Adam stayed seated long after Darius and Selene left.
The wine in his cup had gone still, its surface black and flat.
The door creaked open behind him.
A servant stepped in, a thin man with a torch in one hand and nervous eyes. "Young master, should I clean—"
"Leave it," Adam said.
The man bowed quickly and left, grateful to be dismissed.
Pushing his chair back, he stood and started up the staircase, his steps slow and deliberate. Each creak of wood underfoot sounded louder than it should have.
For the first time since his return, Adam was alone.
He leaned against the wall halfway up the staircase, letting out a long, shaky breath.
He was finally feeling the exhaustion from everything that had happened to him today
"Holy shit…" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
"All of this… happened in just one day."
His pulse still hadn't settled.
The memories of his death, the dinner, Darius's cold eyes, and the sudden change of instructor to Sir Alaric—it was all swirling in his mind like a storm.
Adam gave a bitter laugh. "Regression, huh? Out of every damn version of me that I could've got… I get sent back to eleven year old body again."
He glanced at his trembling hands. "But fine. If that's how it is, then I'll use it. This time, I'll fix everything. I'll save Selene… I'll burn Darius's plans to the ground."
The words steadied his breathing. Slowly, the fire of determination returned to his eyes, the same fire that had once made him survive long enough to become humanity's last warrior in the future.
He started walking toward his room.
The manor was quiet, the kind of silence that only existed after midnight.
The torches were lined up along the walls, their dim light flickering over portraits of dead ancestors.
But beneath that silence… were whispers.
He slowed down.
A group of servants stood at the far end of the hall, half-hidden behind a pillar.
Their voices were hushed, but Adam's ears, sharpened from his years of combat experience in the future, picked up every word.
"The boy is set to become the next heir," one of the older men whispered. "You know what that means, don't you? The one who wins his affection early might not have to serve in the lower quarters anymore."
Another voice, female this time, nervously replied, "You mean… his son? He's still a child."
"The old man is right. Child or not, he's the heir," the husband of the lady said flatly. "If you take his seed, both of us don't have to worry about anything in our lives. Don't pretend you haven't thought about it."
The woman turned sharply and hit his shoulder. "You bastard! You're actually suggesting I—"
Her voice faltered halfway. She bit her lip, staring at the floor, realizing her husband wasn't entirely wrong.
They lived at the mercy of nobles who saw them as replaceable tools. A few nights could change her and her husband's entire life.
"…Even if I tried," she muttered, "what if he doesn't want to see me? I can't just walk up to him."
Her husband scoffed. "He's young. He's got no sense of what people are really like. A few kind words, a few moments of care… that's all it takes. Win his trust; make him believe you care. Once he gets his child inside your belly, he would have no choice but to accept you as one of his wives, and from there you could manipulate him into giving me a better position than servant."
The woman went quiet.
That silence said more than words ever could.
Adam's expression darkened
This kind of manipulation wasn't rare; in fact, it was common across the continent.
Servants, merchants, and even minor nobles played the same game. Offer warmth, comfort, even their body… whatever it took to climb a single step higher.
Adam had fallen for these cheap tricks in the past.
When he came of age in his first life, he drowned in it.
Warm smiles that hid ambition. Words that made him feel wanted. Nights spent with strangers, running from Darius's shadow instead of confronting it.
That weakness had dulled his edge and left him unworthy of the name Veynar.
His father had seen it, of course.
Darius didn't need to shout or strike; his silence had been punishment enough.
The look of cold disappointment in those eyes had carved deeper wounds than any sword ever could.
Adam's jaw tightened. "Not this time," he muttered.
He took a slow breath and started walking again, ignoring all the whispers around him.
'Everything's moving faster this time,' he thought. 'Alaric arrived early. The servants are already trying to seduce me. Even Father feels more impatient than before.'
He frowned, his mind racing. 'Did my regression twist the timeline this much? Or was this how things always were, and I just never noticed?'
Either way, it didn't matter.
He was prepared now.
Adam exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as the last of the whispers faded behind him.
He just wanted to reach his room. For tonight, that was enough.
Sleep.
He needed sleep.
He climbed a few stairs, finally reaching his room.
He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and locked it behind him again.
No uninvited guests this time.
The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering candle.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, staring blankly at the wall for a moment.
'Tomorrow,' he reminded himself. 'Alaric. Training. even if he is crazy, maybe... This will prepare me for the future'
A tired smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Guess the real hell starts in the morning."
He blew out the candle and lay back.
He finally closed his eyes, and he drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.
A sound pulled him back.
Knocking. Soft, deliberate, but persistent.
Adam groaned, covering his face with one hand.
"My lord," came a voice from the other side of the door. "Sir Alaric requests your presence in the courtyard."
Adam sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Already…?"
The voice hesitated. "Lord Darius said you were to be awake before 6am."
"Of course he did," Adam muttered.
He stood, stretched his arms, and went to the basin. The water was freezing. He splashed it across his face, again and again, until the cold water got completely rid of the morning fog in his head.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with a towel. "The real Day One."
He tightened the strap on his wrist guard, fastened his training shirt, and took a final glance at the locked door before heading out.
The corridors were quiet except for the soft hum of morning wind pushing through the cracks. By the time he reached the lower hall, the manor had begun to stir.
Then came the sound of metal clashing from outside.
Adam stepped into the courtyard.
The cold morning air hit him like a slap. A ring of frost clung to the ground, catching the light from torches that had just begun to be put up on the wall to start the day.
In the center stood Sir Alaric, bare-armed and unbothered by the chill.