It was late at night. Lvalti had finished training. He removed his clothes, revealing muscles—toned and refined. He tossed them into the mansion's laundry room.
'I am now... stronger,' he thought, gazing at his reflection. 'I've studied energy theory since I could read. I can feel the flow coursing through me. I've achieved something most can't manage at this age...'
He clenched his fists.
'Using my muscles while casting energy simultaneously. Most Magic Swordsmen take until their late twenties to pull that off. If I went toe to toe with a magician, I bet I could injure them.'
He bit his lip. His death flashed before his eyes... And the face of his killer.
'Not enough... not enough. I need to do more. I need to train more.'
His old-world mother's face surfaced in his mind, followed by the shatter of a glass bottle near his ear.
'I won't be tossed away again.' He extended his arm, water erupting with a violent splash, cracking the wall slightly.
'If I want to be an efficient Magic Swordsman, I have to master both swordsmanship and spellcasting... How bizarre.' He looked down at his palm.
'In my last world, I was a fire mage... Now, my attribute is water.' He sighed, walking from the laundry room to the baths, soaking himself in the warm water.
He stared at the surface around him.
'Water, huh? If I dipped into fire, even as a fire mage, I'd be burned without proper resistance. But with water...' He moved his palm slowly across the surface. 'Even someone without magic... it only heals you.'
His gaze turned half-lidded, staring at his palm resting on the surface of the water.
'...Meaning my potential is much weaker here. I could get stomped far more easily in this world. So I need to work even harder...!' He clenched his fist.
"Ahh! Lvalti!" a voice called from the entrance of the baths. He looked up, trying to identify the figure.
"Oh... Good evening, Father," Lvalti nodded as his father stripped and stepped into the large bath, settling beside him in the warm water.
"Haaaaah... I feel my spirits lifting already..." his father sighed, leaning back against the wall.
"I see," Lvalti replied, blankly staring ahead.
Several minutes passed in silence. His father, a blonde-haired man with a beard and deep blue eyes, bore a body built from years of hardship. Muscular, scarred, and hardened by a life spent with steel in hand rather than magic.
He looked down at Lvalti, letting out a soft chuckle before poking his son's shoulder.
"Look at you, son. You're taking after your father, huh?" he said with a light grin.
"...Yes, I do," Lvalti nodded, briefly glancing up before returning his gaze forward.
"You do now, don't ya'..." his father muttered, sighing again as he looked away.
A beat.
"Just..." he added, voice gentler, "don't push yourself, alright?"
"...!" Lvalti flinched.
"You don't have to prove anything for me and your mom to love you. You know that, right?"
Lvalti's lips pressed together for a moment, unreadable.
"..." He looked down, fist tightening.
"I..." he began, his voice echoing softly through the bath chamber, "...am a noble's son."
His father leaned his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"This isn't about proving anything. This is about doing what's expected of me. Repaying you and Mother for everything you've given me," Lvalti said, his voice flat.
"Well, you'll still be our son even if you end up chasing women, drinking yourself stupid, and harassing everyone in sight," his father said with a chuckle, reaching over to ruffle his hair.
'She said it too, you know.' He closed his eyes, the memory of the Goddess from his past life surfacing.
I've lived two lives before arriving in this world. In the first, I was Kota Kintaro—my original name. I was bullied, neglected, and my mother... she was a drunk who blamed me for every misfortune that fell upon her. Then one day, a portal opened in my room and whisked me away to another world. That's where I met the Goddess.
She told me everything you're saying now, Father. She gave me the praise I always wished my mother would. But only after I did something she wanted. Something that served her. When I was idle or unsure, she wouldn't even appear. Wouldn't speak.
That's when I understood. Unconditional love doesn't exist. It's a lie. Something people say to make you believe you're safe, only to demand more the moment you relax. A trick to squeeze more effort out of you.
This man, my father... he only says these things because I've been working, training, and building this body. Because I'm doing what a noble son is supposed to do. The moment I stop... The moment I falter—this warmth, this care, it'll vanish.
I don't hate him. I don't hate the Goddess. I don't hate anyone for it.
'That's just how the world works.'
"Alright. Thank you, Father," Lvalti said calmly as he stood, grabbing a towel and drying himself off.
His father watched him with a somber smile, eyes trailing his son as he left the baths.
"Even if you don't believe it, we're here for you... Got that?" he said softly, though Lvalti was already gone.
Lvalti dressed himself in a neatly prepared wardrobe and stepped into the quiet hallway of the estate.
"Oh, look... it's Young Master," a few maids murmured as they passed him."He's such a hottie... his muscles are already bulging..."
"Most nobles just fool around at this age... but he's always so dignified, respectful, and hardworking. Honestly, I wouldn't mind if he fooled around with me..."
"Shh! Don't let anyone hear you!" one of the maids hissed, quickly covering her colleague's mouth.
'Hmph,' Lvalti sighed as he walked past them. 'It's almost as if they wanted me to hear them...'
'Speaking of maids... those two. I usually see them more often during the day.' He narrowed his gaze; thinking of Clarice and Laila's faces.
'...Guess I'll swing by their quarters. Maybe they've finished washing my clothes.' He let out a faint sigh and continued down the hallway.
He reached the door to their quarters—it was slightly ajar.
'Open? They're not done with their duties today?' he wondered, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The room was neat and tidy. Not a speck of dust. Their sheets were folded with precision.
On one of the beds, he saw his clothes—clean and arranged in a perfect stack.
Atop the pile, a single envelope rested.
"For Young Master."
Without much fiddling, he opened the envelope and began reading.
[Dear Master. We're sorry, but we've been using you.]
His fingers clenched around the note at the first line.
[We come from a tribe deep in the Alaborne mountains. Called Silverlock. Due to our magic capabilities...]
Lvalti's brow twitched. Agitated, he skipped the rest and tossed the note aside.
'True... People are self-serving like that.'
He stormed toward his room, grabbed his sword, and made his way to the estate's stables.
'Everyone, without fail, does everything to benefit themselves and themselves alone.'
Outside, under the moonlight, he led a horse out and began fastening the tack.
'That's why I don't need to read the rest of that long-winded letter. Because there isn't a single sane person in the world...'
He mounted the horse, sword at his side, and spurred it into motion.
"Hya!" He called out. The horse neighed and began sprinting away from the stables.
'...who'd live a life of comfort, then spit on the one who gave it to them—for no reason.'
He bit his lip.
'...And...'
'Nobody...' His jaw tensed, fury bubbling as their faces flickered through his mind. Ten years of memories, of their smiles and warmth... Burned away in seconds.
'NOBODY spits on me and gets away scot-free. You ungrateful pricks... Expect punishment when I find you... You're—'
He bit his lip harder, their faces flashing through his mind. The moments they'd shared. The years.
'You're not done repaying me yet.'
— MEANWHILE, ALABORNE MOUNTAINS —
Deep in the forest, they trudged forward. Sweaty, scraped, and silent. The moonlight filtered through the trees above, glinting off dew and blood alike. Laila walked ahead, jaw clenched, gaze narrowed on the path. Clarice followed close behind, arms wrapped around herself.
"...I... I want to go back," Clarice whispered.
Laila's step faltered. Her fist tightened.
"Hold it in, Clara. We're almost there... Just a bit more. Once we find the encampment, we'll free them. Free our people from that bastard's rule."
"And then... then we'll go back?" Clarice asked, lifting her eyes with a fragile hope. "To... to Young Master?"
"..." Laila didn't answer. Her lips pressed into a tight line.
"We'll have our home back... right? We won't need..." Her voice cracked, gaze falling again. "...won't need to go back there anymore."
A bitter pause.
"And... we wrote it. We told him we used him."
"But we didn't!" Clarice sobbed softly, trembling. "I loved Lvalti...!"
"That..." Laila's voice shook. "...was just a fantasy, Clara."
"No! No—!" Clarice's voice broke as she reached out.
"Shhh!" Laila hissed, clamping a hand over her sister's mouth and ducking behind the bushes. "We're here..."
They peered between the leaves and froze.
White-haired, just like them.
Dozens of men, women, and children trudged forward in silence. Shackled in iron chains faintly shimmering with enchantments, their eyes were dull, their faces sunken. They stumbled like livestock through the underbrush.
Bandits? No. These were soldiers.
Clad in mismatched foreign armor, overseen by robed figures wielding obsidian staves.
"HURRY THE FUCK UP! OR YOU WON'T GET ANY MEALS, YOU FUCKIN' LIVESTOCK!" one soldier barked, slamming his boot into the back of an older man who had lagged behind. The man stumbled forward with a grunt, nearly collapsing.
The procession reached a large, tar-black tent. Inside sat a crystalline chair, laced with tubes and glowing sigils. One by one, the prisoners were forced into it. Strapped down, drained, and discarded. Their magic siphoned through gleaming conduits that pulsed with pale light.
The flow funneled into a cluster of blackened magic stones—each one throbbing faintly, like an organ plucked from a still-living beast.
Clarice clutched Laila's cloak, trembling. "...What... what are they doing to them...?"
"They're turning our people into batteries." Laila's voice shook.
Her eyes narrowed, rage simmering beneath the surface.
"Draining them until there's nothing left."
A pause. Then, through clenched teeth, she growled...
"Unforgivable...!"