Voices.
Distant at first, muffled... as if I were submerged underwater.
Then... clearer.
"His body's a mess. Thin, malnourished. But the flow of mana... is ridiculously stable."
Flow of mana...?
"And the way he unconsciously used the Mantra... absurd. Who is this boy?"
The voices swirled around me, sharpening with each passing second.
I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened. My body refused to obey.
"What should we do with him, my Lord? Train him as a soldier?" — a cold, formal male voice.
Another answered.
Deeper. Calm.
And strangely... amused.
"No. Not yet. Look at him. He's not ordinary. In all my life, I've only met one person capable of using the Mantra unconsciously. If this boy masters that gift... I fear he might grow as powerful as him."
Footsteps approached.
Heavy. Steady.
Whoever it was... this wasn't some noble playing at authority. It was someone *used* to being obeyed.
A hand rested on my chest.
Warm... yet disturbingly heavy.
"Hmm... still unconscious. A shame. I had so many questions."
Silence.
Then that same grave voice again
thoughtful, almost intrigued:
"I had planned to find a successor... perhaps the second son of some influential family. Someone talented, full of promise. But this..."
A low chuckle.
"...this might very well be fate handing me something far more interesting."
Successor...?
I wanted to scream.
To move.
But nothing.
The darkness pulled me back.
And before it swallowed me completely, I heard one final order:
"Clean him. Treat his wounds. From this day forth... he belongs to House Ravenhart."
---
When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was... a ceiling.
Not the sky.
Not cracked planks or filthy rags.
A real ceiling, polished wood, golden carvings, and the faint scent of herbs in the air.
I blinked, trying to adjust to the light.
My body was warm.
Wrapped in something soft.
Wait...
Was this a bed?
I sat up on impulse, and immediately regretted it.
Pain exploded through my ribs, my stomach twisted, my arms trembled.
"Ah, you're awake."
The calm voice made me turn my head.
A man stood at the door.
Middle-aged, impeccably dressed, dark vest, white shirt, gloves.
Upright posture. Serene, sharp gaze.
A butler.
No doubt about it.
He approached, carrying a tray.
I looked down.
Bread. Hot tea. Fresh fruit.
Real food.
Not scraps. Not leftovers.
My stomach growled so loudly he almost hid a smile.
For a moment, I hesitated.
A trap? Poison?
But the smell... the warmth...
My instincts crushed any doubt.
I grabbed the bread and devoured it like a starving beast.
Soft. Sweet. Warm.
Every bite a blessing.
I gulped down the tea in long swallows, the steam soothing my throat.
A piece of heaven.
The butler simply watched, silent, with an air of understanding.
When I finished, panting, satisfied for the first time in my life, he asked:
"Was the meal to your liking?"
"It was the best I've ever had," I answered without thinking.
"I'm glad to hear it." — he nodded, taking the tray.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
"...Where am I?"
The butler smiled faintly.
"In the residence of Duke Ravenhart, head of one of Kamira's Five Great Ducal Houses."
...A Duke?
A Ducal House?!
My heart skipped.
This was bad. Very bad.
When a noble took interest in a street rat, it rarely ended well.
Prisons. Experiments. Cruel entertainment.
I pressed back against the headboard.
"Look, I didn't mean to steal, I just... needed to eat—"
The butler raised a calm hand.
"Relax. No one will punish you for that."
"Then... why bring me here?"
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Footsteps echoed.
Heavy. Precise.
And then he entered.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black and crimson.
An elegant cloak. Sword at his hip.
Eyes as dark as obsidian. A neatly trimmed beard.
Every detail about him radiated power, and danger.
The Duke Ravenhart.
His eyes fell on me. Cold. Calculating.
No disgust.
No pity.
Only curiosity.
"So... you're awake," he said, voice smooth yet commanding. "I've been waiting."
I swallowed hard.
"Why... did you bring me here?"
A low chuckle.
"Because you're talented."
"Talented? Me? What are you talking about?"
"I saw you knock out an armed guard with a single strike. No training. No preparation. Pure instinct. You don't even know what Mantra is, do you?"
"Never heard of it."
"Mantra is a strengthening technique. Warriors spend years trying to master it... and most still fail. But you..."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp as blades.
"...used it without realizing. Do you remember how you felt before passing out?"
"When I was running... my body felt lighter. And when the guard attacked... something burned inside me. It felt... natural."
The Duke smiled.
"Pure instinct. You focused Mantra into a single point of your body without even knowing it. Even veterans struggle with that."
He straightened, imposing.
"A boy with that kind of talent... cannot remain a mere street rat."
My hands clenched the sheets.
I wasn't special.
I was nothing.
Just... me.
But then he said something that froze my blood.
"I don't know whose blood runs through your veins... but it doesn't matter."
He raised his hand.
Firm. Decisive.
"From this day on... you are my heir. The successor of House Ravenhart."
...What?
WHAT!?