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Author's Note:
Hello, this is the author. I know many of you are wondering why the MC's personality is sarcastic and why he tends to troll others. My intention is to use this trait to subtly deepen the sibling bond, while adding moments of humor that bring relief amid the tension.
But don't worry—later in the story, he won't remain just a jokester. As the arcs progress, he will grow into a more determined and witty character.
This novel focuses heavily on action, large-scale arcs, and adventurous journeys, with a slow-burn romance woven in.
I can't promise this will be a peak novel, but I can guarantee it will deliver an entertaining, emotionally impactful story. You'll see the MC's growth, his humor, his romance, his adventures, and much more.
So please, don't judge too quickly.
—Yours truly,
hones_author010
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MC's Heckling (because of course I can't stay quiet):
"Won't remain just a jokester"? Excuse me, I'm hilarious. Don't sell me short.
"Worth your time"? Please. I'm the reason you're even here.
Anyway, carry on.
—Your's Mc's,
Logan (professional troller, future badass Extra)
----
The basket was already half-full when the voice cut through the din of the market.
"Well, well. If it isn't the ghosts of House 'Murphy'."
Logan froze mid-reach, fingers hovering over a bundle of onions. Slowly, he turned, his grin sliding into place like a mask.
A boy about his age stood a few paces off. Blond hair slicked back to a gleam, a tailored green coat flashing silver buttons in the sun. Boots so polished they could start a fire. Two attendants shadowed him, arms folded, smirks sharpened to match their master's.
Of course, Logan thought, pale red eyes narrowing. Every story needs its smug little bastard.
The noble's voice carried just loud enough for half the square to hear. "I thought your family's crest had been erased from the registry. Strange, seeing your… remnants still strutting about."
Beside him, his sister stiffened, hand white-knuckled on the basket. "Come," she murmured tightly, tugging at Logan's sleeve.
Logan ignored her. He cocked his head, smile bright and sharp. "Ah. And you are…?"
The boy blinked. "You don't know who I am?"
"Should I?" Logan widened his eyes theatrically. "Sorry, I must've missed the episode where they introduced you. Terrible pacing in this show, really."
A ripple of laughter flickered through the crowd. Cedric's ears went red.
"I am Cedric Valmont," he snapped. "Heir to House Valmont."
"Ah, yes." Logan snapped his fingers like the name had just clicked. "Valmont. Famous for producing the finest horse manure in three kingdoms, wasn't it?"
This time the laughter swelled. Someone even clapped before silencing themselves.
Cedric's face went rigid, the smile curdling off his lips. His attendants shifted uncomfortably, caught between loyalty and second-hand humiliation.
Logan leaned forward, his grin turning wolfish. "Tell me, Cedric—do you polish your boots every morning, or do you just have the servants lick them clean? Either way, impressive shine."
The crowd burst again. Cedric's fists clenched.
His sister's tug on Logan's sleeve grew sharper. "Enough," she hissed under her breath.
Logan glanced at her, saw the tension in her jaw, the tremor in her grip. He exhaled slowly, then straightened.
"Relax, Cedric," he said, his tone easy. "No need to get worked up. I'm sure House Valmont will be remembered for something one day. I'll just try not to laugh too hard when I find out what."
The laughter spiked again. Cedric spun on his heel, cloak snapping, and stormed off with his attendants.
Logan brushed invisible dust from his sleeve. "Well. That was refreshing."
"You're going to get us killed," his sister snapped.
He shot her a grin. "Please. If words could kill, I'd be a mass murderer by now."
> [Outcome: Favorability adjusted. Threat deferred, not eliminated.]
---
The laughter hadn't fully died when Cedric stopped at the edge of the square, cloak flaring as if he needed everyone to see the silver clasp.
"Lord Cedric—" one attendant began carefully.
"Shut up," Cedric hissed, his voice tight and brittle. His hands trembled once before stilling at his sides.
"He dares mock me here, in front of commoners," he muttered, low enough that only his shadows and a few nearby gawkers caught it. "I'll see him choke on that grin."
The taller attendant shifted uneasily. "My lord, he's… still noble blood, however diminished. If word spreads—"
"Then we make it spread," Cedric snapped, eyes like flint. "House Murphy is ash. One spark more, and the wind scatters what's left."
The shorter attendant hesitated. "And if he enters the Academy trials?"
Cedric's jaw clenched, pale knuckles whitening. "Then I'll bury him there. Publicly."
He stalked away, boots hammering the cobbles, but the faint echo of laughter seemed to follow, dogging him long after the crowd fell silent.
---
Logan watched Cedric's back vanish around a corner, smirk still plastered on his lips.
But his eyes were sharper than the grin suggested. That one won't let it go. He'll smile while sharpening the knife.
His sister tugged his arm again, voice low and edged. "You don't understand the danger you just invited."
Logan shrugged lightly, though his gaze lingered on the street Cedric had taken. "Relax. Worst-case scenario, he comes at me with words. And we both know I'm sharper there."
She didn't respond—just tightened her grip on the basket and strode briskly toward the next stall.
Logan followed, humming under his breath, though his mind was already sharpening in another direction.
> [Prediction: Target hostility confirmed. Escalation probable.]
Yeah, Logan answered inwardly. I caught that myself.
> [Advisory: Monitor future interactions. Risk-reward ratio unfavorable.]
Logan's grin flickered. Since when do I ever play with favorable odds?
> […Noted.]
He chuckled out loud, earning a daggered look from his sister. He only grinned wider.
---
---
By the time they reached the estate again, the sun was already bleeding into the horizon. The cracked windows caught the last light, washing the ruined halls in a thin, orange glow.
The little boy came running from the garden, dirt smudged across his face, hair sticking up like wild straw. "You're back!" he shouted, hurling himself at Logan.
Logan caught him clumsily, staggering a step before laughing. "Whoa! Careful, champ. I've got the muscle tone of a wet noodle right now."
The boy giggled and clung tighter. Logan carried him inside, ignoring his sister's faint scowl.
They gathered in the dining room again. The table bore only bread and thin stew, but the fire in the hearth spread fragile warmth across cracked plaster and shadowed corners.
Logan sank into his chair with a groan, rolling his shoulders. "Ah, home sweet wreck. I missed you."
His sister ladled stew into bowls, placing one in front of each of them. She sat last, posture rigid, pale red eyes reflecting the fire's flicker.
The boy dug in eagerly, cheeks bulging with bread. Logan stirred his bowl lazily, watching his sister from the corner of his eye.
"Hey," he said casually, "did you enjoy today's little market theater?"
Her spoon paused. "You nearly started a feud."
Logan grinned. "Nearly? That means I still have room to improve."
Her lips pressed thin, but her fingers tightened on the spoon. Logan leaned back, satisfied.
The boy's muffled voice broke through. "Big brother, are you really going to the Academy like the other nobles?"
The question hung in the air. Even the fire seemed to quiet.
Logan blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. "'The Academy,' huh?" He forced a smirk. "Why, you trying to get rid of me already?"
The boy shook his head fiercely. "No! I want to go too! I want to be strong like you!"
Logan barked a laugh, nearly spilling stew. "Strong like me? Kid, I can barely wrestle a pillow without getting winded."
The boy pouted stubbornly. "You're still strong. Stronger than anyone."
Logan's grin faltered just a hair. He ruffled the boy's messy hair, masking the flicker of heat in his chest.
Then Nyx Nexus cut in, calm and surgical.
> [Trajectory detected: Academy entrance mandatory. Timeline limited.]
The spoon slipped, clinking against Logan's bowl. His sister's eyes flicked to him.
"Logan?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head quickly, pasting on a crooked smile. "Sorry. Thought I heard something."
> [Correction: You did.]
His jaw tightened. You couldn't wait until after dinner?
> [Irrelevant. Course correction imminent.]
"Shut up," Logan muttered under his breath.
His sister's eyes sharpened. "What did you say?"
He coughed, flashing his brightest grin. "I said… this stew could use a little salt."
The boy smacked the table, laughing. "You're weird, big brother."
Logan winked at him, but his pale red eyes flickered uneasily.
---
The house settled into silence as night deepened.
His little brother dozed by the fire, curled with his small hands tucked beneath his cheek. His sister carried him to bed without a word, then disappeared down the hall. The faint creak of her door closing left the estate in stillness.
Logan remained crouched at the hearth, staring into the flames. The fire popped and cracked, shadows crawling across the gaunt edges of his face.
The axe lay across his knees. Its handle was worn smooth, blade dulled but still serviceable. He turned it in his hands, letting firelight drag along its edge.
One smug noble brat in the market, and suddenly I'm headline news, he thought bitterly. They've already written our obituary—just waiting for the funeral date.
Cedric's sneer surfaced in his mind, sharp and sour. Logan's jaw locked.
> [Trajectory binding. Academy path inevitable.]
The system's voice slid through his head, colder than the drafts seeping through the walls.
Yeah, you said that already. His grip on the axe tightened. You like that word—inevitable. But let me tell you something—
He leaned forward, eyes burning in the fire's glow.
Nothing in my life has ever been inevitable. Not my death back there. Not waking up in this body. And sure as hell not me crawling into some Academy like a beggar waiting for scraps.
Silence stretched, heavy as stone.
Then:
> […Resistance logged.]
Logan snorted. "Resistance logged," he muttered. "What am I, a footnote in your little lab report?"
The axe felt heavier. His pale red eyes glinted faintly, fire caught in their depths.
He raised the axe, swung hard. The dull blade bit shallow. His arms trembled. Sweat slid down his brow. He wrenched it free, swung again.
The log cracked.
Logan's breath came ragged. He set another in place.
"One swing at a time," he whispered. "Even if it kills me."
> [Acknowledged.]
For once, the system didn't argue.
---
---
The kitchen smelled faintly of porridge and woodsmoke, the air damp with steam rising from the clay pot on the hearth. The scent wasn't unpleasant, but it was thin—like a memory of a real meal, stretched too far to keep hunger at bay.
Logan set wooden bowls onto the scarred table one by one, the dull clack echoing louder than it should. Every motion was deliberate, partly because his arms still trembled from swinging that damned axe, partly because the ache in his shoulders made him feel like glass about to splinter.
"Extra honey today?"
The boy's voice rang out brightly as he clambered onto his stool, legs swinging, eyes wide as if the promise of sweetness alone turned their meager breakfast into a royal banquet.
Logan smirked, tilting the small jar with exaggerated ceremony. "Naturally. House Murphy accepts nothing less than the finest drizzle. Imported all the way from… what, three cupboards over?"
The golden threads trickled into the boy's bowl, catching the dim light. His brother beamed, already clattering his spoon against the rim in excitement.
Logan ladled his own share—lumpy, pale, but warm. Steam curled into his face, carrying a faint sweetness that didn't quite mask the thinness underneath.
Across the table, Selena sat stiff-backed, posture unyielding even here in their crumbling kitchen. Her hair fell in a dark curtain around her face, neat despite the fraying hem of her plain dress. She stirred her porridge with careful precision, as though the act itself were another duty to be executed without waste.
Logan leaned back in his chair, feigning a stretch, his grin lazy. "You know, sis, if you keep sitting like that, one day you'll snap in half. Like a broom."
Her pale red eyes flicked up, cold as frost. "And if you keep training like a fool, you'll snap long before I do."
He grinned wider. "At least when I break, it'll be spectacular. Fireworks, thunder, tears in the audience. People will tell stories for years."
A crease ghosted across her brow—irritation, maybe, or something else. Her spoon scraped slow circles through her porridge. "Stop wasting your strength on dramatics. We can't afford it."
Logan's smirk wavered. He propped his chin on his hand, lowering his voice just a fraction. "What you really mean is—you can't keep doing everything alone. You've been carrying too much, haven't you?"
Her hand stilled. For a heartbeat, something raw flickered in her eyes. Exhaustion. The kind that no amount of sleep could mend. The mask cracked—just a sliver—before she pulled it back into place, walls rising hard and fast.
"…Eat your porridge," she said flatly.
> [Observation: Emotional tether identified.]
Logan's jaw tightened. Keep your notes to yourself, Nexus.
He dragged his spoon through the porridge, swirling it idly. The silence stretched, broken only by the boy's happy slurping.
"You two are weird," the child declared suddenly, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, honey sticking to his chin.
Logan chuckled, letting the tension bleed. "Weird? Nah. This is advanced sibling entertainment. You'll get it when you're older."
The boy giggled, porridge dribbling onto the table. Selena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose—another small crack in her composure, though she masked it quickly.
Logan caught it, storing it away like a victory.
---
The porridge didn't last long. It never did. Soon only a smear of honey clung to the boy's bowl, which he scraped eagerly with his spoon until Selena plucked it away with a quiet enough.
Logan leaned back, balancing precariously on the hind legs of his chair, spoon dangling loosely from his fingers. "So, what's on the royal schedule today? More firewood? Another thrilling adventure to the well? Perhaps a tour of our grand, cobwebbed estate?"
"Work," Selena said crisply, gathering the bowls. "The same as every day."
Logan tilted his head. "What a tyrant. No breaks, no entertainment, just endless servitude. You'd make a terrifying queen, you know that?"
She didn't look up, but her shoulders stiffened just slightly. "Better than a useless jester."
Logan barked a laugh, nearly toppling backward. "Touché."
The boy snickered, clapping his sticky hands. "Big brother's the jester!"
Logan leaned forward, ruffling his hair until the child squawked in protest. "That's right. But don't tell anyone. It's a very prestigious title."
The boy wriggled away, giggling. Selena shook her head, lips twitching almost imperceptibly.
---
For a moment, the house felt lighter. Fragile warmth lingering between the cracks in the walls.
But as Selena moved to rinse the bowls in the basin, Logan watched her from the corner of his eye. The rigid line of her shoulders. The practiced calm in her movements. He wondered how many mornings like this she'd endured alone, without anyone to joke, to break the silence, to distract from the gnawing truth of scarcity.
He hated it.
Not her strength—no, that he respected, even admired. What he hated was how invisible the weight had become. How easily she'd convinced herself it was natural to carry it without complaint.
Not anymore, he thought, fingers drumming against the table. If this body's mine, so are they. I'm not letting her grind herself into dust just to keep us afloat.
> [Advisory: Allocation of strength must remain strategic. Unchecked exertion risks premature collapse.]
Logan's lips twitched. You're a real joy at breakfast, Nexus.
> [Correction: Joy irrelevant. Sustainability paramount.]
He rolled his eyes and bit back a laugh, glancing at his sister's back. She doesn't need sustainability reports. She needs someone in her corner. Even if that someone's a half-broken jester.
---
Selena turned suddenly, catching him staring. "What?"
Logan grinned instantly, leaning back in his chair again. "Just admiring your excellent bowl-scrubbing technique. Truly, a master at work."
Her eyes narrowed, but a faint flush touched her cheeks before she turned away.
The boy leaned closer to Logan, whispering loudly enough for the whole kitchen to hear. "She's blushing."
Selena froze mid-motion. Logan smothered his laugh behind his hand, eyes gleaming.
"Careful, champ," he whispered back. "Queens don't like being teased."
She set the bowl down with a decisive clack. "Out. Both of you."
The boy scrambled down from his stool, still grinning. Logan rose more slowly, stretching his sore arms, watching the faint color still lingering in her face.
"Fine, fine," he said lightly, heading for the door. "But for the record—I'm winning."
Her glare followed him, sharp as an icicle. But she didn't deny it.
And that, to Logan, was the sweetest victory yet.
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