Four years passed.
For most people, time is an unstoppable rushing river, dragging everything mercilessly toward decay and death. But for Calian Larvin, time had become soft clay—a material he could shape, mold, and stretch as he pleased.
From a distance, the West Pavilion looked pitiful. Its stone walls were covered in thick, damp green moss. The roof tilted as if tired of holding up the sky, and thorny bushes grew wild over the stone path, creating a perfect illusion of an abandoned building waiting to collapse. This was the mask Calian wore for the outside world: a ruin for the worthless "crippled child."
However, stepping through that heavy oak door was like crossing into another dimension.
The interior of the West Pavilion sparkled with timeless luxury. The white marble floor was so clean it could serve as a mirror for anyone walking on it. A thick red velvet carpet stretched out, absorbing the sound of footsteps without holding a single speck of dust.
Intricate crystal chandeliers glowed warmly from the ceiling. The candles inside burned eternally with a calm flame—a small miracle where Calian always rewound time on their wicks whenever they burned low, creating endless light.
In the center of the spacious main hall, which he had now turned into his private study and library, Calian sat back on a comfortable black leather sofa.
He was now sixteen years old.
Physically, he looked stunning, surpassing the standard of ordinary noble handsomeness. His purple hair had grown slightly long, falling over his forehead in a messy yet elegant style. His skin was pale and smooth like porcelain, without a single scar, pimple, or blemish—the result of an obsessive morning routine where he used Reversion magic on his own skin cells to maintain prime condition. He was an eternal teenager trapped in artificial perfection, a living statue untouched by the normal cellular aging process.
In his slender hand, he held a letter with a sea-blue wax seal—a letter from his mother, Duchess Elara.
"...Your Father is getting busier strengthening the eastern border. Rumors say there is strange movement from barbarian tribes. Your brother, Alaric, was just appointed Young Commander of the Griffin Squad, an achievement that made your Father smile widely for the first time this year. Beren is designing a new defense strategy in the north. They all shine under the imperial sun, Calian. But for me, the most beautiful light and the one that calms my heart the most is knowing you are safe in your own world, far from this bloody intrigue. Don't worry about Mother. Stay hidden. Stay a shadow until you are truly ready..."
Calian folded the letter carefully, following the original creases, then put it into a carved ebony box already full of similar letters. That was his treasure. The only emotional connection he had with the outside world that had thrown him away.
"Mother says I am safe." Calian mumbled, his voice echoing softly in the quiet room, bouncing between the towering bookshelves. "But she doesn't know how boring this safety is."
He stared boredly at a cold cup of porcelain tea on the table in front of him.
Snap.
He snapped his fingers.
"Reversion."
No long incantations, no magic circles. Just pure will. Hot steam instantly billowed back from the cup, dancing in the air. The cold, still tea liquid churned gently, becoming boiling hot, exactly as it was when freshly brewed an hour ago. The scent of jasmine tea wafted fresh again.
Calian sipped it slowly. Hot, sweet, perfect. Yet, this perfection felt empty on his tongue.
During four years of seclusion, Calian had mastered the five basic aspects of the Time Loop with terrifying proficiency. He could freeze a fly buzzing in the air (Stasis), leaving it hanging motionless while the world spun on. He could make a flower bud bloom into beautiful petals and then wither into dust in seconds (Age Manipulation). He could repair an ancient porcelain vase shattered into pieces back to flawless powder-free wholeness, as if the destruction never happened (Reversion).
He had become a small god in this palace of dust. The absolute ruler of his domain.
But right now, he was lonely. No friends to talk to other than his own shadow. No sparring partners to test the limits of his power. Only poor moles he used as test subjects, and his mother's letters which he read repeatedly until he memorized every dot and comma.
"I need fresh air." Calian decided suddenly. He set his cup down a bit roughly, making a loud clinking sound. "And I need a living target bigger and more complex than a rat."
Tonight was a full moon.
Through the clear glass window, he could see silver light illuminating the Larvin Forest located right behind the pavilion. That forest was the border of his father's territory, a wild zone where low to mid-level monsters often wandered from the mountains. A dangerous place for ordinary humans, a place where young knights trained to forge their courage, but for Calian tonight, it was a playground.
He stood up, putting on a simple black robe made of rough material to cover his noble silk clothes. He tucked a silver dagger at his waist and grabbed a wooden practice sword he had modified with iron weights.
Calian opened the second-floor window. The night wind hit his face. Without hesitation, he jumped down, landing lightly on the grass thanks to micro-time manipulation that slowed gravity around his feet just before touching the ground.
In an instant, his figure vanished, swallowed by the dense darkness of the forest.
The night forest was alive in its own way. The sound of crickets chirping, tree branches brushing in the wind, and distant howls of wild beasts created a gripping symphony of the wild.
Calian moved silently among the large trees. His footsteps were as light as the wind, breaking no dry twigs underneath. He possessed no Mana Core to strengthen his leg muscles like knights, but he had something better: absolute confidence that he could erase any mistake that occurred. Fear of death or permanent injury no longer haunted him. To him, mistakes were just drafts that could be revised.
His goal tonight was simple yet ambitious: To test the limits of Reversion on a fatal wound of a living creature with a complex body structure. Rats were too simple; their biological systems were not complicated enough to simulate a human. He needed something bigger. Something that could kill.