《Pandemonium: Lucien》


 Genesis of Ruin

    The once tall spires that pierced the heavens, their shadows stretching over a city of cobblestone and graphite. At its heart stood a palace of silver, white as snow¡ªa symbol of purity and opulence, watching overall.


    Those same spires lay broken, their grandeur reduced to dust. The palace, once a beacon of power, stood in ruin¡ªits silver tarnished, its brilliance lost to time. What was once a city of wealth and opulence had become nothing more than a graveyard of shattered stone and forgotten dreams.


    Sewage channels that once carried filth now ran thick with blood, the sluggish current dragging with it chunks of rotting flesh. Oozing, blackened sores marred the remains, necrotic tissue sloughing off in sickly ribbons, dissolving into the tainted flow.


    The grandeur and majesty of Moonveil Palace were nowhere to be seen. Its beauty, once eternal, now burned, offering the world one final, breathtaking spectacle.


    Amid the devastation, the world seemed to shift¡ªthe fallen spires wavered, bodies strewn across the ruined streets stirred like phantoms in the smoke. The palace itself flickered, its fiery remains bending and twisting as if caught between states of existence.


    A dull throbbing pounded in his skull.


    He felt the haze of fire stretch like a mirage, twisting reality itself. The shadows of spires and blazing infernos reached the palace grounds, its trees igniting like torches. Flames flared, stretching across the city as the world blurred, swaying between shadow and light. Slowly, the haze of unconsciousness began to lift.


    Lucien jolted awake.


    "Huff¡­ huff¡­ hfff."


    His chest heaved as he sat up, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. He pressed a hand to his temple, fingers trembling slightly. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, his pulse hammering against his ribs.


    "¡­What was that?" he mumbled, voice hoarse.


    He swallowed, trying to shake off the lingering unease. A dream? No¡ªit had felt too vivid, too real.


    "¡­Weird," he muttered. "I haven''t dreamed since¡ª"


    His breath hitched.


    Not since the angel fell.


    A chill crawled up his spine. His hair stood on end, instincts screaming. A sense of discord settled over him.


    His eyes widened, his sharp gaze sweeping the room.


    He sat on a grand-looking wooden bed, its presence imposing yet unwelcoming. The thin, rough sheets did little to provide comfort. Beside the bed stood a plain wooden drawer, a covered glass of water and a locket resting atop it.


    To his right, a large bookshelf loomed, filled with neatly arranged volumes, their spines standing in rigid order. A full-length mirror reflected the dimly lit room. In front of the bed, a window stood open, allowing the turbulent night air to stir the room. Beyond it, the full moon hung high, casting a cold, silvery glow.


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    Aside from the basic furnishings necessary for sustenance and management, the room lacked any decoration. It was a place devoid of warmth, its atmosphere heavy with a quiet, suffocating emptiness.


    His mind stuttered for a moment.


    He knew this room.


    Of course he did. It was his.


    Or rather, it had been¡ªseventy years ago.


    Before he became an adult.


    But how?


    A sense of unease settled in his heart.


    His eyes drifted to his body. His right arm and legs were covered in bandages, deep purple and blackish bruises peeking through.


    His thin frame did little to shield him from the cold. His bones felt too close to his skin, every movement carrying an unnatural discomfort.


    He ran his hands over, his wounds stung at the touch.


    His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibilities.


    An enemy attack? An illusion? A relic?


    First things first.


    A voice¡ªhigher-pitched, softer than he remembered¡ªbroke the silence.


    "¡­Status."


    Lucien froze, then instinctively covered his mouth. Wow¡­ my own younger voice feels peculiar.


    Shaking his head, he swept his gaze around the room. A flicker of unrest settled in his body.


    What?¡ªWhere the hell is my status?


    This¡ª He sucked in a cold breath.


    Even if he was trapped in an illusion, the System should still show his status.


    Some relics or skills might be able to hide it, but¡­


    What''s happening? Even if my opponent is strong, manipulating the System is nearly impossible. Unless¡­


    They are either Overlords¡­.considering they don''t need to go that far to kill me, the only possibility left is.


    They have a powerful Relic.


    His eyes narrowed.


    He shifted, the rustling of bedsheets breaking the silence as he moved toward the drawer.


    The sensation of wounds stings a little, he winced.


    Moving around the bed, he arrived in front of full length mirror, cloudy patches of moisture and smudges and streaks of uneven clear marking distorted the reflection of silver moon, It wavered as if caught between two states, shifting like a mirage in the heat.


    His fingers brushed across the surface, tracing the distortions, a small smile tugging at his lips.


    A mid-teen boy stared back at him.


    Messy, deep brown hair streaked with ashen strands, as if time had left its mark prematurely.


    Dull, stormy gray eyes with faint traces of gold near the pupil¡ªlike dying embers of something once brilliant.


    Pale skin, not sickly, but untouched by the sun, as if he had spent years hidden away from its warmth.


    Bandages wrapped around his face, concealing deep, long marks¡ªgreenish-yellow bruises staining his skin.


    These marks were given to him by his older brothers¡ªwounds dealt in the name of practice. Some came from the relentless strikes of wooden swords, others from the countless times he had collapsed from exhaustion.


    The Waren name stood for wealth, power, and prestige¡ªbut not for him. A bastard born of a nameless maid, despised by his brothers and sister, scorned by the Baroness. To the household, he was nothing. The servants looked past him, unwilling to acknowledge the son of a woman who had dared to use her body to climb beyond her status.


    The Baron had no interest in raising a son who couldn''t even wield a sword.


    His years in this place had been nothing but suffocating.


    Day after day, he pushed himself to the brink, chasing a recognition that never came. No one spared him a glance. No one cared. He worked until his body gave out, hoping¡ªbegging¡ªto be seen.


    Yet, when night fell and the exhaustion settled deep in his bones, doubt crept in. Alone in the darkness, he would curl into himself and whisper:


    Am I doing the right thing?


    Why won''t they look at me? Even when I try so hard¡­


    More than once, the thought of ending it all crossed his mind.


    But every time he stood on that edge, his mother''s face returned to him¡ªsoft, warm, filled with love. Her voice, distant yet steady, always reached him, a quiet reminder of the promise he once made.


    He let out a slow breath.


    His fingers lingered over the bruises a second too long. A bitter chuckle escaped him¡ªwhat was the point in dwelling on the past?


    Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair.


    "I''m getting melancholic¡­ for no reason."


    "So¡­ how do we get out of here?"

 Ripples in Time

    He pondered for a moment.


    Then, from his lips, a voice like woven silk rang out¡ªethereal, enchanting.


    "Time unravels, the path shrouded in mist.


    Where shadow and light entwine, unseen hands weave destiny.


    Echoes of what was and what will be bleed into one.


    The wheel turns, but no trace is left behind."


    Mana surged from his core, siphoned away with ruthless speed. A dull ache bloomed in his abdomen, twisting and deepening with each passing second. His breath came in ragged gasps.


    Pain, sharp as a dagger, tore through his core, dragging him to his knees. The world blurred at the edges, his vision swimming as sweat dripped from his temple.


    Then, suddenly, an influx of information slammed into his mind.


    "¡ªYear 862, Waren Baron Household¡­"


    His limbs still trembled from mana depletion, a faint ringing in his ears. Each breath felt like dragging air through soaked cloth. He grimaced as another wave of nausea twisted his gut.


    Silence reigned for a few seconds.


    "¡­What a load of crap, I could have gotten the information, without the spell¡­"


    The spell he used just now, connected the caster to a spirit beast, which, in exchange for mana, revealed a lost path, a moment in time, or a hidden place. Though vague, it was said to guide those without direction¡ªto help them find their purpose, their reason for living.


    Lucien had hoped it would show him a way out of this illusion.


    I should have known... the mana wasn''t enough.


    The more significant the information, the greater the mana cost.


    And I''m not even an Awakened right now.


    His mana reserves were pitiful¡ªpuny and meager.


    "So¡­ what now?"


    He had no damn idea who the enemy was or what their aims were. The system status wouldn''t open, his body was too weak¡­ hell, he might as well drop dead from sneezing too hard.


    With a sigh, he massaged his temples, closing his eyes in deep thought.


    Then, suddenly¡ªan epiphany. His eyes snapped open.


    "GODDAMN IT¡ªthe dream! What was that about?"


    "What happened last time? The last thing I remember¡­ I was meeting with someone. Then everything after that feels fuzzy."


    He tried to piece together the fragments of his memory, but it was like grasping at mist¡ªhazy, clouded, slipping away the moment he reached for it. It felt as if he had been drunk the entire time, his thoughts sluggish and disjointed.


    "AHhhhhhhhhhh¡ª"


    A frustrated groan tore from his throat as he clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp as if trying to claw out the answers buried deep within.


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    "J¡ªJay? Jay-Z? No, that''s not it¡­"


    The name lingered on the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach. A nagging feeling told him it was important¡ªsomething he couldn''t afford to forget.


    Then, it clicked.


    "¡­Ja¡ªJake. Right, it was Jake."


    The moment he said it, a strange sense of certainty settled over him. He still couldn''t picture the face or recall any distinct details, but now that he had remembered the name, it refused to leave his mind.


    "Is that the name of the enemy?" His brows furrowed in thought.


    I need more information. Right now, nothing is certain.


    His gaze drifted toward the window, where the pale moonlight spilled into the room. His eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion as a new thought crept in.


    "¡­Since I''m in the past, wouldn''t she still be alive¡­?"


    The question lingered in the air, left unanswered.


    ***


    The sound of heels tiptoeing against the marble tiles created a melodious rhythm, ringing with urgency yet carrying an undeniable elegance and grace.


    Another pair followed, their rhythm echoing in corridor, the open space to the side reflected the illumination of grand spires and rows of luxurious buildings. A gentle breeze wove through the corridor, carrying the distant murmur of the city below.


    Moonlight streamed through the open arches, casting a soft glow upon a woman whose gown, pure white as freshly fallen snow, cascaded in layers of silk and chiffon. Each fold shimmered under the dim corridor light, the delicate embroidery of silver and pearl tracing intricate patterns along the bodice¡ªfrost-kissed vines entwining around her slender form. Her sheer, weightless sleeves draped like whispers of mist, while the flowing skirt billowed with each graceful step, a river of moonlight trailing behind her. A subtle luminescence clung to the fabric, as if woven with threads of stardust, ensuring she shone like a vision of celestial grace.


    Her silver hair spilled down her shoulders in a cascade of ethereal shimmer, the silken waves catching the moonlight, rippling with each graceful step.


    Her delicately arched eyebrows framed a gaze veiled in quiet mystery.


    In contrast to her delicate, pure, and otherworldly appearance, a slight frown graced her face.


    She spoke in a smooth, flowing tone, calm and pleasant to hear.


    "Elara, why am I being summoned at this hour?"


    The maid trailing behind her¡ªElara spoke with her head bowed.


    "Your Grace, His Majesty, King Aetherion, has summoned you." Elara hesitated, lowering her voice.


    "...It seems urgent."


    A faint smile tugged her lips. Emperor, huh


    They arrived before the Arched Gate, where a soldier stood beside it, clad in full plate armor. His posture was alert¡ªshoulders squared, gaze sharp. A sheathed sword hung at his waist, its scabbard adorned with the symbol of a radiant sun crowned in gold, the emblem of the Aetherion family''s absolute rule, wisdom, and enlightenment.


    As his eyes were drawn to her, he thumped his fist against his chest. Upon her nod, he opened the arched door.


    Beyond it, a conference was already underway, various figures draped in robes engaged in quiet discourse. Yet, as if the world itself demanded their attention, all eyes turned to her. They lingered¡ªsome with reverence, others with veiled ambition. A few masked their intentions poorly, while others measured her with quiet calculation.


    One man stepped forward, a crown resting upon his head. He wore a deep midnight-blue robe, its fabric heavy with authority, embroidered with golden threads that wove intricate patterns.


    His voice, filled with warmth, rose above the quiet murmurs.


    "¡­My daughter, Charlotte."


    Princess Charlotte curtsied, her movements graceful and precise.


    "¡­Yes, Your Majesty. You called for me?"


    A soft smile graced his lips as he nodded.


    "Indeed. Something has come up, and we would like to seek your opinion on it."


    "It''s my pleasure your majesty."


    They moved to the conference table, where a football-sized sphere rested. Inside it, a milky-white, sky-like substance swirled, shifting as if stirred by an unseen force.


    All of sudden the milky substance within the sphere trembled, rippling like disturbed water.


    Her gaze fell upon it, and her eyes turned blank. A shiver ran through the air as she spoke, her voice distant.


    "Disturbance... in the Chrono Sphere."


    The Chrono Sphere was a Core Relic of the Aetherion Kingdom. Core Relics were artifacts that held a dense concentration of mana, coveted by both warriors and scholars alike. This particular relic stood at the higher end of the mid-tier, its power extending beyond mere enhancement¡ªit provided a real-time status of space and time across the entire kingdom.


    A man with a large beard, clad in a fiery-red robe, stepped forward.


    "¡­Yes, Your Highness. Someone¡ªor something¡ªhas entered our kingdom."


    Her fingers tightened around the fabric. She exhaled shakily, forcing steadiness into her voice before she turned to the king.


    "¡­Father, we must find it as soon as possible¡­"


    Her voice quivered with emotion.

 Echoes of the Past

    The sun rose in the east, its golden rays streaming through Lucien''s window, signaling the start of a new day.


    Lucien stirred, letting out a satisfied yawn. He stretched his arms lazily before leaning against the headboard. At some point, he had drifted off, lost in his thoughts.


    "That was a good sleep."


    When was the last time I slept like this?


    Feeling revitalized and refreshed, he jumped out of bed¡ªonly to wince as a sudden pain shot through his body. His wounds throbbed, and a lingering stiffness gnawed at him, dull yet persistent.


    I need to do something about this discomfort.


    His body felt foreign, as if he were wearing clothes two sizes too small¡ªtight, restricting, leaving him sluggish and stiff.


    Determined, Lucien dropped into a push-up position¡ªbody straight, feet set apart, hands planted slightly outside his shoulders.


    The moment his weight bore down on his arms, they trembled. His muscles, long unused, protested against the strain. His wiry frame barely supported him as he lowered himself toward the floor.


    A sharp ache jolted through his shoulders, but he gritted his teeth and pushed back up.


    Damn¡­ am I really this weak?


    His breath came faster after just a few repetitions. His body, once agile and strong, now felt fragile¡ªlike a brittle shell struggling to hold itself together.


    Still, he refused to stop.


    "..1..2¡­3¡­.5...6¡­..10¡­..15....16...20.....30"


    Lucien collapsed onto the floor, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. The cold surface pressed against his skin, soothing against the heat radiating from his overworked muscles.


    His entire body trembled¡ªarms and legs spasming from exhaustion. Sweat drenched him, soaking his clothes, trickling down his forehead and neck. Each breath felt like he was fighting for the last remnants of oxygen in the world.


    And yet, despite the pain, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.


    That felt good.


    "¡­knock¡­knock¡­."


    His attention snapped to the door. He tried to stand, but his body gave out, sending him crashing to the floor.


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    Gritting his teeth, he exhaled sharply and spoke from where he lay.


    "Who''s there¡­?"


    A soft, feminine voice came from the other side. "Master Lucien, are you okay? I heard a loud noise just now."


    It''s¡­ it''s¡ªElise.


    Elise had been the maid who served him when he was twenty. The weight of oppression and tension had finally driven him to flee from the baron''s household¡ªthat was the last time he saw her.


    Before that, after his mother''s passing, Emma, Elise''s mother, had cared for him. She had been his nanny, a close friend of his late mother. When he turned twelve, Emma retired, and Elise took over her duties.


    His hand rested over his cold, dry heart, its rhythm quickening. Sentimentality, wistfulness, and nostalgia washed over him, a tide of emotions he hadn''t braced for. His mouth parted, as if to speak¡ªyet no words came.


    What a cruel way to fight.


    He closed his eyes for a brief moment, grounding himself. The past felt closer than ever, but he couldn''t afford to dwell on it.


    With a slow, steady breath, he finally answered.


    "¡­Yeah, I''m fine."


    A quiet sigh came from the other side of the door.


    "¡­About breakfast¡­ would you like it in your room?" Her voice softened toward the end, hesitant.


    His family never approved of his presence at the dining table¡ªat least, their stares made that much clear. Elise had always been sensitive to such things. She spoke in a soothing, careful tone, as if trying to console a fragile child, mindful not to wound him.


    He paused for a moment, then spoke.


    "No, prepare a seat for me at the table today."


    Silence lingered on the other side of the door, as if she was processing his unexpected request.


    Then, a hesitant voice finally broke through. "¡­Are you sure, Master?"


    "Yeah¡­" His words hung in the air, fading into the quiet.


    "¡­Okay."


    Lucien exhaled, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.


    I need to find a way out of here. Staying locked up won''t get me anywhere.


    With that, he stood up. Noticing his sweat-soaked, dirt-streaked clothes, he wrinkled his nose in disgust.


    First, a wash and a change.


    Without another thought, he made his way to the bathroom.


    ***


    After dressing in a white tunic with blue stripes and khaki-colored trousers, he stepped out of the bathroom, which was adjacent to his room. His quarters were located on the first floor of the household.


    Standing beside the bathroom was a young woman with blonde hair tied in a simple braid, loose strands curling at the ends. Dressed in a modest French maid outfit, she appeared to be in her late teens. Her head was bowed in a curtsy, hiding her facial features.


    Elise spoke softly.


    "Good morning, Master Lucien."


    Lucien was momentarily surprised by her presence but quickly composed himself, keeping his expression neutral. He gave a small nod.


    "Good morning."


    She lifted her face, revealing a soft, round visage with delicate features¡ªa small, slightly upturned nose, naturally rosy lips, and large, warm brown eyes that carried a quiet gentleness.


    "Everyone is waiting for you at the dining table," she informed him.


    Lucien gave a smooth, natural nod. "Lead the way."


    Elise stepped forward, guiding him toward the dining room.


    I barely remember the layout¡­ My memories of this place are hazy. It''s been so long.


    She led him down the extravagant spiral staircase, its steps draped in a deep red carpet. They entered a long hallway adorned with ornate portraits, mounted weapons, and finely crafted furniture made from beast hides. Finally, they stopped at a room to the left.


    A guard stood at the entrance, clad in sturdy leather armor.


    His gaze lingered on Lucien, sharp and scrutinizing, as if searching for something¡ªor issuing a silent warning. Yet, he offered no greeting. Without a word, he turned on his heel and pushed open the door.

 A Seat at the Table

    Lucien furrowed his brow.


    They''re really doing this to a sixteen-year-old¡­


    The guard stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter with a slight tilt of his head.


    He stepped forward, and the sight that greeted him was a row of maids standing by the door, their heads bowed in silent formality. The room was illuminated by the warm flicker of candlelight casting elongated shadows against the walls. A grand chandelier, its golden frame adorned with countless crystals, hung above the dining hall, bathing the space in a muted glow.


    At the heart of the room stretched a long, polished mahogany table, its surface gleaming beneath the soft light


    At the far end, a single, imposing chair stood apart from the others. The seat of the Baron.


    To the right of that throne-like seat sat the Baroness, poised and elegant. To the left, an empty chair¡ªthe designated place for the heir of the Waren family. Beside it, the Baron''s other children filled their seats: his three half-brothers and one half-sister.


    His half-sister, appearing in her late teens, sat with a composed grace, while the brothers, only two or three years apart, bore expressions ranging from disinterest to quiet scrutiny.


    He moved, pulling the mahogany high chair back before sitting at the end of the right side. Before becoming a baron, Edric Waren served as a knight. After earning merit in several battles against monsters, he was elevated to nobility, becoming a Blue-Blood Baron.


    A fanatic for discipline, he ensured the household remained in strict order.


    The room fell into tense silence, so still that even the rustling of clothes and the slightest movement of legs could be heard.


    Someone would think we were here to mourn rather than eat breakfast.


    Someone stirred.


    "Uhm¡­ Lucien, why...are you here?"


    The words cut like a whip, lashing through the heavy silence.


    The speaker was the third half-brother, Derrick Warren, two years older than their sister. His features bore some resemblance to the baron¡ªbrown hair and ember eyes¡ªbut the similarity ended there.


    Where the baron had a sharp, angular face with pronounced cheekbones, his were softened by chubby cheeks. Instead of piercing, hawk-like eyes, his were round and unassuming. And unlike the scar running across the baron''s cheek, his face was unmarked, his muscles soft rather than hardened by battle.


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    His face turned toward him, his lips tugging into an annoying smile.


    Why am I getting the urge to punch him in the face?


    The other two idiots also turned their attention to him, while the baroness stared into the air, likely lost in thought. The baron had his eyes closed, and their sister idly played with her nails, as if completely uninterested.


    How the hell, I''m suppose to answer?


    Well, fu*k it.


    Lucien gave him a look and said, "Didn''t realize I needed permission to eat breakfast in my own house."


    The baroness, who had been staring into the air, snapped back to reality. The baron didn''t react¡ªat least, that''s how it seemed. But his furrowed brows told another story. The sister, who had been playing with her nails, finally looked up. The two brothers sat there, mouths agape.


    "Well, aren''t you being preposterous?" Derrick said, his chubby eyes boring into him.


    Lucien gave him a cold look. "Preposterous? For eating breakfast? You must have a very fragile sense of reality."


    Derrick''s smile wavered, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "You know exactly what I''m talking about."


    Lucien leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but his gaze unwavering. He shook his head slowly, feigning confusion. "No, I don''t. Would you care to elaborate?"


    Derrick ground his teeth, his voice rising, harsher now. "You aren''t¡ª"


    "Enough."


    A rough, commanding voice cut through the air.


    The baron had opened his eyes, one hand raised to silence the quarrel. His gaze settled on Derrick, sharp and unwavering. "No arguments at the table. Are we clear?"


    Derrick''s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, his tone defensive. "But, Father¡ª"


    "Are. We. Clear?"


    This time, his voice carried an edge¡ªsomething weighty, almost tangible. A force that demanded submission.


    Derrick lowered his head, his throat tightened. "Yes, father."


    The baron turned his gaze on Lucien.


    A heavy pressure settled over him¡ªsilent, commanding, demanding submission.


    Lucien met his eyes for a moment before giving a slow nod.


    It''s Derrick''s fault for picking a fight in front of the Baron. Even though he doesn''t approve of me, he despises family quarrels. To him, open conflict is a sign of weakness¡ªan invitation for outsiders to look down on us. Of course, it''s not about actual unity. He just likes the illusion of it, the pretense that everything within the family is perfectly normal.


    From behind the baron''s imposing chair, a maid pushed a banquet cart, its polished brass frame gleaming under the candlelight. Resting atop were glass-domed serving dishes, each shielding a carefully prepared delicacy¡ªHoney-Glazed Boar Ribs, Braised Lamb with Rosemary, and Eggs with Truffle & Herbs¡ªtheir rich aromas barely contained. The glass covers, typically used to preserve warmth and maintain presentation, reflected the golden glow of the chandelier.


    With practiced grace, the maids standing by the door stepped forward. One by one, they laid out plates, silver cutlery, and steaming dishes upon the mahogany table. Crystal goblets were set in place, the deep crimson of aged wine poured only for the baron and baroness.


    The baron thumped his chest, his voice rough yet commanding.


    "Under the golden crown of the radiant sun, we feast in the grace of Aetherion''s rule. May the light of wisdom guide our path, and the weight of His will shape our destiny. Glory to the Everlasting Sovereign, keeper of order and enlightenment."


    The family echoed his words in unison. "Under the golden crown¡ª"


    Lucien followed suit, thumping his chest and reciting the prayer. His voice was steady, but his eyes darkened.


    ¡­The Aetherion kingdom''s prayer. It''s been so long since I last spoke these words¡­

 A Taste of Life, A Step into Fire

    Dinner ensued in silence¡ªno arguments, no verbal spats, not even idle conversation. The only sounds filling the grand dining hall were the clinking of utensils, the subtle shifting of weight, and the quiet rhythm of chewing.


    Lucien hardly noticed. His focus was elsewhere.


    Accustomed to the numbness that dulled his senses, was surprised to find that his taste buds had returned.


    The moment the first bite hit his tongue, he froze. A rush of sensation flooded his senses, overwhelming in its clarity. It had been so long¡ªtoo long¡ªsince he''d last tasted anything. The numbness that dulled his senses for decades had vanished.


    The honey-glazed boar ribs cracked under his teeth, the caramelized crust giving way to tender, fall-off-the-bone meat. A deep, primal savoriness coated his tongue, rich and juicy, with a faint smokiness that lingered at the edges of his senses. He swallowed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the simple act of eating felt¡­ satisfying.


    He moved onto the eggs¡ªsilky, almost custard-like, sliding down his throat with buttery smoothness. The truffle''s earthy musk bloomed across his palate, dark and intoxicating, twining with the fresh, peppery bite of herbs. Luxurious. That was the only word for it.


    Then, the lamb. He barely had to chew¡ªthe slow-braised meat melted apart the moment it touched his tongue, bathed in a sauce so rich it sent a warmth down to his bones. Rosemary wove through it all, its sharp, piney fragrance cutting through the velvety fat like a whisper of something fresh, something alive. A lingering sweetness clung to his lips, the taste of caramelized meat and aged stock reduced into something dark and indulgent.


    A slow breath escaped him.


    He almost shed a tear.


    Ahh¡­ this is life.


    A warmth spread through his chest as he leaned back slightly, savoring the lingering flavors on his tongue. His stomach, comfortably full, carried a pleasant heaviness¡ªa rare feeling, one he hadn''t realized he''d missed.


    After finishing his meal, he excused himself and left the dining room.


    Just outside, he found the guard¡ªand Elise.


    Don''t tell me she stood here the entire time.


    He stepped closer and whispered, "Were you here the whole time?"


    Elise shook her head. "No, I just arrived after finishing my breakfast."


    How did she eat and get here so quickly?


    "Anyway, let''s go," Lucien said dismissively.


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    Elise gave a small nod and followed after him.


    Eating breakfast was nice and all, but I didn''t find anything useful¡ªnothing that could help me escape.


    I''m still trapped here, severely restricted. What kind of power did Jake use?


    There''s no point in going back to my room.


    I should search around the household¡ªmaybe I''ll find something.


    Lucien stopped abruptly at the edge of the spiral staircase. "Elise, let''s go to the training ground."


    Elise, walking just behind him, nearly collided with his back. She quickly regained her composure, her eyes widening slightly. "Are you sure, Master Lucien?" she asked softly.


    "Yeah."


    She nodded but hesitated for a brief moment, her gaze flickering to his face.


    Lucien narrowed his eyes. "What?"


    She shook her head and turned around. "Nothing Master."


    Leading the way to the main entrance of the Waren estate¡ªan imposing double door of dark mahogany¡ªLucien approached with Elise beside him. Two guards stood at either side, their posture rigid, while a man wearing framed glasses sat at a nearby table, likely responsible for registering visitors.


    Yet, the guards didn''t move to open the door. Instead, one of them spoke in a heavy voice.


    "Where are you going?"


    Elise furrowed her brow, about to speak up, but Lucien stepped forward.


    "To the training ground."


    For a moment, the guards exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.


    "Why is a rat heading to the lions'' den? Looking for cheese? Hahaha!"


    Beside him, Elise exhaled sharply, fuming. Her voice dropped to a lower pitch, words coming fast and clipped.


    "Why are you laughing? Should I inform the Baron of his knights'' insubordination?"


    The smug smiles vanished in an instant. At the mere mention of the Baron, their bodies stiffened, a faint tremor running through them.


    The one who had spoken first coughed awkwardly. "Ahem! We were just about to open it."


    "Then do it already," Elise snapped, impatience lacing her tone.


    Wow, I didn''t know Elise could be such a bossy type.


    As they stepped outward, a cool breeze brushed against them. The chirping of birds filled the air, blending with the faint, dusty scent of dry soil.


    Beside the door, a soldier stood, watching curiously.


    Before Lucien eyes, the land stretched into the distance until a sturdy cobblestone wall marked the edge of his peripheral vision.


    The place bustled with activity, almost resembling a market. Guards patrolled the area, their eyes scanning for anything suspicious, while others gathered in small groups, engaged in casual conversation. Soldiers hauled crates of arms and equipment, their movements precise and practiced. Farmers haggled with servants over carts brimming with fresh vegetables, their voices rising and falling in negotiation. Meanwhile, gardeners meticulously tended to the flower beds, their hands moving with practiced care.


    Lucien and Elise moved around the household to the back, their steps steady as their boots crunched against the dry soil.


    Various trainees jogged around the training grounds, their synchronized steps kicking up dust. In the center, others strained through rigorous push-ups, muscles taut with exertion.


    Near the far end, a group of young recruits engaged in Iron Tag¡ªa game of endurance and agility. One player sprinted into the opposing side, weaving between defenders, tagging as many as possible while holding his breath. The moment he turned to retreat, the defenders lunged, attempting to drag him down before he could cross back to safety. Cheers and jeers echoed through the field as the match intensified.


    The atmosphere buzzed with energy, filled with the rhythmic thud of boots against dirt and the sharp exhalations of exertion. Laughter and shouts of encouragement echoed across the grounds.


    Until a voice cut through the lively air like a blade.


    "Well, well, look who finally crawled out of his hole," Derrick drawled, striding forward with a few trainees in tow. "I was starting to think you''d grown a little too comfortable playing the prisoner."

 Not That Lucien

    The trainees following Derrick burst into laughter. Around the training ground, others turned to watch¡ªsome curious, while small groups of trainees whispered among themselves, smirking as if anticipating a good show.


    Elise placed a hand behind Lucien, a silent gesture of concern¡ªurging him not to engage.


    Lucien stepped forward, causing Elise''s hand to trail downward.


    Crossing his arms, he spoke. "Why are you following me, Derrick?"


    What the f*ck does this brat want?


    Derrick spoke with a smug smirk. "Following you? No, no, no, my brother." He shook his head as if wounded by the accusation, yet his grin never faded. "It''s our training time, isn''t it? Our father would be so disappointed if he knew we were neglecting it."


    Oh, gods, how much do I want to rearrange his face.


    The trainees around him giggled, some whispering with sneers on their faces. Behind Lucien, Elise stood silently, her head bowed.


    Lucien tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Then by all means, don''t let me stop you. Go train, Derrick. I''d hate for our father to be disappointed in his golden son."


    Derrick''s smug smile vanished. The trainees around him muffled their laughter. Gritting his teeth, he glared at them, making them cough and quickly avert their eyes.


    With a strained smile and narrowed eyes, he said, "Let''s have a spar, Lucien. Surely you wouldn''t refuse."


    The youngest bastard was already a well-known punching bag¡ªskinny, fragile, with barely any muscle to his name. His bones jutted out beneath his skin, a perfect target. The trainees smirked, already predicting his refusal.


    But Lucien only nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let''s do it."


    The people around frowned. Elise tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wavering, lips parting as if to speak but falling silent.


    Lucien blinked slowly, a quiet reassurance.


    Derrick and Lucien moved toward the center of the training ground, where a rectangular sparring ring lay, spanning the length of four armored knights standing shoulder to shoulder¡ªample space for proper footwork, feints, and maneuvering. For two boys of their size, however, it felt vast, as if built for warriors far greater than them.


    A few people gathered around them, but most didn''t bother. They knew this wouldn''t be a match¡ªjust one fighter overwhelming the other.


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    The fragile, skinny Lucien stood no chance against Derrick, who was stronger, healthier, and nearly six years older. He had more mana, more training, and more confidence. Even now, bruises marred Lucien''s face, arms, and legs¡ªa testament to his defeats.


    They stood a few feet apart as a trainee approached, handing both of them wooden swords.


    Derrick smirked. "You shouldn''t have come today."


    Lucien didn''t answer.


    Derrick shook his head, his smirk twisting into something cruel. "You aren''t welcome in this family. You know that, right? Or are you too blind to see it?"


    Lucien blinked but remained impassive.


    Derrick ground his teeth. "What''s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or are you too scared to speak?"


    Lucien finally broke his silence. "Do you want to keep talking or start the match?"


    Derrick clenched his jaw. His glare burned into Lucien. "Let''s see if you can walk after this."


    The referee stepped forward, raising his hand to signal the start.


    Derrick lunged. His sword came down in a wide, heavy swing, using his weight for momentum.


    Lucien stepped back, narrowly avoiding it.


    Derrick followed up with a stab¡ªtoo fast for someone like Lucien to dodge.


    The spectators watched with gleaming eyes.


    But as if he had anticipated it, Lucien had already sidestepped.


    Derrick took a step back, catching his breath. "What''s wrong? Why aren''t you fighting? Already thinking of running away?"


    Lucien''s cheek twitched. "You talk too much." He raised a hand and beckoned him forward. "Come if you want some."


    Falling for the provocation, Derrick rushed in with full force. His sword stabbed¡ªLucien sidestepped. A left swing¡ªdodged. A downward cut¡ªLucien rolled backward.


    This time, I got him.


    Derrick lunged with a stab.


    But Lucien, as if seeing the future, deflected it.


    The audience held their breath. For the first time, every spectator on the field was watching, their eyes wide in disbelief.


    Is this really Lucien? How?


    Sweat dripped from Derrick''s face. His veins bulged, his breath came fast and ragged. His grip tightened on the sword.


    "You''re so done."


    His strikes became even faster. Lucien''s eyes widened.


    This bastard is using mana.


    The spectators realized it too, sighing in acceptance. If young master Derrick was using mana, then this fight would end in serious injury. Yet, not a single one of them moved to stop it.


    Except Elise.


    Elise, watching from the sidelines, rushed to the referee, desperation in her voice, she spoke.


    "Please, stop the match! Master Lucien can''t fight anymore¡ªit''s going to get serious."


    The referee shrugged. "Listen, maid. If I stop this fight, I''m getting kicked out of the household. I like my job. You should too."


    Elise clenched her dress, helpless.


    Derrick''s relentless attacks continued. Lucien was struggling now¡ªboth their breaths were coming faster, their bodies drenched in sweat.


    I can''t dodge forever.


    His sword wouldn''t hold up much longer either¡ªone solid strike from Derrick''s mana-enhanced blows, and it would likely snap.


    Derrick feinted, then suddenly swept low¡ªlightning fast.


    Lucien barely leaped over the attack, sweat dripping from his chin as he hung in the air for a fleeting second.


    Derrick''s grin widened.


    With his full strength, he thrust forward.


    Lucien had no time. No space to maneuver.


    The sword neared his stomach¡ª


    Lucien''s eyes narrowed.


    His sword twisted at the last second.


    Striking Derrick''s wrist with pinpoint precision¡ª


    A sharp crack.


    The wooden blade spun through the air.


    Blood dripped onto the dirt.


    Derrick screamed, clutching his hand as crimson oozed between his fingers. The ground drank his blood eagerly.


    Silence.


    Everyone stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had just happened.


    Lucien exhaled, lowering his sword to his waist.


    That should do it.

 A Shackled Mind

    Lucien raised his hand, watching it intently as he clenched and flexed his fingers.


    Weird.


    In front of him, Derrick lay on the ground, his hand bleeding. Crimson blood dripped onto the earth, soaking into the soil. His cries echoed through the training grounds, his snot mixing with the tears streaming down his chubby face. The trainees, momentarily stunned, snapped back to reality and rushed toward him, forming a panicked circle.


    "Someone call a medic¡ªurgently!"


    The referee, standing at the edge of the field, bolted toward the household to fetch help. The other trainees stood frozen, their expressions anxious, as if they''d just been caught in the middle of something disastrous.


    No one wanted to be involved in an incident where Young Master Derrick was injured. But running away wasn''t a choice either? That would only lead to being summoned by the Baron later¡ªa far worse fate.


    A voice from the tense crowd suddenly shouted, breaking the silence.


    "This is all because of you, Lucien! You hurt Master Derrick!"


    Another trainee hesitantly chimed in.


    "Yeah¡­ If Lucien had just lost, none of this would''ve happened."


    Lucien didn''t respond. He simply stared at the crowd, his gaze unreadable.


    Sensing an easy target, the trainees found their confidence.


    "It''s all Lucien''s fault!" one shouted, thrusting an accusing finger at him. Another followed suit, murmurs turning to a rising chorus of blame.


    "He shouldn''t have accepted the challenge." With a shake of the head, another spoke. Before long


    Lucien was shouted and cursed, for it. A sharp click of a tongue cut through the noise.


    "A bastard child should have known his place."


    The trainees, spineless just moments ago, now had a scapegoat.


    Yet Lucien didn''t hear their accusations. Their voices faded into meaningless noise. His focus remained elsewhere.


    Without a word, he stepped forward. The crowd instinctively parted as he walked past them, stopping in front of Elise. He tapped her shoulder.


    "Let''s go."


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    Elise nodded without meeting his gaze. Together, they passed through the mahogany gates of the household. The mansion was unusually chaotic¡ªservants and knights rushed around like a disturbed beehive.


    He ascended the spiral staircase at a steady pace.


    The first floor was quieter. The sharp rhythm of heels and boots echoed down the hallway.


    He stared at his hand, fingers curling into a fist.


    There''s no mistake.


    His heartbeat quickened.


    My¡ª


    "Lucien."


    A voice called out, unnaturally strained.


    Lucien snapped out of his thoughts and turned. Elise stood behind him, her head bowed.


    He tilted his head. "What is it?"


    Elise hesitated, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress tightly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. A flicker of something¡ªuncertainty, doubt¡ªflashed in her eyes before she looked away.


    "You''re acting strange, Elise," Lucien said, his voice low.


    She flinched slightly at his words.


    "I just¡­" Her voice wavered, then steadied. "Will it really be fine? Sir Baron might not come for you, but the Baroness¡­"


    Lucien blinked. Then, a thought clicked into place.


    Oh. So that''s what she''s worried about. I was getting anxious for nothing.


    Sure, if it were the old me, I''d be shaking in my boots. But now?


    It really doesn''t matter.


    Lucien shook his head. "It doesn''t matter. I''ve made my decision."


    Elise''s eyes widened. "What?" she asked, baffled.


    Instead of answering, Lucien turned away. "You''ll see in due time."


    Frowning, Elise hurried to catch up, grabbing the edge of his tunic.


    Lucien''s cheek twitched as he glanced at her. "What now?"


    She spoke hastily, her gaze fixed on his chest as if trying not to meet his eyes. Pointing a finger at his chest, she said, "You forgot to wear it."


    Lucien''s mind stumbled.


    Forgot? What did I forget? That''s odd¡­


    Keeping his expression impassive, he gave a small nod. "Yeah, I was just about to get it."


    With that, he quickened his pace. Elise followed after him to the gate.


    Stopping at the door, Elise hesitated.


    "Master Lucien¡­ do you...hum... need anything?" Her posture was stiff, uncertain.


    Lucien shook his head, his brows furrowed.


    "If you need something, just call me. I''ll be here in a minute," she added hastily.


    "Alright."


    She fidgeted before speaking again. "Or¡­ should I come in, just in case¡ª"


    "No!" His voice came out louder than intended.


    Elise flinched slightly. Without another word, Lucien shut the door with a thud.


    ***


    He leaned against the door and sighed.


    What''s going on with her? His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.


    I should keep an eye on Elise.


    His gaze dropped to his hands, brows furrowing.


    Stepping into the center of the room, he planted his feet wide.


    Taking a deep breath, he shifted his weight back¡ªthen launched forward.


    His legs snapped upward in a sharp kick.


    Without pause, he flowed into consecutive bicycle kicks, one leg striking after the other in rapid succession.


    A roundhouse kick carved a swift, deadly arc through the air, followed by an axe kick that tore through space like a falling blade.


    After a few beats, he exhaled, steadying himself.


    There was no mistaking it.


    Even during the fight with Derrick, he had noticed it.


    I felt¡­ restricted. No¡ªmy reaction time was slow.


    There was a delay¡ªa few seconds between thought and action.


    It wasn''t just this frail body¡­ It felt more like a mental block.


    Before, he hadn''t noticed. His lack of movement had kept it hidden. But in battle? It became painfully clear.


    His gaze turned vacant, staring into nothing.


    This shouldn''t happen if I were trapped in an illusion.


    That left only one conclusion.


    The implications weighed heavy in the air.


    I might have¡ª

 A Forgotten Bond

    If I were trapped in an illusion, this kind of mental block wouldn''t make sense.


    His thoughts tangled in confusion. He had faced his fair share of mind-bending abilities¡ªillusionists, tricksters, even monsters that could distort reality and deceive the senses.


    But this¡­ this was different.


    Illusions had a pattern. A rhythm.


    What kind of illusion would have a delay? That just kills its purpose.


    If his mental strength had interfered, the illusion would have been distorted¡ªnot his body movements.


    Then what could it be, if not an illusion?


    There was only one explanation: His body and soul weren''t in sync.


    Lucien''s gaze swept over himself.


    This¡­ isn''t my body?


    He clenched his fist, testing the sensation. His grip felt weak. He could feel the pressure of his fingers against his palm, the slight tremor in his muscles¡ªreal, tangible, imperfect.


    It wasn''t just his strength that was off. His breathing felt unfamiliar, his reflexes sluggish, his entire body moving just a fraction of a second behind his intent.


    His breath hitched, his thoughts racing.


    Then how do I explain this world ? Another reality? Regression?


    He slid down against the door, clutching his head. His thoughts spiraled, questions piling atop one another.


    The rough texture of the Maghanoy wood pressed against his back, cool yet unyielding. As he shifted, the door let out a low, creaking groan against his tunic, the fabric scrunching beneath the weight of his body. The sound was grounding¡ªsolid, unlike the uncertainty clawing at his mind.


    Question¡­Questions¡­Questions¡­


    His vacant gaze drifted to the ceiling. The wooden planks above were unfamiliar.


    "¡­If I''m in another world, or if time has turned back¡­ what does that mean for me?"


    He had already lost everything. In the end, he had fought simply because there was nothing else left. No purpose. No hope. Just the bitter inertia of survival.


    A life where every battle was just another step toward an inevitable end.


    But if time truly has turned back¡­


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    If I have regressed¡­


    A small fire flickered in his chest, fragile yet stubborn. His fingers clenched into a fist.


    It was foolish hope¡ªthin as a thread, yet impossible to ignore. A time lapse? A regression? Even if all five Overlords had worked together, the chances of success would have been slim.


    Yet, his heart clung to that fragile hope¡ªlike a drowning man grasping at driftwood, desperate for salvation.


    No matter how much logic argued against it, that tiny flame refused to die, flickering stubbornly against the storm of uncertainty.


    His lips quivered. If I have regressed¡­ would I be able to change anything?


    The future stretched before him, an unrelenting storm of threats far beyond what both his past and present self could handle. He had seen the devastation before. Lived through it.


    He knew what awaited¡ªan apocalypse, pandemonium, chaos and mayhem, a cycle of ruin. A world spiraling toward destruction, unstoppable and merciless.


    The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, but fear would only keep him shackled. He exhaled, slow and measured. Doubt coiled around his ribs, whispering of failure, of inevitability. But if he let it take root, it would strangle him before the world ever had the chance.


    No¡ªif I have regressed, if this is my second chance, then I have to act.


    There were too many ifs, too many unknowns.


    But his mind refused to care.


    Yeah¡­ it doesn''t matter if this is an illusion, another world, or if I''ve regressed.


    He clenched his fist. As I am now, I don''t stand a chance against the threats ahead.


    I have to get stronger¡ªfar beyond who I was in the past.


    Only then¡­ maybe I''ll find my answers.


    His eyes burned with newfound resolve.


    ***


    He stood up and stretched his arms and legs. They shuddered from the sudden strain of movement.


    He clicked his tongue. "Tch¡­ I should practice daily."


    A sharp reflection of light struck his face.


    He raised his hand to shield his eyes.


    "¡­What¡­ is that?" Stepping away from the glare, his gaze fell upon a polished bronze, oval-shaped locket, its aged bronze cord draped loosely on either side. It sat atop the wooden drawer, gleaming under the slanted light streaming through the window. His eyes lingered on the locket. In an instant, the past came rushing back.


    Images flickered¡ªa lost loved one, a final memento, her smile, fragile with sorrow. Drawn towards it, as if enchanted, his fingers brushed against the locket.


    The moment his fingertips met the cold bronze, something cracked inside him. A forgotten grief, buried yet never gone, surged forward like an old wound torn open.


    The memories struck like a wave¡ªvivid, inescapable.


    His lips quivered, curving into a fleeting, almost forced smile¡ªone that held more sorrow than warmth.


    So¡­this is what I forget, huh.


    He opened the locket. Inside, his mother''s photo rested¡ªslightly worn, its edges frayed by time. On the opposite side, an embossed design of a mountain gleamed, a waterfall cascading from its peak.


    His throat tightened. The air felt heavier, like a thousand unsaid words pressing against his lungs.


    He ran a finger over the photo, caressing its worn surface with quiet longing.


    "I lost you once¡­ I won''t make that mistake again."


    He clutched the locket tightly before slipping it over his head. The cool metal pressed against his chest¡ªa weight both familiar and grounding.


    He glanced around the room before collapsing onto the bed, both mentally and physically exhausted.


    The thin sheet offered little comfort, its rough texture irritating against his skin. He shifted, brows furrowing in frustration.


    "What an annoying thing¡­"


    With a sigh, he sat up and rolled the sheet over itself, doubling its thickness. It made the fabric less practical, but that didn''t matter.


    He was leaving the Warren Family. Anyway.


    Now, at least, the sheet wasn''t so thin. It looked¡­ comfortable.


    Lucien nodded in satisfaction.


    Sinking back into the bed, his thoughts turned toward the future.


    I need to go there.


    He opened the locket, his gaze settling on the embossed image¡ªa shining mountain with a waterfall cascading down its side.


    The Mountain of Origin.

 The Day the Mountain Wept

    No one knows when or where this myth began.


    Before the dawn of civilization¡ªwhen wandering warlords led fractured clans, when cults and shadowy organizations thrived in the open¡ªhumans and monsters alike waged endless war. There was no difference between them in their struggle for a single drop of water.


    In that era, the skies never wept.


    The oceans and lakes had long since dried up, leaving only cracked earth behind.


    Monsters tore through the lungs of their kin, desperate for even a scrap of nourishment.


    To soothe the searing dryness in their throats.


    To taste the fleeting warmth of blood on their tongues.


    Men and women slaughtered one another for a single drop. Their eyes burned crimson, veins bulging like the roots of a dying tree, madness hollowing them from within.


    Society¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas in ruin.


    But on the dawn of a certain day, everything changed.


    To the east stood a mountain. It was neither the tallest nor the richest in resources. It sheltered only a few scattered tribes and wandering beasts. And yet, to those who dwelled in its shadow, it was the First.


    The Mountain of Origin.


    The cradle of life itself.


    Few beyond the tribes believed in its divinity. To the outside world, it was just another peak among many. But on that fateful day, as if the god within had finally heard the cries of its devoted, the mountain stirred.


    It bore witness to the blasphemy of heathens.


    To the cruelty of the world.


    To the ceaseless, merciless slaughter.


    And so, the mountain stirred.


    The winds hushed. The earth trembled. A presence, vast and unfathomable, pressed upon the land.


    Then¡ªsilence.


    The warlords, the cultists, the monsters¡ªbeings who had known only war¡ªstood frozen before the mountain. Their breath came in ragged gasps, their bodies wasted by thirst. Cracked lips parted, but no words came. No prayers. No cries.


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    Then, the first drop fell.


    A single bead of water, rolling down the jagged stone like a tear shed by the heavens.


    And then another.


    A whisper of movement turned into a stream. A stream into a torrent. A torrent into a flood. Water surged down the mountainside, bursting forth as if the heart of the world had been split open.


    For a moment, no one dared move.


    Then the first of them collapsed. A warlord, his sword slipping from his grasp, fell to his knees. His enemies stood before him, their weapons still slick with the blood of his kin¡ªyet in that moment, none of it mattered. He reached out, fingers trembling, and cupped the water in his hands.


    He drank.


    And he wept.


    The flood washed over the battlefield, over the broken and the wretched, over men and monsters alike. Cultists prostrated themselves, murmuring prayers between desperate gulps. A great beast, its fangs still stained red, bowed its head to the ground, its massive form shaking as it lapped at the sacred stream.


    Tears mingled with the water as warlords, assassins, and creatures of the abyss knelt side by side.


    There were no more enemies¡ªonly the forsaken, seeking forgiveness from the mountain they had once ignored.


    And so, they prayed.


    For mercy.


    For absolution.


    For a world no longer ruled by thirst and slaughter.


    And the water did not stop.


    It surged forth like molten rock from a volcano, cascading down the mountainside in an unending torrent.


    The blessed wept with joy.


    The monsters bowed in reverence.


    Warlords, cultists, and creatures of the forest, mire, and abyss gathered before the mountain, casting aside their bloodstained blades. In hushed voices and trembling limbs, they prayed¡ªnot for conquest, not for power, but for forgiveness.


    For mercy.


    And the mountain, in its boundless mercy, listened.


    ***


    Lucien rose from his bed, his gaze drifting to the dawning sun on the horizon through the window.


    A golden glow spilled across the floorboards, stretching long shadows against the cold stone walls.


    The chirping of birds now resounded in the distance¡ªa stark contrast to the suffocating quiet within.


    The once-endless shouts and clamor from below had fallen silent.


    He rolled his shoulders, a dull stiffness lingering in his muscles, then cracked his neck. ¡­Let''s get this over with¡­


    With that, he moved, pushing the door open. The hinges groaned, the sound too loud in the still air.


    The hallway was eerily silent


    The creak of his boots echoed through the emptiness.


    Ahead, a spiral staircase wound downward, but Lucien ignored it, striding forward instead.


    A short distance away, a guard stood motionless, its entire body clad in armor.


    Along the hallway, various weapons and trophies were displayed¡ªdouble axes the Baron had won in a tournament, the severed heads of goblins, chimeras, and trolls from his hunts¡ªall placed as grim decorations.


    Even from here, the sharp voices of women cut through the door ahead.


    Lucien sighed internally. I wanted to avoid her after the incident. Now, dealing with her is going to be another headache.


    Should I come back another time?


    He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Never mind. I''m leaving anyway.


    As he neared the door, the voices became clearer, the words slicing through the air like knives.


    The baroness''s low, sharp tone carried unmistakable disdain.


    "¡­Why are we still keeping that bastard child¡ª"


    "¡­Don''t even consider him as the part of the family¡­¡ª"


    Every word dripped with venom, curling through the air like smoke.


    Lucien smirked, the insult rolling off him like rain on stone. Bastard child. How original.


    After all these years, they still hadn''t found a new way to despise me.

 The Thorn of the Barony

    He approached the massive double-door gate, its dark ironwood frame reinforced with blackened steel. The wood bore a deep, obsidian sheen, faint traces of golden inlays weaving intricate patterns across its surface.


    Towering and arched, the gate loomed with an imposing presence. Along its edges, subtle engravings whispered of authority and power.


    A heavily armored knight stood watch, his gaze sharp and unwavering, locking onto Lucien with silent scrutiny.


    As Lucien reached the door, the knight shifted, moving with precise intent. A gauntleted hand rose, barring his path¡ªfirm, unyielding.


    Lucien raised an eyebrow. "¡­I want to talk to the Baron."


    The knight''s glare hardened. His voice was heavy, edged with finality. "¡­You are not permitted to enter. The Baron and Baroness are in discussion."


    Lucien let out a quiet scoff. Quite shameless to call an argument a discussion.


    But he kept the thought to himself.


    His gaze flicked to the door. "¡­So¡­ when am I meeting him?"


    The guard straightened, his posture rigid. "When it''s over."


    His lips twitched, he shifted his weight, his boot tapping against the stone floor in quiet impatience. Muffled voices bled through the heavy doors¡ªsharp, unyielding.


    The Baroness''s voice soon rose above the rest, a steady stream of complaints and demands, relentless as a tide.


    Minutes crawled by, her frustration only growing.


    "¡­And if you don''t do something about it, I''ll kill him myself!"


    Lucien arched a brow. She really has a lot on her mind, huh.


    Even the thick-skinned guard shifted awkwardly, as if waging a silent battle of his own.


    Whether I was meant to hear this or not¡­


    Fortunately, he didn''t have to dwell on it. The massive double doors creaked open, and from them emerged the Baroness.


    She wore a richly embroidered gown of deep crimson and black, the fabric heavy with wealth and authority. Gold filigree traced the edges of her sleeves and bodice, subtle yet unmistakable in its elegance. A fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, adding to her air of quiet dominance.


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    The Baroness was a woman of sharp features and even sharper eyes, her presence commanding without the need for words. Her dark hair was styled with meticulous care, not a strand out of place.


    Her gaze bore into him¡ªoppressive, unyielding.


    If looks could kill, Lucien would already be dead.


    Lucien met her stare without flinching, unreadable as ever.


    A standoff stretched between them, tense and unmoving, until Lucien finally cast his eyes downward.


    Not worth it.


    Unfortunately for the guard, her piercing stare shifted to him next.


    The silent question burned in her eyes.


    Why didn''t you tell us about him?


    The guard just tilted his head.


    The musclehead was utterly oblivious¡ªunfamiliar with noble etiquette and the silent language of their glares.


    Baroness shot Lucien another death stare.


    And with a humph, she turned on her heel and marched away.


    Lucien glanced at the guard with pity.


    Congratulations on your early retirement.


    The guard blinked back at him innocently, completely unaware of his impending fate.


    With a shake of his head, Lucien moved ahead into the room, leaving the camaraderie behind¡ªa spectacle that had lasted a good ten minutes.


    Not that he had any regrets.


    ***


    He stepped into the room. The air was rich and heavy, carrying the scent of polished wood, expensive parchment, and a faint trace of fine tobacco.


    Beneath his foot lay a doormat fashioned from beast hides, the fur still coarse against the sole. The edges were roughly cut yet treated, preserving the creature''s natural colors and patterns. Claws remained embedded along its edges, grim reminders of the beast''s former ferocity¡ªnow little more than decoration


    A massive bookshelf towered over the room on the left, stretching from floor to ceiling, its dark wooden frame worn smooth by time. Rows upon rows of books filled its shelves, their spines a mix of deep reds, faded blues, and rich browns, some embossed with gold lettering while others bore no titles at all. Some volumes stood neatly aligned, while others were stacked haphazardly, their edges frayed and pages yellowed with age. Here and there, rolled parchments and leather-bound tomes were wedged between the gaps, adding to the quiet weight of history that filled the space.


    To the right, a fireplace stood against the wall, its chimney stretching to the ceiling, the fire long extinguished. Beside it, a greatsword and a dagger rested as the household''s most prized relics. The greatsword, its dark iron blade streaked with silver veins. The dagger, its blackened steel etched with faint crimson lines.


    Together, they stood as silent testaments to the household''s glory.


    Lucien''s eyes gleamed.


    A Vein Relic and an Ember Relic. Both held power, but Vein Relics were in a league of their own. Vein Relics held condensed mana and stronger enchantments, while Ember Relics, though sometimes comparable, often came with a dangerous backlash.


    From ahead, a rough cough jolted Lucien from his reverie. His gaze sharpened toward the source.


    The Baron sat behind a polished, luxurious table, scattered with parchments, documents, ink, and pens. In front of him stood two chairs, empty and waiting. Behind him, a large map of the Waren Barony stretched across the wall.


    His piercing, hawk-like eyes bore into him, cold and unyielding. He wore a fitted doublet over fine linen, yet despite his composed appearance, exhaustion lined his face.


    "Sit down," the Baron commanded, his voice deep and unwavering. He gestured toward the chair with a firm hand.

 Lena

    Lucien shifted, his boots scraping against the floor with a faint, uneasy drag. Fidgeting with his lips, he pulled the mahogany chair back, its legs grating against the floor with a sharp, jarring screech.


    Under the Baron''s piercing, unrelenting gaze, he sat down, his posture straight and rigid, his eyes flicking over the parchments on the table. His words caught in his throat, strangled by the weight of the moment.


    What the hell am I doing?


    Coughing, he met the Baron''s eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other.


    Is this the first time, I have seen eye to eye, with him?


    Surprisingly, the Baron was the first to speak.


    "¡­You have changed, Lucien¡­"


    Lucien''s eyes flickered.


    His fingers twitched, a brief hesitation before he finally spoke. "¡­I have made a decision¡­"


    The baron arched an eyebrow for a moment, but his expression told Lucien he thought little of it.


    Or maybe he just didn''t care.


    Reclining in his highchair, he narrowed his eyes and spoke.


    "¡­What is it?"


    Staring in his eyes, knuckles edged around the chair. He spoke hastily."¡­I''m leaving the household¡­"


    The Baron stilled, his expression unreadable. His lips parted slightly "Is that so?" he muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. "Then leave. Do not expect a farewell."


    Rather than being taken back or some kind of reaction, he seemed relieved.


    His feature softened and spoke. "Good. That spares us both."


    Lucien felt something rising with him, it was as if a rusted chain, long forgotten, suddenly tightened around his chest again, like a dam riddled with cracks, the pain threatened to spill over.


    He knew that having any expectations for Baron was disappointing.


    But, even then, for some reason, being dismissed as a fleeting nuisance, unworthy of a second thought.


    Something clawed its way up from the depths of his being, rising fast, threatening to spill, to erupt into scream.


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    The wounds were long forgotten¡ªor so he thought. Yet they ached with every passing moment, spasming like a ghost of old pain.


    Gritting his teeth. He demanded. "...I want funds and equipment''s..."


    The Baron didn''t sigh, didn''t scoff, didn''t even hesitate. He simply reached for a blank parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing.


    "Funds and equipment," he repeated, his tone devoid of emotion. "How much?"


    Lucien hesitated for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the ease of it. The Baron barely seemed to care¡ªno resistance, no mockery, just efficiency.


    Once Lucien answered, the Baron scribbled down the amount, sealed the parchment with wax, and set it aside. He glanced at Lucien with the same distant indifference.


    "It will be arranged," he said flatly. "Anything else?"


    His tone suggested he wasn''t granting a favor¡ªjust clearing an obligation off his desk.


    Lucien blinked. Once. Twice. His fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair.


    That''s it? No ridicule? No dismissive wave of the hand?


    The Baron hadn''t even hesitated, treating his request like another mundane task to be crossed off a list.


    Lucien opened his mouth, then closed it. A strange taste lingered on his tongue¡ªrelief, perhaps, but laced with something bitter.


    The tension in his head eased, fading as if it had never been there to begin with.


    He really doesn''t care, does he?


    Something in his heart felt like a cup of cold, over-brewed tea¡ªsteeped in resentment, tasting of nothing but bitterness.


    Lucien seized the parchment, his grip tight. pushing his chair back, its legs dragged against the floor with a slow, grating screech¡ªheavy, reluctant.


    He walked with heavy steps, each one swallowed by the silence, as if even the floor refused to acknowledge his presence.


    His fingers curled around the doorknob. Then¡ªa voice cut through the silence.


    "Wait."


    His grip tightened. He blinked, then slowly turned back.


    Baron sat stiffly, his gaze sharp and unyielding. The air thickened, an invisible pressure settling on Lucien''s shoulders. The room grew heavy, dense, as if the very walls were closing in, sealing him inside beneath the weight of the Baron''s stare. An unnatural stillness hung in the air, a quiet oppression that made the space feel smaller, heavier¡ªlike a cage tightening around him.


    His words sliced through the silence, crisp and sharp, as if meant to cut rather than be heard.


    "Don''t forget who killed Lena."


    The name struck like a blade. The air turned brittle, the weight in the room shifting. Lucien stood there, his face darkening, his breath turning shallow.


    His fingers twitched on the doorknob, his breath caught between a shallow inhale and an exhale that never came.


    He turned on his heel, moving as if fleeing¡ªthough from the room or the words, he wasn''t sure.


    His heartbeat pounded in his ears, a deafening drum against the suffocating silence. Against his chest, the locket pressed cold and heavy, as if the metal itself carried the weight of his grief.


    The Baron didn''t move, didn''t call him back. Whether he was watching or had already looked away,


    Lucien didn''t know. He didn''t dare check.


    Lucien stormed through the gates.


    The guard took a step forward, his mouth half-open as if to question him¡ªbut at the sight of Lucien''s face, he faltered.


    His eyes, usually burning with something sharp, were empty. Heavy.


    The guard swallowed his words and stepped aside.


    Lucien moved with heavy, quick steps, his boots striking against the stone floors with dull, resounding thuds. He didn''t slow, didn''t hesitate¡ªhis body moved as if propelled by something deeper than thought, something raw and unrelenting.


    His hands trembled as he shoved open the door to his room. The hinges groaned in protest, but he ignored it. The moment he stepped inside, he pressed the door shut behind him, his breath ragged.

 Departure

    The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the silent estate. Above, countless stars stretched across the vast expanse, cold and distant¡ªscattered, never truly together. Their light reached down, faint and indifferent, as if echoing the loneliness that lingered within these walls.


    The grand, luxurious mansion of the Warren estate stood in silence; its towering walls bathed in the moon''s pale glow.


    Inside a first-floor room, Lucien moved with quiet urgency, gathering his belongings. The dim candlelight flickered over the sparse furnishings, casting long shadows as he packed¡ªefficient, methodical, yet with a tension that clung to the air like a held breath.


    He packed his bag with essentials¡ªdried meat, a tent, a few spare clothes, a rough pouch filled with coins he had collected from the butler, a map of the eastern states and provinces, and a small kit for tending wounds. Each item was placed with practiced efficiency.


    Beside the bag on the bed lay a set of folded leather armor, worn but sturdy, its dark surface bearing the faint creases of past use. Next to it, a sheathed sword rested in silence, its hilt smooth beneath the dim light.


    After packing, his eyes wandered to the books on the shelf. He had read them all before, every page committed to memory. Yet, even now, they remained his only source of solace, a quiet refuge in an otherwise empty room.


    His fingers twitched, tempted.


    But he shook his head.


    The bag was already heavy. Carrying them would only slow him down.


    Lucien stripped off his clothes, the cold air brushing against his skin. He pulled on a padded undergarment, the thick fabric snug against his body, offering warmth and some protection. Over it, he fastened a leather chest guard, adjusting the straps until it fit securely.


    Rolling his shoulders, he strapped light guards over his forearms and shins¡ªsturdy but flexible, built for movement. A belt with protective flaps settled at his waist, shielding his hips without restricting his legs.


    Finally, he slid on his boots and secured his sword at his side.


    He reached for the bag on the bed and pulled it toward his back. The weight was almost overwhelming, tugging at his shoulders with a sharp, immediate force.


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    For a moment, his legs buckled under the strain, and he stumbled forward, barely catching himself against the doorframe. The heavy bag pressed into his spine, its contents shifting with a clumsy jolt.


    Lucien gritted his teeth, trying to steady his breath. Every movement felt labored, the weight of the pack threatening to drag him down. He adjusted it once, then twice, trying to find some semblance of comfort¡ªbut it was useless.


    The weight of the bag, sword, and armor was too much for a fragile body like his.


    He dropped the bag with a heavy thud, exhaling sharply as the weight finally left his shoulders.


    "Damn it..." He muttered, staring at the bag on the floor. "I''m going nowhere with this fragile body."


    Sighing, he reopened the bag and began making adjustments. He removed the extra food, keeping only enough for a single day. Instead of a full set of spare clothes, he packed just an extra shirt and undergarments. His money pouch was secured to his belt for easier access.


    The armor felt restricting, its weight pressing down on him. With a grimace, he stripped away the bulkier pieces, leaving only those that protected vital areas. Lighter, but still secure.


    Much better.


    His gaze fell on the dried meat scattered on the bed. He exhaled through his nose. I''ll need to stop by a village to restock.


    He picked up the bag, now half its original size.


    Patting it, he thought, Much more manageable.


    He opened the door and paused, glancing back into the room.


    Suddenly, nostalgia crept in.


    This is the second time I''m leaving.


    His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.


    Let''s make sure it''s the last.


    He closed the door.


    The Pandora''s box was shut¡ªits ghosts and demons sealed inside.


    ***


    He moved through the corridor, descending the spiral staircase toward the gate.


    The guards stationed there stiffened at the sight of his shadowed figure. Their hands tightened around their swords as one of them called out in a firm voice, "Who goes there?"


    Lucien emerged from the shadows, and spoke "it''s me¡­Lucien."


    They eyed him¡ªhis bag, armor, sword, and the pouch at his belt.


    One of them spoke, his voice strained. "Where are you going?"


    Instead of answering, he pulled out the parchment and held it up for them to see.


    They scrutinized the parchment, their eyes widening as they read.


    Exchanging glances, they looked back at Lucien.


    "It''s really happening, huh."


    "Well, no surprise after what he did today."


    Exasperated, Lucien sighed, impatience lacing his tone. "Open the damn door."


    The guard clicked his tongue. "Tch."


    But he didn''t argue. With a reluctant sigh, he simply turned and unlocked the door.


    Stepping through the gate, the cold, fresh air hit him, sharp and bracing against his skin.


    The moon shone down on him, casting a silver glow. Crickets tittered in the dark, the stars stretching endlessly above¡ªsilent companions on his journey.


    Without looking back, he moved toward the outer gate.


    With steady steps, the path ahead was swallowed by the night''s embrace. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth. Each step felt heavier, yet lighter all the same¡ªone burden shed, another waiting beyond the gates.


    A rustling in the underbrush. The faint crunch of leaves shifting under unseen weight.


    Out of nowhere, a feminine voice spoke from the side. "Who are you?"

 An Unfamiliar Shadow

    Elise''s POV:


    Master Lucien was acting strange today. When I went to wake him, he surprised me by deciding to join the family for breakfast. It was so unlike him.


    In the past, he had repeatedly told me how much he hated being around them.


    I couldn''t help but wonder¡ªwhat had changed?


    When he walked out of the bathroom today, he looked different¡ªalmost like a completely different person.


    He seemed¡­ oddly mature. There was something in the way he carried himself, the way his gaze lingered just a moment longer when he looked at me. It made my heart skip, though I quickly brushed the feeling aside.


    I hurried through my breakfast, barely tasting a thing, just so I wouldn''t miss him.


    As he stepped out the door, there was a rare sense of satisfaction on his face.


    I thought¡­ maybe they had reconciled.


    A warmth spread through my chest at the thought. If they had truly made amends, then Master Lucien would finally be treated as he deserved¡ªacknowledged as the rightful master of this house.


    But just as that hope settled in, I noticed something strange.


    He didn''t have the locket.


    The locket he cherished¡ªalmost more than his own life¡ªwas missing.


    A seed of unease spread within me.


    Maybe he forgot it?


    Yes, that seems likely¡­


    Master Lucien was meticulous when it came to that locket. I had seen him check for it countless times, his fingers instinctively reaching for it as if to reassure himself that it was still there. For him to leave without it¡­ it didn''t feel right.


    Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.


    I almost ran into him, caught off guard by his abrupt halt. My heart pounded as I took a step back, watching him closely. His posture stiffened for a brief moment before he exhaled, shoulders relaxing again.


    What was that just now? Did he realize he had forgotten the locket? Would he turn back to get it?


    Instead, he surprised me again.


    With a calmness that felt entirely out of place, he declared that he was going to the training grounds.


    I blinked, certain I had misheard him. The training grounds?


    The same training grounds where he had suffered wounds that still marred his body?


    Surely not¡­ right? That place is detestable and loathsome.


    Those brutes¡ªwhat they did to my Master Lucien¡­


    But as I stared at Master Lucien''s calm, collected face, a seed of doubt took root.


    He wasn''t just calm¡ªhe seemed absorbed in something, lost in thought in a way I had never seen before. His sharp eyes, which usually held a quiet defiance or simmering frustration, were steady, focused. It was unsettling¡­ yet somehow fascinating.


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    I had always known him to be guarded, someone who kept the world at arm''s length. But today, there was something different about him¡ªsomething I couldn''t quite grasp. My fingers twitched at my sides, an odd restlessness creeping in.


    Nonetheless, without questioning him, I led him to the training grounds. But as we walked, I found myself stealing glances at him, drawn in by that unfamiliar air of certainty around him. What had changed?


    And more importantly¡­ why did it make my heart feel this way?


    Everything was going normally, and for once, I was even enjoying my time with Master Lucien.


    Until Master Derrick arrived.


    Truth be told, although I shouldn''t think this way, I hate Master Derrick.


    He beats Master Lucien, makes him cry. No matter how much I tell myself it isn''t my place to judge, I can''t help it. I really, really hate him.


    I tried to stop Master Lucien, urging him not to engage with Master Derrick, but he remained unfazed.


    There was no hesitation, no trace of the fear I had seen so many times before. Instead, he carried himself with bold confidence, his expression unreadable, as if Derrick was nothing more than a passing nuisance. He didn''t even look scared.


    I was taken aback by such a change. This wasn''t the Master Lucien I knew.


    My heart pounded as Master Lucien and Derrick clashed, my eyes widening as Lucien skillfully dodged each of Derrick''s strikes. Just when it seemed he would be hit, he deflected the attack effortlessly¡ªalmost as if he had foreseen it.


    Even while defending, Master Lucien moved with an air of control, dictating the pace of the fight. Nothing could go wrong.


    But then, Derrick''s aura flared¡ªhe had started using mana. My breath caught. I knew Master Lucien had little mana to spare, and as the elder, Derrick naturally had far more. If that strike landed, it would break bone.


    Horrified by the implications, I bolted toward the referee. Shouted to stop them but the referee didn''t move. He didn''t listen.


    My heart ached, a sharp, twisting pain tightening in my chest. I closed my eyes, unwilling to watch what came next. The weight of helplessness pressed down on me, every instinct screaming to intervene¡ªbut what could I do?


    The sounds of battle filled the air: the sharp clash of steel, the heavy thud of footsteps, and Derrick''s mana-charged strike slicing through the space between them. I clenched my fists. If that attack landed¡­


    A sharp scream cut through the air.


    I forced my eyes open, dread pooling in my stomach.


    And found myself facing an incomprehensible sight.


    Derrick lay sprawled on the ground, his blood dripping from his trembling hand. His face was contorted in agony, twisted with rage and disbelief. A guttural, animalistic scream tore from his throat, snot and tears streaking his face as he writhed.


    And yet¡ªMaster Lucien stood untouched.


    Calm. Unshaken.


    His expression remained unreadable, his posture steady, as if the outcome had never been in question.


    Everyone snapped out of it and helped Master Derrick, they shouted and blamed master Lucien. But I couldn''t move, lost in thought.


    How?


    Master Lucien¡ªwho had never wielded a blade, who had never so much as harmed a fly¡ªstood there, composed, unshaken.


    The very man who once refused violence now loomed over Derrick, untouched by the chaos around him.


    It didn''t make sense.


    A chill crept up my spine. The air felt heavier, charged with something I couldn''t name. There was a sudden unease, a wrongness to the stillness in his posture, the unreadable look in his eyes.


    Had I truly understood Master Lucien at all?


    He moved, his voice calling out to me as he walked through the gates. I followed, my mind clouded with thoughts. So lost in them, I didn''t even realize we had reached the hallway.


    I called his name and found myself hesitating.


    What had changed him so much? What had happened?


    The questions weighed heavily on me, pressing against my chest, each one a burden I couldn''t shake. I wanted to understand him¡ªto reach out and offer something, anything, that might ease whatever pain he carried. To tell him that he didn''t have to bear it alone.


    But I couldn''t do it.


    I tried. I searched for the right words, stretched out my hand.


    And in the end, I only annoyed him.


    As Master Lucien''s gaze turned sharp, his voice clipped, the weight of his stare pinned me in place. My resolve wavered.


    I blurted out the first thing that came to mind


    He slammed the door on me without a second glance.


    And as I stood there, staring at the closed door, regret settled deep in my chest. I should have said something else¡ªsomething that mattered.


    But in the end, I only annoyed him.


    That night, seeking clarity, I decided to step outside and cool my head. The fresh air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth. The rhythmic chirping of crickets filled the silence, their melody like a gentle chorus, soothing my restless mind.


    Then, in the corner of my vision, something shifted.


    A figure moved in the shadows.


    Their silhouette seemed familiar, a vague shape I felt I should recognize.


    My pulse quickened as I called out, "Who''s there?"

 A Promise in the Cold Night

    A familiar feminine voice spoke from behind.


    Lucien halted, his lips pressing together as his eyes flicked to the side.


    Bathed in the moon''s silver glow stood Elise. She wore a simple wool dress in earthy brown, the soft light accentuating her delicate features¡ªa small, slightly upturned nose, naturally rosy lips, and large, warm brown eyes filled with quiet gentleness. Her blonde hair, freed from its usual style, hung in a loose braid, stray strands curling at the ends.


    She narrowed her eyes.


    "Wait¡­ who are you? And where are you going this late at night?"


    Elise stepped forward, her brows knitting. She blinked rapidly, as if second-guessing her sight. Then, her gaze swept over him¡ªhis face, his posture¡ªthe familiar yet impossible presence before her.


    Her lips parted. Her voice was barely above a whisper.


    "Master Lucien?"


    Lucien turned fully to face her, his expression unreadable, his voice quiet but firm.


    "You shouldn''t be out here at this hour, Elise."


    She studied him, eyes searching his face as if to confirm he was real. "It''s really you¡­" She took another step.


    But Lucien lifted a hand, stopping her in place. Shadows draped across his face, obscuring his expression.


    Elise hesitated. Her gaze flickered between his eyes and the darkness beyond him.


    "¡­Where are you going?"


    Lucien watched her for a long moment before tilting his head slightly. His tone was calm, almost curious.


    In the past, I left without meeting Elise. I often wondered what her reaction would be.


    "And if I told you I was leaving again¡­ what would you do?"


    Elise flinched. Hesitation flickered across her face. But as silence stretched between them, something in her expression shifted.


    Her fingers tightened at her sides. "...You''re leaving?"


    It wasn''t a question. The words hung between them¡ªfragile, heavy¡ªas if voicing them made the truth settle deeper.


    Lucien didn''t answer. He only watched her, unreadable.


    Elise swallowed. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn''t come at first. She shifted her weight, glancing toward the mansion behind her.


    Then, finally¡ª


    "Why?¡ª¡­" Her voice barely carried between them.


    Lucien remained still.


    A breath. Then another. And then, her eyes widened slightly. Realization dawned.


    "¡­Is this the decision you were talking about?"


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    Lucien gave a small nod. "Yeah. It was about leaving the Warren family."


    Elise''s brows drew together. "¡­But all of a sudden?"


    Her voice wasn''t accusatory, but something sharp edged into it¡ªconfusion, unease.


    Lucien shook his head. "It''s not sudden, Elise. I''ve been thinking about this for a long time."


    Sorry for lying, he thought.


    His voice was steady, calm. But behind it, there was weight¡ªone that hadn''t been there before.


    "Lucien..." Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze. "You don''t have to do this. I''m here for you¡ªI''ll always be here."


    Lucien''s shook his head. "It''s not about that."


    "Then what is it about?" she pressed. "Running? Cutting ties?"


    His expression remained unreadable. "I made my decision. Nothing changes that."


    Elise''s brows drew together, frustration flickering in her eyes. "You always do this¡­" she murmured. "You push people away before they get too close. Even when you needed someone the most, you never let me in."


    Lucien exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. " I don''t know about that, Elise but I have to go."


    "Why do you have to go?" Elise whispered.


    Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The distant hum of the wind outside was the only sound between them, yet neither moved.


    Lucien glanced away, his voice quieter this time. "That... I can''t tell you."


    I can''t tell her. I''ve already died once and come back. I have to prevent the apocalypse.


    A chill passed over Elise''s features. The warmth in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker¡ªsomething sharp, unreadable.


    "Why can''t you?" Elise''s voice cut through the silence, raw and trembling. "Am I not trustworthy? Am I nothing to you, Lucien?"


    Her words lingered, ringing in the stillness, sharp against the distant buzz of crickets. The night pressed in around them, thick and unrelenting, but Lucien said nothing.


    She bowed her head, her shoulders trembling, her voice cracking slightly. "Why... do you... have to go?"


    Lucien felt a sting in his chest, a dull ache that settled deep, but he didn''t answer. He couldn''t. Instead, he stepped forward, hesitating before gently patting her back¡ªan awkward, fleeting gesture that did nothing to bridge the growing distance between them.


    The silence between them deepened, stretching long and heavy, no longer just empty¡ªbut irreversible. The air felt colder, as if something unspoken had been decided in that moment, something they couldn''t take back.


    Elise didn''t move, didn''t react. The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were unreadable, shadowed by something Lucien couldn''t quite place.


    Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Then take me with you."


    Lucien''s breath caught. He hadn''t expected that. For a moment, he just stared at her, searching her expression for hesitation, doubt¡ªanything that would tell him she wasn''t serious. But there was nothing. Only quiet determination beneath the pain.


    His fingers twitched at his sides. "Elise..." he started, but the words tangled in his throat.


    She took a step closer. "Wherever you''re going, whatever you''re running from, I don''t care. Just don''t leave me behind."


    The night air was thick, the distant buzz of crickets the only sound between them. Lucien swallowed hard, his chest tightening.


    "You don''t understand," he finally murmured.


    Her eyes darkened. "Then make me understand."


    She took Lucien''s hands in hers, her warmth seeping into his skin¡ªa quiet contrast to the biting cold of the night. For a moment, it was just that¡ªa silent exchange of warmth.


    He slightly shook off the warmth, as if deciding to go on his journey alone, one filled with cold. He spoke, his eyes staring deep into hers. "But what about your parents? What about Aunt Emma? What will they think if you leave so suddenly? Wouldn''t they be heartbroken?"


    Lucien''s heart ached, each beat heavy with the weight of her sorrow. Her trembling voice, her tear-streaked face¡ªevery part of him wanted to stay, to ease her pain. But he couldn''t.


    He exhaled, the cold air burning his lungs as he gently pulled his hands away. "I have to go," he whispered, more to himself than to her.


    He turned, forcing himself to ignore the way his chest tightened, the way the warmth of her touch still lingered on his skin. The night stretched before him, vast and unforgiving, but it was the path he had chosen.


    A hitched breath echoed in the silence, fragile and unsteady. Then, a voice¡ªsoft, trembling¡ªbroke through the cold.


    "Will you ever come back?"


    Lucien''s gaze remained fixed ahead. His voice, when it came, was distant, almost hollow. "Not to stay."


    A pause. Then, quieter¡ªsofter¡ªhe exhaled. "But to take you with me¡­ yeah."


    The sobbing stilled, the night holding its breath. Then, the faintest rustle¡ªsoft steps against the earth¡ªbefore he felt her warmth press against his back, grounding him in a way he didn''t know he needed.

 Nightmare.

    Lucien navigated through the bustling streets of Ravenshire, clad in a travel-worn hooded cloak of coarse, faded linen. Dyed in muted earth tones, it blended seamlessly into the chaotic district, drawing no second glances.


    Around him, the streets teemed with frantic energy¡ªpeople rushed past in panic, their hurried footsteps echoing against the worn cobblestones. Shouts of alarm filled the air, though he paid them little mind.


    The thick fabric clung uncomfortably in the heavy sunlight, dampening his back with sweat. Frayed edges and hastily stitched patches spoke of years of wear, while the deep hood cast his features in shadow. Perfectly unremarkable.


    Lucien''s eyes flicked to the screen lingering at the edge of his vision. It pulsed faintly, an intrusive presence against the chaos around him. The lines of text shifted, updating in real-time.


    [MISSION]


    ¡ª----------------------------------------


    Survival of Ravenshire [Urgent Quest]


    Rank: A


    Objective: Marquis Ravenshire has been exposed for conspiring with cultists against King Aetherion. In response, a decree of total annihilation has been issued. Survive.


    Bonus Objective: Defeat a commanding officer from the opposing side.


    Rewards: +100,000 XP (Additional rewards may vary based on performance.)


    Bonus Rewards: Unknown


    Failure Consequence: Death


    [Hint: You may align with any side¡ªif they accept you.]


    ¡ª----------------------------------------


    Lucien cursed under his breath. Dammit. The difficulty just skyrocketed. He had expected trouble, but this? This was execution on a city-wide scale. A massacre.


    His fingers twitched as he clenched his cloak tighter, heart pounding against his ribs. Now what?


    A sudden blast tore through the air, a deafening roar that sent tremors through the ground. In the distance, fire erupted, swallowing buildings in a surge of searing heat. Thick plumes of smoke coiled into the sky, staining it a deep, hellish orange.


    Screams rang out¡ªraw, panicked, unrelenting. People ran, their faces twisted in terror as they fled the growing chaos. The once-bustling streets of Ravenshire had turned into a battlefield of fire and despair.


    Someone from the panicked crowd slammed into Lucien, shoving him off balance. He stumbled, his foot catching on the uneven cobblestone. Damn it! He barely managed to steady himself before another person barreled past, their face wild with terror.


    The chaos around him only grew¡ªshrieks of fear, the acrid scent of burning wood, the distant clash of steel. His cloak tangled around his arm as he fought to regain his footing. I need to move¡ªnow.


    He forced his way out of the crowd, shoving past panicked bodies. Then¡ªboom! A massive fireball struck from behind. Screams tore through the air. Those too slow to escape were either trampled underfoot or swallowed by the flames.


    Lucien''s gaze darted around, searching for an escape. His eyes locked onto a narrow gap between two crumbling stone houses¡ªbarely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.


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    Without hesitation, he lunged toward it, slipping into the shadowed space just as another explosion rocked the streets. The moment he pressed himself against the rough wall, the noise of the panicked crowd dulled, swallowed by the confined alleyway.


    His breath came fast, ragged.


    Through his narrowed vision, he caught sight of a dark-cloaked figure sprinting ahead, weaving through the way. They moved with precision, deflecting attacks from heavily armored soldiers bearing the insignia of a radiant sun crowned in gold¡ªthe mark of the king''s forces.


    The clash of steel echoed sharply in the confined space, each strike met with bursts of fire and crackling lightning. Spells illuminated the battlefield in erratic flashes, casting wild shadows against the crumbling walls.


    Lucien''s gaze flicked between them. The cultists¡ªonce relentless¡ªwere falling back, retreating under the soldiers'' relentless assault.


    Suddenly, the soldiers halted, their disciplined ranks holding firm. Across from them, the cultists moved in unison, forming a tight defensive circle around a lone figure at the center.


    The air crackled with tension. Embers from the fires danced in the wind, flickering between the opposing forces.


    Stepping forward from the armored ranks was the commander of Aetherion''s army¡ªa towering figure clad in radiant steel. His armor gleamed in the firelight, the golden insignia of Aetherion displayed prominently on his chest, flanked by two crossed swords.


    He planted his feet, his stance unyielding. He spoke, his voice was like rolling thunder, carrying unquestionable authority.


    "Surrender yourselves, and you will find salvation under the Emperor''s grace."


    The cloaked cultist sneered, their lips curling in disdain. Then, a dry, hollow laugh escaped them, soon joined by others. The sound echoed through the road, warped by the flickering firelight, a mockery of the commander''s words.


    "Emperor, huh?" the cultist spat, their voice dripping with scorn. "Salvation? You mean slaughter."


    "I would rather die by fighting you heathens and reach the creator rather than, bow to your false salvation."


    The fire crackled through the silence, tension thick in the air. They stood motionless, runes shimmering on their blades and spells poised at their fingertips. The first movement would shatter the stillness¡ªand ignite the battle.


    Suddenly, the earth trembled, a deep, rumbling quake shaking the ground beneath them. The shattered remnants of buildings vibrated, dust and loose debris cascading from crumbling walls. The cultists faltered, their formation breaking as panic took hold.


    "Is it a spell?" someone hissed.


    "Doesn''t look like it. Probably their trick¡ªhold your fire."


    Murmurs of commands rippled through their voices as they struggled to assess the unseen threat.


    Lucien, driven by urgency, moved toward the outer edge. It was a risky maneuver¡ªstepping into the open could expose him¡ªbut the alternative of being crushed beneath collapsing debris was far worse.


    Then the shadow fell.


    A deep, dark shape fell upon the district, swallowing the flickering firelight. The cultists'' eyes snapped toward the towering city wall¡ªNo, beyond it, stretching as high as ten wyverns. Their breath hitched, fear flashing across their faces as the sheer scale of the looming presence sank in.


    Their defiance crumbled into disbelief and resignation.


    "No way..." one of them whispered.


    "How... How is this possible?" another choked out.


    Lucien''s gaze followed theirs, locking onto the looming presence. His breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as the sheer scale of the conflict¡ªand the looming specter of death¡ªsettled in. A cold chill ran through him, sweat beading on his skin as his body instinctively tensed, the weight of the moment crashing down on him.


    He instinctively reached for the locket, seeking the familiar cold touch to steady himself.


    But his fingers grasped at nothing.


    Panic flickered in his chest. His breath hitched as realization sank in¡ªthe locket was gone.


    His eyes darted around, searching frantically for any clue to its whereabouts.


    "No... No... No... NO WAY!" Lucien clutched his head, his breathing ragged.


    "NO DAMN WAY I LOST IT!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.


    Then, without warning¡ªimpact.


    Something struck him, hard. His body lifted off the ground.


    Weightless. Floating.


    He soared, the chaos fading. The heat of the fire vanished. He drifted, surrounded by endless sky, speaking with birds, swimming through clouds, hearing the distant murmurs of angels.


    Then, pain.


    Reality came crashing back.


    The impact was brutal. The ground slammed into him, jarring every bone in his body. The dream shattered, replaced by searing pain and the cold, unforgiving earth beneath him.


    The disgusting drool pooled on the dirty wooden floor of the carriage. Lucien lay in an uncomfortable position, his legs sprawled across the seat while his upper body rested awkwardly on the floor.


    He pushed himself up with shaky arms, his cheeks twitching from the lingering pain. Leaning back against the seat, he let out a slow breath before muttering aloud,


    "A nightmare, huh."

 Road to Lorrent

    His mouth parted in a yawn, his eyes still droopy as if he could fall asleep at any moment. Sitting up straight, he stretched his arms and legs, the dull ache in his cheek lingering from the fall.


    His hand instinctively went to his chest, fingers brushing against the locket. The cold sensation of brass was reassuring.


    His blank gaze drifted to the ceiling of the carriage, where a crystal light hung, swaying gently with the carriage''s motion. His eyes followed its slow rhythm, lost in thought.


    Why did I dream of that day? The silent question echoed in his mind.


    Was it because of this¡­ His hand drifted once more to the locket.


    With a quiet sigh, he shifted to the side of the long carriage seat, settling near the window. The worn leather creaked beneath him as he adjusted, leaning slightly against the cool glass.


    Outside, the world rolled past in a blur of muted colors. Vast stretches of farmland blanketed the landscape, the green fields seemingly endless, where commoner farmers worked under the open sky. The cobblestone road stretched ahead, lined with merchant wagons trundling along, their wooden wheels creaking under the weight of goods. Other carriages passed by, pulled by Stormmanes¡ªhorse-like beasts with crackling manes and storm-gray coats that gleamed under shifting light. Their luminous eyes flickered and each step sent sparks dancing from their ironclad hooves against the cobblestone.


    Their hooves struck the ground with a rhythmic clatter, a steady drumbeat against the cobbled path. Lucien''s gaze flicked to the riders¡ªtraders, mercenaries, and cloaked figures guided their mounts, their forms hunched protectively over their cargo.


    He slid open the glass window, letting the cool, crisp wind rush in. The scent of damp soil, fresh grass, and morning dew filled the air. He inhaled deeply¡ªthe earthy freshness was invigorating. His eyes fluttered open, renewed.


    His gaze snapped straight ahead. Beyond the moving carriages, he spotted the silhouette of a mountain. Even from a distance, it stood majestic¡ªits jagged peaks reached for the sky, softened by the morning mist that clung to its slopes. A silver stream of water cascaded down, glistening in the soft light, carving an unbroken path through the rugged terrain.


    "Almost there," Lucien murmured, his voice laced with anticipation as his gaze remained fixed on the Aurelfall Mountain.


    As they advanced, more roads merged into the main path, swelling with the flow of carriages. The various creatures huffed and growled at one another, their riders guiding them aside to maintain distance and avoid collisions.


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    With so many carriages crowding the road, moving as fast as before became difficult. Dust billowed from the wheels, drifting into the carriage. Lucien''s face scrunched in discomfort as he pulled the window shut and leaned back into his seat.


    "At most, a few hours until we reach the district of Lorrent," he muttered, exhaling.


    I need to get that relic.


    His eyes flashed as memories surfaced.


    In his previous life, many of his teammates wielded powerful relics, most granted by the system upon completing missions. But one stood out¡ªheld by a close teammate, it hadn''t come from the system. She had found it in the black market of the Lorrent district.


    He didn''t know exactly when she had obtained it, but according to her, she hadn''t realized its power until the system itself descended, revealing its description.


    She had bought it merely as a decoration, drawn to its unique design without a second thought. But when the apocalypse arrived, she was stunned to realize that the unassuming decoration sitting in her home was anything but ordinary.


    If I can get my hands on it... He clenched his fist, his eyes burning with determination. It would make things a lot easier.


    Despite his prediction, they were still stuck after hours. On both sides, two large cargo carriages flanked him, blocking his view.


    "Damn, are we even moving?" he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.


    His lips tightened, he moved ahead opening the coachman''s window he spoke in loud voice. "When are we getting there?."


    The wind rushed in as Lucien pushed open the small window, carrying the scent of dust and damp wood into the carriage.


    He coughed, clearing his throat. "Ahem¡­ ahem."


    Through the window, he caught sight of the coachman''s broad back. The man turned slightly, revealing a bald, round face marred by a scar along his cheek.


    In a rough, gravelly voice, the coachman grumbled, "Road''s packed tight. With all these merchant wagons, we''ll be crawling till sundown."


    Lucien''s brows furrowed. Sundown? That was far longer than he expected.


    He shifted his gaze beyond the driver, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead. The road stretched forward in a congested mess of carriages, beasts, and restless travelers. Some riders had dismounted, locked in heated arguments, while others remained tense, their expressions laced with impatience.


    Lucien frowned and spoke again. "Do you have any idea¡­ what''s going on up ahead?"


    The coachman''s murky eyes bore into him, his irritation evident. "Kid, do you think I can see that far ahead?" He scoffed. "Why don''t you go and find out yourself?"


    Lucien exhaled. "Fair point."


    With that, he reached down and pulled his bag from beneath the long carriage seat. Shifting his weight, he pushed the door open¡ªnot fully, as the cargo carriage beside them left little room.


    Carefully, he slid his bag through the gap first, then wriggled his way out, squeezing past the narrow space.


    Once outside, Lucien stepped beside the bald coachman and gave him a light poke. "Hey, Mr.¡ª"


    The coachman let out an irritated grunt. "What¡ª" He turned, only for his eyes to widen in disbelief.


    "Where are you going, kid?" he asked, incredulous.


    Lucien tilted his head toward the road. "Forward." Without another word, he reached into his pouch and placed five copper coins beside the coachman''s seat before stepping away. "Let''s meet Lorrent."


    The coachman gawked at him, then scoffed, throwing up his hands. "And what about me?" he called after Lucien, his voice thick with frustration. "I''m still stuck here! You think five copper covers this headache? At least pay me extra for the trouble!"


    Lucien didn''t even glance back. He simply raised a hand in a lazy wave and kept walking

 Beyond the Arc

    As he wove through the large carriages laden with goods and the smaller ones meant for passengers, monstrous creatures growled at him, their sharp, jutted teeth crawling upward as if ready to tear into him.


    The coachmen pulled on the reins, their harsh voices and firm grips on the leashes keeping the monsters under control.


    Some of them shouted at Lucien, their irritation evident as he weaved through the crowded path.


    The air was thick with dust kicked up by the carriages, mingling with the shouts of coachmen and the guttural growls of monsters. Chaos reigned in the narrow road, impatience rippling through the crowd, frustration and irritation bleeding into every movement and sound.


    Lucien kept an arm to his nose as he threaded his way through the chaos, his eyes warily watching the monsters.


    One of them lunged when he got too close. He stumbled back¡ªheart pounding.


    Fortunately, the coachman reined the monster in, yanking hard on the leash. With loud shouts and heated arguments erupting around him, Lucien steadied himself and resumed his journey.


    Zipping through them, he reached the side of the road. From here, the long, chaotic stretch of traffic unfolded before him like a great, writhing beast¡ªcarriages creaking like its shifting bones, monsters snarling like its restless breath, and dust rising like the heat of its impatience.


    At the end of it, a long wall filled his vision, a large round arch gate standing tall. Its heavy door was slammed down onto the road, its end pulled by thick, loose chains. Various guards, crossbows in hand, moved along the wall, their eyes scanning the chaos below. Sighing, he murmured while cracking his shoulders, "Long way to go¡­ huh."


    The walk to the gate was a slow, winding push through dust and bodies, each step filled with shouts, the clatter of wheels, and the ever-present growls of restless monsters. Lucien moved through it all, keeping his head low, his focus ahead.


    The sun''s rays bore down on him, heat trapped beneath his armor as sweat clung to his skin. His breath came heavy, each step an effort. Sometimes, the passing shadow of a carriage offered a brief reprieve, a moment of cool shade against the relentless heat. And in those rare moments, when the wind stirred, it carried the faintest hint of something cleaner, a brief taste of air untouched by dust and sweat¡ªgone as quickly as it came.


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    Step by step, the towering arch grew closer, its massive stone frame rising above the restless tide of travelers. Each footfall felt heavier, the weight of heat, dust, and exhaustion pressing down on him.


    With every passing moment, the gate dominated more of his vision.


    Until at last, he stood just a few steps away. The massive archway towered before him, dominating his vision. Guards clad in armor adorned with leaf-like engravings moved cautiously, their eyes sharp as they inspected each passing carriage with practiced scrutiny.


    Among them, a cargo carriage rolled forward, its wooden frame unremarkable, its markings faded from long travel. The guards barely spared it a glance before waving it through. Yet, as Lucien''s eyes flicked over its surface, something made him pause. A faint insignia, half-scratched off near the base¡ªone he had seen before. It wasn''t distinct enough to be recognized at a glance, but it stirred something deep in his memory.


    "Did I know it from somewhere?" Lucien tilted his head, a puzzled expression crossing his face.


    For a moment, he lingered on the thought, eyes narrowing as if grasping at the edges of a half-formed memory. But nothing came.


    Shaking his head, he exhaled sharply. "Never mind. Let''s get going."


    He moved ahead, his footsteps thudding against the metal of the gate. As he drew closer, one of the guards took notice, his gaze sharpening before he barked out,


    "Stop there!"


    Lucien held out his hand slightly, a gesture of surrender, he grumbled. "Geez man¡­ no need to shout."


    The guard inched closer, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Put your hands up. Fully."


    Lucien sighed, raising his arms a bit higher. "Alright, alright. No need to be so jumpy."


    The guard inspected him thoroughly, his hands moving over Lucien''s belongings before grabbing his bag. "What''s inside?" he asked, his eyes boring into him.


    Lucien shrugged, his tone casual. "What''s the point of asking when you''re going to check it anyway?"


    The guard''s voice rose slightly, drawing a few glances from nearby travelers. His eyes hardened. "That means you stole it, didn''t you?"


    Lucien''s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he reached into his pouch.


    The guard narrowed his eyes, his hand shifting to the hilt of his weapon. "Stop, before I''m forced to take action."


    Without a word, Lucien pulled out three bronze coins and pressed them into the guard''s palm. His fingers curled around the coins, the brief tension in his jaw smoothing over. He glanced around quickly, then spoke in a more neutral tone. "You can go."


    Lucien slung the bag over his shoulder and moved ahead. A few guards'' eyes followed him, but none intervened.


    He exhaled sharply, massaging his temples.


    What an asshole.


    Picking a fight just for the hell of it.