It felt as though he were dreaming, as if, for a fleeting moment, everything that had happened had never happened at all.
Memories surged like a violent tide. He remembered his father, who had once questioned if Edward was even his biological son. He remembered the tragic death of his mother, taken from the world the moment he was born. Then there was his older sister, whose beauty was famed across the seven kingdoms, and his half-brother, who had never missed an opportunity to torment him.
He remembered it all.
After cultivating both body and mind across countless lifetimes, he became the strongest of all. He wandered the vast continent, conquering lands and gathering power, his life turning into an endless cycle of battles until the line between reality and illusion blurred beyond recognition.
Then the horrific memories of the Great Demon War flooded his mind. In that war, he had was the central figure—a ruler and a peerless warrior. Driven by the need to become strong enough to defeat the Demon Lord, Azrathion, he learned every spell he could find, mastered every sword art, and seized control of every land that could offer him power. Each regression was not a curse, but opportunity to gain a new hold on power.
But it wasn't enough, him standing here, in this place, was proof that he failed again. He had failed to defeat the demon lord once more.
His accomplishments were many, his feats second to none, but all of it was just vanity when faced with a mighty opponent like Azrathion.
Now staring at the mirror, he saw himself from decades ago. He had regressed. His ability to return after every death had triggered once more.
He was back in the Vistro House, a legendary pillar of the Luminaris Kingdom and a false loyalist to the crown. Here, he was the youngest son, standing within a family where blood meant little and the title of heir meant everything, a house that valued succession and power above all else.
Now strolling through the garden, he gazed at the annex where he lived. It was a beautiful place, tucked away in a corner of the property, but its beauty was a lie. Within the household, this place was known by another name: Exile.
Its sole purpose was to isolate him. He had no servants, no vassals, and no family to support him. This was the reality of his current state.
"Young Master, I've brought you something to drink."
Edward started. It was Henry, the butler. He was the only person in the entire Vistro estate who had ever shown Edward even a sliver of kindness. Edward looked at the man with a sharp, knowing smile.
"The Henry I knew was a clever one," Edward remarked softly. As he took the glass, he leaned in. "There isn't any poison mixed in this, is there?"
Henry's face paled, his composure momentarily shattered. But Edward let out a short laugh. "It was just a joke. Thank you for the care."
Henry laughed nervously, telling him not to overdo it before making his exit. Edward watched him go. Including Henry, there were other people in the garden. The others were soldiers—guards who were less there to protect him and more to keep him under a watchful, suffocating eye.
Edward checked his hands. No calluses. No mana core. At fifteen, he was fundamentally inadequate compared to the children of other noble houses.
As Edward drifted deeper into thought, he remembered how close he had come to defeating the Demon Lord in his last regression. He had mastered the ancient-ranked Celestial Sword Technique, the Nine War Paladin Art, all the way to the Ninth Form, yet even that hadn't been enough.
His reflection continued to spiral inward—until a shadow stretched across the floor behind him. A moment later, a heavy boot stepped onto the wooden deck, breaking the silence.
Then, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. And once again, he had let his guard down against this fool. Sure, it had been years since anyone without a demonic aura had dared to strike him.
"I really ought to know better than to interrupt someone during their meal," a voice said with open disdain.
Edward looked down at the shattered glass and the orange juice pooling on the floor. He trembled—not with fear, but with a burgeoning, cold fury.
"So this is how you welcome your elder when he graces you with his presence?"
It was Damian Vistro, three years his senior and the second son of the Marquis. Damian was the very reason Edward had been forbidden from mana cultivation in his first life. Through years of abuse, intimidation, and constant threats, Damian had made sure Edward stayed weak and powerless.
Memories of Damian grabbing him by the collar and smashing his head against the wall resurfaced. In that memory, Damian had called him useless, a disgrace that never should have been born. He had leaned in close and warned Edward that if he ever tried to learn swordsmanship or magic, it would be seen as a betrayal of his elder brother—an excuse Damian would gladly use to ruin him completely.
"As long as you live under this roof, you survive on whatever scraps we decide to spare you," Damian had said coldly.
Edward had been weak-kneed during his first life. The "Shame of the Household." The servants whispered and laughed behind his back, a pathetic excuse for a third son.
The only person who had ever truly cared for him was his eldest sister. But because she was a woman, she could not inherit the title. Her fate was sealed from the start: a political marriage to a man of their father's choosing, destined to live trapped in a mansion to preserve a bloodline.
Damian, the bastard who wanted to use his sister as a bargaining chip with royalty, was now standing before him.
"What's that look supposed to mean?" Damian snapped, noticing the strange, cold gaze in Edward's eyes. He raised his hand to strike again. "Lower your eyes when you face me!"
But before the blow could land, Edward's hand shot out. He gripped Damian's wrist with a strength that shouldn't have been possible.
Again and again, Edward repeated the 'teaching the arrogant young master a lesson' cliché. Every time, every regression, he had to beat some sense into Damian.
With that, the guards froze. This was not the Edward they knew. Of course, they didn't know that inside that fifteen-year-old boy lay the experience, comprehension, and expertise of a thousand lifetimes.
"You think stopping me makes you impressive?" Damian roared, veins bulging. "You're lower than dirt!"
In a blur of motion, Edward didn't just block; he counter-attacked. With a single, swift blow, he sent Damian sprawling to the ground.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Damian shouted, coughing as he hit the dirt.
Edward looked down at him, a mocking glint in his eyes. "I thought you might enjoy tasting the ground for once."
Infuriated, Damian unsheathed his sword, mana beginning to emanate from his body. The guards considered stepping in, but the fear of Damian's temper kept them rooted.
"Young Master, please reconsider!" Henry shouted, hurrying between them. "This isn't the place for mana!"
Damian didn't hesitate. He backhanded the butler, sending him tumbling away.
Edward's eyes narrowed. He knew that Henry carried many secrets, but for now, his focus was on the amateur in front of him. Damian was nothing more than a spoiled child with a clumsy technique.
"Looks like no one ever taught you restraint," Edward murmured as he stepped forward.
Damian lunged, but Edward moved like a ghost. He reached out and grabbed Damian by the face, slamming his head toward the stone edge of the fountain.
"I'll return a fraction of what you taught me," Edward said calmly. "Consider this interest."
He shoved Damian's head into the water. Damian thrashed, unable to use the mana he was so proud of. As he held him under, Edward thought of his sister. She had sacrificed everything for the "glory" of this house, only to be married off to the Fourth Royal Prince—a man known for his disgusting depravity. She had endured it all for a family that didn't deserve her.
"I—can't—breathe—!" Damian choked when Edward finally yanked him up by the hair.
Edward looked at him with the eyes of a man who had seen a thousand deaths. "Reflect on every step that brought you here. I'm doing you a kindness."
"I admit it! I admit it!" Damian sobbed. "I won't touch you again!"
Edward raised a fist, ready to continue, but Henry's voice came again, pleading for him to stop. Edward grumbled, then with one final, brutal blow, he smashed Damian's forehead against the fountain edge and tossed him aside like trash.
Edward turned to a trembling guard. "He's not dead yet. So take him and fuck off."
The guards scrambled to pick up the unconscious second son. As Edward walked away, he passed Henry. The butler's gaze was fixed on him—a look of pure, unadulterated shock.
The rumors began to spread instantly. The "useless" third son had just broken the "genius" second son. The Vistro mansion would never be the same again.