The rain in the Luxmore Duchy didn't wash away the dirt; it turned the world into a gray, suffocating shroud.
Arain stood on the jagged ridge overlooking the valley. Below him, sprawling like a sleeping predator, lay the Luxmore Manor. Its high white walls and golden spires, usually symbols of divine purity, looked like bleached ribs under the moonlight.
He was Level 20 now. His mana veins were wider, his senses so sharp he could hear the rhythmic breathing of the guards hundreds of meters away. But as he looked at the window of the North Tower—his former prison—his breath hitched.
[Warning: Heart rate elevated. Psychological stress detected.]
"Quiet," Arain muttered, clutching his chest.
It wasn't fear. It was the physical memory of the six-year-old body he inhabited. This body remembered the cold stone floors. It remembered the hunger that clawed at its stomach while his 'Hero' brother feasted on enchanted venison downstairs.
He took a step forward, his boots sinking into the mud. He could have used [Shadow Leap] to bypass the gates in a second. But he didn't. He wanted to walk. He wanted to feel every inch of the land that had rejected him.
"Arain..." A voice whispered in his mind. It wasn't the System. it was the echo of his past self, the one who died in the dark.
Why go back? We were free in the forest.
"Freedom without justice is just another cage," Arain replied aloud, his voice raspy.
He reached the perimeter fence. Instead of breaking it, he placed his hand on the cold iron. He closed his eyes, letting his [Abyss Sense] bleed into the ground. He didn't just see the mana; he felt the emotions of the house. The arrogance of the knights, the fear of the servants, and the cold, stagnant indifference of his father, the Duke.
[Quest Update: The Fall of the First House.]
[Objective 1: Infiltration (Passive Phase).]
[Note: Direct confrontation with the Duke at Level 20 is not advised. Strategic subversion recommended.]
"I'm not here to burn it down... yet," Arain whispered.
He moved like a ghost through the gardens. He remembered the exact blind spots of the magical wards—spots he had discovered as a hungry child looking for fallen fruit. He reached the servant's entrance, a small wooden door hidden behind overgrown ivy.
He paused. In his peripheral vision, he saw his reflection in a rainwater puddle.
A small boy with silvery-tipped hair and eyes that looked like they had seen the end of time. He looked like a doll, fragile and pale. But inside this doll sat a soul that had commanded legions.
"Tonight," Arain murmured, "the trash comes home to roost."
He didn't use force. He whispered a low-tier shadow spell, tricking the lock into thinking a key had turned. The door creaked open with a groan that sounded like a sigh of relief.
The smell of lavender and expensive wax hit him—the smell of the Luxmore wealth. It made him nauseous.
He slipped into the shadows of the hallway, his 'Monarch's Pressure' suppressed to a pinpoint. He wasn't a hunter tonight; he was a virus. And by the time they realized he was there, the infection would be terminal.
Arain began his climb toward the upper floors, each step a silent promise of the reckoning to come.
Author's Note:
"The return of the Cursed Prince. 🌑
Instead of a grand entrance, Arain chooses the path of a shadow. This chapter focuses on the internal struggle of a man trapped in a child's body, facing the trauma of his past.
We are now entering the Infiltration Arc. How will the Duke react when he realizes the 'Mistake' is breathing the same air as him?
For the Fresh Stories readers: If you felt that chill down your spine, hit the Collection button! We are moving toward the final confrontation, and every Power Stone counts! 💎💀"