Now, Charles had planned to blend into obscurity, to remain a shadow within the walls of the West family’s vast estate, enjoying the luxuries of noble life in peace. But that peace shattered far sooner than expected. After his elder brother's fall from grace, his other siblings’ cruelty took him by surprise; in half a month, he’d survived no fewer than ten attempts on his life.

Their message was clear: eliminate him before his enlightenment ceremony.

Anxiety prickled his senses. Charles hadn’t sought conflict, but conflict had found him. He couldn’t let anyone treat him as prey. This ceremony would be his first step towards survival, maybe more. He had to succeed—not just to gain his family’s favor, but to ensure he’d live to see the next day.

Exhaustion clawed at him; he hadn’t slept in two days. Beside him was his only protection, an old knight named Lawrence, whose loyalty was steadfast even if his battle skills had waned. Though he was just a first-tier knight, worth perhaps half an ordinary knight in strength, Lawrence’s loyalty was invaluable.

With a sigh, Charles bit the white glove in his hand, caught between frustration and dread. He was only twelve, hardly old enough to understand the stakes, yet already immersed in the merciless world of nobility. Why did his brothers and sisters seek his life, a mere child who posed no threat to the family title?

If not for his mature mind—a relic of his former life as a traveler from another world—he’d have perished in those early ambushes. In truth, he had no desire to contend for the dukedom. But he had to survive, and to survive, he needed to capture his father’s attention through the enlightenment ceremony.

His twelfth birthday, now just half a month away, would be the day he’d face this rite. With Hu Li searching for the Saint Crystal and a stash of magic potions to boost his odds, he dared hope this ceremony might turn in his favor.

As his anxieties eased, Charles allowed his sapphire eyes to close briefly. Half a month—that was all he needed to endure. And perhaps, he thought with a faint smile, anyone would be tempted by the lure of such mysterious, powerful abilities.

“Lawrence,” he said, his voice low, “do you think I’ll succeed in my enlightenment?”

They had left restaurant’s crowded restaurant and now traveled across the quiet, cobbled streets. Charles, unable to ride, sat nestled in Lawrence’s arms as they rode.

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The old knight tightened his hold, his weathered face softening. He’d been a soldier in the empire, losing a hand to war, and had since devoted himself to Charles since the boy’s third birthday. In his gravelly, earnest tone, he answered, “You will, young master! You’ll bear the blue-blood honor of the West family, maybe even become a great storm god like your ancestor.”

Charles kept his silence. The West family’s prized blue blood derived from a forebear who had reached the ninth sequence, a legendary figure known as the Storm God of War. Starting as a mere wind warrior, his achievements had cemented the West family’s place among the empire’s elite.

It was every child’s dream in the West family to follow in his footsteps—to become a wind warrior, a bearer of blue-blooded nobility. Both Charles’ brother and father had awakened to this warrior path, indicating that Charles, too, had a strong chance of bearing their bloodline’s power.

But his thoughts wandered to the towering statue of his ancestor—a figure he found more unsettling than inspiring. For Charles, this ancient warrior didn’t resemble an idol of glory; more like a ghost from some battle-ridden past. Those who’d played a game from his former world would agree he looked like a menacing version of the wind-man archetype, encased in the heavy armor of a distant era.

Still, the allure of a wind warrior’s power couldn’t be dismissed so easily.

“We’re here, young master.” Lawrence’s words broke through his reverie as he pulled the horse to a halt. Gently, he helped Charles down and led the horse to the stables.

The manor loomed before Charles, with its sprawl of castles—a testament to the West family’s wealth. The main castle housed the Duke, his children, and his six duchesses in their shared quarters. The grandeur of it never failed to weigh on Charles’ shoulders.

He walked purposefully toward the castle entrance, his steps quiet on the silk-carpeted halls, avoiding the eyes of the two knights on duty—third-tier warriors, loyal to his father’s cause. He preferred to remain unseen, to keep the peace.

But peace was short-lived.

A sharp blow to the knee sent Charles crashing to the ground, his head smacking the cold floor. Pain lanced up his leg where a red welt was already forming from the kick of a high-heeled shoe. Biting his lip to hold back a cry, he felt a stiletto press between his shoulder blades, pinning him down.

“Why, isn’t this my darling little brother, Charles?” A mocking voice laced with malice taunted him. He knew this voice all too well.

Leia West—his eighteen-year-old sister, a third-tier Storm Attendant. This same woman had tormented him since he was ten, delighting in a twisted game of domination.

Golden curls brushed his cheek, and a sickly-sweet perfume lingered as her porcelain-doll face loomed above him. But Charles knew her true nature, lurking behind those doll-like features. She was a predator.

“Such pretty eyes,” she purred, tugging Charles’ hair painfully, her manicured nails tracing his cheek. Her own eyes sparkled with a twisted joy as her grip tightened, dragging him like a doll across the floor, heels clicking against the carpet.

With a smirk, she yanked him to his feet and opened the door to her chamber. Her high-heeled foot nudged him forward as he stumbled into the darkened room.

With a resonant thud, the door shut behind them.