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Edward’s room.

After finishing his dinner, Edward set down his utensils.

“Master.”

“Yes?”

“May I ask a question?”

Edward nodded.

“You used magic earlier, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“But I was told petrification can’t be used without a circle.”

“That’s true.”

“Then… how did you cast it?”

“I used a circle.”

“A circle? But you don’t have one.”

“I do now.”

“What? When?”

“This afternoon. I made one.”

Frederick’s jaw fell open.

“Th-that’s impossible!”

“Not entirely.”

“But forming a magic circle isn’t something anyone can do. It takes decades of effort! How could you possibly—”

“Frederick.”

“Yes?”

“I wasn’t just idling away while locked up in this room.”

Frederick looked both shaken and moved.

“You truly are a genius, my lord. Forgive me for not realizing it sooner.”

“You don’t need to flatter me like that.”

“The circle is wonderful, but it would have been even better if it were an Aura Star. That’s regrettable.”

“Why?”

“The Griffiths line has always used aura. It’s the family tradition.”

“Aura is our tradition?”

“Yes.”

“And what about our family’s unique magic?”

“Magic? The Griffiths are a knightly house. Why would we have such a thing?”

Both were stunned—but for different reasons.

So it was severed.

At some point, the Griffiths had lost their true power, and even forgotten it had ever existed.

Good thing I reincarnated.

Edward knew all the Griffiths’ secret arts—and had once advanced them himself. Now, with this life, he could restore what was lost.

“I once read that our house used unique magic in the past.”

“Truly?”

“It was only one line. So it might not be certain.”

“…”

“Anyway… about William.”

“Yes?”

“When did he become such a delinquent?”

“He was always rebellious, but it used to be harmless. Things worsened after he returned from the Academy.”

“The Academy?”

“The Royal Academy in the capital. Most noble heirs are educated there.”

“…Did I also attend?”

“You did, but due to your health you repeated grades and eventually withdrew.”

“I see. And William?”

“He was expelled for assaulting an instructor.”

Father must have been furious.

“He was. Outraged.”

“Was that why he was banished?”

“Not directly. He struck the knight-captain during his probation. That was when the baron cast him out.”

What drives him to behave this way?

“It must be his parentage.”

“Parentage?”

“Master William’s mother was not a noble.”

“…Ah.”

“He was mocked as a bastard at the Academy. He fought with an instructor over it.”

“I understand.”

“And… well…”

“What else?”

“You played a part as well, my lord.”

Frederick’s tone carried a trace of reproach.

“Me?”

“You never once treated Master William as a brother. You never dined with him, never acknowledged his greetings. You even mocked him often.”

So that’s how it was.

Edward could imagine why his former self had acted that way. William had the strong, healthy body Edward had always longed for. So he must have envied and despised him.

But even so…

He could understand it, but not forgive it. Edward resolved to set things right.

***

William regained consciousness the following afternoon.

The alcohol had knocked him out, and he had slept deeply.

“Hm?”

A familiar ceiling.

He raised his head slightly to take in his surroundings—

“Urgh!”

Pain stabbed through his neck, as though he had been clubbed.

As yesterday’s memories returned, William scowled.

“That bastard… what trick did he use?”

Though he had been drinking, a four-star aura user like William was barely affected by alcohol.

He had fought seriously—and been utterly defeated.

That shocked him more than anything. The brother he had once dismissed as weak and half-dead had toyed with him.

By strength, speed, aura—William had been overwhelming. Yet none of his attacks landed.

“Cheating snake.”

He was sure Edward had used some underhanded black magic. Otherwise, there was no way he could have lost.

“You’ll pay for this.”

William ground his teeth and looked around.

It’s the same…

The same room he had lived in as a child. Once a home, but never truly his.

He had thought the room would be stripped away after his exile. Yet everything remained as it was.

It unsettled him.

Creak.

The door opened slightly, and someone peered in.

“You’re awake.”

Edward entered, no longer the frail, sickly boy William remembered, but a vigorous, healthy young noble.

The sharp, bitter expression William had known was gone—replaced with calm assurance.

“How’s your body?”

“You here to mock me?”

“What would I gain from that?”

Edward dragged over a chair and sat across from him with ease.

“Why am I here?”

“This is your room.”

“You had me thrown out.”

“I wasn’t the one who did that.”

“The old man then?”

“…Father?”

“Yes.”

“He’s gone to borrow money.”

“How pathetic.”

William forced a crooked grin, though unease gnawed at him.

“Why did you hit Logan?”

“He walked into the tavern, saw me, and turned right back around. That pissed me off.”

“And so you beat him?”

“He looked at me like I was some kind of beast.”

Edward shook his head slowly.

“Why are you here in the territory?”

“About a month ago, I ran into one of our peasants on the road. He said you nearly died while messing with black magic. So I came.”

“A little late to attend the funeral, don’t you think?”

“I came to take a dump on your grave, Brother. Maybe watch the old man bawl his eyes out while I’m at it.”

Edward chuckled. The jab had been meant to sting, but his laughter disarmed it, leaving William oddly unsettled.

This isn’t right…

The Edward he knew would have snapped at such provocation. But this new composure made William uneasy.

“You don’t even flinch when I call you brother?”

“I am your brother. What else would you call me?”

“You used to go wild at that word. Said you’d never acknowledge a bastard like me.”

Edward’s expression darkened.

“William.”

“Yes, dear brother of mine.”

“I’m truly sorry. For everything.”

“What?”

“I said things I never should have. I was foolish.”

“Hey…”

William glared at him.

“You’re a doppelgänger, aren’t you?”

A doppelgänger—one of those monsters that devoured humans and copied their faces. It was the only explanation that made sense.

That would explain why he didn’t recognize me yesterday, too.

“My brother was a piece of trash who’d never apologize. If you’re gonna impersonate him, at least do it right.”

“You really think a doppelgänger could defeat a four-star aura user?”

…That gave William pause.

Doppelgängers were considered mid-rank monsters only because of their shapeshifting. In raw strength, they were among the weakest. They couldn’t possibly defeat him.

“Then it makes no sense you beat me, either.”

“That’s because your fundamentals are garbage.”

William narrowed his eyes, still suspicious.

“You sell your soul to a demon or something?”

“Something like that.”

“What?”

“Anyway. I didn’t die, but I brushed against death’s door.”

“And?”

“It changed how I see the world.”

“What the hell are you getting at?”

“I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. But however little it is, I want to live it properly.”

“You’ve lost your damn mind.”

“I don’t want my little brother squatting on my grave when I’m gone.”

“You think this changes anything? When you croak, I’ll still piss and shit all over your tombstone.”

“Go ahead. That’s your choice.”

Even at William’s venom, Edward only smiled with calm amusement.

“Do what you want with my grave. But remember this—whether you like it or not, you’re still my brother.”

William froze, caught off guard.

He had cursed his brother all his life, but this sudden shift left him speechless.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The sound of bells rang from the village. Edward shot to his feet and rushed to the window.

“What is it?”

“Bandits.”

Peering out over the fields, Edward’s tone was sharp. He turned for the door—then stopped.

“You’re coming too.”

“I’m injured. Just woke up, remember?”

“You mean you just woke up from a drunken nap.”

William grimaced at the hit.

“Those peasants spit in my face and call me bastard. Let the bandits take them all.”

“…I see.”

Edward’s face tightened. He reached for the door again, then paused.

“William.”

“What?”

“Remember this. You are a Griffith.”

With that, he left.

***

Griffith farmlands.

The peasants took a break from their work, gathering in small groups.

“Wasn’t the young lord incredible? Even William, who not even the knight-captain could handle—he beat him.”

Hans was the first to speak.

“Right? He toyed with him.”

The others agreed eagerly. They had repeated the story since last night, and still it never grew old. Everywhere people gathered, praise for Edward spilled out.

“He showed his true strength at last. Even the temple knight, he dropped with a single blow.”

“Yeah, that fight was over in a blink. Against William, at least it looked like a real match.”

“Exactly.”

“He won’t be swaggering around anymore.”

“After that beating, he won’t dare step foot here again.”

For the first time, the villagers felt safe. The terror that had stalked them whenever William appeared was gone—Edward had ended it.

“May the young lord stay strong and hea—”

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The bell tolled.

“What’s happening?”

The peasants looked around nervously.

“Bandits!”

The cry came from the village. Dust plumes rose on the horizon.

“Damn it!”

Hans’s face twisted.

“We’re in trouble!”

The villagers dropped their tools and ran. They knew bandits never came from just one side. Their only chance was to reach the lord’s castle as fast as possible.

“Hans! Where are you going?”

“My wife—Jane’s on the far side!”

Jane had gone out to gather mushrooms before supper—right where the bandits now swarmed.

“Then we go with you!”

“What?”

“Hurry!”

“And what are we supposed to do when we get there?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“…No. Let’s go.”

They ran together, hearts pounding. Untrained peasants against mounted raiders was suicide. But none of them could leave Hans to face it alone.

Hans’s chest swelled with gratitude as he sprinted.

“Jane!”

He spotted her near the village outskirts, running flat out toward them. Behind her thundered the bandits on horseback.

“Hans!”

“Jane!”

Her legs pumped desperately, but the horses closed in fast.

“Look out!”

“Kyahhh!”

One rider leaned down, seizing her by the waist and hauling her screaming onto his saddle.

“Damn it!”

Hans grabbed a stone from the roadside and hurled it. The other farmers followed suit.

Thud!

Most missed. But one struck a horse.

The beast whinnied, staggering—but it didn’t fall. The rider’s fury only ignited.

“You peasants want to die together?”

He spurred his mount, charging at them. More raiders joined him.

“Run!”

Half a dozen horses bore down on them. Panic surged. Most of the farmers fled.

But Hans could not abandon Jane. Frozen with terror, he stood rooted.

The bandit’s blade rose.

“Die!”

Then—

Slash!

A head flew from its shoulders, spraying blood.

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“Take a hit for once!”

William charged like a beast.

Boom! Boom!

Everywhere his fists struck, things shattered. Stone walls crumbled, trees snapped, the air cracked with thunder, and the ground caved in.

But not once did he touch Edward. Each punch missed by the smallest margin.

“You’re slow.”

William wasn’t cursed with slowness. He wasn’t pulling his punches. Edward knew well the power and speed a four-star aura user could unleash.

The shockwaves alone proved William was serious. The alcohol on his breath didn’t seem to dull him either—no drunk could throw punches this precise.

Is this… time itself?

To Edward, William’s attacks looked slowed just enough for him to react. Each swing dragged as if caught between moments, then snapped back to normal once it passed.

If William wasn’t slower, and Edward wasn’t faster, then only one possibility remained.

The Eye of God was bending time.

“Raaagh!”

William suddenly lunged, tackling low. Edward anticipated it, leapt, and vaulted over him.

Now!

As he passed overhead, he planted his heel on the back of William’s head.

Thud!

William’s face slammed into the dirt.

“Damn it!”

Crash!

He pounded the ground in fury, sending dust clouds skyward. The earth cratered like it had taken a siege stone.

Spit!

He rose, hurling a gob of muddy saliva aside.

Edward used the pause to glance between William and Logan.

Grade-2 Farmer; potential Grade-1 Soldier, Grade-4.

So Logan wasn’t fated to farm after all. His build had always suggested as much.

Then William.

Grade-4 Warrior with potential for Grade-9. Grade-1 General with potential for Grade-8. Grade-2 Lord with potential for Grade-7. Grade-2 Bard with potential for Grade-5…

A monster. A talent that could rival the Execution Squad themselves if properly cultivated.

What a freak…

Edward couldn’t help but grin. The idea that such a man existed in this backwater, and that he was of Griffith blood, thrilled him.

Despite his rough exterior, William’s soul wasn’t overly tainted either. He wasn’t pure like Frederick, but he wasn’t irredeemable.

I’ll tame him. No matter what.

Edward wanted loyal followers, comrades who kept their oaths. Wild beasts or treacherous villains, no matter how skilled, had no place by his side. To use William, his violent nature had to be broken.

“You’re laughing?”

William mistook Edward’s grin for mockery, eyes flashing.

“I laughed at how pitiful you are.”

“Must be some black magic trick. Let’s see how long you last.”

“Ever think it might just be your lack of skill?”

“What?”

Snarling, William drew his sword. His killing intent pressed down like a storm, making even the villagers who had come to gawk stagger back.

“Everyone, get back. Take him with you.”

Edward gestured to the unconscious Logan. The villagers dragged him away, their eyes heavy with worry—not the faces of people enjoying a brawl.

“I’ll kill you.”

William’s voice was a growl.

“Do it if you can.”

William’s sword lashed out in a frenzy. But like his fists, it struck only air.

Destructive, yes. But hollow.

Good thing he’s still raw.

Even with the Eye, the danger was real. Only Edward’s past life’s experience let him slip through each deadly strike.

To ordinary eyes, William looked like a monster. But to Edward, who had survived countless battles in the Demon King’s war, he was just an unripe fruit.

No foundation at all.

With training, he could become a Swordmaster in a year. His potential was terrifying. But his basics—stance, form, control—were a mess. Until now, raw power and speed had carried him. Against Edward, it wasn’t enough.

I see everything.

The twitch of an eye, the shift of a gaze, the flex of muscle, the angle of steel to bone—Edward read it all in an instant, tracing William’s every move before it happened.

“Fight back! Or will you just keep dodging?”

Frustration twisted William’s face.

His aura, his stamina—they’re monstrous.

Anyone else would have tired long ago. William showed no sign of slowing. Dodging and retreating, Edward led the fight into the village square.

“No courage to cross blades?”

Such childish taunts wouldn’t provoke Edward. But to end this, he would need to meet the blade at least once.

He thought back to a knight he had once fought beside in the Execution Squad—Bradamante, the Knight of the River.

Her title was often mocked—Edward himself had called her the Knight of Filth or Cold Water—but she had been one of their ten finest. A master of the flowing sword, turning every attack aside like water. Her nickname came from that style.

Even she hadn’t been able to deflect the Demon King’s blade.

This will be my first time imitating her.

Edward adjusted his stance. It wasn’t mere mimicry—he possessed Bradamante’s skill itself. His body wasn’t as strong as hers, but his technique was flawless.

I’ll end this in one strike.

He whispered a petrification spell into his blade’s hilt. Normally it hardened the skin like stone for defense, but Edward used it differently.

His circle spun fast, coating the weapon’s grip in a dull gray sheen.

“Die!”

By the time William came roaring in, Edward was ready.

***

“Steward! Something’s wrong!”

“Hans? What is it?”

“In the village square—the young lord is fighting William.”

“What? The young lords?”

The color drained from Frederick’s face.

“When did Master William arrive?”

“I don’t know. I only heard he beat Logan up at the tavern.”

“Why Logan?”

“I… I’m not sure…”

To the villagers, William was a natural disaster. Edward, even in a foul mood, only snapped at people. William hurled abuse and his fists.

And there was no one in the domain who could stop him. Since childhood, William had been known for inhuman strength and toughness. If he lost his temper, not even the lord or the knight-captain could restrain him.

The baron had cast him out, but William came and went as he pleased. Each time, the villagers trembled.

“How did he end up fighting Young Lord Edward?”

“Edward stepped in to stop him from hitting Logan.”

After William’s disgrace, the villagers stopped using honorifics for him. Their hostility ran that deep. Frederick had always found that sad.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Frederick sprinted toward the village. He heard Hans pounding after him, but as Frederick—an aura user—pushed harder, Hans fell behind.

Please let him be safe.

Frederick’s chest tightened.

Edward’s health had improved, yes—but he was still ill. William’s monstrous body was infamous. This wasn’t a fight at all. All Frederick could hope was that Edward wouldn’t be badly hurt.

He reached the square in a rush. A crowd had gathered.

“Stand back!”

Even at his shout, they stood transfixed, as if in a trance.

“Move!”

Frederick shoved through bodies and stepped into the ring.

“My lord!”

His cry didn’t reach them.

William raised his sword high to smash Edward’s skull. Edward met it with his own blade.

KWA-RAAAAAANG!

Light flared where steel met steel, and aura exploded.

Frederick braced for Edward’s sword to snap, for the young lord to be hammered into the ground.

But—

Edward’s blade traced a graceful curve, letting the falling guillotine of a strike slide past.

He turned with it, body flowing to the side. William’s explosive power was borrowed, spun into Edward’s rotation.

William’s target vanished; he lurched, off-balance.

Edward completed his turn, got behind him, and drove his sword’s pommel into the back of William’s neck, using the momentum.

Thud!

“Guh—!”

The blow landed right on the carotid.

No…!

Trained in unarmed combat, Frederick knew the precision of that strike. But William was a four-star aura user, wrapped in a thick shield. Edward shouldn’t have been able to breach it.

Flop!

William collapsed face-first and didn’t rise. He didn’t even twitch.

…How?

Frederick noticed the sword’s grip—stained a dull gray—and felt strong magic pulsing from it.

Petrification? He used magic?

Impossible. Edward had no circle. Without one, a mage could cast only the lowest spells—and weakly at that. Even during those dangerous experiments with grimoires, Edward had needed substitutes and reagents to mimic a circle.

Yet that petrification wasn’t low-grade, and it had pierced a four-star aura shield—with nothing else assisting it.

…When did he—?

Frederick reeled.

It wasn’t just the magic. The movement itself had been shocking: letting a powerful strike flow past, borrowing its force to spin, slipping behind, and striking the nape.

Each motion had been as natural as flowing water, the lines of blade and body painting a single, elegant stroke.

Complete swordsmanship.

That was Frederick’s verdict. This was a polished style, honed by thousands of drills and dozens of real battles. No beginner lucked into that.

He’s a genius. Our young lord is a genius.

Gooseflesh prickled up his arms.

“Woooaaah!”

“Long live the young lord!”

When they realized William was truly unconscious, the villagers erupted, surrounding Edward like he was a hero who had slain a monster. Frederick felt a pang at the sight.

“Wait.”

Edward raised a hand, and the cheering died.

“Where’s Logan?”

“Here!”

Hans raised his hand from within the crowd. He was tending to Logan, who lay on the ground.

Edward strode over and checked Logan’s condition.

“Take him to the herbalist. Mix sky-thistle with spider forget-me-not and have him drink it. I’ll cover the cost.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hans and several others lifted Logan and hurried away.

When did he learn herbcraft too?

Frederick marveled—and so did the villagers, judging by their faces.

“Frederick.”

Edward spotted him.

“Yes, my lord.”

Frederick hurried over.

“Give me a hand.”

Edward hooked William’s arm over his neck and hauled him up.

“Sir?”

“We can’t leave him here.”

Frederick blinked. No one in the domain despised William more than Edward. Edward had never treated him as a brother—only as tainted blood to be scorned. That scorn had helped shape what William had become.

“Yes, my lord.”

Frederick took William’s other arm. Together, they lifted him.

The villagers stared, baffled.

“To the manor.”

“The manor? My lord, the baron ordered that Master William not be admitted.”

“I’m acting lord now. I’ll speak to Father. For now, we’re taking him in.”

“…Understood, my lord.”

Frederick couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. The young lord had changed.

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Edward smiled faintly as he watched the villagers trudging between the farmlands and the mountain streams. His plan had worked. Training in full view of them, spitting blood yet never giving up, had shamed them into action.

No shameless ones among them, it seems.

If they had truly been brazen, they would have ignored him no matter what. But without exception, every villager had returned to the fields. The discipline instilled at the trial was bearing fruit.

Just sow the seeds. I’ll find a way.

A single bucket of water could barely dampen a small patch of soil, and it would take days to prepare even a fraction of a field. For now, it was like throwing eggs at a rock. Even so, the villagers carried on stubbornly, hauling water.

Edward knew he had to find the cause of the drought before their efforts went to waste.

It’s time I move on to the next step.

After finishing his training, he returned to the manor.

“Don’t let anyone disturb me until I call for you. Keep everyone else out too.”

He gave the order to Frederick after bathing.

“Yes, my lord,” the steward answered with a respectful bow.

Once, he would have pressed Edward with endless questions. But now he stayed silent. He had seen with his own eyes that intense training eased Edward’s reflux. He no longer doubted his master’s judgment.

Clack.

Edward locked his chamber door, sat cross-legged on the floor, and drew in a deep breath.

Hsshh.

He inhaled slowly, pulling mana from the air into his body.

Let’s begin.

With focus, he felt it enter him, flowing into his channels and beginning to circulate.

Good.

Absorbed mana left behind impurities after use. Most people expelled these easily, but those with reflux could not. The impurities clumped together, blocking the flow and triggering backlashes.

Much better.

When he first checked this body, every channel had been clogged with lumps. But relentless training had forced his mana to flow harder, gradually washing them out. At first the backlashes had been unbearable, but under steady pressure, the blockages had cleared.

Though his constitution would cause new ones to form eventually, for now his channels were clean.

It was time to forge a core.

The question is… which one?

There were many types. Mages forged magic circles. Knights and swordsmen favored aura stars.

In his past life, Isaac had chosen a magic circle, even though he wielded a sword. That was to use his family’s cursed “Black Soul” sorcery. And truthfully, it was the only kind he knew how to forge back then.

Now, after devouring the knowledge of the Execution Squad, he could create any kind.

Aura stars tempt me…

Too many choices made the decision harder. A person could only form one core, and it would define their path forever.

Best to go with what I know.

Strength meant retracing the path he had mastered before. In his past life, he had reached a high level, though not without regrets. This time, he could surpass himself.

I’ll forge a magic circle again.

In this life, Edward still had no core. The blockages had always prevented it. But now, with his channels clean, he had the perfect chance.

“Huuh…”

He steadied his breathing, guiding the gathered mana through his channels. Drawing on past experience, he directed it toward his heart.

Ordinarily, it took twenty years of training and a mentor’s help to reach this stage. That was why apprentices sought masters to help them form their cores.

As expected…

The impurities began to form again. But for now, they were minor.

Just a little more.

He gathered every last thread of mana. It resisted, spilling away, but he reined it in with practiced control.

Drained of mana, his body sagged with weakness. The small clots that did form sent stabbing pains through his limbs.

Almost there.

Gritting his teeth, he compressed the swirling mana into a single point. The tighter it coiled, the harder it resisted. Sweat dripped down his brow as he pushed to his limit.

At last, he traced a circle around his heart with the condensed energy.

The swirling mana bucked wildly—then stilled as the line closed into a perfect ring.

“Huuh…”

The mana began to flow along the ring, circulating smoothly. His head cleared. Strength returned to his body.

If anyone had used a spell or artifact to see it, they would have spotted a glowing circle spinning brightly around his heart.

Edward had become a first-circle mana user.

That’s enough for today.

He rose lightly, relief washing over him—

—but then fire seared through his left eye.

“Ghh!”

He clutched at it. To the touch, nothing felt wrong. But inside, it burned.

His new core spun furiously, releasing torrents of mana that surged into his eye.

“Haah… haah…”

The agony blurred his thoughts. For long moments he could only endure it.

At last, the pain ebbed.

He opened his eye cautiously. His vision was clear. His sight was intact.

What… what is this?

And then, unbidden, a memory surfaced. The answer revealed itself.

***

The Eye of God.

That was the name of Edward’s new ability. He didn’t know whose power it truly was. If not for the word “God,” he would have believed it belonged to the Demon King.

Did the circle trigger it?

Edward carried the strength of the Demon King and the Execution Squad, but his body had been too weak to wield it—he hadn’t even had a mana core. Now that the core problem was solved, a new power had awakened. As his body hardened and his circles increased, he would be able to use even more.

“What is it, my lord?”

Frederick approached with his gentle smile. Edward looked at him while keeping the Eye active. Frederick’s body turned translucent, and three bright stars shone near his heart—an aura star, a type of mana core.

Normally, one needed spells or artifacts to see another’s core. Edward managed it by focusing mana into his eyes alone. He could discern the type, number, and size of a person’s core. That was the Eye’s first power.

So he was never an ordinary steward.

Three stars meant Frederick was a three-star aura user—enough to command knights in a small domain.

Grade-3 Fighter; Grade-2 Administrator with the potential to become Grade-5.

Phrases surfaced on their own as he watched. The Eye’s second power revealed a person’s innate talents and potential. Frederick had gifts for combat and administration. The former was largely realized; the latter was not. In a backwater like this, he had simply never had the chance. In a larger organization, he would have shone.

This domain was never a big enough vessel for him.

Edward felt a fresh wave of gratitude.

And that’s why he never left, isn’t it?

The Eye’s third power showed the stain upon a soul. In his sight, Frederick’s translucent silhouette glowed white. A spotless white meant almost no miasma clinging to the soul—a person unlikely to betray their oath. That, too, was why Frederick had stayed with Griffith.

“I’m going to look over the domain.”

“Out again, my lord? It’s nearly dinner.”

“I’ll eat when I’m back. Won’t be long.”

The sun had not yet set. The villagers would still be outside.

I should be able to find one or two worth keeping.

The Eye laid bare strength, talent, and character—a perfect tool for finding people. Edward intended to use it to pick out gems among the farmers, pearls hidden in the mud.

“Good evening, my lord.”

Villagers tipped their caps as Edward passed.

“You worked hard today.”

“It’s nothing. Just our duty.”

He returned their greetings and studied them with the Eye.

Not bad.

Most had solid farming talent, and their potential there was already realized. Their souls carried little stain. Unless he ruled as a tyrant, rebellion was unlikely.

Still, a bit disappointing.

A few had military or administrative gifts, but weaker than their aptitude for farming. Keeping them as farmers would benefit both them and the domain.

Found one.

After a long circuit, he finally spotted a different pattern.

“Good evening, my lord.”

A man trudging along with his tools stopped and bowed.

“Good to see you. Your name?”

“Hans, my lord.”

“Good name. Enjoy your supper.”

“And you as well, my lord.”

Hans bowed again, puzzled.

Grade-2 Farmer; Grade-1 Merchant with the potential to reach Grade-4.

So read the Eye.

When the domain is stable, I’ll send him out.

He didn’t know it yet, but Hans was better suited to trade than tilling. Give him capital and he would multiply it.

Crash!

As Edward walked on, satisfied, a tavern wall beside him burst outward and a man flew through it, skidding across the ground.

Edward recognized the face.

“Logan?”

Logan twitched but didn’t come to.

Step, step.

A man about Edward’s age strode out through the hole in the wall—taller by a hand, with broad shoulders and iron-hard muscle. A gust caught his red hair and tossed it like a lion’s mane. From the look of things, he was the one who had smashed the wall and sent Logan flying.

Who is this bastard?

Edward opened the Eye—and saw four bright stars. A four-star aura user. At that age, it was an absurd level.

“Oh? Thought you were dead. Guess not.”

The man stared at Edward with a crooked smile, a wooden mug dangling from one hand, his eyes slightly glazed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? Crawl back from your deathbed and forget your own brother?”

Edward recalled he had a half-brother named William.

The wastrel who got kicked out for causing trouble.

The manner, the words—yes, this was him. Up close, the resemblance showed.

“You never treated me like a person, let alone a brother.”

William scowled and flicked his bottle aside.

“I don’t care what that man did. You have no right to do this to him.”

“Shut up and get lost. You’re ruining my mood.”

William ignored Edward and moved toward Logan.

“Stop.”

He didn’t. As William reached for Logan—

Shing.

Edward flashed forward, drawing his sword.

Click.

Steel kissed William’s throat. William froze, then turned his head. Their eyes locked.

No fear?

Most warriors tensed when a blade touched their neck. William didn’t.

“I told you to get lost,” he said, voice cold with killing intent.

“And I told you to stop.”

“You really want to die, huh—”

William knocked the blade aside with the back of his hand and punched.

Edward twisted his head, and the fist whooshed past.

Boom!

The air where it struck thundered.

Completely insane.

To throw a punch at your own brother for breaking up a beating—clearly, something was wrong with him.

“…You dodged?”

The drunken haze vanished from William’s face. Aura made the body strong and fast; mana enabled magic but did not harden flesh. By common sense, a one-circle mana user should not be able to evade a serious blow from a four-star aura user.

Close thing.

Edward, too, was a little surprised. Instinct had carried him—but he knew it shouldn’t have been possible.

“You little—!”

William’s fists went wild.

Boom! Boom!

Aura exploded wherever his punches landed. Not one touched Edward.

So it really is the Eye of God.

Edward smiled. William’s movements seemed slower than reality. That was the Eye’s fourth power.

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The money taken from the church had put out the immediate fire. Even after returning what the villagers had paid for holy water, more than half remained.

It was a large sum, but not enough to clear all debts. The root problem was the money borrowed from loan sharks in the nearby city. Interest had snowballed until it matched the principal, and it was still growing. Even the manor itself had been mortgaged. If the debt was not repaid in time, they would be thrown out onto the streets.

I’ll have to go to the Demon King’s Castle.

Edward had decided this from the moment he reincarnated. To search the castle for answers. But for that, he needed to rebuild his body first.

Another mountain to climb.

When he first checked his condition after reincarnating, despair hit him harder than disappointment. Even for someone who had been sickly, his body was in terrible shape. Against a temple knight, he could win with a single strike. But if he had faced a true expert in prolonged battle, he might have lost.

The first step in rebuilding was to eat well. Their meals had always been poor, but with money no longer an immediate problem, the food improved. Edward gradually increased his intake until Frederick was shocked at how much he could consume. He also made a habit of stretching whenever possible.

With strength and flexibility slowly returning, Edward began serious training.

“My lord!”

Frederick shouted from behind as Edward ran, but Edward ignored him and kept going.

“What are you doing?”

“Exercising.”

Frederick sprinted ahead and blocked his path.

“Don’t get in my way.”

Edward swerved and kept running.

“For a patient with mana reflux, exercise is forbidden!”

“You’re wrong. If you avoid it, you’ll just wither away. You need to strengthen your body until it can endure the reflux. That’s the truth.”

Movement stirred the mana within the body. That meant reflux struck harder, damaging the body further. Patients usually avoided exertion, but that only slowed the decline—they still died in the end.

If, however, the body grew strong enough to withstand the shocks, the flow could eventually be stabilized. Reflux would worsen at first, but if the crisis was endured, a plateau would come.

Edward had learned this from the knowledge absorbed through Black soul.

“And where did you learn that?”

“…From a book.”

“Another one of those heretical grimoires, no doubt.”

“No. This time I’m certain.”

“You were certain last time too. And look—you lost your memory reading one.”

Edward didn’t answer. He just kept running.

The course circled the outer road around the village. There was a drill yard inside the walls, but Edward had chosen to run outside deliberately.

“Huh?”

“The young lord?”

Villagers blinked in surprise at the sight of him running.

“Should he be doing that?”

“What if it makes him collapse?”

Concerned voices followed him, but Edward ignored them.

Halfway around the village, he noticed more people gathering. Word had spread, and they had come to watch. He acknowledged them only with a brief nod and kept running.

Damn peasants, let’s see how long you sit idle.

He wasn’t exercising inside the manor for a reason. He wanted to provoke the farmers who had abandoned their fields. His message was silent but clear: If I, a dying man, can fight to live, then what excuse do you have, perfectly healthy as you are?

At first, they only looked confused. But Edward knew that if he continued, they would feel something.

What kind of steward runs like that?

Even as Edward increased his pace, Frederick didn’t fall behind. Despite his formal tailcoat restricting movement, he easily matched Edward stride for stride—and filled the air with endless nagging.

Edward had thought Frederick’s nagging had lessened after the trial, but since this concerned his health, it had only intensified.

What the hell is he even saying?

Edward’s breath grew ragged. He couldn’t catch Frederick’s words anymore. He had barely run half a lap, but sweat poured like rain, and his lungs burned.

“Ugh…”

Suddenly, something surged up inside him. Reflux had begun.

Cough!

Blood sprayed from his mouth.

“My lord!”

Edward’s legs gave way, and he stumbled forward, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His stomach churned, his head spun, and nausea overwhelmed him.

“I knew this would happen!”

Frederick’s voice shook as he rushed to support him.

“Young lord!”

The villagers who had been watching hurried over.

Edward shoved Frederick aside.

Spit!

He spat out blood-mixed saliva.

“Stand back.”

“My lord!”

The steward refused to move.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

This time, Edward’s voice carried sharp authority. Frederick flinched and stepped back.

“Haa…”

Edward steadied his breathing, then pushed himself up on shaky knees. Frederick moved to help again, but froze when he met Edward’s cold glare.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I told you. To live.”

“Then you should be resting.”

“That’s the mistake. If you don’t believe me, check it yourself. See if anyone with reflux disease ever lived long by sitting still.”

Frederick had no answer. He didn’t know of any.

“This conversation is over. Don’t interfere. That’s an order.”

Edward forced his body forward once more.

He missed the body he had in his previous life—honed by endless battles with the Demon King’s army. His movements were the same, but his frail body couldn’t keep up. It felt like running in chains.

He wanted to break them.

If I keep at it, it’ll get better.

Compared to the hells he had endured in his past life, this was child’s play.

Edward began running again.

***

The young lord had begun to exercise.

For nobles, training the body was a duty—after all, when war came, they were expected to lead their knights into battle.

But for a man with only a short time left to live, whose illness made exertion dangerous, it was another matter entirely.

“Why is he doing this?”

“I heard it’s the only way to overcome his disease.”

“Really? He spits blood every time he runs.”

“He probably read another one of those strange books.”

“It looks dangerous…”

“Exactly. He’d be better off resting quietly. What if something truly awful happens?”

Despite the villagers’ concerns, Edward never missed a day. And each day, without fail, he coughed up blood.

Steward Frederick begged him with tears in his eyes, but Edward refused to yield. Instead, he scolded anyone who tried to interfere.

He even increased the intensity of his training. At first he could barely manage one lap around the village, but soon he added an extra lap each day. He began incorporating strength training as well.

Push-ups and squats at first, then lifting the iron weights normally reserved for knights’ drills.

And always in front of the barren, cracked farmland rather than the drill yard inside the walls.

“How long will he keep this up?”

“Shouldn’t someone stop him?”

With strength training added, Edward’s coughing fits grew worse. His skin, already pale, became almost ghostly.

On the seventh day, he finally collapsed unconscious.

“If you keep this up, I won’t stand by any longer!”

Frederick, pushed beyond his limit, snapped.

“And if you don’t?”

Edward asked as he shook off the cold water poured on him to wake him.

“I’ll resign.”

“You’ve worked hard. I’ll make sure your severance is generous.”

“My lord!”

Even Frederick, in the end, could not bend Edward’s will. The training continued. His condition worsened, but his regimen only grew harsher.

The villagers, with no fields left to till, began gathering daily to watch their young master’s desperate struggle.

“This won’t do.”

On the fourteenth day, one of the soldiers stepped forward.

“Young lord.”

“What is it?”

“May I join you?”

It was Patrick, Logan’s friend and a sergeant.

For soldiers, physical training was a duty. Yet in these times, they only stood guard, neglecting real exercise. Edward hadn’t pressed the issue—he’d been unable to pay their back wages, though he had covered the current month.

“Of course.”

Edward gave a wan smile.

“Then me too.”

Once the sergeant joined, the other soldiers followed.

“Let’s go.”

The soldiers fell in step with Edward, circling the village.

“One! Two!”

Patrick shouted the cadence, and the others echoed it.

After several laps, the soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

“He’s… really keeping up.”

They hadn’t realized until running alongside him just how much stamina Edward had built.

“Have we grown that soft?”

“No. He’s just that strong.”

Until the domain went bankrupt, Griffith’s soldiers had been infamous for harsh training. But even so, Edward’s progress was remarkable. In a short time, his strength and endurance had grown at an astonishing pace.

The villagers hadn’t noticed before. His frailty, his bloody coughing fits, his fainting—those had overshadowed his gains.

Another week passed.

“Young lord,” one soldier said after training, “you look healthier than usual.”

For the first time, Edward had finished without spitting blood.

“Thank you.”

Edward smiled faintly, as if he understood what the soldier meant.

“The young lord…”

From a distance, villagers whispered as they watched.

The soldiers who sweated beside him did not see the difference, but from afar, it was clear.

His once dull black hair gleamed. His pale skin showed color again. His hunched shoulders straightened, making him look taller. And his violet eyes—unique to the Griffith bloodline—shone with vitality.

He still bore signs of illness, but compared to before, he looked almost reborn.

“He’s changed.”

Logan murmured. He had watched Edward train every day. At first, he had wondered why. He had even asked, worried that Edward was pushing too far.

Edward had only laughed. Better to try something and die than do nothing and wait for death.

Logan had thought it foolish. Not like the young lord at all.

Griffith is not finished.

Now, Logan finally understood what Edward had meant.

“Logan?”

“Where are you going?”

“To farm.”

“What?”

The others stared at him. The ground was cracked and dry; even driving a plow into it seemed impossible.

But Logan wanted to try. To reclaim the land, to plant seeds. Like Edward, he wanted to do something—anything—rather than sit idle and wait for ruin.

“I’ll sow crops.”

“Are you mad?”

“There’s no rain.”

No rain meant no harvest. That much was true. But hadn’t they said the same of Edward? That with his illness, training was impossible? That he might collapse or die?

Yet he had not stopped. And in the end, he had produced a small miracle.

A small miracle, yes—but a miracle nonetheless. Like the first drop of rain after a long drought.

The villagers, long dulled by idleness and drink, felt something stir within.

“Maybe…”

Logan glanced up at the sky before heading home.

That day, he began carrying water from the mountain stream to his fields. It was pitifully little compared to the size of the land, but he persisted. Slowly, he moistened the earth until it softened. Then he sank the plow into the ground.

Edward trained. Logan farmed. The villagers watched the two of them in silence.

“What if…”

One day, Hans spoke.

“What if it really rains?”

No one answered. Rain was a miracle. Yet lately, they had been seeing miracles every day.

Edward grew stronger before their eyes. His once-thin frame filled with muscle. His sickly complexion all but disappeared. It had been over a week since he last coughed blood. Even Frederick, who had fretted every day, finally gave up watching over him and returned to his duties at the manor.

The young man who had been expected to die soon now lived as if he would live forever.

“Except for him, the rest of us are still doomed.”

Someone muttered, watching Logan grunt and sweat as he hauled water.

“Should we try too?”

Hans’s question met no reply. But one by one, the villagers drifted away—not to the tavern, but back to their homes. To brush the dust off their farming tools.

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[“This—what is it?”

High Priest Lef of the Theos faith asked.

“It’s a dried basilisk heart,” Thomas replied with a sly grin, handing over a sealed jar.

The basilisk heart was a top-grade medicinal ingredient. A foolish noble, close to death, had spent his entire fortune to buy it. At first, he had intended to consume it himself, but after listening to Thomas’s sermon, he changed his mind and offered it to the Theos temple. He came to believe it was better to die and go to paradise than to cling to life.

Whether the fool truly went to paradise after death was unknown, but Thomas knew one thing: with that heart, he could pave his own path to a paradise on earth.

“You work tirelessly guiding the ignorant believers of this land. You must take care of your health.”

“I will accept it with gratitude.”

Lef smiled faintly as he pulled the jar toward himself. Thomas bared his teeth in a matching smile.

Lef was the high priest who oversaw the entire Aerok diocese, one of the top ten figures of power in the church. For Thomas, gaining favor with such a man filled him with elation. His rise was now assured.

“Theos teaches that those who receive must also give.”

“There’s no need, High Priest. This is offered purely out of concern for your well-being. I expect nothing in return.”

Thomas lied smoothly.

“Theos also teaches us to show gratitude for noble hearts such as yours. So let me share something with you. Something important.”

Thomas pricked up his ears.

“Our order will withdraw from here completely in four years.”

“What? What do you mean?”

The sudden news struck him like lightning.

“Just keep it in mind. If you want to profit, do so before then.”

Lef offered only a faint smile, revealing nothing further.]

This was a memory lingering in Thomas’s soul.

There were countless sordid fragments, but this was the one that caught Edward’s attention. According to the memory, Thomas had bribed Lef three years ago. Which meant the church’s withdrawal from Aerok was now only a year away.

Why?

The greater the reach, the stronger the church became. Even a small nation like Aerok was valuable; abandoning it would normally be a loss.

And Lef, as the high priest of Aerok, would have his own career stained by such a retreat.

But he had not spoken of it with regret.

They’re plotting something.

Knowing the church’s history, it could not be anything good.

Vile bastards.

The church’s greed for Griffith’s mana water, and Thomas’s petty fraud of selling it as holy water, all made sense now. It was a scramble for resources before their planned withdrawal.

Edward resolved to uncover the true reason behind the church’s retreat. But for now, rebuilding the domain and growing stronger took priority.

“Mount this on a pike and display it in the square.”

Edward tossed Thomas’s severed head to a soldier. The man flinched as blood dripped onto his hands.

“Burn the body.”

“Yes, young lord!” the soldier barked.

“My lord,” Frederick approached hesitantly, his face pale.

“Was this really necessary?”

He had expected a trial, but not an execution. That explained his shock.

“Why else do you think I ordered that fat priest excommunicated?”

“But he was still a priest…”

“A corrupt priest.”

“I fear the church may bear a grudge.”

“The filthier they are, the faster they cut their own tails. They’ve already pinned the mana water embezzlement solely on Thomas.”

“What?”

“They’re treating it as if he acted alone, without the church’s sanction. That’s why he was excommunicated—accused of sacrilege.”

“I see… Still, there was no need for you to stain your own hands. We could have brought an executioner from the city…”

“Frederick.”

“Yes?”

“A throne can only be seized with bloodstained hands.”

Frederick’s expression grew conflicted as he looked at Edward.

“Even if that throne is only in a rural domain like this one.”

The old steward was loyal and kind, skilled enough at his work, and strong in battle as well. But his worry often made him treat Edward like a fragile child. Given Edward’s past, it was understandable. Yet now, it had to change.

“I understand, my lord.”

The old steward bowed with a sad smile. He had realized it too: the fledgling under his care had spread his wings, and it was time for him to fly on his own.

“Let’s return to the manor.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll make the arrangements.”

While Frederick set about organizing matters, Edward approached Logan.

“Logan.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Once arrogant and dismissive, the man now stood stiff as a soldier before his general.

“How is the farming?”

“F-farming, sir?”

“Yes. You’re a farmer, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

Logan couldn’t meet Edward’s eyes, glancing away nervously.

Edward already knew the truth: the villagers had stopped farming. Though it was the season for sowing, they wandered the village idly instead of working the fields.

“Is it because of the drought?”

“…Yes, sir. That’s right.”

Farming seemed pointless. No rain meant inevitable failure. The drought had lasted ten years; they had already tried everything.

“I see.”

Edward lifted his gaze to the cloudless sky.

Strange…

Until ten years ago, the land had been fertile. Then suddenly, not a single drop of rain. Even with his knowledge, Edward could find no answer.

I’ll have to investigate.

The drought was at the root of all the domain’s problems. It would have to be solved eventually. But it was not the most urgent matter.

What mattered most now was reviving the villagers’ spirit. They needed to plant seeds, or else even if the drought ended, there would be no harvest.

Should I just order them?

That would be fastest. With discipline restored, they would obey. But unwilling work would bring little result. They would slack off, drained of energy.

And constant surveillance would only worsen morale.

No… they must act willingly.

Edward decided to move forward with a plan—one that would stir the villagers’ hearts while also guiding them back to the fields.

—

The next day, in the tavern of Griffith’s domain.

Farmers who once spent their days at the temple, listening to sermons, now gathered there instead. Their pockets were suddenly full, their daily lives aimless—so they sought out drink.

“We really knew nothing about the young lord.”

“He’s completely different now.”

“Right. Is that even the same man we thought we knew?”

The villagers could not stop praising Edward’s actions from the day before.

“He’s becoming like the lord himself. Ever seen a dragon hatch into a lizard?”

“True. If only his health had been better, he’d have turned out this way long ago.”

To the villagers, Baron Roland Griffith had always been worthy of admiration.

When the drought first began, he had opened the storehouses and shared grain with the starving. As it dragged on, he reduced taxes, then eventually stopped collecting them altogether. He abandoned noble luxuries, living frugally and spending his money to buy grain for the people.

“And to think we cursed the young lord because of that pig priest.”

“Yeah… we didn’t realize how great he really was…”

“Now we’d better watch our tongues. Otherwise, our heads will roll like that priest’s.”

“Too right.”

The villagers remembered not only Edward’s mercy, but also the awe he had inspired.

“But how did he even get the money?”

“Yeah, the church isn’t exactly easy to deal with…”

“I heard from the steward that he put the inquisitor in his place.”

“No way.”

“I’m telling you, it’s true. At first the inquisitor tried to intimidate him, but when the young lord stood firm, he backed down.”

“You expect me to believe the inquisitor—the one they say can topple even birds from the sky—walked away with his tail between his legs? That’s nonsense.”

“Then where do you think the money came from? It’s not like the young lord had that kind of gold lying around.”

“Well… that’s true.”

They didn’t know the details, but it was clear enough that the church had yielded to Edward. And that alone was enough to make them look up to him.

“Maybe things really will change now.”

The young lord, who everyone thought would rot away in his room until death, had stepped outside. And in such a way that erased the memory of all the scorn he once endured. Naturally, it made the villagers expect change for the whole domain.

“No matter how great he is, he can’t do anything about this drought,” Logan said with resignation, lifting his cup.

“Right. Besides, he hasn’t got long left to live.”

Logan froze, then slammed his cup down.

“What did you just say?”

“Did this bastard just—?”

The villagers’ faces darkened. Logan seized Hans by the collar and yanked him to his feet.

Small and frail, Hans couldn’t break free of Logan’s grip.

“You looking to lose your head like that fraud priest, huh?!”

“I-I just meant it as fact. I want the young lord to live long too, but it’s true he’s sick—”

“Even so, you don’t say something that damned unlucky out loud!”

“Calm down, Logan.”

“He just misspoke. Let it go.”

“S-sorry…”

Others stepped in, and Hans stammered an apology. Logan finally released him, though his shoulders still heaved with anger. The air in the tavern, once lively, grew heavy.

“…I’m leaving Griffith.”

Hans broke the silence.

“What?”

“There’s no hope here. Better to get out while I’ve still got a little money in my pocket.”

“You think the young lord gave you that gold so you could run?”

“Then why else did he? What can we even do in this place?”

Logan had no answer.

Both he and Hans had once been hardworking farmers. Taxes were fair, and they had built up some savings. But when the drought began, those savings dwindled. By now, everything of value had been sold or pawned.

“Even the baron himself told us to go if we must.”

By law, most peasants were bound to their lords’ lands. Leaving without permission was impossible. But as the domain’s plight grew beyond saving, Baron Griffith issued passes, freeing his people to leave as they wished.

Many already had. Those who remained were weighed down by debt, living under the shadow of being sold into slavery. Griffith was on the verge of becoming a dead village.

And when Edward died, the Griffith line would die with him.

There was William, the bastard son, but his low birth and cruel nature made it so no one truly saw him as a Griffith.

“What about your sons?” Logan asked quietly.

Hans’s face fell.

Like Logan’s younger brother, Hans’s two boys had been taken by bandits.

The bandits appeared soon after the domain sold off all its horses to cover its debts. They were not stronger than knights in open battle, but on horseback, they were unmatched.

They struck swiftly and vanished just as fast. The knights tried again and again, but on foot, they could never catch them.

Even the wooden palisade built around the village burned to the ground under the bandits’ flaming arrows.

The villagers were left defenseless. Many were kidnapped.

“It’s been two years already. You really think they’ll come back? Just being alive would be a miracle.”

Hans’s words carried bitterness. Logan lowered his head. His own brother had been taken three years ago. By now, he was either living as a slave somewhere or already dead. Either way, he would not return.

“They could come back if heaven wills it. And if they do, how would your boys feel if you weren’t here waiting?”

It wasn’t just Logan who thought this way. Most who still remained in Griffith were waiting—for someone who would never come back. That was the only reason they hadn’t left.

Bang!

The tavern door burst open. Patrick, a soldier from the lord’s manor, stumbled inside.

“Patrick?”

“The young lord—!”

Patrick was panting too hard to speak.

“What is it?”

“What happened?”

“Haa… the young lord… has started training!”

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People often say a brush with death can change someone completely. A wastrel might suddenly repent, or a fearless man might become timid. Death is the strongest experience of all, so such change seems natural.

But the young lord had changed too much.

“You killed a temple knight?”

When Edward told him, Frederick could hardly believe his ears. The shock was not that a knight had died, but that Edward had been the one to kill him.

The villagers said it hadn’t even been a struggle. Edward had cut the man down with a single stroke, so fast no one’s eyes could follow. But Frederick remembered Edward as someone who could hardly swing a sword properly.

It wasn’t always like that. He had trained under his father, a skilled swordsman, from a young age. But his talent had been mediocre, and when his health declined, he abandoned the sword altogether.

So how could that burly knight have fallen to him? Frederick could not accept it.

“And the priest? What did you do then?”

The events before and after the fight were just as shocking. Edward had uncovered the truth about the well, led the villagers, and even dragged back a priest of the Theos faith.

Frederick nearly fainted when he saw it. He begged Edward again and again to apologize and release the man. But the indecisive young lord had grown as stubborn as an ox.

When word came that an inquisitor was arriving, Frederick swore with a grim face,

“I will give my life for House Griffith.”

He could not bear to watch his young master dragged away and burned at the stake.

“It won’t be necessary.”

Edward only smiled faintly and waved him off. Frederick thought it was naïve bravado.

But when the inquisitor came, Edward did not yield an inch. Frederick’s knees trembled and his heart raced, but Edward stayed calm throughout.

Even when the inquisitor ordered his arrest, Edward did not flinch—he even fabricated a letter to threaten him. Where that nerve came from, Frederick could not understand.

And then—

“I settled it for five hundred thousand gold.”

“Five hundred…?”

“That’s how much water he siphoned away through fraud. He’ll cough it back up.”

Against the Theos church—an authority even queens had to bow to—Edward had extorted money. The dreaded inquisitor had left without an arrest, paying the sum instead.

At first, Frederick had been glad to see his young master taking an interest in the estate. But now, he was beginning to feel afraid of him.

“This will give us some breathing room.”

Breathing room was already guaranteed thanks to the mana water. Half a million gold was not just breathing space—it was wealth enough to live with ease.

“And Thomas, the priest, has been excommunicated. His imperial citizenship was revoked too.”

With that, Thomas lost all protection.

“Surprising. For the church to abandon one of their own…”

“He brought it on himself. In three days, we’ll hold a domain trial. Tell the villagers to attend.”

***

The square of House Griffith filled with people, all but the bedridden. Logan, too, came when he heard.

Edward Griffith would preside over the trial in place of his father, Baron Roland Griffith. The accused was Thomas, the priest.

What is he planning? Logan thought nervously. Looking around, he could see the same unease on the faces of the other villagers.

Their fury at Thomas’s fraud had flared at first, but once the inquisitor appeared, fear had taken hold. They had stormed the temple in anger, but when faced with the church’s power, they recoiled.

Though the inquisitor had departed quietly, dread lingered. Now that a trial was being held, their anxiety grew heavier.

“There he is.”

Soldiers dragged Thomas out in ropes. The villagers gasped.

“He’s half-dead…”

His clothes were torn and stiff with blood. His body was intact, but his face was swollen black and blue, his eyes barely open. Though broad in frame, he looked gaunt, like a man starved for days.

“Can he even stand trial like that?”

“What if the church retaliates?”

Even as a criminal, Thomas was still a priest of Theos. The villagers, knowing the church’s power, exchanged uneasy glances.

So the rumors were true, Logan realized. A friend who worked at the castle had told him terrible screams came from the dungeon at night—Edward himself interrogating Thomas. Logan had doubted it, but now, seeing Thomas’s ruined state, he could not.

“Scum.”

“May he rot in hell.”

A few, driven more by anger than fear, cursed aloud. But none dared throw a stone.

Thud.

The soldiers forced Thomas to his knees in the square’s center. He could not even lift his head, only staring blankly at the ground. Drool ran from his mouth as his chin sagged.

“Is he even alive?”

“Why isn’t he resisting?”

He looked less like a man than a husk.

“Is everyone gathered?”

The soldiers stepped aside, and Edward appeared. Logan stared.

The Edward he remembered had been a sickly invalid. But now, though his body was still thin and his skin pale, his eyes burned with fierce light, and his expression carried unwavering confidence.

Step by step, Edward walked to the center and swept his gaze over the crowd. The murmurs died at once. Tension thickened in the square.

“Listen well. I, Edward Griffith, will now begin the domain trial on behalf of Lord Roland Griffith.”

His voice rang out, and he read from the judgment prepared in advance.

“The accused, Thomas, former priest, spread falsehoods to slander House Griffith. He stole the rightful property of this house—the well water—and sold it as holy water. This is a crime of slander against nobility, heresy, and fraud, in violation of the laws of Aerok and the commandments of Theos. Everyone here is witness. Accused, speak.”

A soldier prodded Thomas.

“…nnn…”

Only a hoarse moan emerged.

“Do you contest the charges?”

“…kill… me…”

Thomas, once ready to abandon his followers and flee for his own life, now made no attempt to defend himself. It was as if he longed for death, as if it were his only salvation.

Seeing it, Logan turned pale.

“Then I accept your silence as consent.”

Shing.

Edward drew his sword. Logan swallowed hard.

“Thomas is sentenced to death.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs. Even the steward looked taken aback.

“Is this wise?”

“Shouldn’t someone stop him?”

Logan himself felt no pity for Thomas. If anything, he wanted to strike the man dead himself. But fear of the Theos church held him back. Even if their wrath did not fall on him personally, it would still be ruinous.

He could only hope Edward had thought this through. After all, the young lord had been clever enough to expose the fraud of the well.

“Lay him on the block.”

The soldiers forced Thomas onto a wooden platform prepared for the execution.

“Any last words?”

“…kill… me…”

Thomas repeated the same words, mind broken, even with the blade poised above his neck.

Edward raised his sword. Sunlight flashed coldly off the steel.

“Cover the children’s eyes.”

The villagers obeyed and shielded their children.

Slash!

With a single stroke, Thomas’s head was severed.

Thud!

The head rolled across the dirt toward the villagers, who recoiled in fear. Blood poured from his neck, soaking the ground.

Step, step.

Edward walked forward, boots pressing into the bloodied earth. He bent down, picked up the severed head, and raised it high. Blood dripped onto his clothes, but he paid no mind.

“If anyone dares to insult the lord’s bloodline in this land again, they will meet the same fate!”

Edward’s voice rang out as his eyes blazed. Logan felt his chest tighten. Almost everyone here had insulted Edward at one point—first in whispers, then openly. Thomas had incited them, but they had followed willingly.

“And no one in this land shall exploit another’s ignorance for profit. Is that clear?”

“Yes, young lord.”

“We understand.”

The villagers nodded quickly. Edward lowered the head.

“Frederick.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Bring what we prepared.”

At a gesture from the steward, four soldiers hauled in a heavy chest. Edward took out a key, unlocked it, and lifted the lid. Inside were dozens of small pouches.

He took one and shook it. The sound of clinking coins drew every ear.

“These are gold coins sent by the Theos church as an apology for this matter.”

Logan thought he had misheard.

He was uneducated, but even he knew the Theos church was so powerful that even the Queen of Aerok dared not oppose it. He had cursed Edward before, certain the priest outranked him.

Yet now the church had apologized to a minor lord’s son from a small frontier domain—and paid compensation. It defied reason.

“Logan.”

“Y-yes!”

Startled to hear his name, Logan stepped forward awkwardly.

Edward checked a ledger, then handed him a pouch.

“This is the money you gave to the temple for holy water. Take it back.”

Logan opened the pouch with trembling hands. Inside was a heap of gold coins.

Impossible…

House Griffith had no wealth. The villagers had stopped farming during the drought, so there was no way such money could come from them. It had to be from the church.

Good heavens…

The meaning was clear.

The young lord fought—and won.

Logan now understood who the true master of this land was, and how merciful and just that master could be. Edward had no obligation to return the money. The well belonged to the lord, and the villagers had willingly paid. But he gave it back anyway.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Gratitude and shame welled up inside him.

“To think you still care for us, wretches that we are…”

Tears streamed down Logan’s face as he bowed. To be forgiven was blessing enough, but Edward had even returned the money they had wasted. Logan was overwhelmed by such generosity. He felt ready to give his life for Edward.

“How can we ever repay this grace… Thank you, truly thank you.”

The other villagers felt the same. Those who received pouches of gold wept openly. In their bleak lives, this money was worth its weight in heaven.

“Long live Lord Edward!” Logan shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Long live the young lord!”

“Long live House Griffith!”

The villagers’ voices rose together.

Edward had chosen to execute Thomas through a public trial not only to punish him, but to restore order among the people. He knew their hardships and did not punish them directly, but he needed to set an example.

That should be enough.

The villagers, crying and shouting praises, showed that the plan had worked. The balance of fear and gratitude had bound them to him. They now both loved and feared Edward.

Reverence from the people was an essential trait of a ruler. And now, the villagers had truly become Edward’s people.

One year…

Everything had gone as planned, but a new shadow loomed in Edward’s mind. He had absorbed Thomas’s soul with the Black Soul—and in it, he had glimpsed a sinister memory.

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