During these past three years, since he'd mastered reading and writing thanks to his system, Arthur had developed a well-established routine.
Every evening, or when his mother was busy cooking—because yes, despite her status, Anastasia prepared their meals herself, a luxury that true nobles never allowed themselves—or gardening in the small plot of land she'd been granted, Arthur would slip into the library.
And there, he read. Devoured, rather.
Book after book, treatise after treatise, he'd absorbed a phenomenal amount of knowledge about this strange world he'd reincarnated into.
What had only been intuition before had become absolute certainty: this world was the exact opposite of the one he came from.
This world was made up of three massive continents, each dominated by complex feudal power structures.
The continent where he lived was called Ostreth. It was governed by three powerful clans who shared power in a precarious balance maintained for centuries:
∙ The Berhers (his own family, unfortunately)
∙ The Tartles
∙ The Wertos
Each clan controlled vast territories, private armies, and above all… bloodlines of power passed down from generation to generation.
But the most fascinating—and frustrating—discovery concerned magic.
This world operated on a mana system, a mystical energy present in all living things.
Around age ten, when a child's body was sufficiently developed, they naturally began to form a mana core in their abdomen. Once this core was successfully formed, the child became Awakened.
From there, everything was a matter of refinement, training, and talent.
The power ranks followed a strict hierarchy:
1. Awakened (beginner)
2. Master
3. Prime
4. Grand Master
5. Sovereign
6. Paragon
7. Demi-God (absolute peak)
Each clan was protected by at least one Demi-God—beings whose power exceeded understanding, capable of razing cities with a gesture, splitting mountains, controlling elements on a cataclysmic scale.
Beings who are basically living gods, Arthur thought with a mix of excitement and apprehension.Every living being was born with an elemental affinity—fire, water, earth, air, light, darkness, and many other rarer variants. This affinity didn't directly depend on family lineage; it was unique to each individual, like a spiritual fingerprint.
However, the great noble families possessed something far more precious: bloodlines.
A bloodline was a hereditary power, a special ability passed from parent to child through blood. This was what allowed great clans like the Berhers to maintain their supremacy for centuries.
So even in a world of magic, blood and birth determine everything. Fucking caste system.
And then there was that.
Those mysterious particles Arthur had seen since birth.
At first, he hadn't understood what they represented. But after months of observation and reading, a theory had emerged: each particle color probably corresponded to an elemental affinity or a person's mana density.
The first time he'd seen his father—that day was burned into his memory—he'd been struck by the difference.
Around him, his mother, all the ordinary servants, the particles floated chaotically, disorganized, weak and scattered.
But around Aldric Berher?
Intense scarlet red particles danced around him in perfect synchronization. They swirled in complex geometric formations, pulsing with palpable, dangerous, almost living power.
That's the difference between an ordinary civilian and a high-level fighter…
Since entering this huge hall, Arthur had discreetly observed every person present, activating his special vision.
His older sister, Nyssal—that cold white-haired little girl—was surrounded by silvery white particles, almost grey, that shone with remarkable intensity. They danced vividly around her, vibrant and surprisingly organized for someone her age.
Damn… She's extremely gifted. At only eight years old, she must be close to forming her mana core. Maybe she's even already awakened it.
That was extraordinary. Most children didn't even start forming their core before ten. If Nyssal succeeded at eight—or even earlier—it made her an absolute prodigy, the kind of genius who appeared once per generation.
No wonder she's got that superior air. She's probably got the right to be arrogant.
His twin brothers, Dyson and Ericson, showed green particles, slightly disorganized but clearly denser than ordinary servants. They were normal for children their age who'd received basic training.
Not exceptional, but not mediocre either. They'll probably form their cores around ten or eleven, like most people.
His eldest brother, Eric—that arrogant fifteen-year-old—was surrounded by a mix of blue and red particles dancing in complex formations. Not as structured as their father's, but impressive for someone his age.
He's already awakened his core for several years. He must be at advanced Awakened rank, maybe even at the threshold of Master rank.
The two wives (or high-ranking concubines) of his father also showed organized particles—less than Aldric's, but denser and more structured than average.
They're trained fighters, not just decorative nobles.
And everywhere in the hall, Arthur saw dozens of other people—high-ranking servants, advisors, guards—each with their own particles of varied colors and intensities.
He'd never been in contact with so many people at once. He'd never seen such diversity of colors, patterns, intensities.
It was… dizzying.But there had been an even more important development.
Over time, Arthur had learned to control this vision.
At first, the particles were always visible, a constant overlay on his normal perception—distracting, sometimes overwhelming.
But now?
He could turn it on and off at will, like flipping a light switch.
A mental switch, he thought with satisfaction, temporarily deactivating his special vision.
The particles disappeared instantly, leaving normal perception of the world.
Handy. Very handy.
Standing in this great hall, surrounded by his hostile and contemptuous family, Arthur kept a neutral three-year-old's face.
But behind that innocent mask, his adult mind analyzed, calculated, planned.
Nyssal is a real genius, probably the most dangerous in the long run. Eric is arrogant but already powerful. The twins are still young, maybe manipulable. Father… Father is a monster.
He glanced discreetly at his mother, still with her head bowed, humiliated.
I still have seven years before I can form my mana core. Seven long years.
But that's okay. I have a system. I have my memories of a previous life. I have this unique vision.
I'll find a way to become strong. And when that day comes…
His red eyes gleamed with cold determination.
No one will be able to despise us anymore.Suddenly, the huge hall doors burst open with a resounding crash.
The murmur of conversations died instantly. All eyes converged on the entrance.
A man had just appeared.
He was tall—even taller than Aldric—with an imposing build that breathed natural authority. His hair was immaculate white, identical to Arthur's father's, but styled with casual elegance that gave him a less austere air. His eyes, the same scarlet red characteristic of the Berher clan, shone with a warm but penetrating gleam.
And his face…
Damn. This guy is ridiculous.
Even with his jaded adult mind, Arthur couldn't help but notice this man was absolutely supernaturally beautiful. Perfectly sculpted features, a chiseled jaw, a disarming smile that made all the Hollywood actors from his former life pale in comparison.
It's unfair. Nobody should be this good-looking.
The tension in the hall became palpable. The atmosphere changed dramatically, as if the air itself had thickened.
Arthur saw his father, Aldric, stiffen imperceptibly. An indecipherable gleam passed through his red eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Aldric asked in a cold, almost accusatory voice.
But despite the hostile tone, he stepped forward and bowed slightly—a gesture of minimal but obligatory respect.
"My brother. What an honor."
The man—Aldric's brother, then—smiled broadly, a warm smile that contrasted violently with the icy atmosphere.
"Come now, Aldric. Is this how you welcome your elder?" He opened his arms in a theatrical gesture. "I came to pay my respects and greet your son. Isn't that natural? As an uncle, it's my duty to attend my nephew's birthday."
Aldric stared at him with a scrutinizing gaze, suspicion obvious in his eyes.
"You didn't attend the twins' birthday last year," he said curtly. "So why show up now for…"
He left the end of his sentence hanging, but the implication was clear: for a mere bastard?
The man's smile didn't weaken an inch.
"Ah, you still hold that against me?" He sighed with fake contrition. "I explained I was busy. A problem in the northern territories—some damn wild dog daring to attack our borders. I had to handle it personally."
He made a casual hand gesture.
"I'm making up for it today. So, will you introduce me to my nephew, brother?"
Aldric imperceptibly clenched his jaw, but said nothing.
At that precise moment, all the nobles present in the hall—advisors, vassals, wives, high-ranking servants—rose as one and bowed deeply.
"Lord Marquoc!" they chanted in unison. "Greetings to the Family Head!"
Marquoc. Marquoc Berher. So it's him…
Arthur observed the scene with fascination. Even his father's wives, those haughty women who'd despised him minutes earlier, bowed respectfully before this man.
But he noticed something interesting.
The first wife—the icy-eyed blonde—had a tight face, furrowed brows, clenched teeth. She was furious.
Why is she angry?
Arthur discreetly turned his head toward his mother. Anastasia was watching the scene with an indecipherable expression, but he heard a barely audible murmur near them.
One servant was whispering to another:
"He didn't even come for the twins' birthday, but he shows up for some poor bastard's? What can you expect from such an unpredictable guy…"
Ah. So his presence here is… unusual. Significant, even.
Marquoc finally stepped toward Arthur, supremely ignoring the confused and tense looks from the assembled nobles.
He stopped in front of the little boy and crouched slightly to be at his level, his smile still in place.
"So you're Arthur?"
His red eyes scrutinized the child's face with surprising intensity.
Arthur held his gaze without blinking. Then, pushed by an impulse, he activated his special vision.
And there…
What… What the…?!
He was literally dazzled.
It wasn't simply particles. It was an ocean of power.
Deep blue particles, a blue so intense and magnificent they seemed to absorb the surrounding light. They didn't float chaotically—no, they were structured in complex geometric formations, three-dimensional patterns that overlapped like living fractals.
These particles danced with hypnotic grace, pulsing to the rhythm of an invisible heart. And instead of simply swirling around Marquoc, they formed something more elaborate: a kind of luminous shield that enveloped his body several meters away.
Arthur felt something emanating from these particles. Something paradoxical.
Warm… but deadly.
Like a fireplace fire that comforts, but can also consume everything.
What kind of monster is this? Never… I've never seen particles this structured, this powerful, this intense.
Compared to his father Aldric—who'd already seemed terrifying—Marquoc was on a completely different power scale.
So it's him. The true Berher Family Head.
Marquoc tilted his head slightly, his smile becoming more enigmatic.
"Interesting…" he murmured, so low only Arthur could hear.
Arthur felt a shiver run down his spine.
He… He noticed something?
Marquoc's gaze was too penetrating, too calculating. As if he was evaluating Arthur, as if he saw something others didn't.
Shit. He's dangerous. Way more dangerous than father.
But against all odds, Marquoc's smile widened—a genuine smile, almost… amused?
"Well, little nephew," he said aloud, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Happy birthday."
He extended a large, calloused hand toward Arthur.
"I'm Marquoc Berher. Your uncle. And I think…"
His red eyes gleamed with a mysterious light.
"…you and I are going to have a lot of fun."