Before I could say anything, she spoke again, her tone clipped and businesslike.
"Then I'll prepare the bathwater. Please get ready. The master and madam will be in the dining hall within half an hour. You are expected to be present as well."
And with that, she turned and left without waiting for a reply.
I let out a slow breath.
This is wild.
Even though I told myself I didn't care about her attitude, something about it stung — a quiet reminder of my place in this house.
Whatever…
There were more important things to think about. First, my current body — fourteen, maybe fifteen at best. Second, the timing. Judging from her words, this must be just few years before I was disowned.
I followed her toward the washroom, silent. The more complicated the situation, the less sense there is in talking.
Still, my eyes betrayed me. She moved with calm precision, her presence mature and grounded, and it was impossible not to notice. A spark stirred in me — something I hadn't felt in decades.
It wasn't just lust; it was the reminder that I was alive again. My body reacted like any man's would, even if my mind carried the exhaustion of a fifty-year-old soul.
I smirked faintly to myself.
Guess some instincts don't age, no matter how many times you die.
The desire to engage with the opposite gender is something we are born with as humans.
The more a guy like me struggles to find intimacy, the more it consumes my thoughts. Wanting to have sex with the opposite gender is a completely natural response.
This is especially true for someone like me who has never experienced such moments in life. Only individuals in my situation can truly grasp my desperation to lose my virginity, and no one else has the right to judge that.
I controlled my urges as I always did — bury it deep and move on.
The bathwater was lukewarm, the scent faintly herbal. Of course, no one came to assist me; even as the eldest son of the Veyne family, I'd never been treated like a proper noble. I scrubbed myself clean in silence and slipped into the clothes the maid had laid out — a plain white shirt and black trousers.
Simple, but neat.
When I glanced in the mirror again, I paused for a moment. My reflection stared back — black hair a little messy, skin smooth and unscarred. No burns. No deep gashes. No weary lines carved by years of bloodshed.
Even with the body of a malnourished teenager, I couldn't help but admire it.
So this was me before everything went to hell.
After a bit of effort with the brush, I managed to tame my hair and look… presentable.
The maid waited by the door, her expression unreadable, and led me through the long corridors toward the dining hall.
The hall was enormous — far too big for a family of four. Chandeliers gleamed overhead, and the floor was polished enough to reflect the servants standing in two perfect lines along the walls. Each bowed as I passed, their eyes downcast, their movements practiced and lifeless.
Rich people really know how to waste space, I thought.
Then I saw them.
At the head of the table sat a man with sharp brown eyes and a commanding presence. His blond hair was trimmed neatly, his beard and mustache perfectly maintained. Even his elegant clothes couldn't hide the muscle beneath — the body of a knight who'd once earned his name through battle, not birth.
My father.
To his right sat a woman — my stepmother. Graceful posture, brown hair, black eyes that gleamed with quiet intelligence. When our eyes met, one of her brows arched slightly, as if she hadn't expected me to look directly at her eyes.
And to his left, a boy — younger than me, yet already wearing arrogance like a crown. Blond hair like our father, but sharper eyes. He glared at me the instant I entered, his expression saying plainly, "You're late."
I ignored him completely and took my seat.
For a moment, silence ruled the table. Three pairs of eyes studied me — the forgotten son who had somehow returned looking far too calm for his own good.
This feels strange, I thought, glancing between them.
They all look younger than I remember.
My father nodded slightly before picking up his fork and spoon. That was apparently the signal for everyone to begin eating.
The table was filled with roasted meats, fruits, freshly baked bread, and colorful sauces. The aroma alone was enough to make my stomach growl.
Seeing everyone start eating without a word, I followed suit. I picked up a slice of unknown meat drenched in crimson sauce and took a bite.
Oh... wow.
When was the last time I'd tasted something this good? I couldn't remember.
The meat was tender, melting perfectly with the sauce. I chewed slowly, savoring each bite. I'd eaten monster meat before — rich with Essentia, impossible to digest without specific body conditioning or potions — but this... this was heaven in comparison.
It was absurd how close I was to tears. These servants really knew what they were doing.
I tried different meats, then moved to the breads and sauces. Garlic and tomato mixed together — my favorite. I didn't even realize how fast I was eating until I noticed my plate was nearly empty.
And that's when I felt it. Eyes. Everyone was staring at me.
Even the servants had stopped moving.
"Mmm?" I looked around, confused. "What?"
My father, Count Cedric Veyne, set down his fork, a faint smile tugging at his lips."You're eating quite a lot today."
That's all? Everyone was staring like I'd just eaten a live frog.
"Yeah," I replied half-heartedly. "I'm hungrier than usual today."
"That's good." Cedric gestured to a nearby maid. "Prepare more fruit for him."
Immediately, the maids rushed to peel the fruits and arranged them neatly on my plate. I could've done it myself, but it wasn't worth arguing over.
When everyone finished, the servants quietly cleared the table and brought in bowls for us to wash our hands.
No one left. Everyone sat in silence, posture perfect, expressions still.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
Are they mourning someone? I wondered. Did someone die? Or do they just hate breakfast conversation this much?
Finally, my father broke the silence. He cleared his throat softly.
"Cough. So, Kael," he said, fixing his sharp eyes on me. "What are you planning to do from now on?"
A big question mark popped into my head. Why was he suddenly asking that?
Wait—was this his way of saying, your younger brother will inherit everything, so what are you planning to do with your useless life?
Everything clicked.
With a calm tone and a straight back, I said,
"I want to become an Expeditioner."
The entire table fell silent. The clink of cutlery stopped.
Darian, my half-brother was the first to break the silence.
"What the hell are you thinking?" he barked. "Did you lose your mind after Lady Lyria broke off the engagement yesterday? Trying to prove something to her, are you? Don't be a fool! You don't even have Essentia in your veins — you can't fight monsters, you can't survive a Wasteland. Be realistic!"
I looked at Darian, then at the others.
Every face wore the same look — disbelief, pity, faint amusement.
I didn't even know what he was talking about. Fiancée? That maid mentioned something too. What the hell did any of that have to do with me wanting to be an Expeditioner?
***