The name Aurelion. It was a title that once thundered across the nation, a name synonymous with salvation and unyielding strength. My father had earned it on the front lines, a war hero who became a living legend. But to the world, I was the smudge on the family crest; the son who couldn't mirror the brilliance of the father. They thought I took my life for granted, but they never saw the nights I spent trying to force an awakening that wouldn't come. I had lived in the shadow of a giant, and it had nearly swallowed me whole.
"Mister, the butler is calling you."
The tug on my sleeve pulled me from the cold depths of my memories. I looked down at Ezekiel, his young face full of a curiosity that hadn't yet been crushed by the world.
"I apologize," I said, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "I was just lost in the past. It's a habit I'm trying to break." I signaled to the stoic man waiting by the stairs. "Butler, please take him to the room I prepared. See that he has everything he needs."
Watching them disappear down the hall, I felt a small spark of satisfaction. That room had sat empty for a century in my mind; seeing it finally put to use felt like the first stitch in a new tapestry.
But now, I had to face the source of my oldest scars.
I walked toward the east wing, my footsteps echoing through halls that should have been filled with the laughter of my mother and siblings. Instead, they were cold, haunted by the ghosts of a tragedy that hadn't happened yet, a betrayal by my own uncle that would eventually wipe them all out. I wiped a stray tear from my cheek before it could fall. I couldn't afford to be a grieving son today. Today, I had to be a Mastermind.
I stopped before the towering oak doors of the study.
"Father? May I come in?"
"Come in."
The voice was like grinding stone, deep, firm, and vibrating with an authority that didn't need to be shouted. I pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
He sat behind a desk of dark mahogany, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to darken the entire office. He had the build of a man who moved mountains for a living, but it was his eyes that truly held the room captive. They were Golden, the unmistakable mark of the strongest Awakened, a tier of power so high it physically altered the iris.
I looked into those eyes, the very things I had spent my first life desperately trying to reach, and for the first time, I didn't feel small. I didn't feel like a disappointment. I felt like a player who finally understood the board.
"You're back late," he said, his gaze narrowing as he evaluated me. "And you smell like... street food and cheap coffee. Explain yourself, Erik."
The air in the office grew thick, my father's golden eyes tracking my every movement with a weight that would have crushed my younger self. But I didn't flinch.
"I went to scout a talented individual, Father," I said, my voice steady, carrying a confidence that hadn't existed in this body until today. "I would like your permission to use the family's golden stamp to sponsor the young talents I've found."
His brow furrowed, a look of genuine bewilderment breaking through his stoic mask. "I see. You no longer desire to be the strongest," he noted, and for a moment, his gaze softened into something resembling pride. "I knew you would snap out of it eventually. You looked like a madman, Erik—desperately chasing an awakening that wasn't coming."
"I know, Father," I replied, forcing a smile. Then, the question that had been burning in my chest since I woke up finally spilled out. "By the way... where are Mother and my siblings? Are they out?"
The silence that followed was deafening. My father shook his head slowly, a shadow of pity crossing his rugged features. "I see the trauma still has its claws in you. Have you forgotten? They passed away four years ago." He sighed, as if he had answered this question a hundred times before.
The world tilted. Four years ago? Ice flooded my veins. In my memory, the betrayal happened much later. I thought I had returned early enough to save them, to prevent the bloodbath that dismantled the Aurelion name. But the timeline was fractured. I wasn't just late; I was a ghost mourning a grave that was already cold.
"I... I see," I managed to choke out.
"Let's move on," he said, sensing my instability. He reached into his desk and slid the heavy, ornate golden stamp across the mahogany. "I will allow you to use what you need. Just... don't embarrass the name further."
"Thank you, Father."
I took the stamp, the metal cold against my palm. I looked at him—at the man who carried the grief of a shattered family behind a wall of muscle and golden light. "All will be well, Father," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself.
I retreated to my room, the opulence of the mansion now feeling like a gilded tomb. I sat on the edge of my bed, closed my eyes, and summoned my phone from the Inventory. The device flickered into existence, its screen glowing with the "Guide Book" that was now my only tether to reality.
If I couldn't save my past, I would damn sure own the future. I scrolled through the database, my eyes landing on three names that stood out like beacons:
Olivia: A commoner with a monstrous Magic stat of 150. In the future, her raw destructive power was used to level cities. Here, she was likely still a girl struggling to control the fire in her veins.
Liam Smith: A fallen noble. Older than Ezekiel. The name pricked at a memory—something dark, something related to the first Great Collapse.
Kai Foster: The Ghost. Strength, Agility, and Stealth stats were obscured, but his potential was flagged in red. The man who would become the world's most feared assassin was currently a nobody.
I gripped the phone tight. My mother and siblings were gone, but the uncle who betrayed them was still breathing somewhere. I had the Mastermind class, a Luck stat that defied logic, and the Golden Stamp of the Aurelion family.
It was time to stop mourning and start recruiting.
"Butler," I called out, my voice cutting through the stillness of the room. "Is the Golden Mask active? Summon them. Tell them to locate the three individuals on this list."
I handed him the slip of paper, the heavy Golden Stamp already pressed firmly into the corner. The Golden Mask was my father's shadow army, a lethal collective of assassins and informants who operated entirely on the authority of that seal. Without it, I was a nobody; with it, I had the eyes and ears of the nation.
"At once, Master," the butler replied, his fingers closing around the paper. "Anything else?"
"How is Ezekiel?" I asked, taking a slow sip of my tea.
"He is settling in well, Master. He seems... overwhelmed, but grateful." The butler bowed and exited to dispatch the message via hawk, the traditional, untraceable method of the Aurelion elite.
I watched the sun dip below the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the estate. It was strange to be back in this soft bed, surrounded by the scent of expensive linen instead of the stench of damp concrete and rot. As I closed my eyes, the luxury felt like a fragile dream.
But sleep brought no peace.
"Do it... you must succeed..."
The voice was a jagged rasp. In the dark void of the dream, a man's hand, pallid and cold, clamped around my ankle. His eyes were bloodshot, wide with a terrifying, lucid intensity, as if he could see right through the fabric of time to the soul that didn't belong here. He started to pull me down into the freezing dark.
"WHAT!"
I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was drenched in a cold sweat, the phantom grip still tingling on my skin. That wasn't a normal nightmare. It felt like a warning or a tether.
I rang the bedside bell, and a young maid scurried in. I searched my memory for her name, but a century of trauma had wiped it clean. "Call the butler," I commanded, waving her off.
Minutes later, the butler appeared. I didn't waste time. "Did the Golden Mask find them?"
I didn't expect much so soon, but the Golden Mask didn't disappoint. "They have located the first, Master. Olivia was found in the northern slums. She is currently working as a manual laborer." He handed me a report, the ink still fresh.
I looked at my reflection as I dressed. The silk suit and polished boots were a far cry from the smelly, homeless man I had been only days ago. I looked every bit the noble—sharp, calculating, and deceptively fragile.
"Good," I said, adjusting my cuffs. "Ready the carriage. And call for Ezekiel. We're heading to the slums."
It was time for the Mastermind to collect his first piece.
Current Party:
Erik: [Mastermind] - Intelligence: 100, Luck: 120.
Ezekiel: [Warrior] - Strength: 150 (Your muscle for the slums).
The slums are a dangerous place for a noble with 0 Strength. How does Ezekiel react to being brought back to a place he was trying so hard to escape?