The birds chirped, and the grass swayed gently in the wind.
Beyond the castle walls, people bustled back and forth through the streets. It was a peaceful scene, a land thriving in the age of kingdoms.
On the outskirts of the castle, beneath the shade of a large tree, a young boy lay quietly. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze and the distant echoes of life around him.
"Did I really reincarnate into this world?" he wondered.
"Well, at the very least, I'm free from that endless darkness... that nightmare that never seemed to end. I don't understand why those vivid dreams haunted me when I could barely remember them after waking up. Still... here I am, surrounded by a strange sense of peace."
He rested beneath the tree, letting the wind lull him into silence.
A few moments later, a maidservant approached. She was about the same age as the boy beneath the tree. Though naturally shy and somewhat timid, she always performed her duties diligently. Her bashful manner was, in truth, rather charming.
She was Alri Miruel, the daughter of a trusted vassal of House Grandale.
"Young Master... e-everything has been prepared."
The boy opened his eyes, stood up, and stretched.
"Alright. Great work, Alri. Now let's go see it."
"Yes."
Walking beside them was another youth of the same age—a young guard.
His name was Vind, a trainee knight personally chosen by the boy to serve as his bodyguard. Though still in training, Vind possessed remarkable talent and was expected to become one of the kingdom's greatest paladins someday. He often appeared apathetic, but beneath that stoic exterior was a devoted and compassionate young man. He never ignored those in need and pursued his training with unwavering discipline.
"Young Master," Vind asked, "what do you even need that thing for? Why waste time on a metal stick when we already have fine swords with razor-sharp blades?"
The boy smiled.
"That's not merely a metal stick, Vind. It's a piece of technology."
As they walked down the stone path, the two retainers followed behind him.
"We could've spent this time training," Vind muttered. "I still don't see what's so special about it. It feels like a waste of time."
"Hm? Did you say something?" the boy asked with a suspicious smile.
"N-Nothing, Young Master!" Vind quickly replied with a nervous grin. "I'm sure it'll be... fun to help you with this as well."
"We don't have all day. Let's get moving."
"Yes, Young Master!" both attendants answered in unison.
The boy was Willane Grandale, though he still preferred the name William from his previous life.
He was the eldest son of Duke Byron Grandale and the duchess, a former Saintess of the Sol Church. They resided in Halcyon, the capital of the Grandale Duchy.
Every week, Willane trained to control his innate holy power under his mother's guidance while studying swordsmanship under his father. Although memories of his previous life occasionally surfaced, he knew the crude martial arts he once practiced were nothing compared to the graceful mastery of the blade displayed by his father.
Soon, the trio arrived at a secluded workshop.
The building was empty, filled only with tools for masonry, carpentry, blacksmithing, and metallurgy.
At the center of the room rested an unfamiliar weapon.
A musket.
It wasn't an artifact from Earth, nor was it entirely Willane's own invention.
The design came from a mysterious book stored within his spiritual domain—a soul-bound item that he could summon whenever he wished. Inside were records of technologies from countless civilizations.
This particular musket possessed extraordinary power.
Unlike the muskets of Earth, this one unleashed force comparable to a cannon. A single shot could leave a massive crater in stone or even damage the walls of a castle.
The Grandale Duchy belonged to the Kingdom of Velrune.
To the west lay Velrune, Estia occupied the central lands, and Altia stood in the north. These three human kingdoms survived within territories protected by an enormous magical barrier—the last refuge of humanity after losing most of the world to the Myriad Races.
Though separated by borders, the kingdoms remained closely connected.
The Myriad Races viewed humans as little more than sacrifices for their gods.
Yet they were hardly united themselves. Like demons locked in eternal conflict, they constantly waged war against one another.
The world of Aegir was anything but peaceful.
An unknown external force had corrupted it long ago, causing technologies from countless civilizations to overlap. Ancient magic existed alongside forgotten machinery, creating a chaotic world where progress followed no logical path.
After several rounds of testing, the trio finally finished their experiment.
The musket was painfully slow to reload, but its destructive power was undeniable. One shot had blasted a gaping hole through the workshop wall.
Willane couldn't hide his excitement.
By the time they finished, dusk had settled over the duchy.
Vind, however, looked utterly exhausted. Whenever Willane conducted his strange experiments, he forbade Vind from leaving to train with his sword. For someone as dedicated as Vind, that alone was torture.
To make matters worse, he had been the one firing the musket.
Its recoil was monstrous.
Even with his sturdy physique, each shot hurled him backward, leaving his shoulders sore and his entire body aching.
Meanwhile, Willane simply watched from a chair, calmly eating snacks that Alri had prepared.
Eventually, the three returned to the castle.
Willane entered the ducal mansion, only to be greeted by his younger brother.
Brent was five years old and endlessly mischievous. This time, he hid beside the hallway door with a small stool before suddenly leaping onto Willane's back.
"Got you, big brother!" Brent giggled as he wrapped his arms around Willane's neck.
"Oh no, I've been defeated," Willane laughed. "Alright, you little rascal. What do you want?"
He gently lifted Brent down before kneeling to meet his eyes.
"Come on! Mother wants to see you!"
Brent dashed down the hallway, waving excitedly for his brother to follow.
Willane entered his mother's room.
The duchess sat gracefully in her chair, cradling his infant younger sister.
"Mother, I'm here."
"Will, where have you been all day?" she asked with concern. "Shouldn't you have been practicing your holy powers? You worry me. What if your power loses control again?"
"It's alright, Mother. I'm old enough to manage it now. I trained with Father this morning, and afterward... I studied some papers."
He maintained a perfectly straight face.
The duchess turned toward Vind.
"Is that true, Vind? Did my son trouble you again? You don't look very well today."
Vind still looked battered from repeatedly being thrown backward by the musket's recoil.
He glanced at Willane.
The young master smiled at him—a smile that somehow felt more threatening than reassuring.
"Y-Yes, Your Grace," Vind answered while sweating nervously.
The duchess sighed before returning her gaze to her son.
"Willane... tell me honestly."
Her expression became serious.
"Did you meet the men in white robes?"
Willane froze.
"How does Mother know about them?" he thought.
"I-I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to hide it. I just..."
"I understand," she interrupted softly. "I always knew they would return someday. I simply didn't expect it to happen so soon."
"Mother... do you know who they are?"
By then, Alri and Vind had quietly excused themselves, leaving the room. Vind remained outside the door on guard while Alri returned to her duties.
The duchess nodded.
"Willane, you're fifteen now. It's time I told you what happened on the day you were born."
Her eyes softened with nostalgia.
"It was the happiest day of your father's and my lives."
"But you never opened your eyes."
"You simply slept."
"You remained asleep for an entire day. We feared something was terribly wrong. Yet you continued to breathe peacefully, and not even the high priests could discover anything unusual. You were simply... a quiet, sleeping baby."
"So that's why everyone called me the Sleeping Prince?"
The duchess smiled warmly.
"Isn't it a rather adorable nickname?"