Pain
Leon's body was broken.
His sword was shattered, his armor torn apart, and his comrades lay dead around him.
The battlefield stretched endlessly in every direction—a wasteland of corpses and fire.
Demons stood victorious.
A massive figure loomed over him—a twisted horn and burning eyes marking it as a demon lord. Its voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"Human, you fought well. Die with pride."
Leon spat out blood, smirking despite the agony.
"Screw your pity."
The demon's fist came down.
And everything went dark.
Leon gasped.
His eyes shot open, expecting to see the abyss. Instead, he found himself lying on a soft bed—one far too luxurious for a battlefield.
A grand chandelier hung above him, and the scent of wine and perfume filled the air.
His head throbbed, but the pain of his fatal wounds was gone.
His body felt… different.
Weaker, younger.
"What the hell?"
He sat up, his hands trembling as they touched his face.
It wasn't his.
The skin was smoother, the fingers softer—these weren't a warrior's hands.
A sharp knock on the door made him turn.
"Lord Darius, you're awake?"
Leon's stomach dropped. Darius?
That name… why did it sound familiar?
The door opened, and a maid hesitantly stepped in.
Her face was carefully neutral, but her posture screamed disgust and wariness.
"Your father, Count Leo, has summoned you. You are to appear immediately."
Leon's heart pounded.
'No. This isn't right.'
He staggered toward a mirror and nearly fell backward at what he saw.
Golden hair. Sharp features. Cold blue eyes.
A face he recognized.
Not his own.
Darius Everhart.
The disgraced eldest son of Count Everhart.
The scum of the Everhart family.
The older brother of Zephyr—the future traitor.
Leon let out a breath, gripping the edges of the mirror as realization hit him.
He had died.
But that wasn't the main issue.
Darius Everhart.
Wasn't this man dead?
"No, no. That's not it."
Leon's breathing quickened as realization hit him like a hammer.
He glanced around the unfamiliar room, his mind racing.
His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists.
"Hey, you."
He gestured at the maid standing by the door. She hesitated before stepping forward.
"Yes, my lord?"
Leon ignored the way she flinched at his gaze.
"What year is it?"
"Huh?"
"The year! What damn year is it?" His voice came out sharper than intended, his emotions spilling over.
The maid paled.
"I-It's the 365th year of the New Age, M-My Lord."
365th…
Leon felt his stomach drop.
"Fuck."
A crazed laugh escaped his lips, hollow and disbelieving.
'In the year 375… that was when I died.'
He hadn't just gone back in time.
He had returned ten years into the past—but in the body of a noble scum.
Leon—no, Darius—stared at his reflection in the mirror, gripping the edges as his mind raced.
Memories that weren't his seeped into his mind like poison.
Darius Everhart.
The eldest son of Count Everhart.
A man reviled by his family, abandoned by his father, and ridiculed by the nobility.
A waste of a noble title.
A drunkard, a gambler, a womanizer.
The kind of man Leon would have spat on in his past life.
One he had indeed spat on in his past life.
No wonder the maid looked at him with disgust.
A voice echoed beside him.
"My lord, Count Everhart awaits."
The maid's voice was colder this time.
Less fearful, more irritated.
Leon straightened, inhaling deeply.
No matter how he looked at it, he had no choice but to face this reality.
The war was coming.
Ten years.
That was all he had.
His past life ended in failure. He refused to let it happen again.
Without another word, he stepped toward the door.
—
The halls of Everhart Manor were grand.
Polished marble floors, golden chandeliers.
It was a place of wealth, power, and prestige.
Leon—or rather, Darius—walked behind the maid, who led him to a massive double door.
Beyond it was his 'father.'
The doors opened.
Count Leo Everhart sat behind a large oak desk, papers neatly stacked in front of him.
He was a tall, imposing man, his sharp features and dark hair untouched by age.
His blue eyes, the same shade as Darius's, held only cold disapproval as they landed on him.
"You dare make me wait?"
Leon met the count's gaze, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.
Disgust. Resentment. And beneath it all, a lingering anger that wasn't entirely his own.
Darius hated this man.
Leon couldn't blame him.
Even without the memories of this body, Leon knew this man.
Count Leo.
Right now, he was only a five-star knight—the same rank Leon had reached in his past life.
But in ten years, this man would become one of the rare six-star powerhouses in human history.
Yet, despite his strength, Count Leo was infamous for one thing.
He was a terrible father.
Leon bowed slightly, keeping his posture controlled.
"Apologies, my lord."
The count's eyes narrowed.
"Hmph. At least you remember basic manners."
Leon said nothing.
Count Everhart leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the armrest.
"I have indulged your foolishness for far too long. Drinking, gambling, tarnishing the Everhart name. You are a disgrace."
Leon clenched his fists.
The old Darius would have flinched. Would have tried to defend himself or make excuses.
Leon simply remained silent.
The count scoffed.
"I have tolerated you only because of your blood. But no longer."
"You will leave Everhart Manor," the count continued. "From this day forward, you are stripped of your title as heir."
A noble expelling his son?
In most cases, that would have been a scandal. But for a man like Darius Everhart?
Leon exhaled slowly. He didn't care about titles. He didn't care about nobility.
But he did care about survival.
Now that he had calmed slightly from the shock of what had happened to him, he understood the advantages of nobility.
Ten years.
He needed resources, strength, power.
And Count Everhart had all of it.
Aside from that—Zephyr.
His younger brother.
A future six-star mage.
A villain to humanity.
Being here was of great advantage.
A plan formed in Leon's mind.
"My lord," Leon said carefully, "if I may make a request."
The count raised an eyebrow.
"A request? You have nothing to bargain with."
Leon met his gaze evenly.
"Then think of it as a final chance to rid yourself of a disgrace."
Silence filled the room.
Count Everhart's expression remained unreadable.
"Speak."
Leon didn't hesitate.
"Give me six months. If, by then, I remain the scum you believe me to be—then I will leave without protest."
The room was deathly quiet.
The count's gaze bored into Leon, searching.
This boy…..
He felt a bit unfamiliar.
Finally, Count Leo scoffed.
"Fine."
Leon's lips curled into a smirk.
Six months.
That was more than enough.
"I'll take my leave, then, my lord."
Count Leo didn't acknowledge him, his attention already elsewhere.
Leon turned on his heel and strode out, not giving the count a chance to reconsider.
As he walked through the halls, servants avoided his gaze, their disdain poorly hidden.
The memories of the previous Darius filled in the blanks—his past self had been nothing but a source of embarrassment for the household.
Leon couldn't care less about their opinions.
'First things first.'
He needed to test his body's capabilities.
If he wanted to survive what was to come, he had to be strong.
The old Darius had no training, no discipline.
His sword skills were nonexistent, and his physical condition was laughable for a noble-born son.
It was truly what one would expect from a scum.