This world knows no mercy for the weak, a lesson Lucien Vornhart learned through pain that seeped into the very marrow of his bones.
That morning, within the damp, rancid darkness of the basement chamber, an anomaly occurred. Lucien awoke upon a coarse mattress, a heap of straw and discarded rags that felt as unforgiving as ancient oak. His small body throbbed violently. The pain wasn't merely an ache; it was a searing, burning sensation, as if his flesh had been shredded by barbed whips or stretched upon a rack of torture throughout the night.
Yet, the boy did not complain. No cry escaped his pale lips.
With labored breath, he dragged his body to stand before a cracked mirror caked in thick dust. There, his reflection looked wretched. His black hair was a tangled mess, his face haggard, and his clothes were nothing more than scraps of cloth one would use to scrub a floor. He looked more like a beggar's corpse than a Young Master of a grand Ducal house.
But something was different. In a single night, his physique had undergone an impossible mutation. Lucien, who should have been a three-year-old child, a toddler barely finding his footing, now possessed the proportions of a five-year-old. His muscles were denser, and his height had increased abnormally.
Lucien stared at his reflection with cold, crimson eyes. He wasn't angry because of this poverty. He didn't hate the foul rags clinging to his skin. His fury stemmed from something far more fundamental: the fact that in this mansion, he was not considered human.
This desolate mansion sat ten kilometers away from the Vornhart Main Estate. A distance far enough to ensure no intervention, no watchful eyes to care, and no parental hand to brush his head. He had been cast away here in the name of "Adequacy."
"Adequacy, is it..." Lucien muttered. His voice was hoarse, carrying a vibration of hatred that had rotted for years within the merged memories of Osric and Lucien.
Instantly, his briefly calmed emotions erupted like a volcano spewing black lava. Unbeknownst to him, a thick, crimson-black aura began to seep from the pores of his skin, shrouding his small frame like a mist of death. The mirror before him vibrated violently.
"Fine... if adequacy is what you seek, I shall give it to you a thousandfold!"
BOOM!
The aura exploded. A massive wave of magical pressure slammed into the building's foundation. The entire mansion shook violently, as if a subterranean giant were attempting to upend the earth. Ceilings cracked, dust cascaded down, and the roar of the blast echoed far into the surrounding forest.
On the upper floors, panic broke out. Soldiers unsheathed their swords with trembling hands, fearing a high-level monster or an enemy raid. Servants shrieked, scurrying back and forth in search of cover. Yet, no matter how hard they searched for the source of the tremor, they found nothing. By noon, the shaking subsided, leaving a chilling mystery in the hearts of the mansion's inhabitants.
Meanwhile, Lucien stood motionless in his room. He didn't feel the vibration; he was drowning in the ocean of his own thoughts. He needed strength. And in this world, strength was not just a matter of muscle, but of knowledge.
"I should learn a thing or two about this world before making my decision," he said coldly.
He snatched a tattered cloak to cover his ragged clothes and stepped out. He headed for the Main Building. His destination: the library on the third floor.
The moment he set foot on the ground floor of the main building, a nauseating sight greeted him. The structure that should have been the Young Master's residence had been occupied by the servants. They lived there as if they were the rightful owners of the land.
Five maidservants were gathered in the central hall. They wore lavish silk gowns, the price of which could likely feed a village for a year. Expensive diamond jewelry dangled from their necks and fingers. They were sipping premium tea and laughing loudly, utterly ignoring the domestic duties they were supposed to perform.
"Hey! Who are you?!" shouted one of them, a woman in a bright blue dress that seemed far too tight for her arrogant frame.
Lucien stopped. The five maids scurried toward him, their faces caked in heavy makeup twisted into expressions of disgust at the sight of Lucien's grimy figure. However, as they stood before him, they paused for a moment in confusion.
"Y-you... since when did you get this big...?" The woman in the blue dress frowned. Only yesterday, Lucien looked like a helpless infant being dragged across the floor. Now, he stood as tall as a five-year-old, with a gaze that could make a grown man's blood run cold.
"Why? Whether I grow taller or age, what business is it of yours?!" Lucien snapped. His voice no longer sounded like a child's; it was a sharp, authoritative tone.
Instead of fear, the maids burst into laughter. Their laughs were shrill, insulting, and filled with baseless malice.
"You've grown bold, haven't you, little rat?" a maid in a red dress chimed in, covering her mouth with a feathered fan. "You've only grown a few centimeters, not turned into an adult! What can you do? Your tiny punches wouldn't even leave a mark on my face. Oh, wait! I forgot... you aren't even tall enough to reach my face!"
They fell into fits of laughter again, nudging each other and pointing at Lucien as if he were a comical circus animal.
Lucien watched them intently. This mansion had rotted to the core. These servants drew salaries for doing nothing and ignored the only Vornhart blood present because they knew no one would care. They manipulated monthly reports whenever the Butler from the main estate visited. They had created a bubble of lies that made them feel like queens in a gilded cage.
"Who told you to come up here? Get back down to your hole, trash!" the woman in the blue dress screamed.
"Whether I go up or down is my concern. Who do you think you are, screaming at me?!" Lucien shot back with a bark so powerful it shook the air between them.
Their laughter erupted again, more hysterical this time.
"Listen to that! He thinks he's a Young Master who needs serving!" the maid in red wiped a tear from laughing. "How pathetic... the brat has gone mad from being underground too long."
"Hey, you're still here?" The maid in blue stepped forward, her face flushing red with anger. "If you don't get back down immediately, don't blame me for getting violent! I'll drag you down and whip you until your skin peels!"
That barbaric attitude caused the last of Lucien's patience to evaporate. He stared at the woman's hand as it reached out to grab his arm.
"If you won't go down, I'll force you down!"
The woman lunged for Lucien's hand, intending to hurl the boy down the stairs. But a horrific miracle occurred. Despite pulling with all her might, Lucien's body did not budge a single millimeter. He stood as firm as a mountain crag, while the maid stumbled from the force of her own pull.
Lucien looked up. His eyes flashed with an unnatural red light.
"You... touched me?" Lucien murmured in a low tone that made the hair on their necks stand.
"INSOLENT!"
Along with that shout, the crimson-black aura exploded from Lucien's body with an intensity ten times stronger than the morning's blast.
BOOM!
The entire mansion convulsed. Glass windows in the hall shattered into fragments, raining sharp crystals onto the floor. The lavish crystal chandelier plummeted, smashing into a million pieces.
The world seemed to turn upside down for everyone present. That aura of darkness wasn't merely magical energy; it was a mental pressure that crushed the soul. Every servant—not just the five before him, but everyone in the mansion—suddenly fell to their knees upon the marble floor. Their bodies became impossibly heavy, as if gravity had increased a hundredfold.
They couldn't move. They couldn't breathe. A fear that was foreign, primitive, and abnormal began to gnaw at their hearts. It was the terror of a vertex predator long since vanished from the face of the earth.
"I-impossible..." whispered the maid in the white dress, her lips turning blue. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest feeling as if it were being crushed by concrete. "He... He has inherited the... Devil's Gate!"
Pure horror radiated from the beautiful faces now drenched in cold sweat and tears. They no longer looked at Lucien as a child, but as a ghost made flesh—an entity that should not exist in the human world.
Lucien stood tall amidst the destruction. His blood-red eyes looked down at them. There was no more overflowing rage; all that remained was a cold void—an absolute indifference. He stared at them as if they were insects accidentally stepped upon.
"Devil's Gate?" Lucien muttered coldly as he stepped past the trembling bodies on the floor.
Each footstep on the marble sounded like a death knell. Not one of them dared to speak. Not one dared to lift their head. They could only shift their eyes wildly, desperate to avoid eye contact with the "Little Demon."
Those who had mocked him moments ago could now only pray that Lucien would not decide to snuff out their breath right then and there. For Lucien, this was only the beginning. He would never allow himself to be oppressed by anyone again..