He honestly wished he had awakened in the body of a poor sap without much familial baggage.

"More salt," he commanded.

"Yes, young lord." A maid swiftly replaced the empty shaker with a full one.

He glanced at her briefly, and she hastily retreated, eyes wide with fear.

Noticing his gaze, she visibly shivered before scurrying back to the shadows of the dining room.

He scoffed and sprinkled a generous amount of salt over his eggs. His appetite was practically nonexistent, and only heavily seasoned food seemed remotely palatable.

Mystery number one: Two days ago, he found himself in this world in the body of this 'Young Lord,' presumably the son of a high-ranking noble.

He hadn't dared to explore much, barely managing to locate the bathroom. Servants attended his every need, a manor so vast he hadn't seen all the rooms, enjoyed gourmet meals, slept on a bed with gold-threaded sheets, and carried a reputation for being irritable and demanding. It certainly beat his previous life of hardship, at least. Maybe.

Luckily, the language was the same; the servants still hadn't figured out he was utterly clueless about his new life.

"I'm finished," he declared, pushing his plate of untouched pastries away. Even with the sugar, the food still tasted bland.

As the servants cleared the table and opened the door for him, he glanced around.

Everyone he made eye contact with seemed to shrink away. The table was hastily cleared, and they assembled to see him out. He left the lounge between rows of bowing servants and retraced the path to his room he had painstakingly memorized over the past few days.

The past two days had been chaotic. Between fooling the servants and learning his way around without raising suspicion, he barely had time to rest.

Just figuring out the route from his room to the dining room was stressful. Damn nobles. Why did they have to walk halfway across the manor just for a meal?

The mansion was extravagant and cluttered in a way only immense wealth could justify.

His bedroom was no different. All blue satin and plush rugs, a massive bed surrounded by heavy curtains dominated the center of the room, its headboard intricately carved with scenes of mythical battles.

He paused in front of a full-body mirror framed in ornate gold. A teenager with a sharp jaw, piercing violet eyes, and long black hair stared back at him. Despite his complaints about the circumstances, at least the meat suit was handsome… and strong.

He grabbed one side of the mirror and heaved. The decorative frame rose effortlessly, the top just brushing the ceiling. He didn't know exactly how heavy the mirror was, but it shouldn't have been so easy for him to lift with a single hand.

He had noticed it the second day, after panicking the entirety of the first, some kind of power that coursed through him like warm water through his veins. He wasn't alone in possessing this power either, as some of his guards felt the same way about him, if at varying levels of intensity.

Mystery number two: Magic powers, but what he could do with them beyond super strength, he didn't know. Whether someone could use that magic to expose him, he also didn't know.

He stared at himself in the mirror, and in the following second, golden words burned in the reflection.

Name: Victor Drakonis

Stage: Mana Condensation

Cores:

* Mortal Core - Blank

* Spirit Core - Blank

* Earth Core - Blank

He looked to the side to see the exact words still burning in the air, not matching up with the reflection at all. What did they mean? He had no clue. He could certainly use some charity right now, though.

No pressure.

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Mystery number three: His memory.

Despite the Healer lady's assurances that clarity would return in a matter of hours, the wall in his memories lifted only partially, revealing glimpses of a childhood that felt both intimately familiar and unsettlingly alien.

The memories were not a continuous narrative but somewhat scattered snapshots—emotional flashes that came without warning, leaving behind a residue of feelings he couldn't quite place.

As he grappled with the shards of his disjointed memories, he faced a daunting possibility— the boy's soul might meld with his own, altering who he was. The doubt lingered in his thoughts like a shadow. Yet, he resolved to embrace the supportive feelings that bubbled up within him and to push away those that seemed harmful. Not like there was any other way…

For now, all he needed was time to piece together the full scope of his memories.

A knock on the door disturbed his musing.

"Enter."

At his bidding, an older man entered the room. His posture was impeccable, exuding an air of refined authority. Dressed in a tailored butler's suit with crisp white gloves, his silver hair was slicked back neatly, and his piercing blue eyes radiated intelligence and loyalty.

His clean-shaven face added to his distinguished appearance, giving him the aura of a character straight out of the classics. He was the most important servant in the estate, wielding not only exceptional strength but also a keen strategic mind. At least, that was how he felt looking at the man.

He called him Mr. Butler.

Mr. Butler was also the only one in the entire estate who was not afraid of him. Damn, if he didn't know why, though.

"How is your health, young lord?" Mr. Butler inquired with genuine concern.

"Terrible," he said.

Mr. Butler looked at him strangely. Sure, it was a lame excuse, but he should have expected—oh, the mirror.

He let it go, and it fell with a bang. He took some pleasure that he wasn't alone in jumping at the sound.

Mr. Butler finally gathered his thoughts, clasping his hands and bowing low. "Young lord, my apologies, but we can't delay anymore." Mr. Butler sounded severe this time; weaseling his way out of this one would be difficult.

"If I don't want to rush, then I won't. Who dares to make me?" He slipped quickly into the role of an arrogant noble, despite his middle-class background screaming in protest.

"I understand, Young lord, but this will significantly impact your academy standing. You might even fail this semester."

This Young Lord had too many damn problems. How bad was his score that a week of rest could lead to failure?

"Just send some bribe to compensate. I'm not feeling well." Probably rude, but he didn't care. Whatever reputation this body had wasn't as crucial as his safety, and if it meant he'd get fewer interactions in the future, then all the better.

At least he could use money to solve his problems; being a Young Lord is good.

Though his health excuse was already wearing thin, but he couldn't help it.

Fooling the servants was one thing; the hierarchy prevented them from asking too many questions. Fellow nobles or, god forbid, friends? They'd realize something was wrong in an instant.

Mr. Butler frowned but remained composed, his eyes betraying a hint of concern. "Young lord, the academy is not something that can be easily bribed. Especially for the end semester result. If discovered, it could tarnish the family name."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "When are the end-of-semester exams?" he asked, hoping for some leeway.

"They begin in four weeks," Mr. Butler replied.

Four weeks. Panic fluttered in his chest, but he masked it with a curt nod. "Fine," he said, thinking quickly. "I will join the academy one week before the exams. That should be enough time."

He couldn't afford more time at the academy. The more time he spent there, the more likely someone would notice something amiss. The mounting pressure was becoming unbearable, and he couldn't risk drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

Before Mr. Butler could press further, he shifted the focus. "Bring me all the academy books to my bedroom. I'll study here."

Mr. Butler's expression softened slightly, relief washing over his face. "As you wish, young lord. I will have all the necessary materials brought to you immediately."

At least he could get some information in the safety of his room. "Bring all the previous year's books too. And make sure no one disturbs me while I study."

"The previous years' books?" Mr. Butler's questioning gaze lingered momentarily before he regained his composure. "Of course. I'll ensure you have all the materials."

With that, Mr. Butler left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He glanced at the mirror, reflecting his body. Was this really his life now? A noble scion with power and influence, yet trapped by expectations and responsibilities?

Mr. Butler returned shortly, his steps nearly silent on the plush carpet as he carried a few books.

Less than he thought… Maybe it was not all that bad.

Mr. Butler carefully placed the books on the desk and then straightened up, a hint of hesitation in his demeanor. "Young lord," he began hesitantly, "there is one more matter we need to address."

"What is it now?" he asked, exasperated.

Mr. Butler paused, choosing his words with care. "Would you like me to write a letter about the poison to the young lady?"

He looked up, puzzled. "The young lady?"

"Yes, Young lord," Mr. Butler confirmed, his tone respectful. "Your fiancée."

He felt a shock course through him. Fiancée?