When consciousness returned to me, it was slow—like rising from the deepest part of a dream.
My first thought was simple, absurd, and yet the only thing that made sense:
So… I've been reborn.
Is this what they call reincarnation?
I blinked my new, small eyes and looked at my surroundings. Rows of cradles stretched across a warm, quiet nursery. Dozens of infants were crying. Soft-footed maids moved between them, gently feeding milk with practiced hands.
A strange mix of confusion and disbelief swirled inside me.
Me. Aldric Vaelor. Reborn as a baby.
For the first few days, I couldn't move much. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything except lie there and think.
Four days passed, and my thoughts finally settled.
This place…
This family…
Ravencourt.
The name echoed in my mind like a thunderclap.
The biggest clan out of the five great clans of the Arkanveil Empire—a family known for producing swordsmen blessed by the gods, for their terrifying magical talent, and for their ancient heritage stretching back a thousand years.
And now…
I was lying in the cradle reserved for the family's heir.
I realized this when I tasted the milk the maids fed me.
It was different—rich, warm, humming softly with mana. Not ordinary milk.
The Ravencourt's secret formula.
A sacred mixture brewed only for the main family's direct descendant.
It was said to strengthen a child's body, awaken dormant potential, and shape the future heir into someone capable of leading the clan.
So I… am the heir of the greatest family in the empire?
Beside me were other cradles, holding babies from the branch families. Their milk was normal; only mine glowed faintly with mana.
The maids whispered often when they thought we were asleep.
"They still haven't given the main child a name yet."
"Of course not. It has to be after the naming ceremony."
"Only the Patriarch can give the heir their name."
I learned from their voices that the naming ceremony happens after the first year of birth. Until then, the heir remains unnamed—waiting for the Patriarch's judgment and blessings.
But that wasn't the only ceremony approaching.
One maid lowered her voice excitedly.
"Did you hear? The Sword Ceremony is in two days."
Sword Ceremony…
My tiny heart throbbed.
At first I thought it was part of the naming ceremony, but no.
It was something else—something older.
A ritual where newborn children are brought before the ancestral swords.
Not to choose a sword…
But to be chosen by one.
The sword that answers your presence decides your future potential.
Your strength.
Your destiny.
"The stronger the sword that responds, the greater the talent," a maid whispered proudly.
My mind raced.
In my previous life, I was talentless.
A failure.
A man who trained for twenty-six years and gained nothing.
But now…
A new body. A new family. A new chance.
As the maids dimmed the lights and the other babies began to sleep, I closed my eyes and made a silent prayer.
Please…
Gods who gave me this chance…
Bless me.
Let me achieve my dream in this life.
Let me become someone worthy of being remembered.
The Sword Ceremony was only two days away.
Whatever happened there… would decide the path of my new life.