Pain. It was not sharp or searing—rather, it was viscous, like a heavy shadow wrapping tightly around every cell of his being. Consciousness slowly surfaced from the abyss of darkness, and with its return came a dull pressure in his chest and a strange heaviness in his body, especially in his right arm—he couldn't feel it. At all. The void in which he had been floating began to break apart—into fragments, into images, into sounds, into reality.
"Am I… alive… again?"
His eyes, sluggish and strained, slowly cracked open. The ceiling, high and adorned with the elegant patterns of the ducal house, flickered lazily in the dim morning light. The room was spacious and quiet, filled with the scent of medicinal herbs, fresh linens, and… childhood? He turned his head slightly and saw: his two younger brothers lying beside him on the wide bed.
Lenny—still just a child—had nestled peacefully, resting his head directly on Reinhard's arm, which explained the numbness. His face was serene, still round with the soft plumpness of youth, like someone who, for the first time in a long while, had slept without worry. Beside him was Renny. He slept awkwardly, perched at the edge, as if he didn't dare move closer, but his face revealed more than he would ever admit—trails of dried tears still marked his cheeks, and his eyelids were swollen.
Reinhard watched them for a long time. His gaze was not soft. He simply observed, without tenderness, without resentment—only calm, detached acceptance. There was no surprise in him, no warmth, no gratitude. But a thought, cold and precise, slipped through his mind like a gust of wind through an open door:
"This is good… It means that in the future, I will have two strong and, most importantly, loyal tools."
His gaze shifted again. But not to them.
Before his eyes hovered a semi-transparent green window, floating in the air like a mirage. It was sharp, pulsating gently as if it were breathing, and with its presence, the silence of the room suddenly felt like an illusion—nothing more than an insignificant backdrop to what truly mattered.
[ Attention: Quest Completed! ]
[ Reward Received: The Honor of Deir's Knights ]
[ Progress: Defeat the Assassin-Knight Silivan → 1/1 ]
[ Reward: 0.5 AP, Title: Acknowledged by the Knights of Deir, +50 Trust with Renny ]
[ Reward Details: ]
[ Title: Acknowledged by the Knights of Deir (1) ]
[ Title Effects: All knights of the Duchy of Deir respect you ]
[ User's Total AP Balance → 1.1 ]
[ Attention!! ]
[ Trust with Renny → 90\70 ]
[ Loading… ]
[ New Skill Unlocked! ]
[ Starshatter Technique — Rank ??? ]
[ First Movement Unlocked → Weak Flow that Deflects the Stars ]
[ Skill Mastery Check… ]
[ Mastery Increased!! F → S+ ]
[ You have mastered the skill at the Grandmaster level! ]
[ Reward: 2 AP ]
[ User's Total AP Balance → 3.1 ]
[ New Feature Available → Profile (2 AP) ]
[ Would you like to unlock it? ]
[ Yes / No ]
Reinhard silently stared at the screen. Each line imprinted itself in his mind, but beyond mild interest, he felt nothing. It was simply the system, another step on a long road. The fingers of his left hand twitched weakly, and he activated the selection mentally.
A new feature?.. Profile?.. Well, better than nothing.
— Yes.
The word was not spoken aloud. But the very moment he made his choice, it was as if the entire world outside his body responded—a soft yet blinding flash erupted, as if a ray of sunlight had pierced through reality itself. His vision disappeared—not from pain, but from oversaturation, from the overwhelming sensation of new knowledge, new possibilities flooding into his mind.
For a brief instant, it felt as if all of existence had been compressed into that single flicker.
Then, the light vanished. The world returned.
Reinhard took a deep breath. The air still carried the scent of herbs, and a dull emptiness lingered in his chest. But the fog clouding his mind was gone. He knew he had won. He knew he was alive. He knew he had taken a step forward—one he could never take back.
He glanced at the sleeping Lenny, whose small hand still clutched the edge of his sleeve. Then at Renny, whose face, even in sleep, remained troubled. Reinhard felt nothing akin to attachment. But somewhere, deep within, beneath layers of armor forged over years, a faint, ghostly understanding began to form:
They were not just tools.
They were the path.
Not the goal.
But the steps toward it.
And that was enough.