Mana.
The miraculous power that allows a knight's sword to cleave the earth and grants a mage's magic the ability to rend the heavens.
Knights, mages, spiritists, martial artists, alchemists, healers, rangers, and more—many types of superhumans exist, each wielding mana to attain extraordinary abilities.
Yet, they all share a common principle: through rigorous training, they form a Mana Ring within their hearts, drawing transcendental power from it.
This is why the world firmly believes in the equation: Mana user = Possession of a Mana Ring.
I smirked.
Unconsciously, my lips curled into a smile that mirrored my master's. The memory of his hearty voice resurfaced, making it impossible to suppress my laughter.
"Think about it. Imagine an assassin, of all people, walking around with his Mana Ring on full display, practically announcing to the world: 'Hey everyone, I'm a mana user, so be careful!' Could anything be more ridiculous?"
"From now on, I'll teach you a method to accumulate mana without forming a Mana Ring. This will be the greatest gift I can give you."
"Where did I learn such a bizarre technique, you ask? Well, I don't know the exact origins myself. I stumbled upon an ancient breathing technique while exploring ruins in my younger days. All I know is that it's a relic from an ancient kingdom—nothing more."
"But what does the origin matter? The important thing is that this breathing method transformed me from a mere wandering mercenary into one of the top five assassins on the continent. And now, you'll be the only other person to know it."
The breathing technique my master passed down—Arca.
Arca wasn't just an exceptional breathing method; it also had a unique advantage—it concealed the user's strength.
By storing mana in the blood and muscles instead of a visible Mana Ring, Arca practitioners remained undetectable to others.
Using this ability, I had successfully carried out countless assassinations that should have been impossible.
'…It took me about a year to fully master the first stage of Arca, didn't it?'
Then came the day I left my master's side.
"As you know, Arca is divided into seven stages. I mastered up to the fourth stage. With your talent, I believe you can reach the sixth."
"Even with just four stages, I became one of the top five assassins on the continent. But if you master the sixth…"
My master placed a firm hand on my shoulder and smiled.
"Then, you might just be called the God of Assassination."
And he was right.
I left him after mastering the third stage. At seventy years old, I finally reached the sixth. From that moment on, people began calling me the God of Assassination.
"Hoo… Hoo…"
Lying in the most comfortable position, I stretched my short limbs and steadied my breathing.
I could feel Arca's secret technique, passed down from my master and honed over decades, seeping into my blood and muscles.
Unfortunately, even after a year of training, I was still at the first stage.
Being in a child's body came with unavoidable limitations, making it difficult to immerse myself in training.
But I wasn't impatient.
In fact, if I thought about it rationally, I might not even need to regain my past assassination skills.
Because—
'In this life, I am the heir of the Claudius family, one of the most renowned medical houses on the continent.'
I lay on my back and opened my eyes, gazing at the golden shield emblem carved into the ceiling.
'The central golden shield represents the unyielding strength of Claudius, while the eight wings surrounding it symbolize our noble duty.'
I had heard this oath hundreds of times. It had become ingrained in me.
Every time I saw this emblem, I was reminded that I was no longer the God of Assassination but Faegan Claudius.
"Claudius… The noble house of Claudius."
I whispered the name of my family again, as if to make it feel more real.
Across the vast continent, countless noble families ruled their respective lands. Each sought dominance in different ways—through the sword, magic, wealth, martial arts, technology, or spirits.
Among them were medical houses, families that expanded their influence through mastery of healing arts.
And even among those, Claudius was unique.
They were known by two contradictory titles:
"Messengers of Mercy who never hesitate to aid the weak."
"Elusive Grey Neutrals who refuse to take sides."
Healing magic was an invaluable power, and most medical families aligned themselves with powerful factions for mutual benefit.
But Claudius refused to serve any one faction. They used their skills to help all who suffered, regardless of allegiance.
Because of this, public opinion about Claudius was divided.
Some saw them as saviors of the weak.
Others saw them as dangerous neutral players, hiding behind the guise of mercy.
Had they not been among the most skilled healers in the continent, they would have long since been crushed by suspicious rulers.
And the man at the helm of this perilous journey—
'My father, Tiberi Claudius, whom I deeply respect.'
Just thinking of him brought a smile to my face. His strong jaw and rugged beard exuded authority.
---
'Time to get up.'
I concluded my morning breathing exercise and neatly arranged my bedding before slipping under the covers.
Soon, my nanny would come to wake me.
Normally, I could sleep in a little longer, but today was special.
Today marked the beginning of my formal training as the heir of Claudius.
---
Thud, thud.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm~♫"
Not long after I closed my eyes, a cheerful hum echoed down the hallway.
I recognized the heavy footsteps—she had been eating more snacks lately.
Click.
"Master Faegan! It's time to wake up!"
With a dramatic gasp, my nanny flung the curtains open and pushed the window wide.
"Listen to the birds chirping! They're telling you to wake up!"
"…Nanny? What time is it?"
"It's just past seven, young master. Your mother reminded me last night that today is an important day, so you must wake up early!"
A plump hand gently patted my cheek.
"…I remember."
"Oh my, such a good boy! So clever and obedient!"
She was beaming with pride.
I probably didn't need to pretend to be sleepy, but seeing how much joy she found in waking me, I didn't mind playing along.
"Alright, young master! Up you go!"
She scooped me up with ease, planting a kiss on my cheek.
Most noble families would never tolerate such familiarity, but in Claudius, affection was not a sin.
That was my mother's belief.
"Let's go eat breakfast! I made all your favorite dishes!"
"Mm… okay."
I took her hand and left my room. The gentle morning breeze drifted through the open window, as if celebrating my first day of training.
---
And so, with my father waiting at the top of the stone steps, I took my first steps toward my new path—not as an assassin, but as the heir of Claudius.
"I'm ready, Father."