I am Edric Valemont, a reincarnator, and this is my seven hundred and eighth life.
In this life, I was born the fourth son of the emperor, the second son his empress bore.
Before me, the emperor had two sons and a daughter; after me, the empress gave birth to a younger daughter, placing me fourth in the line of succession.
Yet, despite being a prince, my position was precarious. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My elder sister, Marielle, and I were left without the protection or favor that came so easily to the emperor’s other children. My siblings born under the empress’s care enjoyed her unwavering support, and because my two eldest brothers were males, my chances of ever reaching the throne were slim.
Not that it matters. I have lived countless lives; ambition rarely holds sway over me. In previous lifetimes, I had ruled as king, as emperor, and the burden of leadership had always been exhausting. Power, in the end, is just another chain.
Unfortunately, my stepmother, Empress Helena Ravelle, did not know this. In her eyes, Marielle and I were threats—obstacles to the future of her sons. From early childhood, she had bullied and undermined us whenever possible. I bore it with detached amusement. Marielle never did. Her hatred for Helena and my older brothers simmered constantly, a dangerous fire barely restrained.
Helena’s hatred for me, personally, was palpable. Perhaps it was because I always seemed to anticipate her schemes, or perhaps because she failed at every attempt to trap me before the emperor. Over time, her presence around me had become a daily battle of wills. Every glance, every word from her carried the weight of her disdain.
And yet… I will admit, Helena Ravelle was beautiful. At thirty-eight, she still radiated a mature, magnetic charm. Her fair skin, cascading wavy hair, and elegant posture drew the eyes of everyone around her. Few men—and even fewer women—could ignore her. Unfortunately for her, that beauty was always tempered by her venomous glare whenever it rested on me.
But a mere glare could not intimidate a reincarnator. I knew how to play the game. Even now, as she prepared to scold me for my “lateness,” I had already anticipated the timing of her son’s arrival. My second brother, Rowan Valemont, was running late as well. My stepmother would never know it, but when she unleashed her fury, I would return it with precise calculation.
And then, as if on cue, Rowan finally stumbled into the dining room.
Unlike me, who had arrived neatly dressed, Rowan looked disheveled. His hair was messy, his eyes half-closed, and his pale face betrayed that he had overslept. A bit overweight, with an expression perpetually twisted in annoyance or mischief, he had earned a reputation throughout the empire as a spoiled, lazy troublemaker. And yet, he seemed to wear that reputation as a badge of pride.
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He did not bow to Father, nor acknowledge the empress. He simply dropped into his chair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, paying no attention to the silent stares around the table.
“...You are late, Rowan,” Father said, suppressing irritation behind a calm exterior.
“Uh… overslept,” Rowan answered casually, waving his hand as if nothing mattered.
I let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “It seems he believes the entire empire exists to wait for him,” I muttered under my breath, casting a subtle glance at Helena.
Her face immediately darkened with fury. She slammed her hand on the table, rising to her full height.
“What do you mean, brat?!”
“Nothing,” I said evenly, leaning back and beginning to eat, deliberately ignoring her wrath. “I’m only repeating your words.”
“You…!” The room’s air grew heavy with tension, the invisible pressure of her rage pressing down on me. I ignored it. I had faced far worse in lives before this.
Father’s patience, however, had limits.
“Did you not hear me? I said enough!” he thundered, his presence immediately suppressing Helena’s fury. His gaze swept the table, stern and commanding. “Helena, is it not shameful for an empress to argue with a child? And Edric—show respect where it is due!”
I ignored him, continuing my meal calmly. Helena reluctantly returned to her seat, though her eyes still burned with hatred.
Rowan, ever the provocateur, chose that moment to speak.
“He’s not even the son of a proper woman,” he sneered, his mocking gaze sweeping over me. “Nothing but the child of a dead slut.”
Clang!
Marielle’s knife clattered onto her plate. She rose instantly, fury blazing in her eyes.
“Don’t you dare insult my mother!” she shouted, pointing at Rowan. Her voice rang out sharp and unyielding.
“What? You don’t want to hear the truth, slut?” Rowan mocked.
Marielle’s face turned scarlet. “Bastard!” she spat, her hand raising instinctively. A small fireball, a simple spark of qi, appeared above her palm.
A sudden wave of heat filled the dining room. Rowan instinctively recoiled. The tension became palpable as Alan Valemont, the empress, and even Father rose simultaneously.
“What is the meaning of this!?” Alan shouted, qi crackling around his form, while I stepped behind Marielle, hand on my sword, ready to defend her. The room teetered on the edge of becoming a battlefield.
My youngest sister, Sylvia, watched anxiously, unsure of what to do. All around the table, the air crackled with suppressed anger and power.
Then Father sighed, shaking his head.
“Is it impossible to have a peaceful breakfast at all? Marielle, stop. Edric, take your sister away.”
“Understood, Father,” I said, expressionless, taking Marielle’s hand. Her glare at Father lingered, a silent protest against his unwillingness to punish Rowan. She followed me from the dining room, simmering with anger.
Sylvia hesitated only a moment before bowing slightly and trailing after us, her eyes wide with anxiety.
After we left, Rowan snorted, disdainful. “Trash,” he muttered, returning to his meal as if nothing had happened.
Father shook his head, his face tired, and quietly left the table.
