Kian was thoroughly enjoying his nap.
For the first time in two lifetimes, he wasn't stressed about quarterly earnings, plunging stock prices, or an executioner's blade. He was just an eight-year-old boy sitting in a ridiculously comfortable velvet chair, breathing in and out.
The Violet Emperor's Breathing Technique was doing its job perfectly. With every exhale, a faint wisp of purple mana curled into the air, flushing the lingering fatigue from his tiny muscles. He felt lighter. Sharper. He could already tell his mana core was expanding, greedily swallowing the ambient energy of the room like a vacuum.
This is it, Kian thought, a small, blissful smile on his face. Passive income, but for magic. I am literally getting stronger by sitting on my butt.
Rumble.
His stomach let out a pathetic growl, entirely ruining the majestic purple aesthetic.
Right. He was eight years old. Growing bodies needed calories, and he hadn't eaten since he 'woke up' from being beheaded.
Just as he opened his eyes to go find a snack, the heavy oak doors to his bedroom clicked open. There was no knock. No polite request for entry. The door simply swung open, and a young woman in a crisp black-and-white maid uniform stepped inside, carrying a silver tray.
Kian instantly let the purple aura fade, his posture slumping back into that of a timid, harmless child.
In the Roventia Ducal House, there was no such thing as a mere servant. The gardeners were retired mercenaries. The chefs were poison experts. And the maids—especially the ones assigned to the main bloodline—were Rank-3 Shadow Operatives.
The woman walking into his room was named Cora. She moved with absolute, terrifying silence, her footsteps making zero sound against the floorboards. Kian knew for a fact she kept three poisoned throwing knives strapped to her thigh under her ruffled skirt, and a steel-threaded garrote hidden in her lace cuffs.
More importantly, Kian knew she was a spy directly on Uncle Gillian's payroll. Every time Kian sneezed, read a book, or spoke to a guard, Cora wrote it down and handed the report to Gillian.
Sigh. I just wanted to eat my lunch in peace, Kian thought. Why do I have to do HR management on my first day back?
"Young Master Kian," Cora said. Her tone was perfectly polite, but her eyes held a distinct lack of respect. "I have brought your lunch."
Cora set the silver tray down on the small table near the window. Kian peeked at it. A bowl of lukewarm, watery potato soup, two slices of stale bread, and a cup of cold tea.
Kian stared at the sad meal. Uncle Gillian was deliberately starving him to make sure the 'illegitimate third son' stayed weak and knew his place at the bottom of the food chain.
"Thank you, Cora," Kian squeaked, acting perfectly oblivious. He picked up the spoon with both hands and started stirring the depressing soup.
Cora didn't leave. Instead, she began casually tidying up the room. She fluffed a pillow, straightened a rug, and then—moving with the fluid grace of a trained assassin—drifted over to Kian's writing desk. She began sorting through his tutoring assignments, her eyes scanning the messy parchment for anything interesting.
Corporate espionage, Kian diagnosed lazily in his head, taking a sip of the cold tea. Unauthorized data access. Insubordination. Terrible catering. If I was still a team leader, I would have fired her three minutes ago.
"Cora," Kian said.
His voice wasn't high-pitched or trembling anymore. It was flat. Cold. The voice of a thirty-two-year-old man who was incredibly tired of dealing with incompetent employees.
Cora froze, her hand hovering over a piece of parchment. She looked over her shoulder, blinking in confusion at the sudden shift in the eight-year-old's tone. "Yes, Young Master?"
"Put the papers down."
Cora gave a strained, practiced smile. She didn't view this child as a threat. She could snap his neck in half a second and make it look like he tripped. "I am just organizing your desk, Young Master Kian. It is quite messy."
"I said, put them down."
Kian didn't yell. He didn't throw a tantrum. He simply set his teacup on the silver tray with a quiet clink and looked at her.
Then, he released the breath he had been holding.
He didn't activate the full Violet Emperor's Technique. He just let the passive mana he had gathered over the last hour leak out of his core, releasing it into the room all at once.
Stage One: The Vacuum.
The temperature in the bedroom instantly plummeted. A heavy, suffocating pressure slammed down on the room, as if the air itself had suddenly turned into deep ocean water. Faint, terrifying streaks of pure purple light bled from Kian's skin, casting long, monstrous shadows against the wall behind him.
Cora gasped. Her assassin instincts flared to life immediately.
Mana?! she panicked, her eyes widening. Where is this coming from?!
She instantly tried to circulate her own Rank-3 aura to protect herself, dropping into a defensive combat stance. She attempted to use her signature Shadow-Step technique to retreat toward the door.
It was useless.
The moment her blue aura flared up, Kian's purple mana slammed into it and crushed it like a tin can. It wasn't even a fight. It was absolute dominance. Her Shadow-Step collapsed before she could move an inch. The gravity in the room forced her to her knees, the tutoring papers scattering around her.
Her arms trembled violently as she pressed her hands against the rug, trying to hold herself up. Her lungs burned. It felt like a massive, invisible dragon was standing directly over her, its jaws resting softly against her neck.
She looked up, her vision blurring with absolute, primal terror.
The eight-year-old boy was still sitting in the velvet chair. He hadn't drawn a weapon. He hadn't even stood up. He was just looking at her, his chin resting lazily on his knuckles. Bathed in the sinister purple glow, his aristocratic face looked exactly like the iron-blooded monster that ruled the estate: Duke Magnus.
"L-Lord Kian...?" Cora choked out, unable to breathe properly. Her throwing knives and hidden garrotes suddenly felt like children's toys. This boy was a monster.
"Let's discuss your loyalties, Cora," Kian said smoothly, his dark eyes entirely devoid of childish innocence. "You are a Rank-3 operative. You report directly to Viscount Gillian. He pays you five silver coins a week to monitor my movements and ensure my meals are... subpar." He glanced at the watery soup. "Honestly, five silver is a terrible price for your life. You are severely underpaid."
Cora's face drained of all color. How did he know?! He's eight years old! And what is this terrifying aura? He's an illegitimate child with no training! Even the Captain of the Knights doesn't have pressure this heavy!
"P-Please," Cora stammered, tears pricking her eyes as the heavy purple mana pressed against her chest. "I didn't—I was only following orders! Please don't tell the Duke!"
If Duke Magnus found out an operative was spying on his grandson for another family member, her head would be on a spike before dinner.
Kian sighed, leaning back in his chair. The suffocating purple pressure vanished in an instant. The temperature returned to normal.
Cora collapsed flat against the rug, gasping for air and coughing violently. She instinctively touched her throat, amazed she was still alive.
"I'm not going to tell my grandfather," Kian said lightly, picking up his cold tea again. "Honestly, the paperwork involved in having you executed sounds exhausting. I prefer a change in management."
Cora slowly pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, looking at the boy like he was a demon wearing human skin. "A change in management...?"
"Viscount Gillian is about to go bankrupt," Kian stated as a simple, undeniable fact. "In exactly three weeks, he will lose his entire fortune in a terrible iron investment. When that happens, he will cut all his unnecessary expenses. That includes his spies. You will be unemployed, unprotected, and likely thrown out into the slums."
Cora trembled. She knew Viscount Gillian was a greedy, ruthless man. If he lost his money, he would absolutely throw his shadow operatives to the wolves to save himself.
Kian reached into the pocket of his nightshirt. Over the past few months of his 'second life,' he had quietly hoarded the tiny allowance given to the neglected third son. It wasn't much, but it was enough for seed money.
He tossed a small, heavy velvet pouch onto the rug. It landed right in front of Cora's trembling hands with a metallic jingle.
"There are twenty gold coins in that pouch," Kian said.
Cora stared at the bag. Twenty gold coins was more than she made in two years of assassinations and espionage.
"I am buying your absolute loyalty," Kian explained, resting his chin on his hand again. "Starting today, you work for me. You will continue to send weekly reports to Uncle Gillian. But you will only write exactly what I tell you to write. You will act as my shield."
Cora looked from the gold to the terrifying, impossibly calm eight-year-old boy. "Y-You want me to be a double agent?"
"I want you to be competent," Kian corrected lazily. "Keep my room clean. Make sure the other maids don't enter without my permission. Cover for me when I need to leave the estate. If Cousin Berris comes near my door, politely threaten his life. Do that, and you get to keep your head, keep your job, and get a massive raise."
He paused, a dark, amused smile crossing his face. "Fail to do that, and well... I think you already felt what happens."
Cora swallowed hard. The phantom weight of that crushing purple aura still lingered on her chest. Gillian was a fool. He thought this boy was a useless rat, but Kian was a dormant dragon. If she stayed with the Viscount, she would sink with his ship. If she followed Kian... she might just survive.
She grabbed the pouch of gold and hastily bowed her head until her forehead touched the rug.
"I understand, Young Master Kian," Cora said, her voice shaking but resolute. "My blades, my silence, and my absolute loyalty belong to you."
Great. The NDA is signed, Kian thought with a mental cheer.
"Excellent," Kian said, clapping his small hands together once. The terrifying mastermind persona instantly vanished, replaced by the tired sigh of a growing boy. He pointed at the silver tray. "Now, as your first official duty under my employ: please take this garbage away and bring me a medium-rare steak and some hot potatoes. Oh, and a slice of that cherry pie from the main kitchen."
Cora blinked, experiencing extreme emotional whiplash from the sudden change in tone. "A... a steak, Young Master? But Viscount Gillian instructed the kitchen to—"
Kian just looked at her.
Cora scrambled to her feet, grabbing the silver tray with lightning speed. "Right away, Young Master! Steak, potatoes, and cherry pie! I will return in twenty minutes!"
She bowed frantically and practically sprinted out of the room, shutting the heavy oak doors tightly behind her.
Alone once more, Kian smiled and stretched his arms above his head. He had successfully flipped an enemy operative, secured his privacy, and ordered a decent lunch, all without leaving his bedroom.
Management really is all about delegating, he mused happily, closing his eyes and resuming the 4-second inhale of his breathing technique.
Now that his immediate perimeter was secure, he could finally plan his escape into the city to find Elysia. But before he could launch his underworld syndicate, he had to survive the absolute worst corporate networking event imaginable.
Tonight was the monthly Roventia Family Dinner.
He was going to have to sit at a table with the people who got him beheaded, smile nicely, and try very hard not to accidentally crush anyone with purple gravity before dessert was served.
Sigh. I really hate mandatory office parties.