Voices.
Distant at first, muffled… as if I were underwater.
Then… clearer.
— "His body's a mess. Thin, malnourished. But his mana flow…"
A pause.
"…is ridiculously stable."
Mana… flow?
— "And the way he used Mantra unconsciously… absurd. Who is this boy?"
The voices circled around me, growing sharper.
I tried to open my eyes, but nothing happened. My body refused to obey.
— "How should we handle him, my Lord? Will you train him as a soldier?" — a cold, formal male voice asked.
Another answered.
Deeper. Calm.
And strangely… amused.
— "No. Not yet. Look at him. He's not ordinary. In all my life, I've only met one person capable of using unconscious mantra. If he masters that gift… I fear he may become as powerful as *him*."
Footsteps approached.
Heavy. Steady.
Whoever it was… wasn't some noble playing at power. It was someone used to being obeyed.
A hand rested on my chest.
Warm… yet disturbingly heavy.
— "Hmm… still unconscious. What a pity. I had so many questions."
Silence.
Then that same deep voice again thoughtful, almost intrigued:
— "I'd planned to find a successor… perhaps the second son of some powerful family. Someone gifted, with potential. But this…"
A low chuckle.
"…this might just be fate handing me something far more interesting."
Successor…?
I wanted to scream.
To move.
But nothing.
Darkness pulled me back.
And before it swallowed me completely, I heard one last command:
— "Clean him. Treat his wounds. From this day on… he belongs to House Ravenhart."
---
When my eyes finally opened, the first thing I saw was… a ceiling.
Not the sky.
Not cracked planks or filthy rags.
A real ceiling, polished wood, golden carvings, and the faint scent of herbs in the air.
I blinked, trying to adjust to the light.
My body felt warm.
Wrapped in something soft.
Wait…
Was this a bed?
I sat up in a rush — and instantly regretted it.
Pain shot through my ribs, my stomach twisted, my arms trembled.
— "Ah, you're awake."
The calm voice made me turn.
A man stood by the door.
Middle-aged, well-groomed. Dark vest, pristine white shirt, gloves.
Straight posture. Sharp yet serene eyes.
A butler.
Definitely a butler.
He stepped closer, carrying a tray.
I looked down.
Bread. Hot tea. Fresh fruit.
Real food.
Not scraps. Not leftovers.
My stomach growled so loudly even he seemed to hide a smile.
For a moment, I hesitated.
A trick? Poison?
But the smell… the warmth…
My instincts crushed my doubts.
I grabbed the bread and devoured it like a starving beast.
Soft. Sweet. Warm.
Every bite felt like a blessing.
I drank the tea in long gulps, the steam soothing my throat.
It was heaven.
The butler simply watched, silent, with a faint look of understanding.
When I finished breathless, full for the first time in my life, he asked:
— "Was the meal to your liking?"
— "The best I've ever had," I said without hesitation.
— "I'm glad to hear that," he replied with a nod, taking the tray.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
— "…Where am I?"
The butler smiled faintly.
— "At the residence of Duke Ravenhart. Head of one of the Five Great Ducal Houses of Kamira."
…Duke?
A *Ducal House*?!
My heart raced.
This was bad. Very bad.
When a noble took interest in a street rat, it almost never ended well.
Prisons. Experiments. Cruel entertainment.
I pressed myself against the headboard.
— "Look, I didn't mean to steal, I just needed to eat—"
The butler raised a calm hand.
— "Relax. No one will punish you for that."
— "Then… why bring me here?"
Before he could answer, the door opened.
Footsteps echoed.
Heavy. Precise.
And then he entered.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black and crimson.
An elegant cloak. A sword at his side.
Eyes dark as obsidian. A neatly trimmed beard.
Everything about him screamed power and danger.
Duke Ravenhart.
His eyes studied me, cold, calculating.
No disgust.
No pity.
Just curiosity.
— "So… you're awake," he said, his voice smooth yet commanding. "I've been waiting."
I swallowed hard.
— "Why… did you bring me here?"
A low chuckle.
— "Because you're talented."
— "Talented? Me? What are you talking about?"
— "I saw you knock out an armed guard with a single blow. No training. No preparation. Pure instinct. Do you even know what Mantra is?"
— "Never heard of it."
— "Mantra is a strengthening technique. Warriors train for years to master it… and even then, most fail. But you…"
He leaned slightly closer, eyes sharp as blades.
"…used it without even realizing. Do you remember how it felt before you blacked out?"
— "When I was running… my body felt lighter. And when the guard attacked… something burned inside me. Like… it was natural."
The Duke smiled.
— "Pure instinct. You focused your Mantra into a single point of your body without knowing it. Even veterans struggle with that."
He straightened his posture.
— "A boy with talent like that… can't just be a street rat."
My hands clenched the sheets.
I wasn't anyone special.
I wasn't anything.
Just… me.
But then he said something that froze my blood.
— "I don't know whose blood runs in your veins… but that doesn't matter."
He raised his hand.
Firm. Certain.
— "From this day forward… you are my heir. The successor of House Ravenhart."
…What?
WHAT?!