---
[Host, the system will enter dormancy until your mana is awakened.]
[A manaless vessel cannot sustain my presence.]
[I am now bound to your power.]
[System wishes the Host success.]
---
Silence followed.
Veyron exhaled slowly.
So the leash was gone—for now.
After organizing his thoughts, he decided to cleanse both body and mind first.
"Emmy," he called calmly.
The door opened immediately.
"Yes, Young Master?"
"Prepare my bath."
"At once."
Emmy moved swiftly, her motions precise and careful. She had served Veyron since childhood and knew better than to make unnecessary noise or ask questions. Within minutes, steam filled the chamber as a pristine porcelain bathtub—white as moonlight and etched with intricate mana-conducting patterns—was prepared.
The tub alone was worth more than most noble estates.
Veyron lowered himself into the warm water, letting the heat seep into his muscles.
As the steam curled around him, his thoughts sharpened.
Mana Awakening.
The process itself was simple—but privacy was expensive.
One could awaken at the World Association, but that came with chains: contracts, surveillance, and years of mandatory service depending on the quality of one's awakening.
Veyron scoffed internally.
Why would he ever become a hound for the Association?
He was the heir of the Blackvale Family, a financial empire that ruled multiple industries—chief among them, Mana Stone refinement and trade.
Private awakening required two things:
A Mana Chamber, capable of maintaining a stable and pure mana flow.
And a Mana Gem.
Mana Gems were rare cores formed within Rank C–class monsters and above. Their drop rate was abysmal. For commoners, the Association shared a single Mana Gem among thousands during mass awakenings.
But for Veyron—
That limitation did not exist.
In his previous life, when he turned fifteen, his father—Lucien von Blackvale, the head of the family—had personally given him a Rank A Mana Gem for his awakening before academy enrollment.
This time, he would not wait that long.
The bathwater rippled as Veyron stood.
Droplets slid down his lean frame. His jet-black hair clung to his skin, framing a face far too refined for a thirteen-year-old. Standing just over five and a half feet, he was already taller than most of his peers.
Handsome.
Elegant.
Dangerous.
Even as a child, he had drawn attention—and fear.
His mind drifted to a memory.
Years ago, at a noble gathering, a jealous child had shoved him into an adult pool.
He had nearly drowned.
He remembered the sensation clearly—the crushing weight, the silence beneath the surface.
He had been pulled out quickly by an older teen.
When his father learned of it, the banquet nearly turned into a massacre.
Lucien von Blackvale had been moments away from erasing an entire bloodline before his wife intervened.
Elara Raven-Blackvale.
Calm. Graceful. Merciless beneath her smile.
She dismissed it as a child's mistake.
No one believed her.
Everyone present knew the truth.
The Ravens and the Blackvales were monsters wearing noble skins. Only a handful of families in the world could stand against them—and none wanted to.
What chilled the witnesses most, however, wasn't Lucien's rage.
It was Veyron himself.
At six years old, after nearly drowning, he had calmly coughed out the water and walked toward his mother—ignoring the panicked physician examining him.
"Veyron," Elara had asked softly, kneeling before him, "are you hurt?"
"Mother," he had replied flatly, crimson eyes devoid of fear, "tell the attendants to replace my clothes. That child ruined them."
Adults had gone pale.
Children had frozen.
For a moment, everyone forgot his age.
That day, whispers began.
The Cold Devil.
From then on, nobles avoided him at gatherings. Children kept their distance. Parents pulled their heirs away whenever he approached.
Veyron had welcomed it.
He never liked unnecessary proximity.
After that incident, his parents stopped discussing early awakening. Instead, they showered him with warmth, believing affection might soften the chill in his heart.
They were wrong.
Warmth never melted stone.
Standing before the mirror now, Veyron watched his reflection silently.
"This time," he murmured, eyes sharp and unyielding,
"I won't wait for fate to knock."
"I'll force it open."
---