Commander Arthur — POV
"I was gone for only five days. How did you let things get so out of hand that the matter had to reach the Duke himself?" I demanded, staring down at the knights gathered in my office.
"S-Sorry, sir. We didn't know this would happen," my attendant stammered, his eyes fixed on the floor. "They used an artifact so no sound could escape."
"Because of your negligence, someone could have died!" I snapped, my voice cold. "The Duke might overlook this, believing it was a mistake—but I will not let it slide so easily." I turned sharply toward my attendant. "Call Ceaser to my office. Now."
Some time passed before the door finally opened.
"Greetings, Lord Commander," Ceaser said, bowing slightly.
I ignored his greeting, fixing him with a stare and letting the silence stretch.
"I am disappointed in you, Ceaser. I never thought something like this would happen under your watch," I said, my tone deliberately taunting, searching for a reaction.
But Ceaser's expression didn't change. He remained calm. "I apologize, sir. I allowed it to happen. However, I never imagined these children would attempt to kill someone. We even investigated the incident to determine whether there was any outside involvement."
"So," I asked sharply, "who is this 'someone'? From inside, or outside?"
"I… don't know yet, sir," he replied, his expression still blank. "I'm still investigating."
I rubbed my forehead, a headache beginning to form. "Hmph. Leave that for now. I'll review the matter myself. Just report the casualties. How many were injured, and why were they fighting among themselves?"
At that, Ceaser frowned. "Sir, they weren't fighting among themselves."
"What? Didn't you just say there was a fight? One group against another?"
Ceaser hesitated. "Sir… you don't know the full details, do you?"
"Of course I don't!" I snapped. "I arrived an hour ago and was told a candidate was injured!"
"Sir," Ceaser said slowly, "all seventeen children attempted to kill a single candidate."
"What?!" I slammed my hand against the desk. "All of them ganged up on one person? What kind of nonsense is this? These children are becoming more immature by the day." I scoffed in disgust. "Bullying someone to death? I'll teach them a proper lesson." I exhaled sharply. "So—what is the name of the candidate they targeted?"
Ceaser pressed a hand to his forehead and took a deep breath before speaking clearly.
"Sir, his name is Tyler Draven. However, he was not the one who died. He is the one who put a noble child into a coma and left him half-dead—with his bare hands. He also defeated all the others by himself."
I froze.
"What…?" My voice dropped to a whisper. "They all fought a single candidate of the same rank—and he nearly killed a noble? Bare-handed? That's impossible. He must have used a powerful skill or an artifact."
Ceaser shook his head. "The fight occurred in the bathroom while Tyler was bathing. They entered armed. They used not one, but two artifacts—one for soundproofing, and another to cancel mana entirely."
I sank back into my chair.
A mana suppression artifact meant Tyler had no access to magic. In terms of raw mana, only Aelina surpassed him—but without mana at all, he should have been helpless. Yet Ceaser was saying he defeated seventeen armed candidates—candidates who intended to kill him—without using a single drop of mana.
"When I went to conduct a routine check," Ceaser continued, "I couldn't find anyone in their rooms. I searched the bathroom, but the door was locked. I called for someone to open it, but there was no response. So I broke it down." His voice darkened. "What I found was a bloodbath."
He continued grimly. "The bathroom was soaked in blood. Injured children were scattered everywhere. And then I saw him—a boy with black hair and black eyes, covered head to toe in blood. Tyler was sitting on top of another child, punching his face over and over again. The victim's face was unrecognizable, swollen and red with blood, yet Tyler wouldn't stop. I had to intervene to save the child. Once I pulled him away, Tyler immediately lost consciousness."
He finished his report. "The matter was then taken directly to the Duke. Given the severity of the incident, His Grace ordered Tyler Draven's imprisonment in Walt Prison. He has been confined there for five days."
I absorbed the information slowly. "Yes… that decision makes sense. Otherwise, the noble families would demand answers." I paused. "Still… Walt Prison? Isn't that excessive for a child?"
"You weren't there, sir," Ceaser replied gravely. "You didn't witness what he did. Several candidates suffered broken bones. Others experienced severe mental trauma. Some still haven't recovered. We were forced to summon a High Healer from the Church."
I waved a hand. "That will be all. You may go."
Ceaser bowed and left the room.
I remained seated, staring at the closed door in silence.
Then, I began to laugh.
"Hahaha…! Thank you, God of Light! I can finally die without regret!"
I laughed until my chest ached. "I searched my entire life for someone who shared my talent—and never found one. Not even my own son or daughter impressed me." My grin widened. "But that boy… he has surpassed all expectations."
I leaned back in my chair, eyes gleaming. "I hesitated before because he's a commoner. But now? That no longer matters. Not at all."
My smile turned sharp. "My legacy will not die. I have finally found my successor."
Tyler Draven — POV
The cell was so silent that even the sound of my own breathing—and the steady thumping of my heart—felt unbearably loud.
My entire body throbbed with pain. Every muscle screamed whenever I shifted even slightly. But the pain wasn't what haunted me.
It was how I did it.
I knew how to fight. That much was certain. But the techniques I used that day… they weren't things I consciously knew. They weren't simple moves from my old world, nor anything I remembered practicing. They felt refined, instinctive—like fragments of multiple fighting styles woven together.
Yet somehow, my body had executed them flawlessly.
How could I move like that in this body?
The more I thought about it, the more unreal it felt. Like I had briefly become someone else.
Thinking I was losing my mind, I questioned the System.
[The System does not possess information regarding this phenomenon.]
"Of course you don't," I muttered dryly. "That would've been too convenient."
The isolation was eating away at me. If I stayed still any longer, I felt like my thoughts would spiral out of control. So I forced myself to stand, ignoring the ache in my limbs, and began to recreate the movements from the bathroom.
Slowly. Carefully.
I shifted my stance. Adjusted my breathing. Let my body remember what my mind could not.
That day, everything had felt different.
My body had been light—almost weightless. My reactions sharp. My movements precise. I'd dodged, struck, and countered without hesitation, without thought. Like an animal cornered with no escape.
Fast.
Lethal.
Back then, my speed had felt absurd.
Like a cheetah.
…A D-rank cheetah, maybe—but still.
I moved through the forms again, slower this time, feeling the strain pull at my muscles. It wasn't the same. The sensation I'd felt during the fight was gone, like a fading dream.
Even now—five days later—I could still remember it vividly.
The clarity.
The calm.
And the terrifying ease with which I'd hurt them.
That was what scared me the most.
Because a part of me wasn't horrified by what I'd done.
A part of me understood it.