The golden rays of the setting sun cast a burnished sheen over the sprawling training grounds of House Velebrandt. The training field—an expanse of flattened earth bordered by elegantly carved marble balustrades—now bore signs of a grueling session. Shallow grooves etched the dirt, kicked up dust floated lazily in the cooling air, and distant birds chirped farewell to the waning day.
Lucien Caelum Velebrandt lay on the ground, chest heaving, arms spread wide in utter exhaustion. Sweat clung to his silver hair like the shimmer of dew under moonlight. His small frame—still that of a six-year-old—was limp, unable to respond to any commands from his fatigued muscles. Yet in his eyes, which shimmered with one red iris and one grey, there was no defeat. Only exhilaration.
"That will be enough for today," came the deep voice of General Knight Rex, who sheathed his sword with a satisfying click. He approached the boy, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the heir of House Velebrandt. The veteran knight's armor, dulled and scratched from countless battles, bore the scent of iron and dust. His stern expression broke into the faintest smirk.
"You… are something else, young master. To think you could mirror my footwork and blade posture with such instinct." He crouched beside the boy. "No need to study the sword any further—not in theory. The essence of it... is already engraved into your body. The Sword of the West breathes within you. Once your aura awakens when you turn ten—"
He paused, his eyes gleaming. "You will surpass every swordsman of this empire. Perhaps even… your father."
Lucien blinked, then let out a tired chuckle. "Really now? Heh. Guess I was born to be great."
His smirk—arrogant, almost regal—played across his lips. Though his body refused to move, his spirit soared with pride. And though the sky dimmed above, a fire was ignited in his soul.
A distant creak signaled the opening of the garden doors. Moments later, two maids approached the training grounds with soft footsteps. One of them—Marie—walked briskly to Lucien's side, her eyes filled with concern but tempered by admiration.
"Young master, the Archduchess has been observing your training from the veranda. She is pleased with your performance."
Lucien turned his eyes toward her. "Mother saw?"
"Yes," Marie smiled. "She instructed us to bring you in for a warm bath and your evening meal."
With practiced grace, Marie bent down and scooped Lucien up in a princess carry. The boy, half-dead from exhaustion, suddenly felt very much alive.
Marie's body was a masterpiece sculpted in soft elegance. Though modest in dress, the maid uniform could not hide her natural allure—her slim waist, full curves, and long, shapely legs moved with the fluidity of a dancer. Her scent was a subtle mixture of lavender and warm cinnamon, and her skin felt impossibly smooth against Lucien's cheek, flushed as it was from exertion.
Lucien felt his heart skip a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"This… isn't so bad," he murmured.
Marie looked down with a knowing smile. "You did well today, young master. Your father will be proud."
As the two maids carried Lucien back to the mansion, the stars began to peek through the sky's indigo canvas. The Velebrandt mansion, with its glowing windows and fragrant breeze, awaited them like a sanctuary.
Left behind on the grounds, General Rex stood with his arms folded, eyes narrowed in thought. The boy's talent wasn't just impressive—it was unnatural. A raw understanding of the sword that defied logic. The Grand Duke had told him to train Lucien, but what he discovered… was potential beyond comprehension.
"What sort of monster is this child becoming?" Rex whispered under his breath, the wind catching his words.
He turned back to the field, the glow of the west now fading, and knew deep down—Lucien's legend was only just beginning.
_________________________________________
The warm rays of the setting sun filtered through the vast stained-glass windows of House Velebrandt, casting golden hues onto the marbled corridors and shimmering across the polished floors. The scent of fresh blossoms from the gardens outside wafted gently through the open panes, blending with the faint aroma of burning sandalwood from an ornate incense holder on a nearby pedestal.
Lucien rested in his warm bath, limbs floating lightly in the steamy water perfumed with rose oil and lavender. The edge of the tub was shaped from pale jade, carved with intricate reliefs of the Velebrandt lineage and the Sword of the West—testament to the deep heritage of their bloodline. He allowed his head to tilt back, exhaling in a mix of contentment and exhaustion.
"Young Master," Marie said softly, standing nearby with a fluffy towel folded in her arms, her figure bathed in the candlelight. Her short chestnut hair framed her soft, fair face, and her delicate brown eyes shimmered with gentle warmth.
Lucien peeked at her through the mist. Though he was still six years old, his memories were of an older self, and he couldn't help but acknowledge how stunning she was. Marie had the grace of nobility in a maid's attire—her figure curvaceous yet firm, with a modest but captivating bosom, a narrow waist that flared into soft, full hips. Her dress was well-fitted, hugging her body with tasteful elegance.
She stepped forward as Lucien rose from the tub, water cascading down his small form. Carefully, Marie wrapped the towel around him and dried his silver hair with gentle movements.
"You trained exceptionally hard today, young master," she said with a proud smile. "You've made the household proud."
Lucien, half-drowsy, gave her a cheeky grin. "Was that your way of saying I'm amazing?"
Marie chuckled softly. "I suppose you could put it that way."
She led him back through the hallway to his room. They passed by tall portraits of past Velebrandt warriors, velvet curtains, and ancient suits of armor polished to a gleam. Servants bowed as they passed. Lucien felt a growing sense of belonging—not just as a guest in this world but as someone born into power.
Back in his room, a tray of warm food awaited him: honey-glazed bread, roasted meats, sweet fig preserves, and a goblet of fruit nectar. Marie helped him onto his plush seat, humming a soft tune as she placed the cloth napkin on his lap.
Lucien took a bite and leaned back. "Mmm... being rich really is the best."
Marie stood nearby, her hands clasped, smiling fondly at his honest joy. "You deserve to enjoy every bit of it, young master."
After finishing his meal, Marie helped him into his nightclothes—fine silken pajamas with gold embroidery. As she tucked him into his luxurious bed, Lucien stared at the ceiling's celestial painting.
"Marie," he murmured.
"Yes, young master?"
"Will I become someone great?"
Marie paused, then leaned down and brushed his silver bangs aside. "You already are."
A warm silence settled between them as the stars began to twinkle outside.
The soft creak of the closing door echoed gently in the silence of the lavish room. Maid Marie, after fluffing the pillows and dimming the golden chandelier, had whispered, "Goodnight, Young Master," with a warm smile before bowing slightly and leaving him alone to rest. Her elegant footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving only the crackling hush of the fireplace and the soft rustle of wind brushing against the high windows.
Lucien Caelum Velebrandt sat upright beneath the smooth velvet covers, blinking slowly at the ceiling carved with subtle floral reliefs. He was supposed to sleep. He should have been tired. After all, his muscles still ached from the day's brutal training with General Knight Rex. And yet... something stirred in him.
He rose quietly, the silken sheets sliding off his small frame as his bare feet touched the polished marble floor. Guided by instinct and curiosity, he padded across the grand bedroom, drawn to the towering glass windows that dominated the western wall. Curtains of midnight-blue silk swept aside at his light touch, revealing a breathtaking view that momentarily stole the air from his lungs.
The night sky above the Velebrandt estate was divine—a wide tapestry of darkness painted with stars so numerous and vivid they shimmered like crushed gemstones against a canvas of violet and deep indigo. Constellations he'd never seen before sprawled across the heavens, unfamiliar yet mesmerizing.
But it was the two moons that arrested his gaze completely.
One was large and pale silver, almost translucent like a pearl under candlelight. Its surface was smooth, nearly too perfect—serene and maternal. The other was slightly smaller and glowed with a soft bluish hue, speckled with icy craters and surrounded by a faint halo of ethereal light. They hung in the sky together, locked in an eternal waltz, casting silvery brilliance across the darkened lands.
Lucien exhaled, his breath fogging the glass slightly.
"This really is another world..." he whispered, his voice faint and fragile.
And for the first time since he reincarnated—since waking up in the body of a six-year-old noble child, since meeting his grand duke father, his imperial mother, and the proud knight Rex—Lucien felt it deep in his chest: reassurance.
Not fear. Not confusion. Not even the lingering dread of the sixteen heroes who might one day come for him.
But peace.
Here, under this alien yet enchanting sky, he realized just how vast and magical this world was. He wasn't just a character in some game anymore. He was alive, surrounded by a world that teemed with mystery, history, and danger—but also, with beauty.
A small smile formed on his lips.
"This view… is a damn good trade for all the trouble."
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, watching the twin moons glow in the heavens, their silver-blue light bathing the estate in tranquil calm. Somewhere beyond those stars, perhaps the goddess who rewound time watched on. Maybe she knew he wasn't the villain the others believed him to be.
But it didn't matter right now.
Right now, Lucien was just a six-year-old noble child in silk pajamas, gazing at stars and moons in awe, with a future wide open and filled with possibilities.
And for tonight, that was enough.