The knowledge of my comrades?
Just before his death, Isaac had activated the Black Soul and absorbed the souls of his fallen companions.
It had lasted only a short time, but in that instant all the strength and knowledge they possessed became his.
The hundred members of the death squad had each been the best in their field. Somewhere among them, there might have been one who knew how to overcome mana reflux syndrome. More than a few had been hailed as great mages or sages, after all.
How is this even possible?
By all common sense, it was madness to cram ninety-eight souls into one. For a few minutes, one might wield godlike power, but afterward the soul serving as the vessel should collapse and die.
And yet now…
Knowledge Isaac had never once learned in his previous life was stacking neatly in his mind, weapon mastery at the level of a Grand Master, an encyclopedic understanding of every school of magic, and even secrets of the world he’d never known existed. If written down, the information could fill an entire library, with plenty to spare.
It was a wonder his head hadn’t burst.
He had no idea whose mind it had all come from. The knowledge was there, yes, but not the memories of learning it, none of his comrades’ experiences, none of their emotions. It felt as if someone had plucked out the core of their knowledge and arranged it for him like a tidy collection on a shelf.
“Young Master.”
Isaac blinked and turned his head. Frederick, the butler, was watching him.
“I can understand what frame of mind you must have been in when you did such a thing.”
“What thing did I do?”
The butler crossed to the bookshelf and plucked out a heavy volume. “While keeping such books close, you conducted experiments that should never have been attempted.”
The gold-embossed title glinted in the lamplight: The Book of Demon King Summoning.
No way.
The Black Soul absorbed nearby souls. Isaac had been using it up to the very moment of his death. Could it be he had absorbed the Demon King’s soul as well? Perhaps that was what had kept his own from collapsing. If the Demon King’s soul truly had that much power, it could have borne not just ninety-nine, but even more.
Of course, that would mean the vessel was the Demon King’s soul, not his. That part still made no sense.
“Given the state you’re in, I’m sure you now understand,” Frederick said quietly. “Doing such things will only eat away at the rest of your life.”
So that’s how it is.
The owner of this body, Edward, had been terminally ill. He must have been desperate enough to try anything, even forbidden books. It seemed he had planned to summon the Demon King and use its power to prolong his life.
Instead, he’d ended up with Isaac, who had swallowed the Demon King’s soul whole.
Edward’s attempt to survive had erased him entirely.
A flicker of unease tugged at Isaac’s chest. He hadn’t meant to take his descendant’s life.
“How old am I?”
“Twenty years old.”
“…Poor kid.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
“Well then, I’ll take my leave. The priest said you should remain at rest.”
“All right.”
There were so many questions he could have asked, but for now, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
When Frederick left, Isaac turned his gaze to the bookshelf. Most of the volumes were devoted to black magic, but a few appeared to be histories. One title caught his eye: The History of the Fifth Age.
Isaac had lived at the end of the Fourth Age. Since the Demon King’s fall marked the close of an age, it meant he himself had ended it.
He opened the book. The first page was a map of the continent. In the corner, a note read: According to the Postwar Settlement Treaty of the Anti-Demon King Alliance, in the year 2022 of the Holy Solar Calendar, these are the territories of each nation.
A map from exactly five hundred years ago.
The Holy Empire?
Before the war, the land had been divided among four great nations. Now they’d been swallowed up into one.
That thieving bastard.
The country had been founded by Charles, that worthless leech. The thought of him living in luxury on stolen glory, holding such vast territory, made Isaac’s blood boil.
Aerok too?
Once ruled by House Griffith, Aerok had been restored, but only halfway. After the kingdom’s fall, its people had fought at the front in every battle against the Demon King. Even if Isaac had been branded a traitor, their toil and sacrifice should have been undeniable.
Yet their land was halved, the missing half swallowed by the Holy Empire. The treaty’s promise to restore the borders had been trampled.
It was the price of Isaac’s supposed crimes, and of Charles’s so-called achievements.
Damn it.
Even falsely accused, he’d hoped his loyal subjects would be treated fairly. But there would be no glory for a kingdom cut in half.
What’s the situation now?
With a sinking feeling, he turned to the final chapter. The most recent map nearly made him crush the page.
Damn bastards.
The Holy Empire now covered more than half the continent. Aerok was reduced to a quarter of its original size. Once again, its neighbor had taken the land, always the Holy Empire.
Five hundred years had passed, and Isaac had thought revenge was meaningless. But seeing his descendants scraping by on a meagre scrap of land while Charles’s heirs sat on a throne of gold turned his stomach.
This is driving me insane.
He crossed to the window and threw open the curtains. The Griffith domain sprawled below, a lonely village in the middle of a wasteland, not even ringed by a wall.
What’s that?
In the distance rose a mountain with a jagged peak sharp enough to pierce the sky. The slopes were littered with the ruins of vast structures.
The Demon King’s Castle?
Five hundred years ago, that had been the seat of his enemy.
Don’t tell me I was revived right where I died.
Isaac’s final battle with the Demon King had taken place right there, before that very mountain fortress.
He had never set foot inside, the Demon King had come out to meet the death squad in person.
And yet…
Now, the interior of the Demon King’s Castle was as clear in his mind as if he had lived there for years. He could recall the echoing halls, the great chambers, even the secret places only the Demon King could enter.
I really did devour the Demon King.
The Black Soul had swallowed the Demon King’s soul whole. All the strength, all the knowledge that monster had possessed, now lodged within Isaac’s own.
He understood perfectly well what that meant.
How strong could I become?
If he survived this illness… if he could grow enough to unleash the full potential of the soul now inside him… then he might not simply be the strongest alive, he could become the strongest in history.
Even in his previous life, he had been counted among the top fighters of the age. Ninety-eight comrades, each one an elite, had fought alongside him. That alone had been enough to reach the pinnacle.
Now, he carried the power of the Demon King, the being who had annihilated them all single-handedly. With that much strength, even a god might not be out of reach.
I can change things.
Restoring a fallen house would be the simplest of tasks. More than that, he could set history itself right.
History was written by the victors, after all. Isaac had won the fight but died, and so he had not been counted as a victor. Charles had survived, and thus his version of events had become the truth.
If Isaac could claim victory this time, perhaps he could seize the right to write history anew.
Thank you.
The thought was tinged with guilt as well as gratitude. Edward Griffith had given him this second life, even if unintentionally. Without him, Isaac would never have known how far his people had fallen.
I’ll live for your share, too.
And with that, Isaac resolved to live as Edward Griffith from this day forward.
That evening, Frederick himself carried in a meal, knocking lightly on the bedroom door.
“Young Master, it’s Frederick.”
“Come in.”
Frederick entered to find Edward lying in bed, a book propped open in his hands.
“A history book?” the butler asked, frowning.
Edward held up the cover, then closed it and sat up.
Frederick paused. The body was the same, thin as a rake, shoulders hunched from years of neglect, cheeks hollow, skin as pale as candle wax, black hair brittle and dry. Yet the violet eyes that met his now shone with a sharp, cutting clarity that hadn’t been there before.
“How are you feeling?” Frederick asked, trying to sound casual.
“Much better. Is that dinner?”
“Yes.”
Edward took his seat at the edge of the bed while Frederick set the tray down.
“No meat?” Edward asked, glancing at the watery soup and hard bread.
“Regrettably, no,” Frederick sighed.
Edward tilted his head. “Aren’t we a noble house? You said we’re barons?”
“A fallen noble house, yes.”
“How fallen?”
“Including myself, there are exactly three people managing this castle,” Frederick said flatly.
A true lord’s castle should have had at least ten servants. If even the butler was doubling as footman and cook, the situation was dire.
“So that’s why you came yourself,” Edward murmured.
“That’s correct.”
“How did it end up like this?”
“Because of a drought that’s lasted over ten years. We’re probably the least productive domain on the continent.”
“What’s the cause?”
“No one knows. The lord tried everything, but nothing worked.”
“Where’s my father?”
Frederick’s expression tightened. “He went to borrow money.”
“From whom?”
“I’m not sure. He said he wouldn’t return until he found someone willing to lend. He’s already borrowed from everyone who might, so… he won’t be back soon.”
“I see.”
Edward nodded with a calm that felt out of place. A noble’s honor was his life, especially one from a house that had once worn a crown. To be reduced to begging for loans was humiliation beyond words.
Frederick’s chest ached for his master, even as frustration simmered at the spoiled young man before him.
“He’s even borrowed from a city moneylender. The knight order has been disbanded, all the horses and armor sold. A few men still serve out of loyalty, but their wages are three months late. As for my own… I haven’t been paid in a year.”
“You don’t have to give me meat,” Edward said, but Frederick wasn’t listening. His eyes had fallen on a book lying nearby.
“And yet you spend what you have on black magic books like these,” he said, lifting it.
Edward frowned. “You’re saying I bought that?”
“If not you, then who? The house has no money, but you do, your mother’s family is a great noble house in the east.”
Frederick’s voice had risen without his intending it.
“Really?”
“Your uncle, Count Lancer, sends you an allowance every month.”
“I see.”
“If these books helped you, I’d say nothing. But after the latest incident… they do you more harm than good.”
Edward set his spoon down and walked into the adjoining study.
“What are you doing?” Frederick called, following.
Edward ignored him, pulling open drawer after drawer until…
“Here.”
From the desk, he took a small leather pouch and tossed it to Frederick. Coins jingled inside.
“Looks like my uncle’s money. Use it to put out whatever fires are most urgent. If anything’s left, keep it for yourself.”
“M–My lord…”
Frederick stared, stunned. The young master had never once shown interest in the domain’s affairs, had hoarded every coin for himself. The change was so abrupt it left him speechless.
“And while Father’s away,” Edward continued, “I’m acting lord, right?”
“Yes… Young Master.”
“Then gather all the financial records for the domain and bring them here after dinner. I’ll review them.”
“Financial records?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Frederick could only gape. Words utterly failed him.
Cliche Novel 