Elarion's POV:-
I wasn't locked up anymore, but nothing felt different. Days passed with the same rhythm—rest and training, training and rest.
My body wasn't allowed to relax completely.
I was 10 now. And when I turned 11, I'd be sent to Death Valley.
That was the rule.
The final trial: surviving one full year inside Death Valley. No help, no supplies.
Only those who endured until their twelfth birthday were acknowledged as true heirs of Crimsonveil.
Death Valley wasn't called that for fun. It wasn't a battlefield. It wasn't training ground.
It was a sealed zone where even monsters gave up living. Poisoned land, cursed air.
Half-dead beasts roamed there—failed creations from the old alchemists. If the environment didn't kill you, the hallucinations would. Your own mind would betray you.
Only one rule: survive.
That was the final trial.
Until then, I was expected to sharpen myself daily. Balance body, mind, and spirit. And in between, pretend to be at peace.
I thought nothing had changed. But there was something that really put me off.
In the three years since I entered the trial, my father hadn't once come to my room. Even after returning, a whole week had passed—still no sign of him. I assumed he'd stopped visiting. That assumption was wrong.
But tonight…
At night while I slept, I felt it. His presence.
There was no sound. No footsteps. But I sensed him—maybe because of the trial.
My senses had sharpened, my mind stronger than before. I could feel every little thing around me.
Even in sleep, my body only rested if I allowed it. If I didn't want to wake up, I wouldn't. But this time… I stayed aware.
He came closer. I didn't open my eyes. But I knew—he was there, standing by my bed like he used to.
Sometimes, in the past, he would brush my hair slightly. Look at me for a moment. Thinking things I'd never understand.
But this time…
This time, he sat down.
That was new.
I could feel it more clearly now: that black energy around him. It wasn't there before. Or maybe I was too weak to sense it back then.
Now, I could. A cold, suffocating energy. Like death itself.
Maybe that's a gift from God—a blessing. Not just sensing it, but being able to dissipate it if it wasn't too strong.
If it was overwhelming, like now, it would take longer… But the energy wasn't concealed. Careless. As if they didn't even bother hiding it at this stage.
That same black aura wrapped around him.
I wanted to open my eyes, to see for myself. To confirm it. But emotions… They're a weakness. As an assassin, I'd been taught:
Letting emotions cloud judgment means failure. A disappointment.
So I stayed still. Collected. Waiting for him to make another move.
Was this when he began changing?
Was this when he turned to black magic?
Maybe. Probably. But I hated guessing right now. I didn't want random theories. I wanted facts. I wanted a clear answer—or at least a hint.
Then…
A cold hand brushed against my cheek. My hair.
Gentle, but freezing cold. Like a corpse.
That was enough. I groaned quietly, opening my eyes halfway—and saw him.
Father.
His hair. It used to be black. Now, it was mostly grey, almost silver, in just three years. His face was pale. His eyes—hollow.
But beneath that emptiness…
There was pain.
Real, suffocating pain.
I didn't let myself panic. I sat up, greeted him formally, as always. Manners drilled into me since I could walk, manners that were honed inside me from birth- perfect, flawless and unwavering
"No need to get worked up," he said, voice dry—like someone who hadn't drunk water in days.
His eye bags… I hadn't noticed before. Maybe they were already there years ago, just subtle enough to miss. His limbs looked frail now, yet I knew better. Appearance meant nothing. Even like this, he was strong.
Unimaginably strong.
I could feel it. And I wasn't weak myself.
Third stage already. Nearly fourth. A genius no a monster, people might say.
I didn't create my body in hell—just my mind. My body I pushed until t broke, again and again.
But brushing that aside…
I kept looking at him. Waiting.
Midnight. Silence. His mouth didn't move.
Until finally, he said exactly what I'd been thinking:
"I just wanted to see what you were doing."
Emotionless. And yet… painful.
I didn't know what to say. I kept my voice normal, asked if he needed anything.
He said no. Brushed it off. Then left.
Leaving behind that faint trail of black energy—clinging to the air, suffocating me.
I hated it. Hated this black energy so much it was beyond words.
What now?
Am I supposed to find out why?
When did he fall this deep?
Maybe… maybe he wasn't at fault back then. But does that really matter?
Even if the things he did to me in my past life weren't all true… it doesn't erase the lives ruined in this duchy.
Training made us strong—but hollow. Some with talent were crushed before they even had a chance to show it.
Rules are rules, but they aren't concrete. I saw it in my past life. The flaws. The cracks. But no one changed anything. My father least of all.
Why?
Why does no one ever try to change it?
And here I am now. Reborn. Back in this world. Supposedly, life should be boring. But no.
There's fighting. There's danger. And right now, there's one more thing.
…Sweets.
God, I'm suddenly craving sweets. And I still hate this old man for banning them in the duchy. Drugs are allowed. But sweets? No. Makes zero sense.
He really truly deserves death.
And about why, the black energy only became visible now, that's another thing I'll figure out. Very soon.
Everything.
But now I need just one thing, A Vacation.
I wanna leave and get some fresh air.
Away....far away
I don't want to stay in one place and rot, I wanna travel....far
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