Part 1
The ground was hard.
It had rained the night before, but the mud hadn't softened the soil of Lumius.
Ren Sinclair struck the earth with his hoe again and again, until his arms trembled. Sweat rolled down his back, mixing with the dust of the field. No one would guess he was a noble—not from his patched clothes, nor from his calloused hands.
But he was. In theory.
Third son of House Sinclair. Heir to nothing. Born to obey in silence, to live on the edge of his lineage, to sink into the earth.
That's better.
Takao Ryonosuke had died fifteen years ago.
Here, he was just a boy who worked quietly. No one asked more of him. No one expected anything.
And yet, every strike of the hoe was more than just labor. For him, it was training. Every strained muscle, every new blister, was part of a routine his body remembered—even if the world had forgotten it.
The fields were his disguise.
Ren paused for a moment. He leaned on the handle of the tool and looked at his hands.
They weren't Takao's hands anymore.
They were younger.
But deep down, they weren't empty.
Only waiting.
"Ren-nii-san!"
A young girl with straight, chestnut hair came running barefoot toward him, her feet stained with dirt.
"Hey, Rin! Slow down!" he called out with a tired smile. "If you fall again, Mom's going to whack me with the broom."
Rin skidded to a stop, brushing dust off her dress with both hands.
"Papa said the tax collector's coming soon. We have to get ready."
Ren's smile faded.
Lumius had nothing left to give. The soil had hardened like stone, and each harvest was poorer than the last. But the taxes… they never stopped increasing.
"I'll be right there," he muttered, lowering his head.
That same day, the four Sinclair siblings sat around the large dining table.
The house, once a symbol of respect and noble lineage, now crumbled with each passing season.
The roof leaked, the walls bore cracks as old as scars, and the furniture stood more out of habit than structure.
There were no funds for repairs—not even to pretend that things were still in order.
"Don't mess this up. Got it?" said Rei, the eldest, in a dry tone and with eyes full of judgment.
"Yes, brother," replied Rem, with a calm so measured it bordered on forced politeness.
Her hands, folded in her lap, trembled slightly—as if holding something too fragile to drop.
At that moment, the hall doors creaked open.
The tax collector entered, flanked by four guards with rough faces and armor that, unlike the rest of the room, still gleamed.
Each step on the creaky wood sounded like judgment.
A reminder of how fragile dignity could be.
Ren's father stood up at once. He bowed and guided the man to the best chair at the table—the only one with an intact backrest.
"I see the floorboards are still loose, Sinclair…" commented Lucian with a mocking smile.
"I apologize, Sir Lucian. The harvest was poor this year," said the patriarch, his voice dull.
"I understand, but you know… orders from the king."
Then his gaze swept across those seated, like a butcher assessing the weight of meat.
And it stopped on the youngest.
"Of course, we can always come to an arrangement that benefits us both…"
"I mean—your youngest daughter could be betrothed to my eldest son."
"I appreciate your proposal, but Rin is not yet of marrying age," said the mother, with a polite smile that barely masked her discomfort.
"I understand," Lucian nodded. "I'm just saying—my son's been quite interested ever since he saw her. And they're about the same age, more or less…"
"Perhaps… if our families were to unite, your troubles wouldn't be so dire."
Ren's father said nothing. He simply lowered his gaze, lips tightly pressed together.
"Well, you can think it over later," the collector added, dropping two scrolls onto the table with feigned politeness.
One of them was a marriage contract.
The other—a bill for the month.
"A hundred gold coins?!" the Sinclairs exclaimed nearly in unison.
"It had been fifty the previous month."
Lucian raised his hands. His round face wore a mask of fake helplessness.
"Taxes went up due to demon activity near the borders. They say a new Demon King has risen, and the kingdom needs funds for the army."
Ren said nothing. But inside, something didn't add up.
Fifteen years. That's not enough time for a new Demon King to rise… not with real power.
This isn't war. It's an excuse in the shape of a decree.
His father drew a long breath. Then, without fully meeting his eyes, turned his face toward him.
"…We'll have to use your education fund, Ren…"
Ren lowered his gaze.
The little that was mine… to feed a lie.
"Of course, Father. Don't worry," he replied with a calm smile.
"I was saving up to apply to the academy… but I'll figure something out."
Rei, the eldest, glanced at him from the side.
Not with gratitude.
Not with guilt.
But with contempt.
"Tch… So my plan failed," Lucian muttered under his breath, his sneer vanishing just as quickly.
"Thank you, son. We'll repay you somehow," his mother said.
To her, noble status was everything.
She didn't care about ruin.
She didn't care about poverty.
The only thing that kept her standing each day was the title she had once dreamed of—when she was still just a peasant, hungry for something more.
"Here it is… one hundred gold coins," Lord Sinclair said, placing the pouch on the table.
Lucian took it calmly and began counting the coins one by one, as if savoring each second.
"Well then… it's been a pleasure," he said after finishing, shaking Damian Sinclair's hand with counterfeit courtesy.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to walk around the estate. Inspect the land."
"Of course. Allow me to accompany you."
"Children, go out and play," Emilia ordered, without even turning around.
The siblings left the room in silence.
Lucian cast one last glance at them before stepping through the door—an analytical look, as though weighing them for value… or utility.
Then he leaned toward one of the guards and handed him the coin pouch.
"Tell the driver to take care of what I asked," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The guard nodded and left without drawing attention.
"Is there a problem?" asked Damian Sinclair, noticing the exchange.
"Not at all," Lucian replied, raising his voice with a false smile.
"Just making sure the money makes it safely to the carriage. It'd be such a shame to lose it by accident, don't you think?"
"Now then… shall we take that stroll?"
Ren's parents nodded—not out of desire, but out of duty—and followed the nobleman, whose gaze made it clear he wasn't the type to take "no" for an answer.
From a half-open side door, Ren watched in silence.
He had seen enough.
Lucian hadn't come just to collect taxes.
He came for something more.
And the worst part...
No one in the house seemed willing to see it.
Ren understood everything in a single second.
Something bad was going to happen.
And very soon.