He woke at dawn.
The room was cold, and the light crawled through the shutters in thin lines.
He didn't stretch or sigh.
He just lay there for a moment, eyes open, steady. He knew what he'd do for the next years.
The path had formed the moment he decided to live as someone else.
Time moved.
Ten years passed.
Lucian's head dropped on a stack of opened books.
Ink stains marked his fingers. A quill rolled off the table and fell with a dull tap. He blinked awake, lifting himself slowly. His neck hurt.
He was thirteen now, the son of Fürtwald Luvington. The house smelled of steel and smoke because the man who raised him never left his armor unworn for long.
He rubbed his eyes. Papers, maps, diagrams, and mana theory manuals filled the desk.
He'd fallen asleep again while studying.
He stared at the crooked lines of last night's notes.
I overdid it.
His room stayed silent, but memories pushed in.
Years earlier, on his first day here, Fürtwald didn't greet him gently. The general simply looked at him once, sharp like a blade.
Lucian remembered standing stiff, unsure if the man would break him out of boredom.
Fürtwald trained soldiers, not children.
The first lesson came fast.
He was given a wooden sword. Then, Fürtwald striked. Lucian blocked with his arm because he had no choice.
The bruise stayed for weeks.
Fürtwald only said, "Block better next time."
But Fürtwald wasn't mindless cruelty. He watched Lucian work. He tested him. He wanted proof of a spine. Lucian showed it every day, even when his body gave up.
When he staggered home after drills, he studied until sleep dragged him down. When he failed mana control a hundred times, he forced himself to try a hundred more.
Flash after flash passed through his mind.
Hunting in the forest with Fürtwald's cold instructions guiding him.
Hours of sword drills in the yard until his hands bled.
Reading strategy texts while the general corrected him in a bored tone.
Learning etiquette from tutors who whispered that Fürtwald's son would never be normal.
Practicing mana threads in the dark until he could form one thin line without breaking it.
And all of it for one place—the St. Graven Academy.
He exhaled. His eyes returned to the desk. He had studied nonstop for years.
Today would be the same.
Lucian reached for a book and opened it again.
There was no hesitation.
He had already decided how his life would move.
Lucian stepped out of his room and moved down the stairs.
The house was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.
When he entered, Herschel Luvington looked up with a warm smile. She was the girl he saved ten years ago.
Now she was his mother in name and duty. Her hair was tied back, and she looked younger than someone nearing forty should.
"Good morning," she said.
He nodded. "Morning."
She placed food on the table. Her movements were calm, practiced. She had the air of someone who had survived something cruel and learned how to live softly afterward.
Lucian watched her for a moment. So she lived this time. It still felt strange.
What surprised him most these years wasn't just having a family. It was their ages. Fürtwald, the terrifying figure from his past cycle, was only forty-three now.
Herschel was thirty-nine. They were older parents, but not ancient. Their faces held youth.
The contrast shook him.
Elder Fürtwald from his previous life had looked like a worn relic with wrinkles carved by stress, hair grayed by grief, and a presence that felt ten decades old. Lucian understood now.
Herschel had died in that cycle, leaving Fürtwald to drag his days in silence. The man must have aged under that weight.
Exhaustion could rot anyone from the inside, even someone brutal and disciplined.
Another thought lingered. Fürtwald's title. People called him "Elder" or "Old Wolf" even though he wasn't that old. Lucian learned why over the years. The title wasn't about age.
It was rank.
Fürtwald earned it after surviving a battlefield where none of his squad returned. He held the line alone, and the kingdom marked him as someone who had lived more lifetimes in war than most men ever would.
Lucian sat down and ate quietly.
Herschel poured him water and sat across from him.
"Where's Father?" Lucian asked.
She set her cup down. "He left before dawn. A messenger arrived last night. Something about troop movement near the northern ridge."
Lucian nodded. That explained the silence in the house. Fürtwald rarely stayed home when duty called. The man carried the kingdom's troubles on his back even when he didn't have to.
"He said he might not return for a few days," Herschel continued. "It isn't war. Just inspection. But you know how he is."
Lucian gave a small breath. "He won't rest unless someone forces him."
"That's exactly what I told him," she said with a faint laugh. "He didn't listen. Again."
He looked at her. "Will it be dangerous?"
"No," she answered quickly. "Not for him. Your father has handled far worse."
Lucian leaned back. Of course he has. Fürtwald was a general who earned his place in blood and mud. Even peaceful tasks felt like battle assignments to him.
Herschel looked toward the window. "He promised he'll be back before the week ends."
Lucian nodded. "Then he will."
Herschel leaned a little closer. "How are your studies? You said the entrance exam for St. Graven Academy is soon, right?"
Lucian nodded. "Two months from now."
A voice came from the doorway. "And he's ready for it. More than ready."
Louis stepped inside with a grin, holding a half-eaten bun. He had grown taller this past year, but his smile stayed the same. Herschel laughed softly.
"You're here early again, Louis."
"Lucian said we'd review today," Louis replied. "I can't let him run off alone."
Lucian shrugged. "You're the one who oversleeps."
Louis rolled his eyes. "And you're the one who studies for fun."
Herschel smiled at the banter. "You two take care out there."
Lucian grabbed a notebook from the shelf and headed to the door. "We will."
They stepped outside and began walking through Gravenheim.
The streets were quiet at this hour. Lucian greeted a few people by name. He had lived here long enough to know almost everyone in this district. This routine had become his life.
He and Louis reached the library first. They studied until noon, flipping through old texts on theory and magic.
Lucian tried to understand the structure of principle magic, but even after years of work, it still felt distant.
He didn't even know how Fürtwald's ability truly functioned, much less his own. He only knew the basics.
Magic was something anyone could use. Principle magic was different. It took a truth inside a person and turned it into a force.
If two people gained the Principle of Wrath and both coincidentally produce fire. But their flames would never be identical.
One might burn hotter depending on their emotions. The other could cling to surfaces or explode outward. The shape of the principle made the difference.
After the library, they trained at the fields.
Lucian swung his sword.
Lucian wiped sweat from his brow and sat on the grass beside Louis. "You ever think about what we're actually capable of?" he asked casually, eyes on the distant horizon.
Louis snorted. "Don't start with the philosophical crap again. We're kids. Kids don't think about capable things."
Lucian smirked, though a shadow lingered behind his smile. Principle of Sacrifice, he thought. He hadn't told anyone about it.
But, that principle was still in this life, which also means that his mastery about it never disappeared. At least he could keep some mastery from the last life. It gave him comfort, even if they had no clue what he truly could do.
"So, your dad," Lucian said suddenly, "the king's personal knight, right?"
Louis nodded, face lighting up. "Yeah. You know, he's scary as hell but… he's proud of me."
Lucian tilted his head, smirk widening.
"Proud, huh? I'd be careful. You might turn into one of those pompous noble brats if you get too lucky."
Louis shot him a glare. "And you? Mr. 'I-sit-in-the-library-and-act-wise'? You'll never understand real honor."
Lucian laughed, unexpectedly tossing a jab. "Ha! Better than becoming a Von Mers**t servant! You know, groveling at the prince's feet, kissing the floor while calling it loyalty?"
Louis burst out laughing, then smirked. "Better than you, you little bookworm. Probably cry every time a leaf falls wrong."
"I'd rather cry than be a pompous Von Meranne's lapdog!" Lucian shot back.
They paused, catching their breath from laughter, then Lucian glanced at him, more serious. Still, I can't believe he didn't get dragged into their household like last time. Something must've changed… Lucky bastard.
"So, are you working with the First Heir and the Second Heir too, right?"
Louis smiled faintly. "Yeah… lucky me, huh? But—" he trailed off.
"My father… he's been… doing something."
Lucian stiffened, eyes narrowing. The wind stirred. "What do you mean?"
"He's planning on assassinating the First Heir!"
Lucian only looked at him in terror.
You idiot!!!