore fealty to his family. Nevertheless, they all seemed to think a one year old in embroidered finery was the most fascinating spectacle of the night.


    ¡°Oh, what a handsome young heir!¡± one woman gushed, pinching his chubby cheek with the enthusiasm of a baker testing dough. He feared it might never return to its original shape. ¡°He has his mother¡¯s eyes!¡± another declared, as though she had just uncovered a divine secret. A burly man, likely a knight, chuckled and clapped his father on the back. ¡°With lungs like that, he¡¯ll make a fine commander one day! Or a bard, if he keeps wailing like that!¡±


    His father, usually reserved, looked absurdly pleased. "Strong grip for a boy his age! He¡¯ll make a fine knight!" he boomed, presenting Edwin¡¯s tiny hand to an old soldier who peered at it as if judging a blade¡¯s balance. His mother, meanwhile, simply smiled, radiating the kind of warmth that made people melt.


    Meanwhile, Edwin endured it all with the patience of a saint, or rather, a man trapped in the body of an infant. He had once stood on mountain peaks, defying the heavens, yet now he was apparently being judged on his ability to not drool on himself. It was maddening. He tried to glare at the crowd with the silent dignity of a warrior, but all that came out was an involuntary gurgle, which, to his horror, only seemed to delight the guests even further. He was doomed.


    There was one guest that he was fairly familiar with, though calling him a guest was generous, he was clearly a permanent fixture of the castle. The old man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, had natural silver hair and eyes, though they appeared faded, washed out like an echo of what they once were. What might have once been striking and regal now seemed drained, as if time itself had leached the vitality from his very being. His gaze often carried a distant, hollow quality, as though he were staring at something long lost or just beyond reach. His slight hunch and drifting gait made him seem adrift in his own world, a specter lingering where he no longer belonged. Edwin had seen him many times when his mother carried him through the castle, always either gazing into the distance or muttering incomprehensible words to himself, lost in thoughts only he could understand.


    Sometimes, he would bark at passing servants for no discernible reason, his grouchy demeanor making him seem like an eccentric relic from another age. Other times, he¡¯d harass the maids, earning him a sharp slap without hesitation. Edwin had come to enjoy those moments, mostly because his mother would glare at the man and whisper to him, "Never grow up to be like that," with all the conviction of a woman deeply determined to prevent a repeat of such behavior.


    Yet, there were rare occasions when the old man¡¯s gaze sharpened, his hunched posture straightening ever so slightly. In those moments, he looked as though he were contemplating something profound, lost in thoughts far beyond the comprehension of those around him. It reminded Edwin of the wise elders from his past life, those who sat in meditation for days, as if glimpsing into the fabric of the universe itself. But before Edwin could ever get a good read on him, his mother would always pick up the pace, carrying him away quickly with a look of concern, as if the old man¡¯s moments of clarity were more troubling than his usual madness.


    The old man was still acting as eccentric as ever, shoveling food into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a starving beast, all while chatting animatedly with the few guests who seemed willing to humor him. Despite the sheer chaos of his eating, bits of bread torn apart like a battlefield, soup slurped with abandon, and meat devoured as though it might run away, there wasn¡¯t a single stain on his clothes. Not a crumb, not a drop of broth. It was almost supernatural, as if the filth itself feared him too much to stick.


    After a while, Edwin''s father raised a hand, commanding the attention of the gathered guests. The hum of conversation quieted as he stepped into the center of the hall, standing tall with Edwin in his arms and his wife at his side. His deep voice carried effortlessly through the room.


    "Friends, loyal vassals, and esteemed guests," he began, his tone warm yet firm. "Tonight, we celebrate the first year of my son Edwin''s life. A child who, though small now, will one day inherit our legacy, carry our banner, and stand as a pillar of this land. It is my honor, and my deepest joy, to share this moment with all of you."


    Scattered applause and cheers rose from the crowd, along with the occasional call of goodwill. Edwin, for his part, simply blinked at the sea of unfamiliar faces, inwardly lamenting that he was being paraded around again.


    Then, his father smirked, turning his gaze to the old man. "And to mark the occasion, we have something special planned. Our very own esteemed elder has agreed to put on a little show for us."


    Murmurs spread through the crowd, some amused, others confused. The old man, still chewing noisily, suddenly perked up, his eyes widening as if he had just remembered something important. Swallowing exaggeratedly, he smacked his lips and stood, raising his arms dramatically as if the mere act of standing required divine intervention.


    ¡°Ah, my dear lord and lady!¡± he declared loudly, wiping nonexistent crumbs from his pristine clothes. ¡°What a fine occasion this is! The young master Edwin has graced this world for a full year! A year, I say! And what a bright future he shall bring to this humble domain!¡±


    The guests chuckled, some amused by the theatrics, others just enjoying the spectacle of a seemingly deranged old man taking the spotlight.


    With an exaggerated flourish, he strode, or rather, wobbled, to the center of the hall, his wild gray hair bouncing with each step. ¡°Now, dear guests, esteemed friends, loyal folk of this house, prepare yourselves! For tonight, you shall witness a performance the likes of which this castle has never seen!¡±


    With a sudden shift in demeanor, his posture straightened ever so slightly, his hands moving with an elegance that seemed at odds with his earlier bumbling. With a clap, the torches lining the walls flickered and grew brighter, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the hall. Gasps filled the room as he gestured upward, and from nowhere, tiny motes of golden light spiraled into existence, swirling like fireflies caught in an unseen current.


    Then, with a slow, deliberate wave of his hands, the floating lights wove together, forming shapes. Knights in shining armor, dragons soaring through unseen skies, waves crashing upon an invisible shore. Each image flickered with ethereal brilliance before morphing into something new, mesmerizing the crowd.


    As the spectacle continued, he raised a single finger, and from his palm, a flower of light bloomed, petals unfurling in a radiant display before dissipating into mist. The guests, utterly captivated, burst into awed applause as he let his hands fall to his sides, grinning with what could only be described as theatrical satisfaction.


    Taking a bow so deep it looked as if he might topple over, he smirked and declared, ¡°And now, dear friends, for the grand finale!¡±


    With a sudden flourish of his hands, the glowing motes of light burst into the air like fireworks, cascading down in shimmering waves. The images of knights and dragons dissolved into a breathtaking swirl, forming a luminous vortex above the hall. A final clap echoed through the chamber, and with it, the lights collapsed inward, condensing into a single brilliant orb that hovered for a moment before bursting into a shower of golden sparks, illuminating the room like stardust.


    The hall fell into stunned silence. Then, as if a spell had been broken, a resounding applause erupted from the audience, cheers and laughter mingling as they marveled at the spectacle.


    The old man straightened, looking immensely pleased with himself. With a smug grin, he spread his arms and said, ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy your meal and have a splendid evening!¡± With that, he struck a comical pose, raising one hand dramatically while the other rested on his hip. Then, with a mischievous grin, he snapped his fingers. A small smoke explosion erupted around him, momentarily obscuring him from view. As the smoke quickly dispersed, revealing... nothing. The old man was gone.


    Gasps spread through the audience, heads turning and eyes scanning the hall, but there was no trace of him. Laughter and applause followed, some guests shaking their heads in amazement, others grinning at the absurdity of it all. Whatever else could be said about him, the old man certainly knew how to make an exit.


    Meanwhile, Edwin sat in stunned silence, his tiny body frozen as his infant mind struggled to process what he had just witnessed. Magic. Real, undeniable, magnificent magic. It wasn''t a trick, nor an illusion conjured through sleight of hand. The old man had wielded true power, something beyond anything he had seen in his previous life of technology and cold logic. Though he had once wielded techniques far grander than the old man''s dazzling display, seeing magic with his own eyes was still breathtaking. The sheer spectacle of it, the way it bent reality itself, made his past memories of cultivation surge forward, vividly reminding him of the heights of power he once reached.


    As those memories flooded back, he recalled the final moments of his first life, his ascension, or rather, his failed attempt at it. He had stood beneath the storm wrought heavens, his body battered yet unyielding, ready to withstand the final tribulation that would mark his transition into true immortality. The clouds churned, flashing with divine fury, and he felt the weight of the heavens pressing down on him, testing him, demanding his worthiness.


    Just as the final bolt of tribulation lightning prepared to strike, something flickered at the edge of his vision, a shadow, swift and subtle. Before he could react, searing pain erupted through his body as something, swift and treacherous, pierced through his defenses. His protective treasures, artifacts refined through years of cultivation, shattered one by one, their spiritual energy dispersing like mist before the dawn. His barriers cracked, flickering desperately in defiance before failing him entirely. In that moment, realization struck him harder than any tribulation lightning could. This was no accident. It was an attack, a betrayal, a calculated strike timed to leave him vulnerable. And as the heavens roared above, their judgment imminent, he knew there was no time left to fight back.


    The pain, the shock, the sheer disbelief, those emotions surged through him now, just as they had in that moment, before darkness had claimed him.


    Compared to that grand struggle, his life on Earth had been painfully mundane, filled with circuits, machinery, and endless calculations, devoid of wonder. The days of debugging designs, running simulations, and working with complex systems felt trivial now, their significance dwindling in the face of the reality before him. But now, those memories felt distant, fading into irrelevance. The betrayal that led to his downfall, the final tribulation that consumed him. It was as if the heavens themselves had refused to let him ascend. His supposed triumph had been ripped from his grasp in the cruelest of ways. And yet, here he was, reborn into a world of magic.


    His thoughts swirled in excitement, tangled with lingering bitterness. If this world had magic, if such power was real, then did that mean he had a second chance to reach the heights he had once pursued? Would he be able to wield it? Would it be different from cultivation? The very idea sent shivers down his tiny body. He imagined himself standing atop a towering cliff, robes billowing in the wind as he commanded the elements with a flick of his wrist. Fire, water, lightning, each force dancing at his command, swirling and converging at his will like a symphony of untamed power. He envisioned entire storms bending to his fingertips, mountains crumbling beneath a mere thought, and the very fabric of reality twisting to his desires. The possibilities stretched before him like an endless horizon, vast and boundless, calling him forward to reclaim what was once his.


    The sheer potential of this world sent his heart hammering. No longer was he bound by the chains of mediocrity, forced into the drudgery of a lifeless career. No longer was he weighed down by the regret of his failed ascension, the bitter sting of treachery still fresh in his soul. He had been given not just a second chance, but a third, an opportunity that defied the natural order. Fate had torn him down twice, but now, standing at the threshold of yet another life, he refused to let this one slip through his fingers. A world of wonder and untapped power lay before him. This time, he would not be so na?ve. This time, he would seize his destiny with both hands.


    But first, he needed to learn how to walk without falling on his face.

 Chapter 2: Shadows on the Horizon

    The echoes of the grand celebration had long faded, leaving the castle to settle into its usual rhythm. Edwin, now a year old, found himself more aware of the world around him, though still trapped in a body that refused to cooperate with his ambitions.


    His newfound understanding of the language had opened up an entirely new realm of observation. He could finally grasp the conversations happening around him, piecing together snippets of politics, responsibilities, and the expectations of noble life. Though he was still treated like a mere infant, he knew more than any baby should. That fact only made his situation more frustrating.


    Through bits of conversation he had caught during the party and day-to-day chatter among the servants, he had finally learned the names of his parents. His mother, Lady Evelyn Hawthorne, and his father, Lord Aldric Hawthorne. He also realized that their noble status was newly minted, granted to them rather than inherited, and that they had been placed on the very edge of the kingdom¡¯s reach. Their family name, Hawthorne, carried a weight of both prestige and expectation, marking them as newly appointed barons entrusted with the frontier lands.


    The frontier was far from the grandeur of the royal court, a land of untamed wilderness and scattered settlements rather than bustling cities. Whether this was an honor or a polite exile, he couldn''t yet tell, but it was another piece of the puzzle. Each new discovery gave him more control, more understanding of the life he had been thrust into.


    The old man¡¯s magic display had been a turning point. It solidified the reality of this world and, more importantly, the existence of power beyond mere physical strength. If magic was real, then what were its limitations? Could he, too, wield it? He had once defied the heavens, bending spiritual energy to his will, shattering boundaries that others dared not approach. Surely, he could grasp the arcane arts of this world as well.


    But first, he needed to understand how magic functioned here.


    And so, Edwin began observing, listening, and experimenting in secret. What he lacked in mobility, he made up for in curiosity, his mind constantly analyzing the smallest details. He watched how servants interacted with one another, how knights carried themselves with rigid discipline, and how his parents conversed with the weight of responsibility in their voices.


    Then, there was the old man. A riddle wrapped in madness, yet undeniably powerful. Edwin had a feeling that the eccentric elder held the key to many of his questions. If he could find a way to get closer to him, to study him, perhaps he could begin unraveling the mysteries of magic in this world.


    Of course, before any of that, he had to survive being a toddler in a noble household where expectations loomed over him like storm clouds. And he had a sinking feeling that his family had plans for his future that he wasn¡¯t going to like.


    At the same time, Edwin attempted something far more ambitious, cultivation. If magic existed in this world, then surely spiritual energy did as well. But every time he tried to focus, to draw that familiar power inward, something always interrupted him. A sudden cramp, an odd jolt of pain, or a completely uncontrollable bowel movement. His frustration mounted with each attempt, but the truth became undeniable: his body simply wasn¡¯t ready. It was too young, too fragile, unable to withstand the strain of channeling even a fraction of the energy he had once wielded effortlessly.


    Yet, even in failure, he made a profound discovery. Whenever he attempted to cultivate, he could feel it. An energy like spiritual energy, yet different. It wasn¡¯t just more potent, it was more refined, purer than anything he had encountered before. It vibrated through the world around him, a latent force waiting to be harnessed. But the moment he reached for it, the sensation slipped away, as if taunting him, reminding him of how weak he was in this new body. He gritted his metaphorical teeth at the realization.


    Power was within his reach. But for now, he was too weak to grasp it. Not yet. But one day.


    <hr>


    A few days later, Edwin found himself seated in the family library, surrounded by shelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes. His parents sat beside him, attempting to teach him to speak, encouraging him with patient smiles and exaggerated pronunciation of simple words. They didn¡¯t know that he already understood everything they were saying. He just couldn¡¯t articulate words properly yet, no matter how much he tried.


    Before he could make another futile attempt, the library doors burst open, and in walked the old man. His usual erratic energy was subdued, though the glint of eccentricity still lingered in his eyes. He strode forward, muttering under his breath before addressing Lord Aldric and Lady Evelyn directly.


    "It¡¯s happening again," the old man said, his voice tinged with something far too serious for his usual antics. "More frequently than before. And if something isn¡¯t done soon¡­ well, let¡¯s just say dire doesn¡¯t even begin to describe it."


    Edwin¡¯s parents exchanged a glance, concern flashing in their eyes. His father¡¯s jaw tightened, his hands clasping together, while his mother¡¯s expression darkened with a restrained worry. "We knew this was a possibility," Lord Aldric responded carefully. "We had hoped things would settle."


    "Hoped?" The old man let out a dry chuckle. "Hope is a fine thing, but it won¡¯t stop the inevitable. If we do nothing, the consequences will come knocking on your doorstep sooner than you think."


    Lady Evelyn exhaled, her fingers brushing against her temple. "We have been careful. We have taken precautions."


    "Not enough," the old man countered. "You¡¯re playing defense when you should be acting. If we wait, we lose the advantage. You know as well as I do that the pattern is becoming clearer."


    There was something deliberately unsaid in the conversation, a dance of words that avoided naming the true danger outright. Edwin, his small body still and quiet, listened intently. Whatever they were talking about, it was serious. Serious enough that his usually unshakable parents looked troubled.


    Before the discussion could go any further, Lady Evelyn straightened, her expression softening yet resolute as she glanced down at Edwin. "This is not a matter for young ears," she said, her tone firm but laced with warmth. "He should be somewhere else, away from this discussion."


    Rising from her seat, Lady Evelyn left the library, cradling Edwin in her arms as she walked down the hall. Glancing down at him, she murmured half to herself, half to him, "Perhaps Marian is on break. I know just where to find her. And maybe¡­ it''s time for you to meet someone your age."


    She turned down a corridor Edwin had never been through before. The air grew noticeably warmer, carrying the rich scent of freshly baked bread and faint traces of dried herbs. This part of the castle felt different, less imposing, more lived-in. It lacked the polished grandeur of the noble quarters, instead exuding a quiet, steady warmth. This was where the maids and household staff lived, their own space within the estate. The hallways were narrower, the walls adorned with simple tapestries, and there was an underlying hum of daily life that made it feel like a world apart from the rigid expectations of nobility.


    Ahead, a common room opened up, modest but well-kept. The sturdy wooden furniture, though lacking in luxury, was arranged with care around a large hearth that cast a flickering glow over the room. It was a place of respite, where the staff could gather, share meals, or steal brief moments of rest between their duties.


    Inside, a handful of servants were seated, engaged in quiet conversation while their hands busied themselves with various tasks¡ªmending clothes, scrubbing wooden bowls, and polishing brass fixtures that had dulled with time. The moment Lady Evelyn stepped inside, a ripple of motion swept through the room. Some of the servants immediately stood, bowing deeply in deference. Others, caught off guard, scrambled to rise or dipped their heads in hurried acknowledgment. A few murmured, "Lady Evelyn," in hushed, reverent tones, their voices tinged with surprise.


    Evelyn merely smiled at them, her expression kind yet effortlessly composed. "It¡¯s alright, please, relax," she said, her voice carrying the warmth of reassurance but also the unmistakable authority of nobility. Her words had the intended effect. The servants hesitated, then slowly eased back into their seats, though a few still sat with rigid backs, unsure how to completely let go of their formality in her presence.


    Her attention, however, was already on a particular figure.


    Marian, the head maid, sat near the hearth, cradling a warm cup of tea in what was likely a rare moment of peace. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she lifted her head, her expression swiftly shifting from quiet relaxation to composed attentiveness. Without a word, she rose smoothly to her feet, setting aside her cup with an air of practiced grace.


    "Marian," Lady Evelyn addressed her, "Please watch over Edwin for a while. Take him somewhere else."


    Marian inclined her head respectfully, her tone measured yet dutiful. "Of course, my lady."


    She was a woman of refined efficiency, her chestnut brown hair neatly braided and pinned, ensuring not a single strand was out of place. Her deep brown eyes were sharp, missing nothing, a testament to the experience that made her indispensable in the household. Though she wore the simple uniform of a head maid, she carried herself with quiet dignity, commanding the respect of the staff with both competence and fairness.


    In her arms rested her own son, a boy just a few months older than Edwin. As the two infants locked eyes, Edwin felt a sinking realization settle in his gut. He was now at the mercy of an overenthusiastic toddler companion.


    <hr>


    A few weeks passed. Instead of constantly being by his mother¡¯s side, Edwin found himself spending most of his days with Marian and her son. At first, he resented it. It felt beneath him to engage in the mindless play of infants¡ªrolling balls, babbling nonsense, and smacking wooden blocks together. But as the days stretched into routine, something unexpected happened.


    He started enjoying it.


    Without realizing it, the forced companionship chipped away at his reluctance. What had started as an obligation, enduring the boy''s endless energy, slowly became something else. He found himself laughing, a sound foreign even to his own ears, as the boy tumbled over himself in a fit of excitement over a particularly high stack of blocks. Despite the centuries of wisdom locked inside his mind, despite the weight of memories from two lifetimes, he was still, at his core, just a child. And in those fleeting moments, where the world was nothing more than wooden toys, clumsy games, and breathless giggles, he forgot, if only for a second, the burden of everything he once was.


    Yet, something else gnawed at him beneath the surface. The more time he spent as a child, the more he noticed something strange. His own thoughts felt... different. His emotions flared more quickly, his frustrations came in bursts, and at times, even his own curiosity felt overwhelming. Could it be his current biology affecting him? It made sense. His brain, though carrying the memories of an adult, was still developing, still forming. The instincts of a child, the joy, the impatience, the wonder, were seeping into his mind no matter how much he tried to resist them.


    The simple joys of play, the infectious laughter, and the tiny victories of stacking blocks without toppling them became oddly, almost absurdly, satisfying. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn¡¯t only because of his past. It was because he was, undeniably, living this new life, and his body refused to let him ignore it. His emotions, his instincts, they felt sharper, more impulsive, unrestrained in a way that didn¡¯t belong to the rational mind of an engineer or the tempered will of a cultivator. He wondered if this was simply a side effect of inhabiting a developing body, one whose biology influenced him in ways he had yet to understand. Try as he might to suppress it, he was changing, adapting, and perhaps even becoming something new altogether.


    During this time, he finally learned the boy¡¯s name, Gideon. A strong name, fitting for someone who, despite his age, had the boundless energy of a rampaging beast. Gideon was relentless, always dragging Edwin into whatever new discovery he had made, whether it was chasing after a stray cat or trying to climb onto furniture far beyond their reach.


    It was also with Gideon that Edwin practiced speaking. Though his words were still clumsy, still tinged with the unmistakable wobble of an infant''s tongue, he was finally able to express himself in a way that others understood. His parents were jubilant when they heard him finally utter recognizable words.


    "Aldric, did you hear that? He said ¡®yes¡¯!" Lady Evelyn gasped, clasping her hands together in delight.


    Lord Aldric, usually composed, let out a rare chuckle. "A fine word to start with. Better than ¡®no¡¯."


    Edwin felt the warmth of their joy, but as he studied their faces, he could see the subtle tension beneath their celebration. His father¡¯s smile was tempered by something unreadable, and his mother¡¯s laughter, though genuine, didn¡¯t reach her eyes completely.


    Even as they celebrated his progress, something weighed on them. Something connected to the old man¡¯s words in the library, to their hushed discussions late at night. His parents had been busier than usual, speaking in guarded tones, their movements laced with urgency.


    Edwin narrowed his eyes slightly. Whatever was happening, whatever troubled them, he would find out. And if it threatened his future in this world, he would do something about it.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    <hr>


    With his growing understanding of language, Edwin soon turned his attention to another critical skill, reading. He had long since realized that the ability to read would grant him access to knowledge far beyond what he could overhear in passing. The problem was that no one expected a baby to have any interest in books, let alone the ability to understand them.


    At first, his lessons were informal. His mother, when she wasn¡¯t busy, would sit with him, pointing at the inscriptions in children¡¯s books, patiently enunciating words while guiding his tiny fingers along the parchment. Marian, too, would help, showing him basic letters whenever Gideon was preoccupied. She was also determined to teach her own son, though Gideon had far less patience for sitting still and learning symbols. More often than not, he would turn the lessons into a game, making up nonsense words or trying to see how many times he could make Marian sigh in exasperation before she gave up. But those lessons, while useful, were slow, and Edwin was impatient.


    So, whenever Marian was busy and no one was watching too closely, Edwin took matters into his own hands. During moments of distraction, he would sneakily grab whatever parchment or book he could reach, be it from an unattended desk or a stack left near the library entrance. At first, he only recognized symbols, tracing them over and over in his mind, matching them with the words he had heard spoken aloud. Then, as days passed, his recognition became sharper, patterns forming in his mind.


    It was a painstaking process, relying on stolen moments of quiet practice. He would mimic the way his mother¡¯s lips moved as she read aloud, repeating the sounds in his head, then whispering them when no one was around. Bit by bit, the written words began to make sense.


    What had once seemed like a confusing arrangement of shapes slowly turned into something more. His first real triumph came when he managed to understand a short passage from an old nursery rhyme, the meaning clicking in his mind like a puzzle piece falling into place. It was a small thing, but to Edwin, it was monumental.


    <hr>


    Weeks passed, and with his continued efforts, Edwin''s grasp of reading improved. He could now recognize more words, piecing them together faster than before. Though still far from fluency, he could decipher enough to understand the general meaning of simple texts. He could feel himself growing closer to unlocking something valuable. If only he had the right opportunity.


    One day, that opportunity finally presented itself.


    Edwin had been watching his father closely, noting the stiffness in his movements, the way his fingers would tighten into a fist when he thought no one was looking. The hushed conversations with his mother had grown more frequent, their voices dropping even lower whenever a servant passed too close. The weight of something unseen pressed down on the household, thickening the air with unspoken tension.


    Then, finally, Edwin saw it. His father, alone in his private study, a single candle flickering beside him as he sat hunched over a scroll. His brows were deeply furrowed, his fingers drumming restlessly against the desk. Whatever was written there, it was serious.


    Before Edwin could study his father¡¯s expression further, the door opened abruptly, and a soldier entered with the silence of someone accustomed to delivering grave news. He bent low, whispering something urgent. The reaction was immediate. Lord Aldric¡¯s grip on the parchment tightened, his knuckles going white. His jaw locked, his entire posture stiffening like a man bracing for a blow. Then, with a sharp, decisive nod, he rose to his feet, abandoning the scroll on the desk as he turned toward the door. "Understood. Ready the men. I¡¯ll be there shortly."


    The soldier bowed and left just as swiftly as he had come. Aldric hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the scroll. His fingers twitched, as though debating whether to take it with him. But whatever urgency had just been relayed, it was enough for him to leave it behind.


    The door shut behind him with a quiet finality. Silence followed.


    Edwin¡¯s pulse quickened. This was it. His chance. The scroll sat there, unguarded, abandoned in the flickering candlelight. His father¡¯s expression, the way his body had tensed, this document was important. He needed to see it. He had to see it.


    The moment came when no one was paying attention. Marian was occupied, Gideon was off causing mischief, and the study door had been left slightly ajar. His heart pounded in his chest, the same way it had in his past life when he had stolen into a rival sect¡¯s library in search of forbidden techniques. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself forward, inching toward the heavy wooden desk. The document lay within reach, its edges slightly curled from use.


    With painstaking care, he used the desk¡¯s leg for balance, stretching his tiny fingers toward the parchment. Almost there. His breath hitched, heart hammering. He pulled the scroll just a fraction closer, just enough to see the words etched upon it.


    His eyes scanned the first few lines, his young mind scrambling to piece the meaning together. Some words were unfamiliar, too complex for his growing vocabulary, but others¡­ others were clear enough.


    "¡­continued disruption in the region¡­ escalating attacks on supply routes¡­ pressure from external forces demands a response¡­"


    A slow chill seeped into Edwin¡¯s bones. This was no ordinary banditry. This was organized. Someone was orchestrating these attacks, manipulating events from the shadows. Pressure from external forces¡ªwho? Another noble house? A rival faction? Before he could decipher more, the heavy sound of boots echoed down the hall.


    Panic flared in Edwin¡¯s chest. He barely managed to shove the scroll away before the door creaked open. His breath hitched as he froze in place, heart pounding against his ribs. Lord Aldric stepped inside, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the dimly lit room.


    Edwin remained perfectly still, willing himself to look as inconspicuous as possible as his father¡¯s sharp gaze swept across the study. A seasoned warrior, Aldric¡¯s instincts were honed to detect even the slightest disturbance. The silence stretched, thick with tension, as his piercing eyes lingered on the desk. Then, they shifted to Edwin, narrowing slightly, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down like a blade poised to strike.


    A slow frown settled on his face as he stepped forward, arms crossed. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his deep voice filled with quiet authority.


    Edwin blinked up at him, widening his eyes in what he hoped was an innocent, babyish expression. "Papa! Hiding!" he declared, throwing his tiny hands up as if this were all part of a grand game.


    Aldric¡¯s frown deepened. "Hiding, hmm? And just where were you planning to hide?"


    Edwin pointed at the nearest chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "There! Big chair! Me small! No see!"


    For a moment, his father simply stared at him, exhaling slowly. Then, to Edwin¡¯s relief, the faintest ghost of amusement flickered across Aldric¡¯s face. Kneeling beside him and lifting him effortlessly into his arms. "You certainly have a knack for showing up where you don¡¯t belong," he muttered, though there was no real anger in his tone.


    Shifting Edwin in his arms, Aldric strode to the desk, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached into the drawer, retrieving the scroll Edwin had been after, before rolling it tightly and locking it away in a small iron-bound chest. "Not yet," he murmured to himself, his grip on the chest tightening. "Not until we¡¯re sure."


    With a sigh, he lifted Edwin more securely into his arms. "One day, you''ll understand that some knowledge is more dangerous than ignorance," he murmured, his voice quieter this time, as if speaking more to himself than to the child in his arms. There was a weight in his tone, something weary and knowing, as though he had once sought answers he wished he''d never found.


    Then, without another word, he carried Edwin out of the study, his grip firm but careful, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. Whatever lay within that document, whatever truths it held, Edwin wouldn''t be learning them today.


    But that didn''t mean he wouldn''t learn them at all.


    Left without answers but filled with even more questions, Edwin let out a slow breath. He hadn¡¯t been caught outright, but he hadn¡¯t succeeded either. Yet this was still progress. That document wasn''t just important, it was a catalyst. Something was happening, something his father was preparing for. If Aldric was waiting for confirmation of something, then events were already in motion.


    And Edwin Hawthorne would find out exactly what they were.


    <hr>


    As the days passed, an undeniable shift took over the castle. Servants moved with a hurried sense of purpose, hushed conversations replaced casual chatter, and supplies were being accounted for with greater scrutiny. The clatter of armored boots against stone became a regular sound in the courtyard as soldiers drilled with increasing intensity. Even within the halls, guards seemed more present, stationed at key locations with a vigilance that hadn¡¯t been there before. Something was happening, and everyone knew it, even if they didn¡¯t speak of it openly.


    One evening, just before Edwin was put to bed, his parents came to see him. He could tell, even before they spoke, that something was different. His father¡¯s normally commanding presence seemed heavier, weighed down by responsibility, while his mother¡¯s usual warmth carried an undercurrent of concern.


    Lady Evelyn knelt beside his crib, gently brushing her fingers through his soft hair. "Edwin, my sweet boy," she said with a tender smile. "Mama and Papa have to go away for a few days. Just a short trip, nothing to worry about."


    Edwin frowned, tilting his head. "Where?" he asked in his small, innocent voice.


    His father chuckled, crouching down beside Evelyn. "Your mother and I have some work to do, little one. There are some unruly bandits causing trouble, and we have to go remind them who these lands belong to."


    Evelyn leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Edwin¡¯s forehead. "We¡¯ll be back before you know it. Be good for Marian, alright?" Her eyes, though filled with love, carried something deeper. A hesitation, perhaps? A shadow of worry she did not want him to see.


    The next morning, Edwin was taken to the castle entrance to see them off. The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth, and the sky was streaked with hues of dawn. His father stood clad in full armor, a sight to behold. A towering, commanding figure in steel, the very image of a knight. His mother was draped in deep blues and silvers, robes embroidered with intricate sigils of magic, a regal presence that exuded wisdom and power.


    A squad of elite knights stood behind them, their armor polished, their weapons gleaming in the early light. These weren¡¯t ordinary soldiers; their disciplined stances and unwavering gazes spoke of experience and purpose. It was clear, even to Edwin, that they had been chosen for something far more perilous than dealing with mere bandits.


    Aldric knelt down, placing a firm but gentle hand on Edwin¡¯s head. "You be strong for your mother and me, alright? No causing trouble." There was a softness to his voice that made Edwin feel, just for a moment, like a real child, not just a reincarnated soul in a small body.


    Evelyn, holding Edwin close one last time, handed him over to Marian, her expression warm but distant. "We¡¯ll be back soon," she promised, pressing another kiss to his forehead. "I love you, my little star."


    As they mounted their horses and rode away, Edwin couldn¡¯t shake the unease creeping into his heart. This felt... too much like the beginning of a tragic story, one he had seen far too many times in novels and movies. A noble family, parents marching off to war, the child left behind. Only for tragedy to strike. He clenched his tiny fists, pushing the thought away. No. This wasn¡¯t a story. This was real life. They would come back. They had to.


    The waiting was unbearable.


    The castle was caught in a strange limbo, too quiet, yet simmering with an underlying urgency. Servants moved with rigid efficiency, their usual idle chatter absent. The distant clang of metal echoed through the halls as armored soldiers drilled relentlessly in the courtyard. Patrols doubled, stationed at every entrance and high point, their eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting an attack at any moment. Even the air felt heavier, thick with a tension that no one acknowledged aloud. It was suffocating.


    And Edwin, for all his intelligence and memories, could do nothing but sit and wait.


    Even Gideon, his usual source of loud and energetic distraction, had sensed something was wrong. The other boy had been unusually quiet, watching the soldiers with wide eyes as they marched past the courtyard. He had tried to drag Edwin along on one of his reckless attempts to sneak closer to the knights, but they were stopped before they even got close. Marian had scolded them both, but even she wasn¡¯t her usual self. Her reprimands lacked their usual firmness, her hands gripping Edwin a little tighter whenever the sound of distant hooves reached their ears.


    On the far end of the courtyard, away from the gathered soldiers and frantic preparations, the old man stood unnaturally still. The erratic energy that normally crackled around him had vanished, replaced by an unsettling calm. His piercing gaze was locked onto the distant horizon, his eyes narrowed, calculating. The usual glint of mischief was gone, leaving only quiet intensity, as if he was peering beyond what mortal eyes could perceive.


    Edwin shivered. There was something eerie about the way the old man stood, unmoving, like a statue carved from time itself. It reminded him of an elder from his past life, the kind who would stare into the heavens before declaring some grand omen, a storm yet to come. A premonition.


    The world around them bustled with urgency. Knights donning armor, servants hurrying with supplies, but the old man remained apart from it all, untouched by the chaos. The sight sent a strange unease crawling down Edwin¡¯s spine. It was as though he alone had paused to witness something that no one else could see. And whatever it was, Edwin had the growing, gnawing feeling that it would change everything.


    Edwin had tried to slip past the ever watchful maids, to sneak to a place where he might overhear something important, but they had been relentless. Every attempt to eavesdrop was thwarted, every plan to crawl away was gently but firmly intercepted. They treated him as they always had, a young, helpless child. And for the first time, that truth stung more than he cared to admit. He was small. He was weak. And he was utterly powerless to do anything but watch and worry.


    Then, after what felt like an eternity, they returned.


    The gates swung open, and a roar of relief surged through the castle. Cheers erupted from the gathered soldiers and servants as the Hawthorne banner rode through. But Edwin, standing with Marian at the castle steps, wasn¡¯t cheering. He was watching.


    His father was the first through the gate, still astride his warhorse, his armor bearing deep scratches and the remnants of battle. Though he had clearly attempted to clean it, dark stains still clung stubbornly to the metal, seeping into the crevices like a permanent reminder of the fight. No fresh blood remained, only the lingering evidence of violence that water alone could not wash away. His mother rode beside him, her usually pristine robes dirtied, the hem torn, and exhaustion weighing heavily in her eyes, even as she forced a smile.


    It wasn¡¯t the triumphant return of heroes. It was the return of warriors who had survived.


    The moment she dismounted, Lady Evelyn swept Edwin into her arms, holding him close as if he might disappear. "See?" she whispered into his hair, her voice warm but carrying the slightest tremor. "I told you we¡¯d be back."


    Lord Aldric stepped beside them, exhaustion lining his features. Still, he managed a small chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Edwin¡¯s hair. "Did you behave while we were gone? Or did you drive Marian mad?"


    Edwin pouted dramatically. "Me good!"


    His father let out a low laugh, but there was something distant about it, something hollow. His mother held onto him for a moment longer than necessary before finally relinquishing him back into Marian¡¯s arms. The relief around them was almost contagious. Servants bustling to take their mounts, knights greeting their returning comrades, laughter and weary smiles exchanged freely.


    But Edwin wasn¡¯t fooled.


    Beneath the surface of celebration, there was something else. Something unspoken.


    His mother and father were smiling, but there was a weight behind their eyes, an exhaustion beyond the physical. His father¡¯s grip on his sword hilt lingered too long. His mother¡¯s hands trembled ever so slightly before she curled them into fists. Whatever had happened out there, whatever they had faced, it wasn¡¯t over.


    Not by a long shot.

 Chapter 3: The Burden of Secrets

    The study was dimly lit, the scent of aged parchment and ink thick in the air. Heavy bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes of history, warfare, and governance. The wooden desk at the center of the room was cluttered with documents, maps, and reports, their edges curling from constant handling. A single candle flickered, casting long shadows over the workspace, where a man sat hunched over, pen scratching against parchment in steady, deliberate strokes. The only sound in the room was the rhythmic writing, the faint rustling of paper as one document was set aside for another.


    And then, a voice cut through the silence.


    "It¡¯s been almost five years since then, but now... the wolves have caught the scent of blood once more."


    On the couch, where no one had been a second ago, sat an old man. His wild gray hair and eccentric garb looked out of place in the disciplined order of the study. Yet, despite his sudden appearance, the man at the desk did not flinch, did not pause his work. If anything, he seemed accustomed to such intrusions.


    "That they are," the working man replied, his tone calm, detached. Over the years since the raid on the so-called bandits, there had been continued acts of sabotage. Small fires breaking out in storage houses, supply shipments going missing. The disruptions were never large enough to cripple them outright, but they were constant, an ever-present thorn in their side. Though nothing as direct or brazen as before, the quiet persistence of these incidents served as a reminder that their enemies had not forgotten, nor had they given up.


    The old man¡¯s expression twisted into something between frustration and grim satisfaction. "Are all the proofs I''ve given you still not enough, Aldric?" He leaned forward, eyes sharp with barely restrained anger. "You made a promise, boy. Have you forgotten? Or are you content to let the past rot?"


    Aldric finally set his pen down, rubbing his temples before exhaling slowly. "I have not forgotten."


    "Then why do you hesitate?" The old man¡¯s voice rose, his hands tightening into fists. "I have given you names, movements, signs! And yet you sit here, drafting reports as if ink and parchment will avenge what was taken from us!" His breathing was ragged, the weight of long held rage pressing down on his shoulders. "You swore to me, Aldric. Swore that when the time came, you would act. That you would see justice done."


    Aldric met the old man¡¯s gaze, steady and unyielding. "And I will. But I will not be reckless. And I will not sacrifice my son in the process."


    The old man scoffed. "Sacrifice? The boy does not need coddling! He is more mature, more clever than you give him credit for. He is hiding something, Aldric. He is not like other children."


    Aldric frowned but said nothing. The old man reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment, unfolding it with a flourish before slamming it onto the desk. "This."


    Aldric picked up the paper, eyes scanning the crude yet strangely methodical sketches. A strange contraption, unfamiliar and oddly simplistic, yet there was a distinct purpose behind the lines. His brow furrowed. "Another one of his drawings?"


    "Look closer," the old man insisted. "This isn¡¯t some child¡¯s idle fantasy. This is a weapon. One that should not exist in a child¡¯s mind."


    Aldric studied it again. He had seen plenty of Edwin¡¯s odd little sketches, fantastical devices with no practical function, the wild imaginings of a child. But this one... there was something unnerving about its structure, something disturbingly practical in its design. "And what do you think this is?" he asked, skeptical.


    "From what I can deduce," the old man said, voice low, "it is a device that propels a projectile at lethal speed. A ranged weapon unlike anything we have. Faster, deadlier, and most importantly, not magical. Anyone could wield it."


    Aldric¡¯s frown deepened. "Even if that were true, this could just be a coincidence. A child¡¯s imagination running wild. He¡¯s seen weapons all his life, bows, crossbows, and trebuchets."


    "Yes," the old man snapped. "And yet none of his sketches depict those. He does not dream of swords and shields like other boys. He envisions weapons of mass destruction. That is not normal."


    Aldric sighed, setting the parchment down. "You¡¯re too paranoid. You see shadows where there are none."


    The old man¡¯s eyes darkened. "Am I? Like I was too paranoid about that damn traitor?" His voice dripped with venom. "Tell me, Aldric, was I wrong then?"


    A muscle in Aldric¡¯s jaw twitched, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. But before he could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them.


    A voice from the other side spoke. "Lord Aldric, young Master Edwin is awake and ready."


    Aldric let out a breath, the tension in the room shifting. "Thank you. Proceed as planned."


    As the footsteps outside faded, Aldric turned back to the old man, his expression unreadable. "I agree that Edwin is intelligent for his age. But intelligence alone is not enough. No one will take a child seriously, especially one who lacks magic. He is not ready for noble society. What are we even doing this ceremony for if we already know the outcome?"


    The old man exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "You¡¯re missing the point. You always do when it comes to him. Your role as his father blinds you to the truth."


    Aldric held his gaze for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. "And what, exactly, is the truth?"


    The old man scoffed but did not answer. Instead, he stood up, dusting off his robes. "We will speak of this again." He turned towards the door but hesitated. "As for the ceremony, you may be right. He does not have magic. That much, I am certain of."


    Aldric arched a brow. "Then what¡¯s the point of this?"


    The old man smirked. "Because whatever he¡¯s been doing with his body, this ceremony might finally give us a glimpse of it."


    <hr>


    Scattered across the dimly lit room were papers, notebooks, and drawings, piled high in an almost chaotic fashion. Rough sketches and scribbled notes covered nearly every available surface, each detailing strange contraptions and odd ideas, some hastily scrawled while others were meticulously crafted with methodical precision. Some designs were half-finished, hastily crossed out, while others looked methodical, drawn with careful precision. The wooden desk was covered in stacks of parchment, some curling at the edges, ink stains marking where revisions had been made. There was an almost organized chaos to it all, as if each piece had been studied and discarded in pursuit of something greater.


    To the side, a tall body-length mirror stood, its frame made of dark, polished wood. The reflection wavered faintly under the dim light, catching the subtle movements of the boy who approached it.


    The child who stood before the mirror had golden hair, slightly tousled from sleep, and bright grey eyes filled with sharp intelligence. Though still young, his features held an undeniable charm, the kind that would one day mature into something striking. There was an almost natural refinement in the way he carried himself, an awareness in his gaze that set him apart from an ordinary six-year-old.


    A knock at the door broke the moment.


    "Young Master Edwin, the preparations are ready. You should head to the venue as soon as possible."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Edwin turned from the mirror and called out, "I¡¯m heading there right away!"


    He took a few steps toward the door before pausing, as if something had suddenly crossed his mind. Turning back, he made his way toward a small wooden bin tucked beside his drawing table. He reached inside, sifting through its contents until he found what he was looking for, wet ashes, smudging his fingertips with blackened streaks. The remnants of a drawing he had made the night before.


    It had been a crude sketch, a simple schematic of a musket, drawn from memory. He hadn''t intended to keep it; he only needed to recall its structure, the principle behind how it fired. The last thing he wanted was for such knowledge to fall into the wrong hands before he was ready. The thought of what a weapon like that could do, what it could change, sent a quiet shiver down his spine. A single musket could alter the balance of power in this world. If distributed carelessly, it could lead to the rise of warlords, the collapse of noble houses, or worse, senseless bloodshed fueled by greed and ambition.


    Technology was a double-edged sword. A blessing or a curse, depending on who wielded it.


    Five years had passed since his first birthday, and in that time, much had changed. And yet, in some ways, very little had. He had grown accustomed to this world, Falandria, as it was called. From his parents, from the servants, and from the books he had read, he had pieced together a clearer picture of it. A vast, medieval land filled with noble houses vying for power, magic shaping society, and remnants of forgotten knowledge buried beneath the weight of history. Despite his young age, he had been praised as a prodigy for his fluency in the language, an ability that made people see him as precocious rather than suspicious.


    During these years, he had also been steadily putting his engineering knowledge to paper, carefully sketching out designs he could one day implement. However, he had been careful not to go into detail, just rough sketches, playful enough to seem like the wild imagination of a child. No one would scrutinize them too closely. No one would realize that each of those drawings held the potential to propel this world into an era of rapid technological advancement. An era that, if introduced too quickly, could bring as much destruction as it did progress.


    Confirming that his musket sketch was completely destroyed, Edwin dusted off his hands and made his way back toward the door. As he reached for the handle, the door suddenly swung open¡ª


    ¡ªand he walked straight into someone, nearly toppling backward.


    "Ow, that hurts!" a boy exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. He looked to be around Edwin¡¯s age, with auburn hair that gleamed almost red under the dim light and eyes of the same fiery shade. His expression was one of exaggerated pain, though the mischievous glint in his gaze betrayed the act. His features were sharp for his age, a face that would likely grow into a striking and confident look as he matured. Dressed in the crisp uniform of a servant, he looked like a miniature butler, though the way he carried himself, playful smirk and all, clashed with the refined elegance his clothes suggested. His vest and neatly pressed trousers only served to highlight the energy barely contained within him, a contrast of discipline and chaos wrapped into one lively form.


    Edwin let out a small sigh, his previous moment of reflection shattered. "Gideon, I told you to knock before entering my room."


    Gideon grinned, unfazed by the scolding. "Is that how you greet someone who came all this way just to escort you to the ceremony? Honestly, you should be grateful instead of complaining to your only friend here."


    Edwin crossed his arms. "Oh, I wasn¡¯t aware that barging into my room unannounced was considered an act of friendship. Perhaps next time, I should return the favor?"


    Gideon chuckled, stepping aside with an exaggerated bow. "By all means, Young Master Edwin, feel free to surprise me in my quarters anytime. Though, I doubt you¡¯d get past my mother¡¯s watchful gaze."


    Edwin raised an eyebrow. "Which is precisely why I don¡¯t go around causing unnecessary trouble. Unlike someone I know."


    "Trouble? Me? I prefer the term ¡®adventurous spirit,¡¯ thank you very much." Gideon flashed an impish grin before jerking his head toward the hallway. "Come on, let¡¯s go before your father decides that we¡¯re late on purpose and finds some noble punishment for us."


    Edwin shook his head but relented, following after Gideon as the boy practically bounced ahead, his usual energy undeterred by the early morning hour.


    As Edwin followed Gideon through the halls, he couldn''t help but reminisce about the years they had spent growing up together. From the age of one to now, Gideon had been by his side. His friend, his confidant, and in some ways, his ever-loyal servant. They had been the only children of similar age within the gilded cage of the castle they called home, and that bond had shaped them both. Whether it was Gideon dragging him into mischief or standing beside him when the weight of noble expectations loomed overhead, Edwin had come to rely on him in ways he never would have expected. There was something reassuring about knowing he wasn¡¯t alone in this place, that no matter how strange or isolating his situation felt, Gideon was always there, keeping pace with him, step for step.


    As they neared the library where the ceremony would take place, Edwin couldn''t hold back the question that had been weighing on him for months.


    "So, are you finally going to tell me?" he asked, glancing at Gideon out of the corner of his eye.


    Gideon groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "You''re asking that again?" he sighed in exasperation. "I already told you, I can''t say! If I do, my mother will somehow find out and scold me within the hour!"


    Edwin smirked slightly but let the matter drop. For all his mischief, Gideon was surprisingly dutiful when it came to certain things. Either that, or he was genuinely terrified of Marian¡¯s wrath. Considering her sharp eyes and uncanny ability to always know when her son was up to no good, Edwin supposed he couldn¡¯t blame him.


    "We are here," Gideon announced in his usual energetic tone. He looked Edwin in the eye and, noticing the slight nervousness on his face, gave him a reassuring grin. "Relax, there''s nothing to worry about. I can at least say that it¡¯ll be quick. At least, mine was."


    Edwin narrowed his eyes. "That¡¯s not very reassuring."


    Gideon chuckled. "Well, my mother was quite angry afterward. She told me it shouldn¡¯t have been that quick, but, well... you''ll understand once you enter."


    Edwin exhaled, steeling himself. "Alright."


    Psyching himself up, he moved toward the double doors of the library. He wasn''t nervous because he didn''t know what would happen. He had an idea, and that was what unsettled him. If he was right, based on all the fantasy novels he had read, this might be a ceremony to determine whether or not a child possessed magic.


    And if that were true, then he might be screwed.


    For years, he had tried to cultivate, but his body had always failed him. Every time he thought he had made progress, his body would ache, and the energy he was trying to absorb would disperse before it could settle. It shouldn''t be like this. He had surmised that his body was simply too young.


    In his past life as a cultivator, children didn¡¯t typically begin their training until around thirteen. Experts in cultivation theorized that younger minds lacked the necessary mental maturity to properly circulate spiritual energy, as the process required a deep understanding of energy flow, body reinforcement, and controlled absorption. Without this knowledge, a single mistake in guiding the energy could lead to internal injuries, blocked meridians, or worse, permanent crippling of their cultivation potential. There were already countless recorded cases of overly ambitious children attempting to cultivate too early, only to end up ruining their futures before they had even begun. The complexity of balancing the mind and body¡¯s synchronization with spiritual energy was something that only a more developed consciousness could handle, reinforcing the belief that cultivation should not be rushed.


    Those so-called experts had only been partially correct.


    Edwin had already lived through the initial phases of cultivation before. He knew the proper methods, the dangers, and the necessary caution. Yet, despite his perfect control, his body simply couldn¡¯t handle it. He had come to suspect that the body itself had to mature before it could truly absorb energy, like a sponge too dry to soak up water efficiently. If his guess was right, then the ripe age for cultivation in this world could very well be six. Otherwise, why else would they hold this ceremony at this age?


    He would have to test his theory later. For now, he just had to survive this.


    Luckily, there should be little to no trace of his failed cultivation attempts. The energy had dispersed, and the last time he had tried was when he had just turned five. There was nothing that should set off suspicion, at least, he hoped so.


    As he reached for the door, Gideon¡¯s voice made him pause.


    "Good luck, and happy birthday, Edwin."


    Edwin turned to look at his friend. Gideon was grinning, as carefree as ever, but there was something reassuring in his expression. Edwin smiled, nodding in thanks before facing the grand double doors once more.


    With a deep breath, he pushed them open and stepped inside.


    The moment he crossed the threshold, the air shifted. The warmth of the morning halls was gone, replaced by something heavier, something charged. Candlelight flickered along the towering bookshelves that lined the grand library, shadows dancing ominously as if the room itself was holding its breath.


    Waiting for him.


    Edwin took another step forward, the sound of his small boots tapping against the polished floor echoing louder than it should have.


    The ceremony was about to begin.

 Chapter 4: The Weight of Expectations

    The library stretched before Edwin, its towering shelves packed with countless tomes, their spines worn from years of handling. But his attention wasn¡¯t on the books. As he walked deeper into the room, he noticed a distinct change. The usual arrangement of tables and chairs in the far corner had been cleared away, creating an open space dominated by a raised wooden podium. Right in front of it, carved into the floor, was a glowing magic circle, intricate in design and pulsing faintly with energy.


    To the left of the circle stood his mother, Lady Evelyn Hawthorne, her regal presence unwavering. Despite the passage of almost five years, she looked nearly unchanged, her beauty timeless. Her chestnut brown hair, still long and elegantly kept, cascaded over her shoulders, complementing the deep blue of her ceremonial robes. Her striking dark brown eyes, though warm, held a seriousness befitting the occasion. There was an air of quiet strength about her, as if nothing in this world could shake her composure.


    On the right side of the circle stood his father, Lord Aldric Hawthorne, an imposing figure clad in a formal but practical dark tunic with silver embroidery. His physique remained as formidable as ever, a testament to years of rigorous training and combat. The faint scars that lined his hands and forearms spoke of battles won and hardships endured, yet his face had barely changed, save for a slightly sterner edge to his features. His golden-blond hair was still neatly combed back, and his piercing blue eyes held the same unwavering sharpness that had made him a feared warrior. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, exuding authority with every breath he took.


    Behind the podium, the old man stood unusually still, his silver hair as wild as ever, but his pale eyes held a restless impatience. His fingers drummed rapidly against the wood, his foot tapping in an uneven rhythm. He shifted from side to side, muttering under his breath, his expression tense as if he wanted this whole ordeal to be over already.


    As Edwin drew near, the old man¡¯s gaze flickered toward him before snapping back to the magic circle. His voice, when he finally spoke, was brisk, hurried. "Yes, yes, step into the circle, quickly now. Stand in the center so we can begin. No need to delay." There was no usual wide grin, no exaggerated gestures, just an eagerness to move forward, as if dragging out the process any longer would be troublesome.


    Edwin hesitated. The old man was acting crazier than usual. He turned toward his parents for confirmation, but they only nodded encouragingly. His mother¡¯s eyes were soft with reassurance, while his father gave a small, approving nod.


    Taking a steadying breath, Edwin stepped forward. The moment his foot crossed the boundary of the magic circle, something shifted. A subtle tension in the air wrapped around him, almost like unseen threads tightening around his body. He could feel it, not with his hands, not with his skin, but with something deeper, something instinctual. It was energy, alive with intent, woven into the very space he occupied. It was a hum in the air, a vibration beneath his feet, a whisper of power pressing against the edges of his awareness. Even with his powerless body, the presence of magic was unmistakable.


    He reached the center and stopped.


    The old man wasted no time. He spread his arms in an exaggerated motion, his voice filling the library with practiced authority. "Today, we uphold a tradition as old as the kingdom itself! Every child, noble or commoner, must discover whether magic flows within them. Magic is not merely a gift, it is a duty! Those blessed with it bear great responsibility, for power is not something to be taken lightly!" His words came fast, as if he were more interested in getting through the speech than in the gravity of the occasion. "Through this ceremony, we shall uncover the truth! Now, let¡¯s not waste time!"


    "Enough!" Evelyn¡¯s sharp voice cut through his rushed monologue, her glare halting him mid-motion. "Do you intend to ruin this ceremony as you did with Gideon¡¯s? You skipped through the explanations, you barely addressed the significance of this moment, and then you just¡ªjust rushed it!"


    The old man scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Bah, I''m sure the boy didn¡¯t mind! Besides, do you want a lecture, or do you want to finish this?" He jabbed a finger toward Edwin. "The sooner we begin, the sooner it¡¯s done. No need for flowery speeches. Everything that needs saying has been said already. You nobles always insist on making things more complicated than they need to be. It¡¯s maddening."


    Evelyn opened her mouth as if to retort, then closed it, her lips pressing into a thin line. She exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly weighing the futility of arguing with a man who was, for all intents and purposes, set in his ways. After a long pause, she let out a resigned sigh and turned to Edwin, her expression softening.


    "We¡¯ll discuss it later, dear," she murmured, giving him a reassuring smile, though it was tinged with reluctant acceptance.


    Edwin thought the madman was being particularly rude and inconsiderate, barely treating this ceremony with the weight it deserved. He couldn''t help but think of Gideon and wonder if his friend had felt the same unease when he had undergone the ritual. The rush, the impatience, the way it felt more like an obligation than a momentous event. It all left a sour taste in Edwin¡¯s mouth.


    The old man exhaled sharply, shutting his eyes as he raised his hands. The magic circle responded instantly. The air within the chamber crackled, threads of luminescent energy weaving together in complex patterns, pulsing in rhythm with an unseen force. The symbols etched into the floor glowed brighter, casting shifting patterns of light across the library¡¯s towering bookshelves. It was as though the entire room had been enveloped in an invisible current, humming with raw power.


    Edwin¡¯s breath caught. He could feel it. The energy moved through the circle like a living thing, slithering up his legs, coiling around his arms, and coursing through his chest. It seeped into him, wrapping around his bones, scanning him as though peeling away the layers of his existence. It was an all-encompassing force, neither warm nor cold, just there, pressing against his very being. He swallowed hard, praying that his past failed attempts at cultivation would go unnoticed.


    Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.


    The magic dispersed, the glow fading in an instant. The air stilled, the pulsing hum disappearing as if it had never been there at all. The abruptness of it left Edwin momentarily breathless, his body still expecting the sensation to continue. He blinked, trying to process the shift from overwhelming energy to sudden emptiness.


    The old man opened his eyes, and for the first time, he wasn¡¯t hurried. His expression had changed. His pale gaze, once restless, was now laced with something else. Sadness. Pity. He looked at Edwin for a long moment before speaking, his voice quieter than before.


    "You have no magic," he said, almost solemnly. "Not even a trace of it."


    A heavy silence followed, pressing down on the room like a weight.


    The old man sighed, shaking his head. "It isn¡¯t the end of the world, boy. Magic isn¡¯t everything. Some of the greatest men in history were born without it." He glanced at Aldric. "Your father, for example, is a fine warrior, a leader of men, and a noble with great standing. All without a drop of magic to his name. You¡¯ll find your own path."


    He stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Edwin¡¯s shoulder. "You¡¯re still young. You¡¯ll figure it out," he murmured before straightening. Without another word, he turned away and walked toward the library doors, his pace uncharacteristically subdued.


    As Edwin watched the old man¡¯s retreating figure, he couldn¡¯t help but reflect on the countless moments of bizarre behavior he had witnessed over the years. There were times he had seen the old man pacing the halls at odd hours, muttering to himself in languages Edwin couldn¡¯t recognize, only to suddenly burst into laughter as if he had just uncovered the secret to the universe. Other times, he would catch him scrawling incomprehensible symbols onto parchment, staring at them with deep contemplation, before promptly setting them on fire as though disgusted by his own work. And then, of course, there was the infamous incident where he had attempted to teach a cat how to cast spells, insisting that felines held untapped magical potential.


    Whenever Edwin had attempted to ask him about magic, the responses had been just as nonsensical. One time, the old man claimed he couldn¡¯t explain magic because the stars weren¡¯t aligned correctly. Another time, he dramatically insisted that knowledge was a dangerous burden for the unprepared and that Edwin should instead focus on ¡°learning how to properly whistle first.¡± On other occasions, he simply waved Edwin off, muttering about pressing magical matters before disappearing in a swirl of dust and fabric.


    Yet, beneath the layers of madness, Edwin felt an uneasy suspicion. There was a pattern in how the old man avoided certain topics, a calculated effort hidden behind his erratic nature. There were moments, fleeting as they were, when his gaze sharpened, his posture straightened, and the madness seemed to peel away, if only for a second. It was subtle, but it was there.


    Edwin had learned in his first life as a cultivator to never ignore his instincts. And in his second life, he had read enough stories to know that mysterious old men with magic always had something to hide. The question wasn¡¯t whether the old man knew something, it was what he knew and why he was keeping it to himself.


    "Oh, my sweet boy¡­" Evelyn¡¯s voice was soft, filled with the kind of sorrow only a mother could feel for her child¡¯s disappointment. "I know how much this meant to you. All those questions you¡¯ve asked about magic, all the books you''ve buried yourself in over the years... I saw how much you wanted this." Her voice wavered, her arms tightening around him. "I know you must feel lost right now. But you are so much more than magic." Tears shimmered in her eyes as she gently stroked his hair. "No matter what, you will always be enough."


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Aldric stepped forward, his voice steady yet filled with warmth. "Edwin, listen to me. Magic isn¡¯t what makes a man great. Strength, intelligence, and determination matter far more." He placed a firm hand on Edwin¡¯s shoulder, his grip reassuring. "You are still young, but even now, you show promise. You¡¯re sharp, quick to learn, and for your age, you already handle a sword better than most boys years older than you. Those are qualities of a leader, of a true heir to our house."


    He crouched slightly, leveling his gaze with Edwin¡¯s. "A man¡¯s worth is not measured by the power he is born with, but by what he chooses to do with what he has. You are my son, and I have no doubt you will accomplish great things."


    Edwin hadn¡¯t realized that while he was deep in thought about the old man, his face had twisted into a frown. His parents, seeing his expression, must have assumed he was devastated about being magicless.


    Not wanting them to worry, he quickly straightened, puffing out his chest in an almost comically serious manner, making a show of determination. He had to act his age, at least for now.


    "I get it! So what if I don¡¯t have magic? That just means I¡¯ll have to find another way to be amazing! There¡¯s gotta be plenty of ways to be strong, and I¡¯ll figure them out! I¡¯ll work really, really hard, and one day, I¡¯ll do something so cool that you¡¯ll be telling everyone, ¡®That¡¯s my son!¡¯" His voice, though filled with childish enthusiasm, carried a spark of true determination, the kind that only a stubborn six year old trying his best to play his role could muster.


    Seeing his resolve, both of his parents looked at him with pride.


    Evelyn wiped at her eyes, smiling warmly. "Oh, Edwin, you already make us proud just by being you. Magic or not, you are still our wonderful son."


    Aldric let out a small chuckle, ruffling Edwin¡¯s hair. "That¡¯s the spirit. Power isn¡¯t given, it¡¯s earned. And I know you¡¯ll carve your own path, no matter what."


    After exchanging a few more words of encouragement, Evelyn finally sighed, smoothing down Edwin¡¯s clothes. "Come, let¡¯s head to the dining room. You must be starving, and we can¡¯t have you skipping breakfast on such an important day."


    Aldric nodded in agreement. "Yes, let¡¯s eat. Today is still your birthday, after all."


    Edwin, knowing exactly what was coming next, followed his parents toward the dining hall. As they walked, his thoughts drifted to something else entirely. He was six years old now. That meant one thing. He could finally attempt cultivation.


    The thought sent a thrill through him, but also a hint of uncertainty. For years, he had been held back by the limitations of his young body, forced to wait and do nothing as time slowly passed. Now, he had a chance, though he wasn¡¯t entirely sure if it would work. His past attempts had all failed, but perhaps that had only been because his body was too young. If he had been right about needing to wait until he was six, then this could be the moment everything changed.


    The moment he had time to himself, he would find out. No more waiting. No more wasted days. Whether or not he truly could cultivate, he would finally get his answer.


    As they entered the dining hall, a chorus of voices erupted through the room.


    "Happy Birthday, Young Master Edwin!"


    "Wishing you many blessings, my lord!"


    "May the day bring you joy and good fortune!"


    The gathered castle guards and servants, standing in a loose formation around the dining hall, beamed at him as they offered their well-wishes. Some clapped, others bowed, and a few of the younger servants grinned excitedly, clearly enjoying the small celebration.


    Knowing what was coming, Edwin wasn¡¯t truly surprised, but he still acted as if he was. Every year on his birthday, they held this small gathering in his honor. It wasn¡¯t as grand as his first birthday, but in his opinion, these more intimate celebrations were far better. Unlike his first birthday, where he had been surrounded by unfamiliar nobles, these were people he actually knew, people who were part of his daily life. The atmosphere was warm, far more casual, and despite the difference in status between himself and the gathered servants and guards, there was an air of familiarity rather than rigid formality.


    As far as he understood, birthdays weren¡¯t extravagant affairs for most people. Grand celebrations were rare, typically reserved for the nobility or wealthy merchants who had the means to indulge in such festivities regularly. For the common folk, birthdays were usually marked with a shared meal, a moment of joy amid their usual routine. His parents also weren¡¯t the type to enjoy lavish festivities, preferring simpler celebrations. The grand event of his first birthday had been an exception, done more out of tradition than personal desire. Since then, they had opted for these smaller, more intimate gatherings. As the son of the lord, instead of a simple family meal, they held this modest celebration, one that Edwin had come to appreciate more with each passing year.


    Edwin stepped forward, taking a deep breath, willing himself to stay composed. He knew how a noble was supposed to act, graceful, confident, poised, but his heart was racing, and his small hands clenched slightly at his sides. He had spent two lifetimes mastering control over his emotions, yet right now, in the body of a six year old, with so many eyes on him, it was harder than expected. Still, he had to play the part. He straightened his back, lifted his chin just a little higher, and put on a dignified expression.


    "Thank you all for your kind words and for being here today," he began, keeping his voice steady. "I really appreciate everything you do for this household. This castle wouldn¡¯t be the same without all of you. Your hard work and loyalty mean a lot."


    He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then, remembering that he was still a child and it would seem strange to be too formal, he quickly added, "So... um, let''s all have fun today!" The last part came out a little more energetic than he intended, his childlike enthusiasm slipping through.


    Trying to cover for it, he gave a small, polite bow, but the movement was just a bit too stiff, his eagerness to do it ''right'' making it look slightly awkward. But when he straightened up, he caught the warm expressions of the gathered servants and guards, some smiling, others chuckling softly. They weren¡¯t expecting a perfectly rehearsed speech from him; they saw a young boy doing his best, and that was enough. Even though he was trying to act older, in their eyes, he was still just a child, and perhaps, for now, that was alright.


    The servants and guards cheered in response, their smiles growing wider. The warmth in the room was genuine, and even though Edwin had anticipated this event, he still felt touched by their sincerity.


    After a while of eating, chatting, and mingling, Edwin was approached by Gideon and a man who bore a striking resemblance to him, though older and far more imposing. The man had the same auburn hair, only darker and cut shorter, and the same sharp, mischievous eyes, though his held the weight of experience. His posture was straight, his broad shoulders and firm stance exuding the confidence of a seasoned warrior. Unlike the other knights who regularly patrolled the castle, this man was rarely seen within its walls.


    This was Roland, Gideon¡¯s father, Aldric¡¯s right-hand man, and one of the most respected warriors in the domain. He spent most of his time commanding the troops stationed throughout the territory, ensuring the security of the barony¡¯s borders. Occasionally, he would return to the castle, either to deliver reports or personally train Aldric¡¯s heir and his own son in the ways of the sword.


    Upon seeing Edwin, Roland¡¯s stern features softened, and he let out a small chuckle. "Look at you, lad. It feels like only yesterday you were barely reaching your father¡¯s knee, and now here you are, standing tall and sharp-eyed."


    Edwin smiled, feeling a small warmth at the praise. "I still have a long way to go."


    Roland grinned. "Aye, but you¡¯re on the right path. You remind me of your father when he was younger, always determined, always eager to improve. And let¡¯s not forget, you have the mind of your mother, quick-witted and sharp as a blade."


    Gideon snickered, nudging Edwin playfully. "You hear that, Edwin? You¡¯re basically the ultimate combination of your parents! Super strong like your dad and super smart like your mom. No pressure or anything!"


    Edwin rolled his eyes, but there was an undeniable sense of pride blooming in his chest. Roland nodded approvingly before shifting the weight of something wrapped in cloth under his arm. "Well, enough of that. I didn¡¯t just come here to talk about the past."


    He presented the bundle to Edwin. "This is actually from your parents. I picked it up from the local smith earlier."


    Edwin took it with careful hands, glancing at his parents for permission. Both of them gave him a small nod.


    Unwrapping the cloth, Edwin revealed a sword that was perfectly sized for his six year old frame. It wasn¡¯t overly long or cumbersome, making it clear that it had been custom forged with his growing stature in mind. The craftsmanship was simple but precise, the blade sleek and well-balanced, free of any unnecessary embellishments. As his fingers traced along the smooth metal, he immediately noticed something odd, it was much lighter than he had expected.


    His brows furrowed slightly. He had handled iron tools before, and they had never felt this light. This wasn¡¯t pure iron. It had to be some sort of alloy, possibly blended with another metal to reduce its weight while maintaining durability. The blacksmiths here likely had knowledge of metallurgy that went beyond simple iron forging, even if they lacked the industrial advancements of his previous life.


    A realization struck him. When Gideon had first received his sword, Edwin had asked to hold it, but he hadn¡¯t been allowed to borrow it. At the time, he had assumed it was simply because it was too dangerous, but now suspects that it''s some sort of tradition in this world. If it had been made of pure iron, it would have been far too heavy for Gideon to wield effectively during training. Edwin had suspected it back then, but now that he was holding his own sword, he was certain, these weapons were made of an alloy, specifically designed to be both durable and manageable for someone their age. The knowledge made him respect the smiths of this world a little more. Even if they lacked the conveniences of modern metallurgy, they clearly knew how to adapt materials to their needs.


    Gideon grinned mischievously. "Finally! You¡¯ve got an iron sword too. Now we¡¯ll see if you can keep up."


    Edwin chuckled, remembering how envious he had been when Gideon had received his first iron sword a few months ago. Now, he had one of his own. He curled his fingers around the hilt, testing the grip. It felt right in his hands, almost as if it had been waiting for him all this time. This was no mere toy, it was his first real weapon.


    Aldric walked up to him, his gaze firm yet proud. "A sword is more than just a weapon. It is a symbol of responsibility. The strength to wield it is not just in your arms, but in your heart and mind. A man who draws his blade must do so with purpose, not recklessness."


    Edwin gripped the sword¡¯s hilt tighter, absorbing his father¡¯s words.


    Aldric continued, "Now that you both have your swords, your training will change. No more simple drills with wooden sticks. You will begin sparring with real weapons soon, once you get used to the weight of your blade. And now that you are both six, it is time for you to see more of the domain. You will begin traveling beyond the castle, accompanied by guards, of course."


    Both Edwin and Gideon exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up with excitement.


    As Edwin followed his parents to continue the morning festivities, his thoughts raced. Finally, he would be able to explore more of the world beyond the castle walls. The possibilities stretched before him. If he wanted to bring technology into this medieval world, he would need to see more of what he had to work with.


    But before any of that, there was something even more important to confirm. The moment he had time to himself, he would find out once and for all. Could he cultivate?

 Chapter 5: A New Path Forward

    After the celebration, Edwin and Gideon found themselves with time to spare, so they did what any boys their age would, ran off to enjoy the rest of the day. They wandered through the castle grounds, weaving through the training yard where knights were sparring, past the stables where stablehands were tending to the horses, and toward one of their favorite spots near the garden walls. There, with sticks in hand, they clashed like knights in a grand battle, striking dramatic poses and exchanging exaggerated blows.


    "Hah! You¡¯ll never defeat me, Dark Lord Edwin! I, the mighty hero, shall vanquish you!" Gideon declared, brandishing his stick like a legendary blade.


    Edwin smirked, spinning his own stick before pointing it at Gideon. "Dark Lord? Please, I prefer Supreme Emperor of All Creation. And you? You¡¯re just the first fool to fall before my might."


    "Not a chance! Take this!" Gideon lunged forward, and their sticks clashed, the sound echoing through the courtyard as they laughed, exchanging playful insults and exaggerated attacks.


    Eventually, they tired themselves out and flopped onto the grass, panting from their pretend battle. After catching his breath, Gideon turned to Edwin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, we¡¯re finally allowed outside the castle soon. Where should we go first?"


    Edwin, still staring at the sky, hummed in thought. "Probably the town. I want to see how people live, what they use, how things work."


    Gideon gave him a curious look. "You always think about things like that. I was going to say we should go to the training grounds outside the castle walls and watch the soldiers train! Maybe even sneak in a fight or two."


    Edwin chuckled. "You just want to fight everyone."


    Gideon grinned. "Of course! That¡¯s the whole point of having a sword! What about you? You finally got yours today. Doesn¡¯t it make you want to test it out?"


    Edwin nodded. "Yeah, but there¡¯s more to life than just swinging a sword. I want to understand how things work out there, not just on the training ground."


    Gideon waved a hand. "Fine, fine. But if we¡¯re going to town, I say we try some street food. I heard from one of the guards that they sell the best honeyed pastries near the market square."


    Edwin smirked. "Alright, deal. First, we explore, then we eat."


    "That¡¯s the spirit!" Gideon cheered, sitting up. "Oh, by the way, how was your ceremony? The old man rushed through mine so fast my mom nearly exploded."


    Edwin snorted. "Same here. He barely explained anything before he declared the results. I think my mother was about to scold him, but then she just sighed like she had already given up."


    Gideon laughed. "That¡¯s exactly what happened with my mom! She started yelling, then just kind of¡­ accepted it. I guess everyone knows he¡¯s hopeless when it comes to these things."


    Edwin smirked. "Yeah, but it was still weird. When I stood in the circle, I felt like something was scanning me, moving through my whole body, trying to find something that wasn¡¯t there."


    Gideon made a face. "Ugh, yeah! I felt that too! Like a bunch of tiny little hands poking and prodding me inside. It didn¡¯t hurt, but it was¡­ weird."


    "Exactly," Edwin nodded. "And then, just like that, it was gone."


    Gideon sighed, stretching his arms. "And then he gave me that look. The old man actually looked sad."


    Edwin¡¯s expression darkened slightly. "Not just for you, but for me too. It was like he actually cared."


    Gideon scoffed. "I didn¡¯t think he was capable of looking serious, but when he patted my shoulder, I swear I thought he was about to give a real speech for once. Then he just walked off."


    Edwin raised an eyebrow. "You mean he actually looked normal for a second?"


    Gideon groaned. "No, he still looked crazy. Just¡­ sad and crazy."


    Edwin shook his head. "Hey, we can still train, magic or not."


    Gideon grinned. "That¡¯s right! Just because we don¡¯t have magic doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t be strong. Besides, I¡¯d rather be the best swordsman than some stuffy old mage."


    Edwin smirked. "Good to know where your priorities are."


    Gideon chuckled before glancing at Edwin curiously. "So, what now? You just gonna spend the rest of the day sulking?"


    Edwin grinned, shaking his head. "Not a chance. But I think I¡¯m done for today. I¡¯m feeling tired, so I¡¯m going to head back to my room."


    Gideon sat up, narrowing his eyes. "You? Tired? You never tap out before me. What are you up to?"


    Edwin gave an exaggerated yawn. "Just what I said. I had a long day, and I want to rest."


    Gideon eyed him for a moment before shrugging. "Fine, fine. But don¡¯t think you¡¯re getting out of our next duel. I¡¯ll beat you for sure next time."


    Edwin smirked. "We¡¯ll see about that."


    They exchanged farewells, and as soon as Gideon was out of sight, Edwin wasted no time. He turned and made his way quickly back to his room. His heart pounded with anticipation. Finally, after all these years of waiting, he was going to try. He was going to see if he could cultivate.


    <hr>


    Back in his room, Edwin took a moment to prepare. He had stolen¡ªborrowed¡ªa small wooden tub from the laundry, the kind typically used for washing clothes, repurposing it into his cultivation seat. He had enough memories of his first life to remember that if he succeeded, impurities would be forced from his body, seeping out of his pores like sweat, bringing with them the hidden filth that clung to his very being. He had no intention of making a mess of his chambers. To further prepare, he had also instructed the servants to fill his usual bathing tub with fresh, warm water. Once the process was over, he would need a thorough cleansing.


    With all arrangements in place, Edwin took a steadying breath and removed his clothing, allowing the cool air of the room to brush against his skin before carefully stepping into the wooden tub. It was cramped, but functional. He crossed his legs, straightened his posture, and closed his eyes. Slowly, he exhaled and willed his body to relax. This time, it had to work.


    Unlike his previous, painful attempts, something was different. The moment he reached out, the energy of the world responded, not resisting, but flowing toward him as if he had simply needed to acknowledge it for it to answer his call. It was potent, vast, and more refined than the spiritual energy he had known in his past life. It felt less like raw power and more like an ever-present force, gentle but brimming with boundless potential. It sought to enter his body freely, but it lacked direction. Without guidance, it tried to seep into him indiscriminately, dispersing itself too evenly, spreading into his limbs, his torso, his very bones in a chaotic, unfocused manner.


    He knew he had to reign it in. Using the methods ingrained in him from his past life, he began to direct the energy, attempting to shape it into the familiar pathways of his old cultivation technique. However, something unexpected happened. Every time he forced the energy into the rigid circulation patterns of his former cultivation manual, he felt resistance. It was not painful, nor was it forceful, but rather, it was as if the energy itself was nudging him. Guiding him toward a different method, a new way of channeling power through his body.


    Curious, he hesitated for only a moment before deciding to follow its lead. If anything went awry, he was still in the early stages. He could correct himself. But as he surrendered to the flow, he felt something incredible. Harmony. The energy aligned with him perfectly, coursing through his body with an effortless grace he had never experienced before. Unlike his previous life, where cultivating felt like carving a path through solid stone, here it felt as though the world itself was helping him, refining him, sculpting his very essence into something greater.


    The difference was profound. With each breath, he could feel his body absorbing more and more of this energy, slowly refining it, strengthening his very being at a foundational level. His muscles became taut, his bones more resilient, his very core brimming with newfound vitality. The cultivation pattern he had followed in his past life had been a struggle, an uphill climb fraught with bottlenecks and stagnation. But this¡­ this was like a river flowing into the ocean, unrestricted, limitless. His entire being resonated with the natural rhythm of the world, as though he had found the key to a power that had been waiting for him all along.


    Then, it happened. A shift. A surge. His mind sharpened as the gathered energy reached a tipping point, cascading through him like a flood. Something inside him clicked into place, and suddenly, he was no longer grasping at energy, he was one with it. He had broken through. He had entered the Spirit Gathering Realm, Rank 1.


    For a long moment, he sat in stunned silence, reveling in the sensation. Power coursed through him, different from anything he had ever known. It was not just raw strength. It was balance, perfection, something deeply attuned to him in a way his past cultivation never had been. His foundation was flawless, built not upon the rigid frameworks of old, but upon something entirely new, something wholly his own.


    Just as he was about to delve deeper into this revelation, a pungent, nauseating stench hit his nose like a physical blow. His eyes snapped open, and he nearly gagged. A thick, oily layer of filth coated his skin, dark and greasy, reeking of something rancid and vile.


    Edwin groaned. "Well¡­ I was right about needing that bath."


    <hr>


    With his bath done, Edwin ordered the servants to clean the bathing tub, as well as the now thoroughly disgusting small wooden tub he had borrowed. Explaining to them that he had been conducting an experiment didn¡¯t take much effort, though he could tell from their expressions that they remained both suspicious and disgruntled about the whole ordeal. Thankfully, they didn¡¯t press him with too many questions, though he knew it was only a matter of time before word of his strange behavior reached his parents. Hopefully, they would simply assume it had something to do with his usual curiosity, perhaps an experiment involving food or plants, or just another one of his odd fascinations.


    Fortunately, his parents did not press him with questions, allowing them to enjoy a peaceful dinner together as a family.


    With matters settled for the day, Edwin turned his focus inward. Back in his room, sitting cross-legged in a meditative posture, he began to truly examine himself, delving deeper into the changes within his body. The energy coursing through him was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Purer, denser, almost alive in the way it moved through his meridians. It was as if the very essence of the world had been waiting for him, responding to his presence in a way that defied all his prior understanding of cultivation.


    Even at the very first stage of Spirit Gathering, he could feel the sheer vastness of this power. The difference was staggering. He recalled the struggles of his past life, where each breakthrough had been hard-fought, requiring painstaking effort to draw in even the smallest wisp of energy. Yet here, the energy had not only welcomed him but had actively guided him. He felt more refined, more stable, as though his foundation had been forged with care rather than through trial and error. Compared to an ordinary cultivator at this level, his strength was leagues ahead, bolstered both by the profound nature of this world''s energy and the cultivation technique that had naturally adapted to him. It was as though this power had always been meant for him.


    The possibilities swirled in his mind. If the energy itself was guiding his cultivation, did that mean he was unique? Or was this a fundamental property of this world? Had others experienced the same phenomenon, or was he the only one to have stumbled upon this effortless path? And if it was only him, why? Was it because of his past life? Or was there another force at play?


    He flexed his fingers, feeling the energy ripple beneath his skin. He couldn¡¯t wait to put his newfound strength to the test, to push his body and mind further than ever before. Yet, beyond the thrill of personal power, the implications of his discovery intrigued him far more. The energy had actively aided him. It had responded as if welcoming him into something greater, something he did not yet fully comprehend.


    Why? How? These were mysteries that could take years to unravel. But the most immediate question that burned in his mind was simple yet profound: was this an advantage unique to him, or could anyone in this world cultivate as flawlessly as he just had?


    Edwin exhaled slowly, his mind sharpening with resolve. He had an idea of where to start looking for answers. And more importantly, he knew exactly who could help him uncover the truth.


    <hr>


    The next day, the moment Edwin woke up, his first instinct was to try cultivating again. He hadn¡¯t attempted it immediately after reaching Spirit Gathering Rank 1, knowing he needed to rest and consolidate his gains. No matter how flawless his foundation seemed, rushing ahead without properly stabilizing could lead to unseen mistakes that might affect him in the future.


    Sitting up in bed, he crossed his legs and took a deep breath, preparing himself. As he reached out to draw in the energy around him, expecting the same smooth flow as before, a sharp, familiar pain shot through his body. It was the same discomfort he had felt every time he had attempted to cultivate before turning six. His brows furrowed in thought.


    So, his body still wasn¡¯t ready? He had assumed that once he broke through to Spirit Gathering, he¡¯d be able to continue unhindered, but it seemed there was still a limit to how much energy his young body could absorb. Was it another restriction due to his age? If so, then perhaps he needed to wait another year before progressing further. Pushing too hard now might cause damage rather than advancement.


    With a sigh, Edwin re-centered himself. He had expected this possibility, though he had hoped otherwise. At least now he had a clear answer. For now, all he could do was focus on other aspects of his growth until his body matured further.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Shaking off his disappointment, he finally stood and began his morning routine. In most of the fantasy stories from his past life, noble children would have maids waking them up and dressing them every morning, but his father had made it clear that he wanted him to be self-sufficient. That meant Edwin had to wake up on his own, wash up, and dress himself without assistance. Not that he minded, he was used to it from his previous lives. Still, he had to admit that experiencing a life of daily pampering while he was young wouldn¡¯t have been the worst thing.


    As he reached for his clothes, a sudden knock on the door made him pause. Before he could even respond, the door swung open, and in walked Gideon, his mischievous grin quickly shifting into a frown when he saw Edwin already up.


    "You¡¯re awake already?" Gideon whined, crossing his arms. "It¡¯s too early for you to be up on your own. I was supposed to be the one waking you up!"


    Edwin smirked as he pulled on his tunic. "And why, exactly, did you think I¡¯d still be sleeping?"


    Gideon huffed. "Because you always wake up late after your birthday! I planned for this! I was going to jump on your bed, shake you awake, and yell something dramatic like, ¡®Rise and shine, my lord! It¡¯s time for battle!¡¯ But nooo, you just had to ruin it by waking up on your own."


    Edwin chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry to disappoint. Now, why are you here so early?"


    At that, Gideon¡¯s frown vanished, replaced by a wide grin. "Because now that you finally have a real sword, and my father is still here, we can start training right away!"


    Edwin perked up at the mention of training, the last remnants of sleep fading completely. "Already?"


    "Of course! What, did you think you¡¯d get to laze around all morning?" Gideon smirked, puffing out his chest. "Besides, I do have a bit of an advantage. I started training with a real sword earlier, after all. You¡¯re going to have a lot of catching up to do if you want to keep up with me."


    Edwin rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless. "We¡¯ll see about that."


    The thought of finally testing his new strength sent excitement coursing through him. This wasn¡¯t just about training with a sword, this was the perfect opportunity to gauge how much his body had changed since breaking into Spirit Gathering Rank 1. And, more than that, it might also be the perfect chance to convince Gideon to try something new.


    <hr>


    As they entered the training grounds with their new swords and simple training clothes, they quickly realized they weren¡¯t alone. Several knights were present, preparing their gear and checking their weapons with an air of focus and urgency. The clinking of armor, the sharpening of blades, and the murmurs of conversation filled the air.


    Edwin furrowed his brow. "Why does it look like they¡¯re getting ready for something serious? I thought morning drills weren¡¯t until later."


    Gideon, always eager for excitement, grinned. "Maybe they¡¯re finally doing something interesting instead of just marching around. Come on, let¡¯s get closer!"


    They approached the group of knights, trying to make sense of the preparations, when a young man in his late teens strode toward them. He had a confident gait, a friendly smile on his face, but there was a sharpness to his eyes, one that spoke of experience beyond his years. He was dressed in full armor, though not as polished or ornate as some of the senior knights. He carried his helmet under his arm, his brown hair slightly damp with sweat from earlier drills.


    "Look who it is! The little lord finally got their real sword, huh?" The young man smirked as he stopped in front of them.


    "Lance!" Gideon greeted him enthusiastically. "You¡¯re heading out somewhere, aren¡¯t you? What¡¯s going on?"


    Edwin gave a nod of greeting. "Are these just routine patrols, or is there something else happening?"


    Lance, one of the younger knights who had been training under Aldric for years, chuckled. "Can¡¯t get anything past you, huh? You¡¯ve always been sharp, Edwin." He gave a small shrug. "It¡¯s nothing too dramatic, just some extra patrols around the villages. Some of the scouts reported unusual activity near the outer farms, so we¡¯re going to check it out."


    Edwin narrowed his eyes slightly. Something felt off. If it was just a routine patrol, why was there such a sense of urgency? Lance was making light of it, perhaps to stop them from worrying, but Edwin could tell there was more to this than he was letting on.


    Gideon¡¯s eyes sparkled with interest. "Sounds like fun. Think they¡¯ll let us come along?"


    Lance let out a hearty laugh. "Not a chance. Your parents would have my head before I even left the gates. Besides, shouldn¡¯t you two be more focused on your own training? You¡¯ve got a long way to go before you¡¯re swinging those swords like real knights."


    Edwin smiled, though his mind lingered on the situation. "That¡¯s exactly what we¡¯re here for."


    Before they could continue chatting, a familiar voice called out across the training grounds. "Edwin! Gideon! Come here, let''s start training."


    Both boys turned to see Roland approaching, his presence as commanding as ever. The seasoned warrior stood tall, his expression firm but not unkind. His armor, though worn, was polished and ready for battle, and the sword at his hip rested with an air of expectation.


    "Looks like duty calls," Lance said with a smirk. "You two train hard now. Who knows? Maybe in a few years, you¡¯ll be riding out with us."


    "A few years?" Gideon scoffed, crossing his arms. "I bet we could handle it right now!"


    Lance chuckled, ruffling Gideon¡¯s hair. "Sure you could, little warrior. Keep that fire burning."


    Edwin gave Lance a nod. "Be safe out there."


    "Always am," Lance replied, before turning and heading back toward the gathering knights.


    As they approached Roland, Edwin immediately noticed something. He was fully geared up, prepared for battle. His armor was fastened, his weapons secured, and the look in his eyes was not that of a man overseeing a simple training session. Edwin¡¯s instincts flared. Something was definitely going on.


    "I see you¡¯re both ready for training," Roland said as they reached him. "That¡¯s good, because I¡¯ll be cutting this one short. Your parents and I are heading out on patrols around the villages, but we have some time before we depart. Until then, I¡¯ll put you both through your paces."


    Edwin exchanged a glance with Gideon, who looked equally intrigued. "Patrols? You mean the same ones Lance and the others are going on?"


    Roland gave a slight nod. "More or less. Just routine business. Nothing to worry about."


    Edwin wasn¡¯t convinced. If it were just a routine patrol, why would his parents and Gideon¡¯s father be personally leading it? Still, he decided not to push the issue, at least not now.


    Gideon, however, grinned. "Well, if you¡¯re leaving soon, that just means we¡¯ll have to make this training session count! Let¡¯s go!"


    Roland chuckled. "That¡¯s the spirit. Now, get into running positions. Let¡¯s start with a quick run with your swords in their sheath to get your blood pumping."


    Edwin adjusted the sword at his side, shifting his stance slightly as he glanced up at Roland. "How far are we running?"


    Roland smirked. "Far enough to make you sweat, but not so far that you¡¯ll drop by the end of it. Think of it as a warm-up."


    Gideon groaned. "You always say that, but it¡¯s never just a warm-up."


    Roland laughed, crossing his arms. "Complaining already? We haven¡¯t even started. Maybe I should double the distance, then."


    Gideon immediately straightened up. "No need! I¡¯m ready!"


    Edwin shook his head in amusement before turning to Roland. "Alright, let¡¯s get started."


    With that, Roland gave them the signal, and the boys took off running.


    As Edwin moved, he immediately noticed the difference. His body, now strengthened by energy, carried him forward with ease. His movements felt smoother, lighter, more controlled. Even with the sword at his hip, the weight was almost unnoticeable, as if it had become an extension of himself rather than a burden. He remembered how running used to feel before, his breaths would grow heavier, his legs would tire.


    But now? His breath was steady, his strides strong. If he weren¡¯t actively holding himself back, he could have left Gideon in the dust. He made sure to keep only a foot or two ahead so his friend wouldn¡¯t notice just how drastically he had improved.


    Gideon, on the other hand, was already starting to look a little winded, his breath slightly heavier, his pace still strong but less effortless than Edwin¡¯s.


    Edwin hid a grin. If I weren¡¯t a cultivator, I¡¯d be panting just like him right now. But knowing he couldn¡¯t afford to look too different, he began to breathe faster, forcing himself to appear just as winded as Gideon. When they finally reached the end of their run, he bent over slightly, pretending to catch his breath, though in truth, he could have kept going for much longer.


    Gideon collapsed onto the ground, heaving. "I¡­ hate¡­ running."


    Roland smirked as he approached them. "Hate it all you want, but in battle, you won¡¯t just be swinging your sword while standing still. You¡¯ll be running, dodging, chasing, fighting for your life. This is just a prelude to that. If you can¡¯t handle this, how do you expect to survive when it matters?"


    Gideon groaned but managed to sit up. "I get it, I get it. Doesn¡¯t make it any more fun."


    Edwin straightened, giving Roland a nod. "So, what¡¯s next?"


    Roland¡¯s smirk widened. "Good question. Now, draw your swords. Let¡¯s see how you handle them."


    The two boys complied, unsheathing their weapons. Roland stepped forward, demonstrating a proper stance, his posture firm yet relaxed. "The way you hold your sword, the way you stand, dictates how well you fight. A sloppy stance makes for an easy target. Keep your weight balanced, feet shoulder-width apart."


    He moved behind Gideon first, adjusting his stance slightly, then did the same for Edwin. "Good. Now, let¡¯s go through the basics, strikes and slashes. Follow my lead."


    Roland demonstrated a simple overhead strike, his movements fluid and controlled. The boys mirrored him, their swords cutting through the air.


    "Not bad," Roland said as he observed them. "Again. And this time, tighten your grip slightly, Edwin. You don¡¯t want your sword knocked out of your hands."


    Edwin nodded and adjusted his hold. He deliberately made subtle mistakes, ensuring he didn¡¯t appear too skilled for his age, just enough to blend in without drawing suspicion.


    "Gideon, stop trying to rush. Power is nothing without control. Focus on precision before speed."


    Gideon pouted but followed the correction. They repeated the strikes, then moved on to horizontal and diagonal slashes, each time Roland giving pointers, fixing mistakes, and occasionally demonstrating with swift, practiced movements that made it clear why he was Aldric¡¯s right-hand man.


    By the end of the session, Edwin was feeling the strain, though nowhere near as exhausted as Gideon, who had flopped onto his back, groaning dramatically.


    "I think I¡¯m dying," Gideon whined.


    Edwin let out a breath, then followed suit, laying down beside him but making sure to appear only slightly less exhausted than Gideon. "That makes two of us."


    Roland chuckled. "You¡¯ll live. But this is just the beginning. Next time, I expect more endurance from both of you. Keep training while we¡¯re gone. The next session will be harder, so be ready."


    Edwin and Gideon exchanged a glance before groaning in unison.


    Roland smirked, shaking his head. "Alright, enough complaining. I have to get back to preparations for the sortie. Your parents and I have a long day ahead of us."


    Edwin straightened, watching him carefully. "Be safe out there, Roland."


    Gideon grinned and gave his father a mock salute. "Yeah, yeah, kick some butt out there, alright? Show those baddies who¡¯s boss!"


    Roland chuckled, shaking his head. "I¡¯ll do my best, but you two focus on your training. That way, when the time comes, you¡¯ll be the ones protecting this place."


    Gideon grinned, giving another mock salute. "You can count on us!"


    With that, Roland turned and strode off toward the gathering knights, leaving Edwin and Gideon in the training grounds. The sound of armor clinking, horses being saddled, and final orders being given filled the air. The weight of the moment settled over Edwin as he watched the knights prepare to ride out.


    As Edwin and Gideon lay on the grass, catching their breath from training, the familiar sound of armored footsteps approached. Looking up, Edwin saw his parents standing before them, both clad in their battle attire much like they had been five years ago. His father, Aldric, stood tall in his meticulously maintained plate armor. His sword rested at his hip, the hilt worn from years of use but polished to a gleam. His expression was firm, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked at Edwin.


    Beside him, Evelyn stood with her elegant yet practical mage robes, embroidered with sigils of protection and enhancement. Though there were a few subtle signs of age, she was as graceful and striking as ever. The deep blue fabric of her robes contrasted with the pale silver threading that formed intricate magical patterns along the sleeves and hem. Her staff, a slender creation of dark wood inlaid with a gleaming blue gem, was held loosely in her right hand.


    "There you boys are," Evelyn said with a warm, yet slightly chiding smile. "I hope you¡¯ve been behaving yourselves."


    Gideon, trying to stand up, groaned. "Define behaving."


    Aldric smirked at that, then turned to Edwin. "We¡¯re about to depart, so we wanted to see you before we left. You and Gideon both."


    Edwin sat up fully, his stomach tightening. "You¡¯re really going? Both of you?"


    Evelyn knelt beside him, tucking a strand of his blond hair behind his ear. "It¡¯s nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart. We¡¯ll be back before you know it."


    Aldric placed a firm hand on Edwin¡¯s shoulder. "You¡¯re the heir to this house, Edwin. That means while we¡¯re gone, I expect you to behave and act accordingly. No trouble, no sneaking off, and most importantly, listen to Marian."


    Gideon perked up at that, crossing his arms with a playful pout. "Lady Evelyn, why does Edwin get the warning? I mean, I''m the one who''s always getting into trouble. Shouldn¡¯t I be the one getting the lecture instead?"


    Evelyn chuckled. "Oh, we know. Which is why I¡¯m also warning you. Don¡¯t make things harder for your mother, alright?"


    Gideon sighed dramatically. "Of course Lady Evelyn. I¡¯ll be an angel."


    Edwin, however, wasn¡¯t as easily reassured. His parents had gone on patrols before, but this one felt different. Maybe it was the way the knights were moving, the hushed discussions happening in corners of the castle, or the sheer number of veteran fighters riding out this time. Something about this reminded him of that day five years ago.


    "Are you sure this is just some routine patrol?" Edwin asked carefully, watching his father¡¯s expression. "Nothing else?"


    Aldric¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but he didn¡¯t answer right away either. Instead, he squeezed Edwin¡¯s shoulder once before standing. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with. Just focus on your training."


    Evelyn sighed, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Edwin¡¯s forehead. "We love you, Edwin. Be good while we¡¯re gone."


    Edwin nodded slowly, doing his best to hide the worry gnawing at him. "I will."


    Gideon grinned at Aldric. "You better come back in one piece, Lord Aldric! Or else we¡¯ll have to come drag you back ourselves."


    Aldric chuckled. "I¡¯d like to see you try."


    With that, they gave one last nod to their son before turning toward their waiting horses. Edwin watched them go, unease creeping into his chest. He had read enough stories in his past life to know that departures like this never sat well in hindsight. He clenched his fists slightly.


    As he stood there, memories of the past five years surfaced. There had been other times when knights had gone on patrol, but nothing quite like this, not since that first time, when his parents had personally led a force to deal with the so-called ''bandits.'' And now, once again, both of his parents were riding out. That meant this was something serious.


    Edwin¡¯s eyes narrowed. If this was another major event, it might finally be his best chance. Over the years, he had searched for clues. Anything that could tell him more about what had happened back then, or what was truly going on in their domain. But getting into his father''s office had proven nearly impossible. His father was almost always inside or nearby, making sneaking in unfeasible. And when he was away, the guards were extra vigilant.


    But now? Now that Edwin was stronger, now that his Spirit Gathering cultivation gave him an edge, he might just be able to do what he couldn¡¯t before.


    Tonight, he will find the truth.

 Chapter 6: The First Recruit

    Despite everything that had happened, it was still early morning, which meant Edwin had to wait until nighttime to begin his heist. With nothing better to do, he and Gideon spent most of their morning lounging under the shade of a tree in the castle gardens, recuperating from the grueling training session earlier. Gideon, more so than Edwin, looked utterly spent. Lying on his back with his arms spread wide, soaking in the cool shade.


    For a while, they simply rested in companionable silence, the sounds of rustling leaves and distant murmurs of castle life filling the air. Then, as Edwin expected, Gideon finally broke the silence with a question.


    "Hey, Edwin¡­ how come you were better than me during training?" Gideon asked, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. "I mean, I started first! I should be better, right? But today, it was like¡ªlike you just got faster and stronger out of nowhere! That¡¯s not fair!"


    Edwin smirked, enjoying the frustration in Gideon¡¯s voice. "I figured something out," he said vaguely, leaning back against the tree trunk.


    Gideon sat up fully, eyes narrowing. "Figured what out? Tell me!"


    "It just¡­ came to me suddenly," Edwin continued, keeping his tone mysterious. "And because of it, I got stronger."


    Gideon huffed. "That¡¯s not an answer! I wanna know!" He scooted closer, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Can you teach me? I wanna be stronger too!"


    Edwin tilted his head, pretending to consider it before letting out a dramatic sigh. "I could¡­ but I don¡¯t know if you can handle it. It takes a lot of concentration, and you have to sit still for a long time. Are you sure you can do that?"


    Gideon immediately scowled, puffing up his chest. "Of course I can! I can sit still better than you! Just watch!"


    Edwin chuckled. "Alright, alright. I¡¯ll teach you, but only if you promise to keep it a secret for now. No telling anyone."


    Gideon blinked, tilting his head. "Why?"


    Edwin¡¯s smirk faded slightly. "Because I want to practice more before telling anyone else. I need more experience with it first."


    That was, of course, only part of the truth. In reality, Edwin knew he had to be careful. If word got out about cultivation and its potential, it could attract the wrong kind of attention. He needed more knowledge, more data about this world¡¯s energy, its people, and the political climate before spreading this information. His parents would eventually find out, if they didn¡¯t already suspect something, but until he was certain it was safe for them to cultivate, he wouldn¡¯t tell them anything. Not yet.


    Gideon pouted but nodded. "Fine, fine. I won¡¯t tell. But only ¡®cause you¡¯re actually gonna teach me!"


    "Good," Edwin said, satisfied. "Then let¡¯s get to work."


    The first step of their plan? Acquire another small wooden tub. They ¡®borrowed¡¯ one from the laundry, sneaking it out while the servants were preoccupied. Next, Edwin instructed the servants to fill his bathing tub with fresh water and prepare a change of clothes. Throughout it all, Gideon peppered him with endless questions¡ªHow does this make you stronger? Will I get super strong too? Will it hurt?¡ªbut Edwin only answered with a cryptic, "You¡¯ll see soon enough. It¡¯s better to experience it yourself."


    By the time their preparations were complete, it was finally time for lunch. As soon as they sat down, Gideon, practically bouncing in his seat, nudged Edwin¡¯s arm. "Eat faster! We gotta start right after!"


    Edwin raised an eyebrow. "You were just complaining about training earlier, and now you¡¯re excited?"


    Gideon grinned. "Well, yeah! If this makes me stronger, then I wanna do it now! Hurry up, slowpoke!"


    Edwin chuckled and shook his head, taking another bite of his meal at a deliberately slow pace just to mess with Gideon. His friend groaned dramatically, leaning onto the table as if the wait was unbearable. Edwin merely smirked. He has no idea what he¡¯s getting into.


    <hr>


    After they finished eating, they went straight to Edwin''s room, where all the preparations were waiting. Before anything else, Edwin decided to give Gideon a lecture.


    "Alright, before we start, you need to understand something first," Edwin said, crossing his arms.


    Gideon groaned. "Why do I feel like I¡¯m about to get a boring lesson? Can¡¯t we just start already?"


    Edwin shot him a look. "If you don¡¯t understand this, you won¡¯t be able to do it properly. So sit down and listen."


    Gideon sighed dramatically but plopped onto the floor, arms crossed.


    "The energy people use in this world is called mana," Edwin began. "Mages use it to cast spells, but it''s also what knights and other people use to enhance their bodies and perform incredible physical feats. Even those who aren¡¯t mages have mana in them, just not enough to cast spells."


    Gideon perked up slightly at that. "Wait¡­ so everyone has mana?"


    Edwin nodded. "Yes, but most people don¡¯t use it actively. They gain mana throughout their everyday life, by breathing, eating, moving. It circulates naturally inside them, but very few ever learn how to properly control it."


    Gideon¡¯s face twisted in impatience. "Okay, okay, I get it! So what did you figure out? How do we get stronger?"


    Edwin smirked. "I found a way to absorb and control this energy directly, guiding it in specific patterns inside your body. Doing this makes you stronger faster."


    Gideon¡¯s eyes widened. "So¡­ it¡¯s like training, but better?!"


    "Exactly," Edwin said. "But it takes focus. A lot of focus. And patience."


    Gideon puffed out his chest. "I can do that!"


    "Then let¡¯s begin. First thing first, take your clothes off."


    Gideon didn¡¯t hesitate, immediately stripping down without question. Edwin didn¡¯t find the situation odd. They had been bathed together as babies, and even now, they were still children. It wasn¡¯t strange in the slightest. Thinking about it, they had practically been raised as brothers. Their mothers seemed closer than what was typical for a noble lady and her servant, and even their fathers¡ªwhile easy to explain as battlefield comrades¡ªhad a camaraderie that felt deeper than just knightly duty. Edwin made a mental note to investigate that further¡­ but for now, cultivation came first.


    Now sitting in the wooden tub, Gideon looked expectantly at Edwin. "Okay, what now?"


    Edwin positioned himself behind Gideon, placing his hands on his back. "Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing."


    Gideon obeyed, though Edwin could feel the impatience radiating off him.


    "Now, try to feel the energy around you. Mana is everywhere. It¡¯s in the air, in the ground, inside you. But you have to concentrate. Imagine drawing it in, guiding it through your body. But be careful, if you don¡¯t control it, the energy will spread chaotically. You need to direct it, to guide it along a path."


    Gideon frowned. "How do I know where to guide it?"


    "Good question. Once you gather enough, you¡¯ll notice that the energy will want to move in a certain way. Don¡¯t resist it. Let it guide you as much as you guide it."


    As he instructed, Edwin focused as well, extending his senses. Normally, someone at his level wouldn¡¯t be able to perceive what was happening inside another person¡¯s body, but with his past life experience, he could manage. To some extent, at least. He could feel it¡ªthe energy shifting, seeking a natural flow within Gideon, just as it had with himself.


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    But something was off. Gideon¡¯s breathing grew uneven, his body stiffening slightly. Edwin could sense that the energy wasn¡¯t settling in as easily as it had for him.


    "Relax," Edwin murmured. "You¡¯re trying to force it too much. Think of it like threading a needle. If you shove the thread through too quickly, it bends and frays. But if you guide it carefully, letting it move the way it wants, it¡¯ll slip through smoothly."


    Gideon let out a frustrated breath but did as Edwin instructed. Slowly, the tension in his body eased. The energy, once sluggish, began to move more smoothly.


    "Good," Edwin said. "Now keep that rhythm. Don¡¯t rush it. Just let it happen."


    Gideon grunted in acknowledgment, his face scrunching in concentration. Edwin smirked. Not bad for a first attempt.


    But there was a difference between the both of them. Gideon¡¯s progress was slower. Was Edwin¡¯s past life experience giving him an advantage? Or was it something inherent to his body, making him more in tune with this world¡¯s energy? Back in his old cultivation world, disparities in talent were commonplace. Some were born gifted, while others had to claw their way forward. Yet even though Gideon¡¯s absorption was slower, it was only slightly so. If Gideon had been born in a world of cultivation, he would undoubtedly be seen as a prodigy, perhaps even a core disciple of a major sect.


    Edwin, by contrast, had never been a genius. He had clawed for every step forward, fought to scrape his way up the ladder, and in the end, none of it had mattered. But here, now, his hard-earned knowledge gave him an undeniable advantage.


    And with it came an unsettling realization.


    If Gideon could cultivate in the same way he did, even if slightly slower, then that meant others could too. Was this ability tied to their bodies¡¯ natural attunement to mana, or was it something more universal? If anyone could cultivate this way, what ripple effect would it have on society? Would it usher in an age of progress, or would it become a tool for unchecked destruction? If a power-hungry warlord learned of this before Edwin could control its spread, the consequences would be catastrophic. It wouldn¡¯t just endanger him¡ªit would put his family, his home, and perhaps the entire world at risk.


    Yet he couldn¡¯t hoard this knowledge either. Their family, their land, was already being targeted, and something this monumental couldn¡¯t remain a secret forever. Even if it could, he was only one person. He couldn¡¯t stand against the world alone.


    He needed allies, people he could trust. And that started with the boy sitting right in front of him.


    Edwin¡¯s fingers clenched slightly as his resolve hardened. He wasn¡¯t just going to teach Gideon. He was going to build something greater. An army unlike anything this world had ever seen. If cultivation alone wasn¡¯t enough, he would bring technology into the mix. Between the two, he was certain of one thing: he would have the means to protect those he cared about from the forces lurking in the shadows.


    Hours passed. The sun began to set. Edwin could feel it, Gideon was close to a breakthrough.


    Knowing what was coming, Edwin quietly stood, walked to the corner of the room, and pulled a napkin from his pocket, one he had taken from the dining table earlier. He covered his nose and mouth just in time.


    A moment later, impurities seeped out of Gideon¡¯s skin. His eyes flew open, and his face lit up in excitement. "I did it!" he cheered¡ªbefore suddenly wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Ugh! what is that smell?!"


    Edwin, already prepared, stepped back even further. "That, my friend, is the price of getting stronger. Congratulations. Now be careful when wiping that gunk off, or you¡¯ll get it everywhere. Once you¡¯re done, go straight to the bath and clean yourself properly."


    Gideon looked down at himself in horror. "This is disgusting! Why didn¡¯t you warn me?!"


    Edwin smirked. "Would you have done it if I did?"


    Gideon opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he scowled. "You¡¯re the worst."


    Edwin just laughed. Good thing they had set this up in his bathroom. With the bathing tub right next to the "cultivation tub," cleanup would be easy.


    <hr>


    With Gideon now clean and the servants reluctantly dealing with the mess, the two boys began their walk toward the dining room. As they strolled through the halls, Gideon, unable to contain his curiosity, bombarded Edwin with questions.


    "So, is that it? Do I just do that every day and I¡¯ll be super strong?" Gideon asked eagerly.


    Edwin shook his head. "Not exactly. What we did was just the start. Right now, you need to rest and let your body get used to the changes. But what you can do is meditate."


    Gideon scrunched his nose. "Meditate? What''s that?"


    "It¡¯s basically just sitting still and focusing on your breathing. You don¡¯t absorb mana, you just focus on sensing it, letting your body adjust. It helps strengthen your control."


    Gideon groaned. "Sitting still again? That¡¯s the opposite of training!"


    Edwin chuckled. "You wanted to learn, didn¡¯t you? This is part of it."


    Gideon exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a tight line before he finally relented with a nod. "Fine¡­ but seriously, when do I get to start absorbing mana again?"


    Edwin¡¯s expression grew more serious. "Not for a while. If you try again too soon, you¡¯ll feel pain."


    Gideon frowned. "Why?"


    "Because our bodies are still too young," Edwin explained slowly. "I don¡¯t know exactly how long we have to wait, but when I tried before, I felt pain just like you would now. My best guess is that we need to grow a bit more before we can continue."


    Gideon sighed even louder. "So you¡¯re telling me I finally learned something awesome, and now I can¡¯t use it? That¡¯s so unfair."


    Edwin grinned. "Life¡¯s unfair. But don¡¯t worry, at least you¡¯ve taken the first step. Oh, and since I¡¯m the one who figured this out, I¡¯ve decided to call it Mana Gathering."


    Gideon rolled his eyes. "You named it? Shameless."


    "Of course. I created it, after all." Edwin said with a sly smile.


    Their banter carried them into the dining room, where they found Marian standing beside the table, ever the picture of discipline.


    She had changed little over the past five years. Her rich brown hair neatly tied into a low braid, her sharp hazel eyes ever watchful. Though a servant by title, her posture and quiet authority made it clear she was more than just another maid. The faintest lines had begun forming around her eyes, but she remained as composed and elegant as ever.


    As they entered, Marian met Edwin¡¯s gaze with a nod, the kind that spoke of quiet familiarity rather than rigid decorum. It wasn¡¯t the bow of a servant to her master, but the subtle acknowledgment of someone who had watched him grow, who knew him beyond just his title. "Young Master Edwin, it¡¯s good to see you well."


    Gideon, in contrast, beamed. "Hi, Mom!" He quickly plopped down onto a seat without hesitation, his casual attitude starkly different from Marian¡¯s own rigid discipline.


    As always, Marian remained standing beside the table, hands clasped before her. She never took a seat, even when Lady Evelyn herself insisted, always claiming that it was improper. Gideon, however, sometimes joined Edwin at the table, depending on his mood.


    Dinner was simple but hearty. A stew thick with root vegetables and salted pork, fresh bread with butter, and a grilled fish seasoned with simple herbs. Nothing extravagant, but fitting for a noble household in the frontier.


    As they ate, Marian asked, "How was training today?"


    Gideon, his mouth half-full, waved his spoon. "Hard! But we got real swords now, so it was worth it!"


    Edwin nodded. "It was more intense than before. Sir Roland had to cut the session short because of the patrol, but he said it would get even tougher next time."


    Marian''s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "That sounds about right. He¡¯s always been strict about training. It builds discipline."


    They continued chatting about their day, though neither of them mentioned their secret cultivation experiment. Eventually, as the meal wound down, Marian placed two small pouches on the table in front of Edwin and Gideon.


    "Both of you have been given an allowance," she announced. "Young Master Edwin, your parents left this for you before they departed. Gideon, this is from myself and your father."


    Gideon¡¯s eyes widened in excitement. "Wait! We finally get to go to town?"


    "Yes. The day after tomorrow, you¡¯ll be allowed to visit the town. You¡¯ll have guards accompanying you, of course, but you¡¯ll have some freedom to explore."


    Edwin tilted his head. "Did my parents send a message yet?"


    Marian shook her head. "It¡¯s too early for that. If they send word, it will likely arrive tomorrow at the earliest."


    Then, in a swift move, she changed the subject. "By the way, I heard about the small wooden tubs that went missing from the laundry."


    Both Edwin and Gideon stiffened.


    Marian continued, her tone firm but with an amused glint in her eye. "I won¡¯t ask what you used them for, but you will have to pay for them."


    Gideon groaned. "That¡¯s not fair! We were just borrowing them!"


    Marian raised an eyebrow. "Borrowing means returning something in its original condition. The one used by Edwin may have been cleaned, but the smell still lingers. It won¡¯t be used for laundry again."


    Edwin sighed. "So you¡¯re deducting it from our allowance."


    Marian nodded. "That¡¯s correct."


    Gideon pouted but knew there was no point in arguing. "This is all Edwin¡¯s fault."


    Marian gave him a look. "Gideon, you are a terrible influence on Young Master Edwin."


    Gideon gasped, clutching his chest. "That¡¯s not true! He¡¯s the one who started it this time!"


    Marian gave a slow, deliberate nod, a knowing glint in her eyes. "This time, indeed."


    Edwin smiled as Gideon crossed his arms in mock outrage, his exaggerated pout only making the moment more amusing. The conversation carried on, the atmosphere light and filled with warmth. But even as they finished their meal, a part of Edwin¡¯s mind remained elsewhere, focused on the task that awaited him later that night.


    Tonight, when the castle was asleep and only the guards remained awake, he would finally find out the truth. It was time to get some answers.

 Chapter 7: Storms of Chaos and the Spark of Defiance

    Night had fallen like a velvet curtain drawn across the castle, the pale light of the moon filtering through the stone halls. Only the faint, flickering glow of torchlight cut through the shadows, casting long, undulating shapes that seemed to stretch and reach across the cold, hard stone. The air was thick with anticipation. The steady, distant footsteps of the guards rang through the corridors, a constant reminder that the castle¡¯s vigilance never faltered. Yet, for Edwin, this nightly routine was both a challenge and an invitation.


    He slipped like a shadow through the winding halls, his small frame pressed close to the walls where the torchlight barely touched. Each footstep was calculated, measured, silent. Every distant echo of armored boots drew him into the shadows, where he melded with the dark, his body moving with a fluid grace far beyond his years. It was not just stealth that guided him, but the cultivated energy flowing through his veins, enhancing his senses and sharpening his movements.


    In minutes, he reached the door to his father¡¯s office. The faint moonlight that crept through the narrow corridor pooled on the polished wood, casting a silvered glow across the sturdy surface. This was it, the moment he had been anticipating for years. Curiosity and unanswered questions had brought him to this point. His heart thundered in his chest as his hand hovered over the cold metal knob. It was locked.


    Unfazed, Edwin reached into his pocket and pulled out two needles¡ªone of wood, the other of metal. He had "borrowed" them earlier that morning from the laundry room, along with the "cultivation tub". They had been carelessly left lying around, forgotten and abandoned. The needles weren¡¯t typical tools for the job, but Edwin had learned long ago that ingenuity was just as valuable as skill. The larger medieval needles, more like thin spikes than standard sewing needles, were surprisingly effective for lockpicking.


    With a subtle pulse of mana, he bent the tip of the metal needle, strengthening both tools with an infusion of energy. Lockpicking had been a skill learned in his first life, where the tools had been different but the principles were the same. Slowly, he inserted the wooden needle first, applying pressure to keep the lock in tension. Then, he slid the metal needle into place, maneuvering it with the utmost precision, searching for the subtle resistance of the tumblers. Each click sent a thrill through his fingertips, the tension of the moment humming in his chest.


    A soft click echoed in the stillness, but the door did not open.


    Magic. Of course.


    Edwin smirked, his small hands steadying as he closed his eyes. Beneath the surface of the lock, he could feel the glow of arcane energy, hidden runes etched deep into the metal, their power binding the door. He could almost hear the faint hum of magic, like a whisper, just beyond his reach. He wasn¡¯t surprised. His father was always meticulous.


    With practiced ease, Edwin directed his mana down his arms, flowing into the needles. The magic hummed through his body, infusing the metal and wood, sharpening his senses and focus. As his mana slipped into the lock, he paused, analyzing the runes inscribed along the mechanism. Each glyph was intricately carved, faint but pulsating with power. To the untrained eye, they were just meaningless symbols, but to Edwin, they were a challenge, an encrypted code waiting to be deciphered.


    Every time the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, Edwin¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He quickly abandoned the lock and darted into the shadows, pressing himself against the cold stone of the walls, holding his breath until the danger passed. When the footsteps faded into the distance, he would return to his task, resuming his delicate analysis. The runes, he realized, were far more complex than he''d first anticipated.


    Thanks to his knowledge from both lives, Edwin quickly saw the similarity. In his first life, Edwin had seen inscriptions used to channel spiritual energy and form barriers, much like the way modern encryption worked to protect systems. He realized the magic within the runes was nothing more than an ancient form of coding, one he could understand better than most. With a new sense of confidence, he wove his mana deeper into the mechanism, bypassing each rune with practiced ease, unbinding the intricate weave of magic thread by thread. The clicking sound that followed was the final confirmation of his success.


    The door creaked open, a faint stream of moonlight spilling into the room. Edwin¡¯s heart raced, but his hands remained steady. The office was shrouded in the quiet scent of aged parchment and polished wood. Two walls were lined with shelves, heavy with books on history, kingdom finances, and strategy. His father¡¯s desk, grand and imposing, dominated the center of the room. The moonlight spilled across its surface, catching the edges of silver trinkets and papers.


    Carefully, Edwin focused his mana into his eyes, sharpening his vision. The room sharpened into clarity, the darkness around him fading into the background. He knew exactly where to look. Beneath the desk, half-buried behind a chair¡¯s legs, lay a small chest, his father¡¯s private safe.


    With a grunt, he pulled the chest onto the desk. It was locked, of course. A quick scan of the mechanism told him it was far simpler than the door¡¯s had been. Within seconds, his fingers were working, sliding the wooden needle into place to keep the lock in tension while the metal needle moved with practiced precision.


    But as the chest clicked open, it refused him once again.


    More magic. Another layer of protection.


    Edwin¡¯s expression hardened. This time, he didn¡¯t hesitate. Closing his eyes, he pressed his energy into the lock once more. The runes within were subtle, woven into the wood itself, like the threads of a spell carefully hidden from prying eyes. He could feel their subtle hum as he guided his mana along them, gently loosening their hold. With another surge of energy, the final barrier collapsed, and the chest opened with a groan.


    Inside the chest, neatly arranged, were scrolls and letters, documents his father had carefully hidden away. Edwin¡¯s breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the first scroll. The date was familiar, five years ago, the time of the so-called "bandit" attacks that had forced his parents to lead a dangerous assault. This was the same scroll he had glimpsed as a baby, its contents now unfolding before him. He remembered the words he had only half understood back then:


    ¡°Continued disruption in the region¡­ attacks on supply routes escalating¡­ pressure from external forces demands a response¡­¡±


    But now, as he read the full text, the gravity of the situation sank in.


    The neighboring territory had been sending disguised troops, bandits dressed in false identities, intentionally sowing chaos. And what was worse, this plot was being orchestrated by someone high within the kingdom¡¯s own ranks. Edwin''s heart pounded in his chest. This was the true reason behind the great operation his parents had led five years ago. The attack had never been just an ordinary threat. It had been a carefully planned, far-reaching conspiracy.


    He dove deeper, carefully sorting through the letters by date, his brow furrowing as a newer missive caught his attention. The seal was unfamiliar, and the message within referenced something far grander than he had anticipated:


    ¡°Word from the Grand Empire of Zarethia: The Emperor, gravely ill, remains without a clear recovery timeline. His heirs, eager for the throne, grow restless. Territories along the borders brace for upheaval. Alliances across the continent shift. If our monarchy intervenes, or rival factions exploit the Empire¡¯s fragility, hostilities may erupt before we can react.¡±


    Edwin¡¯s breath hitched. The Empire of Zarethia. The largest, most powerful nation on the continent. The empire''s fracturing would send shockwaves across every kingdom, turning allies into enemies.


    His hands trembling as he carefully returned each document to its rightful place. The realization hit him hard¡ªwar, chaos, and political intrigue had been slowly creeping up on them. He had never realized just how precarious their position was.


    He was no longer just a curious child. The world was on the brink of disaster, and he had an obligation to be a part in it.


    With newfound determination, Edwin closed the chest, locking it with a practiced click. As he replaced it under the desk, his resolve solidified. The road ahead would be treacherous, filled with hidden enemies and growing threats. But he would not sit idly by. He would use the power of cultivation, and the ingenuity of technology, to protect his family, his barony, and perhaps the entire continent from the looming storm.


    As he silently exited the room, his footsteps barely a whisper, the weight of what he now knew settled on his shoulders. He was still a child, but he could not afford to wait for the world to collapse before acting. He would not let this world fall into ruin.


    Let them call me a child, he thought, his heart pounding with purpose. But I will not let them destroy everything I hold dear. I have cultivation. I have knowledge. And I will use them both to protect those I love.


    <hr>


    Out in the woods near the barony¡¯s border, the night air was thick with tension. A full moon hung high, casting its cold light over the forest, turning the leaves into flickering silver ghosts. Torches sputtered weakly in the distance, their flames small against the vast, oppressive dark. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if the very trees themselves were watching. Somewhere, deep in the woods, a battle raged.


    Knights bearing the Hawthorne crest¡ªan imposing beast encased in thorn-like armor¡ªstood back to back, forming a tight, unyielding circle. Their shields, emblazoned with the same symbol, gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Scuffed and battered, their armor showed the toll of the sudden ambush. Dark streaks of dried mud stained their tunics, while fresh blood stained the edges of their blades. The enemy, clad in dark, matte armor, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks, closed in from all directions, silently as shadows. Their dull colors melded with the night, making them invisible until they were almost upon the knights.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The forest echoed with the harsh ring of steel meeting steel, the crackle of blades slicing through the air, the desperate grunts of soldiers locked in mortal combat. The knights fought with the precision of seasoned warriors, their movements fluid and controlled, but the ambushers were relentless. The knights had been riding through the forest, unaware of the trap set before them. Dark figures had exploded from the underbrush like a wave, pincering them from both sides, forcing them into a small clearing where the dense trees offered little room to maneuver.


    Among the chaos, two battles stood out, each a symphony of deadly intent.


    One knight, his armor crackling with static, wielded a sword wreathed in lightning. Every strike he made sent arcs of blue electricity dancing along his blade, illuminating the dark, stormy air around him. With every step, his body hummed with energy, moving faster than the eye could follow. He lashed out, his blade flashing in deadly arcs, but his opponent, a dark figure clad in shadows, was just as fast. The shadow-wielder twisted and flowed, like liquid darkness. Tendrils of shadow unfurled from his form, thick as smoke and sharp as daggers. They wrapped around his arms, absorbing the lightning strikes and countering with savage, fluid strikes of their own.


    The knight lunged, the crackle of his sword slicing the air, but the shadow-wielder was already gone, vanishing into the night with a flick of his cloak. The battle was a blur, flashes of steel, lightning, and shadows, as each warrior pushed their limits. A misstep from either side could end the duel in an instant, but neither of them gave quarter, locked in a deadly waltz of strike and counter.


    Nearby, another knight fought with a halberd, its iron head wreathed in fire. With each swing, flames flared, casting an eerie orange glow across the battlefield. The knight¡¯s arms were a blur of controlled power, his halberd sweeping through the air like a roaring furnace. Each swing sent waves of heat crashing into the enemies in his path, forcing them back in fear of the burning edge of his weapon. The dark-armored figures closed in from every direction, but with every strike, their numbers thinned as they staggered, burned, or fell to the ground in a blaze of searing heat.


    Despite their strength, the Hawthorne knights were being worn down by sheer numbers. The ambushers seemed endless, their relentless wave of attacks pushing the knights to the brink. No deaths had occurred yet, but the knights'' armor was battered and dented, their shields pocked with deep gashes, and their movements slower with each passing minute. The smell of blood, sweat, and charred flesh filled the air as the forest grew thicker with the sounds of battle.


    As the knights held their ground, those who couldn¡¯t fight, were being dragged to the center of the defensive circle. There, they were shielded by the fighters, who moved with precision to protect them. The wounded were tended to as best as possible, though there was little hope of escaping the encirclement intact.


    The dark figures pressed in tighter, their attacks now frantic and wild. The knights¡¯ lines were being tested, and with every passing moment, it seemed as though they might break. But the Hawthorne knights refused to yield, their resolve unshaken. They dug deep, drawing on the training hammered into them since their youth. Their swords flashed, their shields rose, and they fought like men possessed, every blow struck with the weight of honor and duty.


    Just when it seemed the battle had been lost, the air seemed to crack with divine fury. Out of the shadows, a new roar erupted, screams of pain and shouts of surprise shattered the silence. From the ambushers'' rear flanks, an explosion of chaos broke loose. The thunderous gallop of hooves and the unmistakable clash of steel against steel rang through the clearing like a war cry. Reinforcements from the Hawthorne domain surged forward, as if summoned by the gods themselves.


    Seemingly invisible just moments ago, knights and soldiers of Hawthorne erupted from the darkness like specters of vengeance, crashing into the rear of the ambushers'' ranks with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath their feet.


    As the ambushers reeled in shock, a new horror descended from above. With a scream of ice-cold wind, jagged shards of ice began to rain down like the wrath of the heavens themselves, each shard a deadly spear aimed for their hearts. Cries of terror filled the air as shrouded figures were impaled, their bodies crumpling to the ground in an instant, unable to raise their defenses in time.


    The ambushers¡¯ formation shattered. The battlefield turned into a scene of frantic disarray as they scrambled to escape, their once-coordinated ranks now nothing more than panicked chaos.


    As the battle¡¯s tide began to shift, the shadow-wielder, still locked in a deadly dance with the lightning knight, snarled through gritted teeth. "Retreat!"


    With swift, practiced motion, he reached into a concealed pouch and withdrew a small, delicate glass vial. Inside, a swirling, glowing liquid pulsed ominously.


    The lightning knight¡¯s eyes widened in realization, his instincts flaring. He lunged forward, his boots pounding against the earth, but¡ª


    ¡ªIt was too late.


    The shadow-wielder wrenched the cork free with his teeth, his eyes never leaving his adversary. In one fluid motion, he swallowed the glowing liquid. Immediately, power exploded within him, a wave of dark energy ripping through his frame. His body trembled with newfound might, and black tendrils of shadow lashed out violently, tearing through the air with deadly force.


    The lightning knight moved with unyielding precision, his every motion synchronized perfectly with his fiery comrade. Together, they surged forward like two forces of nature, twin storms, intent on halting the overwhelming shadow attack that threatened to obliterate their comrades. The air itself seemed to tremble as arcs of lightning crackled through the sky, dancing wildly across the heavens, while the fire knight conjured a wall of infernal flames, its intensity scorching the air.


    For a moment, it was as if the world held its breath. Time seemed to slow as the two elemental forces converged. The clash of lightning and fire, a violent union of raw, untamed power, struck the shadow attack with an explosive force. The collision was nothing short of cataclysmic, lightning crackling against the searing flames, the two elements working together in a blistering display of fury.


    A deafening boom shook the very air around them, a shockwave rippling through the battlefield, rattling trees and sending the ground beneath them trembling. The combined explosion of fire and lightning was like the fury of the heavens themselves, tearing through the darkened woods with a blinding flash. The forest lit up in a brief but blinding blaze of white and orange, a momentary sun in the midst of the night. The impact sent shockwaves surging outward, flinging dirt, rocks, and shattered branches into the air, creating a swirling maelstrom of smoke and debris. The night sky, once dark and silent, was now filled with the echoes of the explosion as the smoke billowed out in every direction.


    The ground quaked beneath their feet, and the heat of the flames, mingled with the raw power of the lightning, seemed to melt the very air. The forest around them seemed to bend and warp under the sheer magnitude of the energy, as though the elements themselves had been forced into an impossible embrace.


    When the dust finally began to settle, the enemy¡¯s assault had faltered. Those who remained scrambled, retreating in the wake of the tempest they had unwittingly unleashed. Like shadows retreating into the dark, they vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving behind only the echoes of their hurried flight.


    The shadow wielder was gone. The Hawthorne knights stood panting and battered, their chests rising and falling as they surveyed the battlefield. The lingering scent of ozone and burning wood hung heavy in the air.


    ¡°Should we pursue them?¡± Roland, the fire-wielder, asked, his halberd resting against his shoulder, his gaze scanning the distant shadows of the forest.


    The lightning knight, Aldric, wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath heavy. ¡°No. We don¡¯t know what traps lie ahead, and our forces are spent. We need to regroup and assess the damage first.¡±


    As they stood in the silence of the forest, a raspy voice drifted to them on the wind, its tone weary but still tinged with authority. ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with their mages, Aldric. Heading back now.¡±


    They both looked around, but there was no sign of the speaker. Only the distant rustle of trees and the creak of strained armor filled the air. The voice did not return.


    Roland exhaled slowly, his lips curling into a grim smile. ¡°That old man¡¯s as abrupt as ever. At least we won¡¯t have to worry about more hidden spells.¡±


    Before Aldric could respond, a soft feminine voice pierced the tension, its warmth cutting through the cool night. ¡°Are you both unharmed?¡±


    Evelyn emerged from the shadows, her presence a beacon amidst the carnage. Her mage robes were streaked with dirt, the gem in her staff faintly glowing as if still recovering from the magic she¡¯d unleashed. She crossed the battlefield with purposeful strides, her eyes immediately locking onto Aldric, her gaze sharp, protective. Her hands hovered over him, searching for any visible injury.


    Aldric gave her a weary nod. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Evelyn. But the soldiers, how are they?¡±


    Her expression tightened with concern as she lowered her gaze, taking in the battered bodies and the grim aftermath of the battle. ¡°No deaths, but many are gravely wounded. Several have lost limbs that will need to be reattached or regrown. We¡¯ll need to tend to them before we can think of our next move.¡±


    Roland, glancing at the remnants of the skirmish, let out a soft breath. ¡°So... what happens now?¡±


    Aldric exchanged a glance with Evelyn, his thoughts weighing heavy on the decision. ¡°Half the force will escort the wounded back home. The rest will stay behind to scout the borders. We can¡¯t afford to be caught off guard again.¡±


    Roland nodded sharply. ¡°I¡¯ll relay the orders.¡± Without waiting for another word, he turned on his heel and signaled the remaining knights to follow him.


    Evelyn watched him go, her brow furrowing slightly. When her eyes returned to Aldric, the resolve in them had sharpened. ¡°We were fortunate that the old man chose to come with us. Without his magic, we would never have known about this ambush until it was too late.¡±


    Aldric¡¯s gaze swept over their weary soldiers, some crumpled against trees, others tending to their fallen comrades. ¡°Fortunate or not, I¡¯m grateful. If those hidden mages had been able to weave their spells unchecked, we might not be standing here now.¡±


    There was a long moment of silence between them, the sound of horses whinnying and flames dying down in the distance. Finally, Evelyn broke the stillness with a hard truth in her voice. ¡°This is likely the last attempt for now. Whoever is behind this gambled everything. They risked too much. I suspect they panicked, desperate to strike before the continent descends into chaos.¡±


    Aldric¡¯s thoughts momentarily drifted to their son back home. His voice was quiet but resolute. ¡°If they¡¯d been more patient, if they¡¯d waited to gather stronger forces, they could¡¯ve crippled us. But they rushed it, played their hand too soon.¡±


    Evelyn turned to him, her gaze softening. ¡°And if this conflict really does engulf the entire continent... how will Edwin handle it?¡±


    Aldric exhaled slowly, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. ¡°Edwin¡¯s clever. He¡¯s mature beyond his years, and while he may not be ready for what¡¯s coming, he won¡¯t face it alone. He has time... and us.¡±


    Evelyn nodded, her expression torn between relief and lingering concern. ¡°Let¡¯s make sure our home stands when the time comes. So that he has a world worth protecting when he¡¯s ready.¡±


    The night grew colder around them, but despite the tension that still hung in the air, something softer lingered between them: a shared resolve, the unspoken understanding that they would do whatever it took to shield their home and their son from the coming storm. This victory, small as it was, had bought them time. A fragile reprieve before the true conflict began.

 Chapter 8: The Outside

    The morning sun cast a golden glow over the castle grounds, painting the stone walls in warm hues. Dew still clung to the grass, glistening like scattered jewels, and the distant calls of birds echoed through the air. The scent of damp earth and fresh morning air carried on the breeze, weaving through the courtyards and corridors of the grand estate. The towering structure stood firm and proud, its banners fluttering lazily in the gentle wind, a quiet sentinel watching over the domain.


    Beyond the main keep, the training courtyard bustled with life. The rhythmic clash of wood against wood rang through the air, punctuated by the occasional grunt or cry of effort. The ground, packed hard from years of footfalls, bore the scuffs and scratches of countless training sessions. The scent of sweat and dust mixed with the crisp morning air as servants and guards took a brief respite from their duties, drawn to the sight of two young boys engaged in a fierce duel.


    Auburn hair, wild like dancing flames, framed the determined face of a boy who stood catching his breath. He gripped his wooden sword tightly, sweat dripping down his forehead, but his eyes burned with unwavering resolve. Then, with a dramatic flair, he pointed his sword at his opponent and bellowed, "You will not defeat me, Demon Lord! Justice is on my side! I will save this world and vanquish you back to the darkness from whence you came!"


    The boy across from him, standing with sharp grey eyes and golden hair, barely looked winded, his breath was steady and controlled. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he responded with an air of haughty disdain. "Foolish hero! You cannot defeat me. Countless warriors before you have tried and failed. What makes you think you are any different?"


    The auburn-haired boy raised his sword high above his head, his stance unwavering. "I fight not just for myself, but for the people who believe in me! For my friends who are still fighting, trusting me to end this battle! And, most of all, I have the blessing of the gods! You will fall today, Demon Lord!"


    The so-called Demon Lord narrowed his eyes, tilting his chin up as he glared down at his opponent with an intensity that, on a grown man, might have been terrifying. On a six-year-old, however, it was almost comically adorable. "We shall see about that!"


    Both boys took deep breaths and let out a battle cry, their shouts echoing through the courtyard. If anyone with the ability to sense mana were present, they would have noticed something peculiar¡ªan unseen force, subtle yet undeniable, being drawn toward the two wooden swords. Even without a sense for mana, a closer look would reveal a faint sheen, a nearly imperceptible glow clinging to the wooden weapons.


    With a final cry, they charged at each other, their voices ringing through the morning air. Their swords met in a loud crack, locked in a struggle for dominance. For a brief moment, they seemed evenly matched, neither giving an inch.


    Then, tiny fractures formed along the auburn-haired boy¡¯s sword. His eyes widened in panic. "No! This can''t be!"


    The golden-haired boy exhaled sharply. "This ends here!" With one last push, he shattered the opposing sword, sending his opponent stumbling back onto his knees. The broken remnants of the wooden blade clattered onto the ground. A moment later, the tip of an unbroken wooden sword hovered just inches from his throat.


    Edwin smirked. "I win again, Gideon."


    Gideon, still panting, glared at him. "One more time! I know I can beat you this time!"


    Edwin let out a tired but amused sigh, offering Gideon a hand. As he pulled him up, he said, ¡°Let¡¯s call it for today. We can settle this another time. Besides, it¡¯s almost lunchtime. You wouldn¡¯t want your mom to get mad, would you?¡±


    Gideon huffed, dusting himself off. "Fine. But next time, I¡¯m definitely winning."


    "Sure, sure."


    They had been training since early morning, and Edwin had been guiding Gideon in learning how to channel mana into his body to enhance his strength. It had been rough at first, but Gideon had quickly caught on. Once he got the hang of it, Edwin had moved on to teaching him how to do the same with a weapon. Gideon was a fast learner, no doubt a natural talent, but there was still a long way to go.


    Was Edwin pushing him too quickly? Probably. But time was not on their side. The looming threats on the horizon demanded that they grow stronger, faster. Teaching Gideon wasn¡¯t just about making his friend stronger, it helped Edwin reinforce his own techniques, rebuilding his muscle memory and reawakening skills he had once mastered.


    Were they being too obvious? Too loud? Possibly. But their strength could be easily explained, sons of powerful men, raised around warriors, constantly exposed to training. Even if spies lurked among the staff, all they would see were two boys sparring and acting like children.


    The real lessons, the dangerous ones, were taught in secret. Their cultivation training had been done privately, away from prying eyes, in the safety of Edwin¡¯s room. Right now, the mana they wielded was still subtle, still too faint for most to notice. It would take years before their power reached a level where it could be sensed by ordinary means. Until then, Gideon had to understand his limits. And once he did, Edwin would teach him control.


    <hr>


    The next morning arrived with a bright sun casting golden light across the castle grounds. A gentle breeze carried the crisp scent of summer, rustling through the trees and banners hanging high along the walls. Just inside the main gate of the castle, two boys stood waiting, anticipation written across their young faces.


    Gideon bounced on his heels, barely containing his excitement. In contrast, Edwin stood composed, though his sharp grey eyes betrayed his eagerness. To an outsider, he might have seemed calm, but anyone who knew him well could tell he was just as excited as Gideon.


    They were both dressed in summer-appropriate attire. Light tunics and breeches made from fine but practical fabric, designed for comfort rather than ostentation. They looked like children from a well-off noble family, but not the kind dripping in excessive luxury.


    They didn¡¯t have to wait long.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m late!¡± A familiar voice called out. They turned to see Lance approaching, though something was different, he wasn¡¯t wearing his usual knight armor. Instead, he was dressed casually, much like them, though his sword remained sheathed at his hip.


    Both boys blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Lance! You¡¯re back?¡± Gideon asked first.


    ¡°Yeah, we returned last night to make reports.¡± As he lifted his right hand to scratch his head, a sharp wince crossed his face, and he quickly switched to his left instead. Edwin, ever observant, caught the brief grimace and the way Lance¡¯s sword now rested on his hip in a left-handed draw, opposite from his usual stance.


    Edwin frowned slightly but asked the more pressing question. ¡°Are my parents alright? And what about Gideon¡¯s father?¡±


    Lance¡¯s expression remained casual, but Edwin could tell there was something beneath the surface. ¡°They¡¯re still on patrol. But they¡¯re fine.¡±


    Gideon beamed. ¡°That¡¯s good! I hope they all come back soon and safe.¡±


    Lance nodded quickly, seizing the chance to steer the conversation away. ¡°So, are you two ready to go?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Gideon practically shouted.


    Edwin nodded as well, though his mind lingered on Lance¡¯s strange behavior. Being a kid was frustrating, no one told him anything. If he wanted answers, he would have to find them himself.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡± Lance signaled to the guards, and the massive gates groaned open.


    The world beyond awaited.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    <hr>


    The morning sun cast a golden hue across the town, its warm rays spilling over the stone walls and cobbled streets, painting everything with the soft glow of summer. A faint breeze drifted through the air, carrying with it the mingling scents of fresh bread from the bakeries, the tang of salt from the nearby coast, and the earthy aroma of hay and livestock. The sky stretched vast and cloudless, a brilliant blue canopy promising a bright and bustling day ahead.


    Just beyond the towering gates of the Hawthorne castle, the town square came to life. The castle itself stood as a silent sentinel behind Edwin and Gideon, its high walls and turrets a stark contrast to the lively scene before them. The square was paved with aged cobblestones, worn smooth by generations of footsteps. At its heart stood an elegant stone fountain, water spilling over its tiers in a rhythmic cascade, glistening under the sun. Around it, people milled about. Traders setting up their stalls, town criers shouting the latest news, and children weaving through the crowd in raucous games of chase.


    Edwin and Gideon stood at the threshold of this lively chaos, drinking in the sight with wide-eyed wonder. For Gideon, who had never stepped beyond the castle grounds, it was like stepping into an entirely new world. His fiery auburn hair caught the sunlight as he craned his neck to take in every detail, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained excitement. Edwin, on the other hand, observed with a different kind of awe. Even with two lifetimes behind him, there was something truly magical about witnessing a medieval town in full bloom. The bustling streets, the shouts of merchants haggling, the clip-clop of horses pulling carts laden with goods. It was all so vivid, so real.


    Then the smell hit them.


    Edwin¡¯s nose wrinkled as an overwhelming medley of odors assaulted his senses. The pungent scent of manure from passing horses and oxen mixed with the stale sweat of laborers hauling barrels and sacks. The stench of unwashed bodies drifted from groups of dockworkers fresh from their morning shifts, and somewhere in the distance, a fishmonger¡¯s stall added its own particular contribution to the fragrant chaos.


    Before Edwin could make any comment, Gideon recoiled dramatically. ¡°Ugh! What is that smell!?¡± he whined, waving a hand in front of his nose as if that would help.


    Lance, standing beside them with his arms crossed, let out a hearty chuckle. ¡°That, young masters, is the smell of a town. You¡¯ve been sheltered in the castle too long to know it.¡±


    Gideon gagged but quickly shook his head, determination setting in. ¡°Well, I won¡¯t let some stinky air ruin my first adventure!¡± With that declaration, he bolted forward, eager to explore.


    Lance sighed, shaking his head as he called out, ¡°Wait! Don¡¯t go running off!¡± But Gideon was already weaving through the crowd.


    Realizing there was no stopping his friend, Edwin exchanged a glance with Lance, who merely shrugged in resignation.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go after him,¡± Lance said with a resigned smile.


    Navigating through the crowd was surprisingly easy, as most townsfolk naturally parted at the sight of Lance, recognizing him as one of the barony¡¯s knights. It didn¡¯t take long before they caught up to Gideon, who had come to an abrupt stop in front of a street vendor selling skewered meats over an open flame. The sizzling aroma of seasoned meat mixed with the smoky scent of burning wood, making Edwin¡¯s stomach grumble slightly.


    ¡°Hey, old man, I want three meats on a stick!¡± Gideon declared.


    The vendor, a burly man with a thick mustache, grinned and began flipping the skewers with a practiced hand. ¡°Right away, boyo. That¡¯ll be six coppers.¡±


    Gideon eagerly handed over the coins, bouncing on his feet as he waited. Within moments, the vendor handed over three skewers, and Gideon wasted no time distributing them. One for himself, one for Edwin, and one for Lance.


    ¡°Mmm, this is good!¡± Gideon mumbled through a mouthful, already halfway through his skewer.


    Edwin took a bite, letting the flavors roll over his tongue. The meat was smoky, slightly charred at the edges, but dripping with savory juices. A hint of spice lingered at the back of his throat, warming his senses. The marinade had soaked deep into the meat, a perfect balance of salt, fat, and whatever herbs had been used. It was a simple meal, but undeniably satisfying.


    Gideon finished his skewer in record time, wiping his mouth with his sleeve before standing up straight. ¡°Come on! We¡¯ve got a whole town to explore!¡±


    Lance, still savoring his own skewer, waved a hand dismissively. ¡°There¡¯s no need to rush. We have the whole day ahead of us. Besides, we live here, remember? We can always come back.¡±


    Gideon pouted but ultimately slowed his pace, allowing the others to catch up.


    As they wandered, Edwin turned to Lance. ¡°So, where should we go first?¡±


    Lance hummed in thought, but before he could answer, a loud growl rumbled through the air. Both Edwin and Lance turned their heads toward Gideon.


    Gideon froze, looking sheepish. ¡°...I¡¯m still hungry.¡±


    Edwin snickered, nudging him playfully. ¡°After inhaling that skewer? Really?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a growing boy!¡± Gideon shot back.


    Lance chuckled. ¡°In that case, let¡¯s head to the market square. Plenty of food stalls there.¡±


    With that, they continued onward, Gideon eagerly taking the lead¡ªthough he kept glancing back every few steps, checking to make sure they were still behind him, and more importantly, that he was heading the right way. His confidence was undeniable, but his constant peeking made it clear he had no idea where he was going.


    As they walked, Edwin found himself deep in thought. Despite the cultivation techniques he and Gideon had been practicing, he was still experiencing hunger like normal children, perhaps even more so. Normally, cultivators could sustain themselves with the world¡¯s energy, needing only minimal food to function. Yet here they were, hungrier than ever.


    Could it be that their young bodies couldn¡¯t properly convert mana into nourishment? Was their cultivation somehow straining them rather than sustaining them? Or was their mana consumption simply too inefficient at this early stage?


    He frowned, filing the thought away for later. He would need more time, and more experimentation, to understand what was happening.


    Lost in thought, he barely noticed when they arrived at the market square, only snapping back to reality when Gideon grabbed his shoulder.


    ¡°Come on! Let¡¯s go eat!¡±


    Edwin blinked, shaking off his musings. ¡°Alright, alright.¡±


    As he allowed himself to be dragged along, he decided that worrying about cultivation could wait. For now, there was food to enjoy, and an entire town to explore.


    <hr>


    After satisfying their stomachs at the market square, they continued their exploration of the town, eager to see what else it had to offer. The lively streets stretched before them, brimming with shops and merchant stalls displaying an array of goods.


    The bookstore had been the first stop, and Edwin had practically dragged Gideon inside, much to his friend¡¯s dismay. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, ranging from tomes of history and geography to fantastical legends of heroes and mythical beasts. Edwin had eagerly thumbed through a few books, his eyes scanning for anything useful. Most were written accounts of the kingdom¡¯s past, crude maps of surrounding territories, or basic explanations of magecraft meant for the layman. There was even a section dedicated to children¡¯s fables, which Gideon had found more interesting, at least until he got bored and started poking at the inkwells for sale at the counter.


    After much internal debate, Edwin bought a few books on history and geography, having them sent to the castle to avoid carrying them around all day. Gideon, for all his complaining about being bored, had ended up buying a small, leather-bound book filled with illustrations of legendary knights and their supposed feats.


    Their next stop was the tailor¡¯s shop, where fine fabrics and noble garments were displayed on mannequins and wooden stands. The tailor, a wiry man with keen eyes, had greeted them warmly and wasted no time in trying to dress them in something extravagant. Edwin and Gideon, however, had different plans. They sought comfort, something suited for traveling and training without looking too ostentatious. In the end, both boys settled on simple tunics and breeches, their clothes well-fitted but modest in design. Gideon, however, also insisted on buying matching pajamas after seeing a set embroidered with little stars.


    At the blacksmith¡¯s forge, the rhythmic clanging of hammer on steel filled the air as muscular apprentices worked tirelessly over glowing embers. Rows of finely crafted weapons and armor gleamed under the flickering forge light. Gideon had ogled a set of daggers, much to Edwin¡¯s exasperation, while Edwin himself carefully examined a few tools, noting the level of craftsmanship and metallurgy available in the region. He made a mental note that their level of blacksmithing was good, but still primitive compared to what he could introduce in the future.


    They visited a general merchant afterward, a bustling stall filled with exotic trinkets, tools, and oddities from distant lands. Colorful beads, finely carved wooden toys, glass vials of mysterious liquids, and even small charms claiming to bring good fortune were displayed in neat rows. Gideon had bought a small wooden whistle, testing it immediately, much to Edwin¡¯s and Lance¡¯s irritation. Edwin himself had purchased some writing materials, quills, and ink, while Lance merely observed, making sure neither of them got too carried away.


    After a full day of wandering through the town, browsing stalls, and watching street performers juggle knives or breathe fire, the trio finally arrived at an inn. It wasn¡¯t grand, nor was it a rundown establishment; it was just right, with sturdy wooden beams, clean linen, and the comforting scent of warm bread and burning hearthwood wafting from the kitchen.


    They had rented a spacious room where all three of them could stay together.


    ¡°Whew, I¡¯m pooped!¡± Gideon declared as he flopped onto one of the beds, sinking into the soft mattress. He had changed into his newly bought pajamas, loose-fitting blue cotton with tiny, embroidered stars along the cuffs.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Edwin agreed, stretching his arms as he lay down on his own bed. His pajamas were a simple but elegant white tunic and soft pants, tailored for comfort rather than display.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that we¡¯re all sleeping early,¡± Lance said, sitting at the edge of his bed. He had reluctantly bought a set of nightclothes after being bullied into it by the two boys. His were dark brown, practical, and plain. An obvious attempt to pick the least decorative set possible.


    Gideon, rubbing his eyes sleepily, mumbled, ¡°Oh¡­ why do we have to wake up early?¡±


    Lance smirked, his voice taking on an air of mystery. ¡°Because tomorrow¡­ we¡¯re going to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild.¡±