During his short life, Liam had been tagged with many labels.
Arrogant, some said.
Overconfident, others claimed.
Genius, the media proclaimed.
Hardworking, acknowledged those who had seen behind the scenes.
But if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was this:
Liam hated losing.
The very idea of defeat was unbearable to him. So, faced with the absurd situation he found himself in, it didn't take long for him to regain his clarity.
He had no intention of dying — far from it.
And even less of being manipulated by external forces like a puppet in a game that wasn't his own. A thick veil of fog surrounded his situation, but he was determined to lift it, no matter the cost.
Kill one of the Five Generals of the Crimson Court? Very well.
He would play that game.
He had no intention of dying anytime soon. And letting Violette die would be equivalent to sealing his own fate — at least, for now.
One thing was clear.
He needed to become stronger.
Liam refocused on the quest that had been entrusted to him — and more specifically, on the reward.
[Success: Obtain an SSS-rank skill]
Obtaining an SSS-rank skill would change everything for him. Skills of that level were extremely rare in the world.
His gaze darkened.
"I wish I had it before facing Malakar, not after…"
He scratched the back of his head and let out an annoyed sigh.
"I'll have to make do."
A posthumous reward was worthless. An SSS skill was useless to a corpse.
No.
If he wanted to survive, he had to become stronger before the confrontation. Exploit every flaw in the system. Understand the rules of this absurd game.
"I have three years to succeed."
Three years — it was laughable.
He didn't have a single second to waste.
A faint knock echoed on the bedroom door. Liam, still lying on his bed, barely raised his eyes.
"Enter," he said calmly, almost wearily.
The door opened gently, revealing a maid with stern but respectful features. She carried a tray laden with documents and personal items.
"Young master," she announced with measured politeness, "family dinner will begin in twenty minutes. You are expected in the great hall."
Liam sat up slowly, running a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.
In just a few seconds, his mind activated and a plan formed.
A slight smile tugged at his lips.
"Very well. I will attend."
He paused, then added calmly:
"You may leave."
The maid bowed immediately. Yet, before leaving the room, she cast him a discreet — surprised — glance.
The old Liam would never have spoken like that.
He used to avoid gazes, lower his head, barely mutter a word.
This one held his gaze without hesitation.
The door closed softly.
A brief silence settled.
Liam rose and walked toward the mirror.
Facing his reflection, he couldn't help but pause.
In his previous life, he wasn't ugly — he could even have been called handsome. But compared to this body…
It was something else.
At seventeen, he was already tall. His build was slender, naturally athletic, despite having had no serious sword training.
"This must be the innate physique of the Moonveils…" he murmured.
The Moonveil family was the continent's most prestigious lineage of swordsmen. A Moonveil body alone was a treasure for any swordsman. Their muscles, reflexes, coordination… everything seemed naturally suited for wielding a sword.
Ironically, with such an advantage, the old Liam had spent most of his time playing with the garden animals rather than training.
This lack of interest in combat only deepened the disdain his relatives felt toward him. For the Moonveils, the body was a weapon, and refusing to use it was a sin.
He studied his reflection more closely.
His thick, dark black hair fell to the nape of his neck in slightly messy strands. His skin was pale but healthy — nothing like the sickly whiteness he had known on his hospital bed.
But what drew attention more than anything else…
His eyes.
Blood-red.
It was the mark of the Moonveils. In the past, this trait had earned them suspicion and discrimination, as their resemblance to the sanguines was uncanny.
But that era was over.
Today, those eyes were a symbol of prestige.
Liam put on some comfortable clothes before leaving his room.
Even though he already knew the manor through the previous owner's memories, he couldn't help but admire it slightly.
The Moonveil estate was vast, and its architecture radiated both elegance and power.
Long hallways were lit by wall lamps with flickering flames. On the walls, ornately framed portraits displayed legendary figures of the Moonveil family — swordsmen who had left their mark on the continent's history.
Liam slowed his pace slightly as he passed some of the paintings.
'Even though I created this world… I never imagined details like this.'
The Moonveil family played an important role in the story he had written. But at the time, he had never taken the time to develop each element of their culture or heritage in depth.
Yet now, being here…
Everything felt strikingly real.
After a few minutes of walking, he finally reached the grand doors of the dining hall.
Upon entering, his gaze was immediately drawn to the long table at the center of the room.
A table of deep black, like polished obsidian. Its shiny surface reflected the lights of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
It was a true work of art.
Liam scanned the room.
Several people were already seated and talking among themselves.
At the end of the table, sitting in the large central chair, was of course the family patriarch.
The Scarlet Executor.
The Scourge of the Sanguines.
The Sword of Retribution.
The Man Before Whom Blades Kneel.
Titles were not lacking to designate this man.
But in this world…
He was above all, his father.
Qamar Moonveil.
His long black hair was tied in a neat ponytail, and a perfectly trimmed beard framed his face. A thin scar crossed his left eye, a silent souvenir of a past battle.
His body wasn't particularly massive, but he exuded an overwhelming presence.
Even containing himself in front of his family, his aura was hard to ignore.
Liam's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he slightly turned his head.
To his right sat his mother.
Helen Moonveil.
A mature woman who still retained striking beauty. Her light brown hair reached her shoulders, and her emerald green eyes gave her a look both gentle and strangely piercing.
But beneath this elegant appearance was a formidable woman.
Before marrying Qamar, she was already a famous — and feared — figure on the continent and among the sanguines.
After all, she came from the Azar family.
The greatest lineage of assassins on the continent.
The Azars were known for their terrifyingly precise assassination techniques and exceptional mastery of darkness.
Liam finally turned his gaze away from his parents.
It was then that a voice broke the calm atmosphere of the room.
"Oh? Look who decided to leave his room."
The tone was openly mocking.
Seated a few places away was a young man with a relaxed appearance. His chestnut hair, slightly tousled, resembled their mother's. His red eyes shone with a provocative glint.
Lucian Moonveil.
His older brother.
Lucian slouched in his chair with almost insolent nonchalance, an arm resting on the back as if he found the entire scene deeply amusing.
A mocking smile stretched across his lips.
"So… I heard you caused a bit of trouble today, little brother."
He let out a small laugh.
"What's wrong with you? An existential crisis or something?"
A few servants in the room discreetly lowered their eyes.
Lucian continued, amused.
"Seriously… are you okay? Didn't scare yourself too much?"
Liam didn't respond.
He simply looked his brother straight in the eyes without averting his gaze.
Lucian's smile faltered slightly.
One second passed.
Then two.
Liam remained perfectly still.
Lucian frowned slightly.
Something was wrong.
Usually, Liam avoided his gaze. He lowered his head, muttered something incomprehensible, or simply left the room.
But now…
He stared.
Calmly.
Without the slightest hesitation.
Irritation briefly crossed Lucian's features.
"What?" he finally said with irritation.
"Lost your tongue?"
The silence was becoming heavy.
Then a clear voice spoke up.
"Lucian."
The tone was gentle.
But the authority behind it was undeniable.
Helen Moonveil calmly set her glass on the table before turning her gaze to her sons.
"Stop provoking your brother over such trivial things."
Then she turned her attention back to Liam.
Her expression remained composed, but her eyes seemed to study him carefully.
"Liam."
She indicated an empty chair at the table.
"Come sit. Dinner is about to begin."
Meanwhile, another person watched silently.
Seated not far from their mother was a young woman with black shoulder-length hair, smooth and neatly kept. Her red eyes, like the rest of the family, were calm and inscrutable.
Selene Moonveil.
Unlike Lucian, she hadn't uttered a single word.
Her hands rested quietly on the table, covered by a pair of black gloves.
A faint smile hovered on her lips.
Liam followed her gaze for a moment.
'She seems to find the situation amusing…' he thought.
An almost imperceptible smile appeared on his own face.
'I must admit, all of this is rather entertaining, in a way.'
Without adding a word, he stepped forward and took the chair his mother had indicated.
The servants immediately began moving around the table with silent efficiency, placing various dishes in front of each family member. The aroma of freshly prepared food quickly filled the grand hall.
Liam watched the scene from the corner of his eye.
His father at the end of the table.
Lucian still slouched in his chair, visibly annoyed.
Selene, silent, seemingly noting every detail with interest.
He calmly picked up his cutlery.
'I have a feeling this is going to be a bit exhausting…'