The Vistro estate was no longer a quiet place. Rumors spread with alarming speed, whispered over silver trays in the dining halls and murmured in hushed tones throughout the servants’ quarters. Edward Vistro—the family’s long-standing disgrace—had not merely fought back; he had severely injured the future heir, sending shockwaves through the entire household.
Damian Vistro, eighteen years old and once the pride of the family, was carried through the inner halls by two servants. His body was limp, his breathing shallow, dried blood clinging to his hair and collar. A noblewoman with red hair crossed their path, took one look at him, and collapsed onto the marble floor without a word.
Physicians later struggled to explain his condition. The wound on his head was shallow, yet Damian refused to drink water, screaming whenever a cup was brought near him. His eyes darted wildly, unfocused, as if he were still trapped in some private nightmare.
Fear, the doctors concluded. Deep, unshakable fear.
While the main house buzzed with anxiety and restrained outrage, Edward sat alone in the exile wing, calm enough to feel out of place.
He rested at a small wooden table near the window, eating a slice of strawberry cake with deliberate slowness. He savored the sweetness, the soft texture, the faint tang of cream. Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through the trees, painting the stone walls gold.
Henry stood nearby, hands folded behind his back.
The old butler had served the Vistro family for decades. He had watched Edward grow from a quiet child into a withdrawn one, and finally into someone unrecognizable. As he observed him now, Henry realized with a faint chill that the boy’s aura had changed.
Edward’s gaze drifted past the window, toward thoughts far removed from the estate. He pictured the Western Continent as he knew it, not from maps but from memory layered over memory.
The Western Continent, known as the Human Domain, was divided into seven kingdoms. At its heart stood the Luminaris Kingdom, Edward’s home. It was a land of light and order, but also one filled with danger. Power there was decided through politics as sharp as blades, where smiles often hid betrayal.
To the north lay Aethelgard, a harsh land of stone, snow, and endless mountains, where warriors were shaped by the cold and hardship. Along the western coast was Ondaris, a kingdom that ruled the seas with fleets no other nation could rival. Deep within the continent stretched Silvanus, a realm of ancient forests where skilled archers lived among towering trees that had stood for centuries.
In the south burned Solterra, a sun-scorched land of wide plains and unmatched cavalry, where riders were said to be born in the saddle. Vaeloria stood at the center of the continent, thriving as the crossroads of trade, knowledge, and magical research. And at the far edge, bordering the Empty Lands, stood the Iron Duchy—a brutal military state hardened by constant war, and the place where the great Demon War had first begun.
Edward had ruled them all.
Across countless lives.
Through endings that came in many different forms.
For now, he was just a boy finishing dessert.
The quiet broke when hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. A young maid appeared at the doorway, breathless, whispering urgently to Henry. The butler’s expression tightened.
He then turned to Edward. "Young Master... the Lord requests your presence in the main study. Immediately."
Edward wiped his fingers with a napkin and stood.
No hesitation. No protest.
He slipped on his cloak and headed for the door. Henry moved to follow, but Edward raised a hand.
"It’s fine," he said calmly. "I’ll go alone."
Henry hesitated, then bowed. "Understood. Please... take care."
Edward walked through the manor, feeling eyes on his back. Guards, servants, even distant relatives paused to stare. He felt their confusion, their fear, their curiosity.
It exhausted him.
By the time he reached the Lord’s study, two silver-armored knights barred the entrance. They stood rigid, eyes forward, weapons crossed—not acknowledging him at all.
Edward stopped.
"...Excuse me," he said lightly. "Knights?"
Nothing.
He waited a moment longer, then sighed. He stepped forward and struck one knight’s leg with a sharp kick.
"Are you mute," Edward asked, "or just pretending?"
People in the hallway gasped. The knights lowered their heads, their helmets hiding their irritation. In his first life, Edward would have backed away at this point. Now, as with every regression, he found the situation almost amusing.
Before the second could speak, Edward struck again, this time driving his heel into the man’s knee. The knight dropped with a pained groan.
"I won’t repeat myself," Edward said, stepping past him. "The Lord summoned me. Why am I being blocked?"
"I—I can’t let you in," the remaining knight stammered.
Edward exhaled slowly.
Of course.
They wanted him to wait. To stand here. To beg. To be reminded of his place until his father decided to grant him an audience.
Every regression, Edward had to deal with this kind of aristocratic bullshit. Due to his previous lifetimes, he was already highly proficient in the martial arts, but without awakening his mana channels, he was unable to use magic for the time being.
Edward then turned away from the door.
"Where are you going?" the knight asked, stunned.
Edward didn’t look back. "Tell the Lord that if he wants to speak with me, he knows where to find me. I won’t play these games."
Inside the study, a trembling servant relayed the message.
Lord Vistro fell silent, Edward’s actions completely beyond his expectations.
From the Lord’s point of view, it was the first time Edward had ever refused to stand outside the door.
...
A/N: writing for WSA 2026. I hope you have been enjoying the story so far, I will appreciate it if you can support it with power stones and by adding it into your library.
A review would also be great!!