The palace of Drakenhart did not sleep.
Even at dawn, the marble corridors hummed with quiet movement — servants whispering, armored knights rotating shifts, court officials preparing documents that could decide the fate of provinces.
And at the center of it all—
Arthur Valerius Drakenhart stood before a mirror taller than most men.
He studied his reflection carefully.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Jet-black hair falling neatly to his collar.
Eyes of deep imperial gold — not metaphorically.
Actually gold.
They carried an unnatural density, as if something immense lived behind them.
He lifted his hand slowly.
Mana responded instantly.
A faint golden aura flickered around his fingers, not unstable, not explosive — controlled.
Refined.
Like a blade sheathed in silk.
This body was absurd.
Even without trying, he could feel the mana in the air bending slightly toward him.
He wasn't just strong.
He was a gravitational center.
A knock sounded.
"Enter," he said calmly.
Princess Seraphina stepped inside.
Silver hair cascading down her back. Eyes sharp as cut glass. She closed the door behind her.
Unlike yesterday's polite stiffness, today her gaze was analytical.
"You were injured three days ago," she said without greeting.
Straight to the point.
Good.
Arthur leaned slightly against the window frame.
"Explain."
Her eyebrow twitched.
"You don't remember?"
He held her gaze steadily.
"I wish to hear your version."
A test.
Seraphina understood immediately.
Her posture straightened.
"Three days ago, you led the 3rd Imperial Legion personally to the western border. A breach occurred near the Blackthorn Mountains."
Blackthorn Mountains.
Foreign memories stirred.
Jagged cliffs. Dense fog. Mana-heavy terrain.
She continued.
"A dragon did not attack this time."
Arthur's golden eyes sharpened.
"Then?"
Seraphina's voice lowered slightly.
"A cult."
Silence thickened.
"The organization calling themselves the Veil of Ashes. They infiltrated the border region under the guise of merchants. When exposed, they activated a large-scale mana detonation array."
Arthur's mind began reconstructing the battlefield automatically.
Array formation. Mana detonation. That meant premeditation.
"This wasn't random," he murmured.
"No," she replied. "It was designed to wound you."
That caught his interest.
She stepped closer.
"You crushed them."
Of course he did.
But there was something in her tone.
"You eliminated their elite mages personally. Witnesses claim you walked through the explosion radius."
Fragments flashed—
Smoke choking the air.
Crimson mana circles layered across the ground.
A robed figure screaming chants.
And Arthur — standing in the center.
Mana surging violently.
He remembered the sensation.
Not the visuals.
The feeling.
Pain.
Not physical weakness — but internal rupture.
Mana backlash.
Seraphina's eyes darkened.
"The detonation didn't kill you. But it destabilized your mana core temporarily."
Mana core.
The center of a being's magic.
If cracked or distorted, it could cripple even a genius.
"You collapsed after the battle," she said quietly. "For six hours."
Ah.
So that's why he "woke up."
Arthur exhaled slowly.
"Casualties?"
"Minimal compared to expected loss," she answered. "You shielded the 3rd Legion with a wide-range reinforcement barrier before the second detonation."
His lips curved slightly.
Instinct.
Even the original Arthur acted with calculation.
Not reckless.
Interesting.
Seraphina studied him.
"Brother… something is different."
He didn't respond immediately.
She continued.
"You always prioritized strength. You despised unnecessary words. Yesterday you laughed."
There it was.
Observation level: high.
"She hit me," Arthur said simply.
Seraphina blinked once.
"…Emily."
"Yes."
A faint smile touched Seraphina's lips.
"You allowed it."
"Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she bowed her head slightly — not out of fear.
But acknowledgment.
"Whatever has changed… it does not weaken you."
Arthur turned fully toward her now.
"I was injured."
"Yes."
"And word spread?"
"Yes."
Across the empire, rumors would have started.
If the "God's chosen" could bleed…
Power balance shifts.
Nobles test boundaries.
Enemies grow bold.
Arthur's mind sharpened instantly.
This injury wasn't just physical.
It was political.
"Who was present at the battlefield?" he asked.
Seraphina listed them:
Duke Harland of the West
Countess Mirevra
General Kaedros
The 3rd Legion command
And… a masked observer identified among the cult before death
Masked observer.
Ah.
Now we're getting somewhere.
"Alive?"
"No."
"Body?"
"Disintegrated."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
Convenient.
Very convenient.
He walked toward the table, pouring himself water.
His movements were smooth. Controlled.
Inside, however—
His mind was racing.
Someone calculated that Arthur's injury would destabilize imperial authority.
Someone gathered enough resources to build a mana detonation array capable of affecting him.
That required:
Funding
Rare materials
Insider information
Knowledge of Arthur's mana patterns
His gaze turned cold.
"There is a leak within our empire."
Seraphina did not hesitate.
"I believe so as well."
Good.
She wasn't naive.
Arthur stepped closer to her.
"Prepare a private council. Only those who would die before betraying me."
Her lips curved faintly.
"That list is shorter than you think."
He smiled slightly.
"I know."
She paused at the door.
"Brother."
"Yes?"
"For the first time… you seem interested in ruling."
Arthur looked out toward the capital again.
The massive city pulsed with life — merchants, craftsmen, children running through alleyways.
In his previous life, he had knowledge but no power.
In this life, he had power beyond imagination.
But knowledge?
That was still his greatest weapon.
"I am," he said quietly.
Seraphina left.
—
Arthur closed his eyes.
He extended his senses inward.
The mana core sat deep within his chest — radiant, enormous.
But there was a faint fracture.
Not broken.
Not unstable.
Just… disturbed.
Like glass struck by a hammer but not shattered.
He focused.
Mana swirled.
Instead of forcing it violently, he guided it gently — circulating through pathways, reorganizing, smoothing distortions.
Minutes passed.
Sweat formed along his neck.
This wasn't brute force.
This required precision.
He smiled faintly.
"Modern optimization principles apply to magic too."
Slow correction.
Layered reinforcement.
Energy distribution balancing.
By the time he opened his eyes—
The crack felt smaller.
Not gone.
But controlled.
He stood.
"If they tried to weaken me…"
His golden eyes gleamed.
"They miscalculated."
Outside, rumors continued to spread.
The Crown Prince had been injured.
The God's chosen had fallen.
Some nobles whispered.
Some enemies rejoiced.
And somewhere, hidden behind layers of secrecy—
A figure watched from the shadows.
"Phase one successful," the figure murmured.
But what they did not know—
Arthur was no longer a prodigy obsessed only with strength.
He was something far more dangerous.
A genius with nothing left to lose