Lucius sat alone in his room, his mind still replaying the dining hall scene from ago. No one had acknowledged him. No greetings, no words—just cold silence. He had been seated at the farthest end, like some distant relative of no significance.
That was the moment he fully understood his place in this family.
Cassius, Julius, the others—they were standing at the peak, while he was left at the bottom. A failure. A disgrace.
But that would change.
Lucius clenched his fists, staring at them. He had to reclaim his power. But there was a problem—
"This body is too weak."
The Ardentis family was famous for their Magic Swordsmen, warriors who combined swordsmanship with powerful magic. They wielded their mana through Magic Circles—the foundation of all spellcasting.
A newborn noble had zero circles. A six-year-old, if they were talented, would form their first circle. A genius, by the age of six, could have two circles. Three circles at six years old? That was a once-in-a-generation prodigy.
In his past life—before awakening in this fragile shell—magic had come easily to him. The flow of mana had been as natural as breathing. But now?
Nothing.
No matter how many times he tried to feel his mana, all he met was silence.
For the next seven days, Lucius locked himself in his room, training tirelessly. He meditated, concentrated, tried to recall the feeling of power—but his body refused to respond.
No flicker of mana. No spark. Nothing.
His head ached from exhaustion, his limbs trembled from constant strain, but he didn't stop.
"I refuse to be weak."
The frustration built inside him, suffocating. Was he truly powerless? Had this new body erased everything he once was?
No. That wasn't possible.
"There must be a way."
At the end of the second week, something changed.
Lucius sat cross-legged on the floor, his breathing slow and steady. He pushed everything else out of his mind—his failures, his past, his frustrations—and simply existed.
He focused on his heartbeat. The blood flowing through his veins. The warmth in his chest.
And then—
A flicker.
Lucius's eyes snapped open.
He felt it.
A faint, barely noticeable pulse of energy—like a dying ember struggling to stay lit.
His breathing grew heavier. It was small, but it was there.
"I was right."
With trembling hands, Lucius reached for that ember. Slowly. Carefully. If he forced it, he might lose it again.
The ember pulsed in response.
And for the first time in two weeks—a spark of mana flowed through his body.
It was weak, unstable, but it was enough.
"I can do this."
A grin spread across Lucius's face.
This was just the beginning.