Edric watched the door close, then let out a long sigh and sat back in his chair, massaging his temple.
He thought his son had finally changed.
For the past four days, Kevin had been quieter. Sure, he still acted like himself—arrogant, lazy—but he hadn't caused any trouble. No yelling at servants, no duels over nonsense, no shattered furniture or drunken rampages through the garden.
Four full days without chaos. that 's basically a new record.
Edric had dared to hope the boy was finally growing up.
He knew the way Kevin turned out was his own fault.
When his wife died shortly after giving birth, Edric was swallowed by grief. He buried himself in war—marching with his men, chasing battle after battle like a man with nothing left to lose. At the time, he was already a powerful noble, a count whose lands covered a large portion of the western frontier.
Then the Western War broke out.
And Edric didn't just defend his borders—he went on the offensive.
While other lords hesitated, waiting for orders from the Capital, Edric pushed forward. For five long years, he led campaign after campaign deep into enemy territory. Cities fell. Fortresses burned. Entire provinces were forced to their knees.
By the time the war ended, the kingdom hadn't just survived—it had expanded.
The king rewarded him not with gold, but with something far more valuable: land. All the territory Edric had taken with his own hands was handed over to him by royal decree. With that, his holdings more than doubled, and his title was elevated from Count to Margrave—a military governor with near-sovereign control over the entire western border.
But in gaining all that, he had lost something else.
Time with his son.
So when he finally returned home—after five long years of war—Edric hadn't expected much.
He was just passing by the nursery when he heard it.
Soft sobs.
Faint, but unmistakable.
He opened the door without thinking.
There, curled up in the corner of the room, was Kevin. Barely five years old. Clutching a pillow like it was all he had in the world. His eyes were red. His cheeks streaked with tears. His small frame trembling.
Edric froze.
And then—rage.
Not at Kevin. Never at him.
The fury was directed inward, at himself.
Five years. He'd spent five years away, chasing glory and drowning in war. He thought he had lost everything when his wife died. Thought there was nothing left worth staying for.
But he was wrong.
He had something. Someone.
And he left that someone to cry alone in silence, night after night.
It hit him all at once: he didn't lose everything when she died.
He still had Kevin. His only son. His blood. His future.
And he had abandoned him.
From that moment on, something shifted.
Edric swore that Kevin would never cry again.
Whatever the boy wanted, he'd have. No matter the cost.
The best tutors. The finest swords. Horses, jewels, imported silk. If Kevin so much as glanced at something, it was delivered to his room within the hour.
He silenced the staff. No one was allowed to scold him. No punishment. No raised voices. If Kevin lashed out, they were told to endure it. If he humiliated someone, they were told to smile.
Edric saw it all, and let it happen.
Because every time Kevin smiled—even cruelly—Edric felt like he was winning.
But it wasn't a victory.
He'd built a golden cage around his son and filled it with everything but discipline. He mistook comfort for love. Mistook indulgence for healing.
And by the time he realized what he'd created, it was too late.
Kevin had become everything he feared—a walking emblem of entitlement, a boy who held power but no restraint. A noble in name, a tyrant in habit.
And Edric?
He no longer knew how to fix it.
Because deep down... he wasn't sure he ever could.
***
So here Kevin was—alone in his private training ground, swinging a sword since dawn like a man preparing for judgment day.
It had been three days since his father mentioned "a test." No details. No hints. Just the vague promise of a challenge hanging over his head like a guillotine made of anxiety.
So he trained. All day.
Trying to etch every bit of his old swordsmanship into this new body.
Because whatever the test was, he'd be damned if he walked into it unprepared.
Fortunately, the brat he'd reincarnated into had at least kept himself in shape.
So that was one good thing.
But then, yesterday, Kevin had discovered something terrifying.
He had no instructors.
Not for etiquette.
Not for academics.
Not even for swordsmanship.
Apparently, the old Kevin—the noble brat version—had fired them. All of them. Months ago. For reasons that were probably both petty and spectacularly stupid.
At first, Kevin thought the guy had graduated or something. Like finishing high school back on Earth.
Nope.
He'd just decided he was too good for learning.
Perfect.
Kevin jabbed his sword into the dirt and leaned on it, panting.
How the hell am I supposed to study for the academy?
They have written exams in there.
Gods, I don't even know the alphabet here.
He looked up at the sky, hands raised in despair.
I'm going to die because a spoiled idiot thought learning was optional.
A bird chirped.
Kevin glared at it.
"…Shut up."
Kevin barely had time to exhale before that voice slipped in from behind, calm, smug, and soul-suckingly punctual.
Oh gods, not him again.
"Talking to birds again, Young Master?"
He didn't jump. He wanted to, but no way in hell was he giving that smug butler the satisfaction.
Just breathe. Be polite. You can do this.
He turned slowly, dragging his best attempt at a neutral expression across his face.
Instead, his mouth moved on its own.
"Oh, wonderful. The furniture talks now. Did my sword invite you, or are you just haunting me for fun?"
The butler, of course, didn't even blink. That face was a brick wall of dignity—years of dealing with noble idiocy probably dulled his senses.
"I bring word from Lord Edric," the man said, not even acknowledging the venom. "Your test has been decided."
Alright. Could it be academic? Maybe a written test. I can wing that. Or a spar with a soldier? I could probably pass that with some dedication. Just not something suicidal, please.
"What, does he want me to dance for the court or recite ancient treaties while juggling swords?" Kevin sneered, because of course that's what actually came out of his mouth.
Unflinching, the butler said.
"You are to clear the Hollow Fang Caves. D-Rank dungeon."
…Seriously?
Kevin blinked.
I may have the skill, but I'm not even level one, I don't have any decent gear, and I barely have any brain cells this morning.
Then he laughed, sharp and too loud.
"Oh, genius! Let's send the untrained teenage noble into a bat-infested murder cave. That's a flawless strategy. Ten out of ten."
"You will be given two weeks to prepare," the butler continued, unbothered. "A company of soldiers will escort you to the entrance for your safety."
So an escort? Well, that's help, at least they would make sure that I stay alive, two weeks is a bit short tho.
Kevin sighed through his nose.
"Soldiers? Let me guess. They're just there to hold hands and weep if I trip?"
"They are under orders not to interfere unless your life is in immediate danger."
Kevin turned away, dragging his sword in the dirt behind him, mostly for dramatic effect.
But how the hell am I supposed to clear a D-Rank Dungeon? Soloing an F-Rank Dungeon while I'm still level 0 is already a challenge—let alone a D-Rank.
He swung his blade again—sloppy on purpose. Frustration made everything heavier.
"Tell Father I'll be sure to bring back something nice. Maybe a bat head. Or a severed paw. He can mount it next to his trophies."
The butler bowed lightly, already turning away.
Please, at least try to knock next time.
Kevin didn't face him. But the words still flew out.
"And seriously—next time? Try knocking. Or wear a bell. I'm this close to stabbing ghosts on instinct."
No reply. Just the sound of retreating steps.
Kevin stood there a moment, breathing, staring at the battered dummy in front of him.
Two weeks…
He rolled his shoulders. Tight. Heavy, then he raised the sword again, jaw clenched.
"This is gonna suck."