Ernest Aldery had never believed in gods.
The world he knew was too full of hypocrisy, too steeped in mediocrity, for higher beings to have any claim over it. Life on Earth was nothing but a game of predators and prey—yet one where the predators weren't the strong, but the liars, the cowards, and the parasites who learned to smile while stabbing others in the back.
And Ernest? He had been a man apart.
From childhood, he had stood at a distance, watching people laugh, fight, fall in love, and betray one another with equal ease. He had friends, but none who truly mattered. He had family, but none who truly understood him. His intelligence carried him through school, into university, and into the corporate world with ease, yet each success felt hollow.
People praised him for his sharp mind, then secretly whispered that he was cold, arrogant, even dangerous. They weren't wrong. He did not love them, did not need them, and did not care.
And in the end, he died as he had lived—alone.
It was raining the night his life ended.
The streets glistened under the harsh glow of neon lights, puddles stretching like black mirrors. Ernest walked home late, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his expression calm despite the thunder rolling overhead. He had just closed another deal, one that would line his employer's pockets while his own salary remained stagnant.
"Meaningless," he muttered under his breath. The word tasted bitter on his tongue.
The traffic light changed. He stepped off the curb.
A horn blared. Headlights flared in the rain. A truck skidded across the slick asphalt, far too close, far too fast. For the first time in years, Ernest's composure broke. His eyes widened—yet not in fear.
So this is how it ends?
A flash of pain, the crunch of bone, the taste of iron. The world spun, then darkened.
And just before everything slipped away, Ernest laughed. A low, humorless sound.
If I had power, true power… the world would have been mine. If there are gods, I would command them. If there are kings, I would break them. If there is fate, I would crush it beneath my heel.
Silence.
Then light.
When Ernest opened his eyes again, it was not to the sterile whiteness of a hospital or the void he expected. Instead, warmth cocooned him—thick blankets, a sweet fragrance of herbs, the faint glow of candlelight.
And a woman's voice.
"Congratulations, Lord Aldery. A son has been born."
Ernest blinked—or rather, tried to. His vision was blurry, the world massive and indistinct. His limbs were weak, clumsy, barely able to twitch. Panic threatened to rise in his chest until he realized the truth.
He was not standing. He was being held.
By a woman.
Her face came into focus slowly—golden hair damp with sweat, features pale but radiant, a smile softening the exhaustion in her eyes. Her voice trembled as she looked down at him.
"My child… my Ernest…"
Her Ernest.
The realization hit him with a force greater than the truck that had killed him.
Reincarnation.
He was a newborn. His body was tiny, fragile, weak… but his mind, his soul, remained intact. And this time, he had not been born into poverty or obscurity. No—this chamber was lavish, the walls hung with tapestries, the attendants bowing low in silken robes. The man standing beside the bed radiated authority, his presence filling the room like a storm contained within human flesh.
A noble.
His father.
Ernest forced his infant mouth to remain silent, but inside, he laughed. The gods—or fate, or whatever cruel entity governed rebirth—had made a mistake. They had given him another chance. Not just a second life, but a better one.
This world will not take me lightly. Not this time.
Time passed. Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months. Ernest Aldery grew quickly, his infant body nourished by the finest care a noble house could provide. Yet though he appeared as any other child, behind his calm eyes burned the soul of a man who had already lived and died once.
He listened. He observed. He learned.
House Aldery was one of the kingdom's most powerful noble families, its lands vast, its armies strong. His father, Duke Reinhardt Aldery, was a man feared on the battlefield and respected in the court. His mother, Lady Isolde, was a paragon of beauty and grace. Ernest was their first son, heir to a legacy of power that reached far beyond the kingdom's borders.
Servants whispered that he was blessed, born under an auspicious star. Ernest knew better. This was no blessing. This was opportunity.
And then, one night, he discovered his power.
The chamber was dark, lit only by a single candle on the bedside table. Ernest lay awake, his tiny hands curled against the blanket, his sharp mind restless in a body too weak to act.
He hated it—the helplessness, the waiting.
The door creaked open. A servant stepped inside, carrying fresh linens. Her footsteps were soft, her movements careful not to wake the infant heir.
But Ernest was awake.
And he was… irritated.
He wanted silence. He wanted obedience. He wanted control. The desire welled up inside him, sharp and suffocating.
"Sleep."
The word slipped from his lips, quiet, almost accidental.
The servant froze. Her eyes widened. Then, as if strings had been cut, her body slumped to the ground. The linens fell from her arms, scattering across the floor.
Ernest's eyes widened—not in shock, but in dawning comprehension.
Power.
He felt it then, a resonance within him, like an echo of thunder. His words had carried weight, more than sound, more than command. They had become law.
The Voice of God.
That was what it was. The ability to make the world obey his words. To command not just people, but things, creatures, perhaps even the heavens themselves.
The cost? Mana. He could feel it, a drain within his body, yet at the same time, an endless reservoir stretched beneath him. A sea without bottom, vast and unfathomable.
Endless mana.
He was invisible within it, a shadow in the currents of this world's power. The gods would not see him. Not yet.
A slow smile tugged at his infant lips.
"This time," he whispered softly, his voice too quiet for anyone but himself. "I will not live meaninglessly."
The candle flickered, casting long shadows across the chamber. Ernest stared at them with cold, determined eyes.
"This world will bow to me. Even its gods."