Darkness engulfed Dravien as he waited patiently. Each moment stretched unbearably long, his excitement growing instead of fading. He almost laughed at himself. He felt like an adolescent about to taste human blood for the first time.

  Slowly, the darkness lifted.

  Blurry shapes formed, then sharpened into clarity. Sound crashed into him all at once. Laughter. Mockery. His heart thundered in his chest as he drew a deep breath, taking in the scent of dust, sweat, and stone, along with the taste of something unpleasant.

  Leather?

  He blinked.

  Had the reincarnation disrupted his senses? That was the only reasonable explanation. Why else would he be lying face down, his tongue pressed against a boot? Perhaps it was a human custom. Or perhaps humans simply had strange tastes.

  Before he could think further, another voice intruded.

  It did not come from the courtyard.

  It echoed directly within his mind.

  “Fuck these bastards. I will make them pay one day, even if it is the last thing I ever do. If only I was strong enough, I could…”

  Dravien stiffened.

  This voice was not speaking to him.

  It was thinking.

  As his awareness deepened, he felt the body tremble with fury. Muscles tensed. Sweat trickled down a young forehead. Rage burned hot and raw.

  He was not in control.

  He was sharing this body with another consciousness.

  How inconvenient.

  The Hero’s offer had sounded too generous to be without consequence. Of course there were conditions. Dravien found himself more annoyed than alarmed. Seizing control later would not be difficult. Mortal wills were fragile things.

  For now, he observed.

  The body struggled to move, trying to lift its head.

  A sharp slap struck the cheek, leaving behind burning pain. Laughter erupted louder than before. Rage surged again, no longer singular.

  It doubled.

  Still, he could not move.

  Argus strained against the enchantments binding him while the three loomed over him, jeering.

  Balden struck him again, his palm heavy and deliberate.

  “Stop struggling,” Travis sneered. “You will only hurt yourself, you pathetic little gutter rat.”

  Laughter followed as Balden forced Argus’s face back onto his boot.

  “Lick it,” Balden said, gripping his hair. “Or do I have to make you?”

  Argus spat.

  He aimed for Balden’s face, but it landed just below it. The act carried every ounce of his fury.

  “Fuck you!”

  He braced himself for the retaliation.

  It never came.

  “Did I not warn you,” a sharp voice cut through the courtyard, “that I would punish you if I saw even a single bruise on him?”

  The bullies froze.

  Fear flickered across their faces as they stepped back.

  Argus found the sight deeply satisfying.

  “I swear on the Gods themselves,” Balden said hastily, “we did not hurt him. You may inspect him yourself.”

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  Avelyn Lathon studied them in silence before dismissing them with a flick of her hand. Argus watched them retreat, frustration twisting in his chest.

  He rose slowly, brushing dirt from his clothes and smoothing his hair.

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

  “No need,” she replied, frowning slightly. “But tell me this. Why do you still insist on becoming an adventurer?”

  Her gaze was analytical, not cruel.

  “As a noble, you have other options. It is clear this path is not suited for you.”

  The words stung more than the blows.

  “You are disinherited,” she added calmly. “You have nothing left to prove.”

  Argus flinched.

  She was not mocking him. She likely did not even realize the impact of her words.

  That was simply how Avelyn Lathon spoke.

  Most students believed her to be cruel, insensitive, and supremely confident. In truth, she was simply oblivious. Her social awareness lagged far behind her ability, and she remained entirely unaware of how others perceived her.

  Despite that, her presence carried authority.

  “Even disinherited,” Argus said quietly, “I have not abandoned my dream. I continue to train.”

  Something stirred within him.

  Approval. That was strange.

  “Well,” Avelyn said, turning away, “the trials are in a month. We will see whether you survive them.”

  She paused.

  “Students rarely die during the trials,” she added thoughtfully. “But in your current state, I doubt you will last even half of it.”

  She walked away, her tone no different than if she had been discussing the weather.

  Argus cringed.

  He considered correcting her manner of speech, then dismissed the thought. Who was he to lecture her?

  He opened his status window and winced.

  [Status]

  Name: Argus Thunderbloom

  Strength: 28

  Durability: 20

  Agility: 18

  Vitality: 18

  Mana: 10/160

  Abilities: None

  Relics Equipped: None

  His strength was inferior even to second year students. In a month, he would graduate from the academy he had endured for five years. Yet he was not certain he could even survive the trials.

  But he would pass them.

  He would prove himself.

  I admire your dedication. Humans truly are fascinating.

  Argus stiffened.

  He scanned the courtyard. No one stood nearby.

  Was he imagining it?

  No, the voice replied calmly. You did not imagine it.

  Cold realization settled in.

  The voice was inside his head.

  “Who are you?” Argus whispered. “Why are you inside my mind?”

  A brief pause followed.

  My name has been forgotten by most, the voice said. Some called me the King atop the Black Mountains. Others named me the Son of Darkness.

  Argus laughed nervously.

  Someone was pranking him. It had to be Balden or his lackeys. No other conclusion was possible.

  I sense disbelief, the voice continued. Expected. Mortals always doubt what they fear.

  Since you refuse to believe me, the voice said calmly, I will be forced to demonstrate.

  Argus turned and ran.

  Panic seized him fully now. His thoughts raced as he pushed his exhausted body forward, weaving between decorative shrubs. If this was some kind of illusion or advanced telepathy, then the caster had to be nearby. He only needed to reach his carriage. The academy grounds were protected. No one would dare assassinate him here.

  Or so he hoped.

  His foot clipped the edge of the stone path.

  He stumbled.

  The world lurched, and then his body stopped responding entirely.

  Argus hit the ground hard, breath exploding from his lungs. He tried to scream, but his voice refused to obey. He tried to blink, to claw at the stone beneath him, to do anything at all, but nothing moved.

  Cold terror crept in.

  This was not enchantment magic he recognized. There had been no incantation. No fluctuation of mana. No warning at all.

  This was beyond him.

  Assassins had been everywhere lately. Noble heirs. Political figures. Even minor houses had suffered losses. The academy whispered about it constantly. He had never thought he would be next.

  Is this how it ends? he wondered desperately.

  I already told you, the voice returned, irritation seeping through now. No one is attacking you.

  Then the ground grew smaller.

  Argus rose.

  Not slowly. Not gently.

  He shot upward.

  The academy shrank beneath him with horrifying speed. Towers became toys. Students turned into scattered dots. Wind tore at his clothes and screamed in his ears as his stomach dropped and his heart slammed against his ribs.

  Higher.

  Higher still.

  The world spread out beneath him, vast and uncaring. Mountains pierced the horizon. Clouds drifted dangerously close. His breath came in ragged gasps as fear flooded every corner of his mind.

  He was going to die.

  Now, the voice said calmly, do you believe me?

  Argus could not answer. His thoughts spun violently, body trembling as two wills—his own and the one inside him—clashed for control. Panic surged in a way he had never known, hot and uncontrollable, as the ground grew distant

  Good, the voice continued. Fear makes humans honest.

  The pressure intensified. Not physical, but something deeper. Ancient. Vast. A presence that made his soul recoil.

  You carry my soul, boy. The soul of Dravien. Lord of the Rakshasas. The one humanity once named its extinction.

  The air around him trembled.

  I was defeated. Not destroyed.

  And now, I walk the world again inside you.

  The pressure vanished.

  Argus fell.

  He screamed this time.

  Wind howled past him as the ground rushed up to meet him. Just before impact, his descent halted violently, throwing him against the stone courtyard. Pain exploded through his body, lungs searing, mind reeling, and for a heartbeat, he felt entirely powerless—like a puppet stripped of its strings.

  He lay there gasping.

  Alive.

  Remember this moment, Dravien said quietly within his mind. I am not your enemy. But I am no illusion either.

  Silence followed.

  While high above the courtyard, a cloaked figure lingered behind a carved archway, watching every movement.

  The academy’s wards had detected a disturbance, and a report was already making its way to the Headmaster’s chamber.

  No one on the ground suspected. Yet the consequences of today’s display had already begun to take shape.