The rain had long stopped by morning.
Mist drifted across the Valdric estate, soft and pale, coiling around the marble statues like forgotten ghosts.
Reinhart sat by the window of his study, staring at the faint reflection in the glass — a stranger wearing his face.
"Transmigration…" he murmured. "Or maybe a dream or am I just being mentally ill "
The word tasted bitter.
He didn't understand the how, only the why that haunted him: why him, why now, why in this game , he might be happy if this was some modern system type world with internet and also if he was a hero who can have lots of heroines but now who is he ?
A guy who is apparently a duke heir and looks like he has been high for like a weak and has never touch grass in his life , civilians are unhappy with current regime and might plan a rebellion and I don't have his memories and a damn system
He leaned back, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling.
He had no memories of old reinhart , current aiden had no memory and knowledge of who were original reinhart's family members except duke , friends , enemies and his personality
There are some people and information he got through random conversations and important people from those were
The Duke of Valdric, Leon von Valdric
To the world, a fallen prince now a Duke trying to keep his family's dignity alive. But Reinhart saw through the veil — a patient man playing a long game, surviving humiliation with the grace of a blade still sheathed and his whole loyalty solely devoted to Empress of Durvane, that is what appears to him right now
Just maybe , leon is faking these words in suspicious that there maybe Durvane spies in the palace
He's dangerous, Reinhart thought. Not for what he shows, but for what he hides.
Then there was Catherine.
Too soft , naive for a maid of her position.
Her speech was weird , her steps too careful — he just can't piece her together
Either a spy sent by the Duke or maybe Durvane … or a fool trying to serve sincerely in a nest of vipers.
Still, her loyalty felt oddly genuine. And that made her more dangerous than either.
His eyes drifted toward the desk, where a faintly glowing sphere rested — a mana crystal found in things called mana mines .
He had taken it from the library last night, curious.
Reinhart placed his palm above it. The crystal flickered faintly, then dimmed again.
" Interesting "
He chuckled quietly, the sound hollow.
He didn't knew when morning had came by the time he let go of crystal , maybe he was too immersed in his thoughts
Then a knock came at the door.
Catherine entered, bowing gracefully. "My lord, the Duke requests that you meet your instructor in the southern courtyard."
"Instructor?"
"Yes," she said softly. "He said… you'll be needing one if you're to hold your head high at the Academy ."
Reinhart smiled faintly. "He's not wrong."
He rose, adjusting his coat. "Alright, let's meet this teacher of mine."
...
The southern courtyard was still drenched from the morning drizzle.
Training dummies stood scattered like mute witnesses; the air smelled faintly of wet stone and steel.
At the center stood a woman.
Her hair — pure white, like frost — tied neatly . Her pointed ears marked her as an elf, though shorter and duller than most.
Her eyes were silver-gray, sharp and distant, and her posture carried the discipline of someone who had seen too many battles to care about titles.
Reinhart approached, his boots tapping softly against the cobblestone.
"You're the instructor?"
Her gaze swept over him once — not rudely, but clinically. "Reinhart von Valdric?"
"Yes."
She gave a small nod. "Then yes. I am your instructor."
Her voice was smooth but cold, like water over steel.
"Name's Seraphine." She turned slightly, sunlight catching on a faint scar that crossed her cheek. "Half-elf. Former knight of the elven Northern Legion . Exiled for my bloodline."
Reinhart studied her. "Exiled for being half-human?"
Her lips twitched — not a smile, but something like it. "Elves have their pride. Impure blood offends them. So they send us away to remind the rest what happens when you taint the line."
There was no bitterness in her tone, only exhaustion — the kind that comes after years of carrying a wound that never heals.
Reinhart folded his arms. "And now you teach nobles' sons mana control?"
"Teach?" She gave a soft, humorless laugh. "No. I correct mistakes. Teaching would imply you don't know what you're doing."
Reinhart caught the sarcasm in her tone , yep she is right like which Nobel son would want to hear from a exiled elf that they don't know anything
He smirked faintly. "Then correct me, Instructor."
"Good. You at least have confidence."
She reached into her cloak and drew a small sphere — similar to his crystal, but glowing with inner light.
"This," she said, "is a Mana Conductor. Touch it."
Reinhart placed his hand on the sphere.
For a brief moment, he felt something — a faint warmth spreading through his palm, pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
Then pain.
It was as if his blood turned to molten iron. He jerked his hand back with a hiss.
Seraphine didn't move. "That's what happens when you do mana circulation without using proper methods."
"where am i wrong , instructor ?"
"you have to use your mana like oxygen and let it pass through the heart like oxygen and from there comes impure mana with carbon dioxide mixed and you just have to release it with that carbon dioxide, in summary it's just like breathing ," she corrected. "do it correctly or it may imbalance your body "
Reinhart raised an eyebrow. " imbalance ? "
". Some people's vessels crack. Their blood boils. Some die." She said it plainly, like reciting a weather report.
Seraphine's gaze softened — just barely. "I've seen many nobles waste talent because they thought it was a gift . But if you follow my instructions clearly then i make sure you don't face any problem in mana circulations"
Reinhart's smirk returned. "alright , Thank you ."
"Don't thank me," she said, turning away. "You'll curse me by the end of your training."
He watched her walk toward a more open ground , her white hair glinting faintly in the mist.
There was elegance in her movements — cold, precise, but not lifeless.
For the first time since his arrival in this world, Reinhart felt something stir in his chest.
Not nostalgia.
Not pain.
Anticipation for his traning arc