Seraphius lunged forward, feeling as if the air itself parted before him. His confidence in the power of "Shadows" made victory seem within arm's reach. He fixed his gaze on the shadow of his father Edgar's foot, firmly planted on the ground, and poured all his mental energy into commanding his own shadow to move.
Cold, black threads burst forth from beneath his feet, crawling swiftly toward their target. In his mind—shaped by the old game system—he expected his father to freeze in place, just as enemies always had in the digital world.
But reality was different… and cruel.
The moment the shadow threads touched Edgar's boot, the man felt nothing at all. He simply pulled his foot back with pure physical strength, shattering the fragile threads as if they were spider silk caught in the wind.
Before Seraphius could even process that the power he believed to be overwhelming had vanished, the wooden sword slipped past his guard and slammed into his chest, driving the air from his lungs. He staggered backward and collapsed onto his knees as dust billowed around him.
The pain was burning—real.
No red screen appeared to warn him that his "HP" had dropped. Instead, he felt his ribs groan under the force of the blow.
He stared at his trembling hands pressed against the dirt and, in that moment, grasped a bitter truth. He was no longer the "Overlord" he once had been. He was nothing more than a beginner with a weak skill—one that couldn't even hinder an old woodcutter.
As he struggled to catch his breath, the silence was broken by the sound of calm footsteps approaching the edge of the yard. Edgar turned, wiping sweat from his face, and a gentle smile—one Seraphius had never seen before—appeared on his hardened features.
It was Elena, his mother, who had just returned from a short visit to her parents' home on the far side of the outskirts. She was a woman with kind features, dressed in simple linen clothes. Fatigue lingered on her face, yet her reddened eyes overflowed with love the moment they fell upon her small family.
She was not wealthy, as some might imagine, but the daughter of a rural family who had struggled for years alongside Edgar to build this modest home.
Elena hurried to Seraphius and brushed the dust from his clothes with concern.
"Arthur, did you return to training so soon after your illness?" she asked as she helped him to his feet. Then she turned to her husband with mild reproach.
"Edgar, be gentler with him. You know he hasn't fully recovered yet."
The father sighed and set the sword aside. Together, they entered the small house and gathered around the wooden table, its surface worn by time. There, amid the warm scent of soup, Seraphius listened closely to their conversation, trying to unravel the threads of his new life—threads far more complex than he had expected.
Elena spoke of her visit and her longing for the rest of the family. Then came the words that shook Seraphius to his core.
"Your sisters sent another letter with the latest mail from the capital."
Seraphius' hand froze midair as he lifted his spoon.
Sisters…?
His fragmented memories offered no clear image of them. Elena continued, gazing at the framed pictures above the fireplace.
"They're doing everything they can there, working and serving. My heart aches knowing they're so far away, but we have no choice in this forgotten village. I only wish fate would gather us all under one roof again."
Only then did Seraphius realize how scattered his family truly was. His sisters lived in the distant capital, working to support themselves, while he remained here on the outskirts of the obscure city of Oukhar. From his father's tone, he understood that the world beyond this village was not merely forests and monsters, but a rigid class system ruled by power and wealth.
He glanced at his shadow trembling under the candlelight on the floor, bitterness rising once more within him. He had once taken pride in the power of "Shadows," believing it to be the key to dominance. Now, he saw himself as nothing more than a weak young man from a poor, fractured family—his ability a low-tier skill that wouldn't frighten even a child.
Silence settled over the room. While his mother continued speaking about village news and neighbors, Seraphius sank into deep thought. He needed to learn more about this world… and about the capital where his sisters lived.
The quiet stretched on, broken only by the rustling of trees outside and the clinking of clay spoons against bowls. The weight in his chest was not just from his father's strike, but from the flood of truths becoming clear.
"Your sisters have grown up, Arthur," Elena said, placing her warm hand over his trembling one.
"Anna and Mira always ask about you in their letters. They fear you'll remain locked in your room forever, doing nothing but watching the stars. If they saw you holding a sword today, they would soar with joy."
Seraphius could not bring himself to answer. He merely nodded, burdened by a guilt that wasn't truly his—Arthur's guilt, the guilt of the boy who had been a burden to this gentle family.
After dinner, Edgar stood by the small window, watching dusk creep over the village.
"Arthur, tomorrow you'll go into the village. We need supplies, and you must start dealing with people instead of isolating yourself. Visit the blacksmith, Baron. He has some tools that need fixing."
To Seraphius, it felt like a door had opened.
This was his first chance to explore the world beyond their home—and perhaps to discover whether he was truly alone in this world.
In his small room, he lay back on the hard wooden bed, staring at the ceiling before focusing on his shadow stretching with the dimming candlelight. He tried to summon the power again and felt the same cold threads stir—but without arrogance.
He understood now.
In the game, numbers had been everything. Here, muscle, speed, surroundings, and the true flow of energy determined the outcome.
"Sisters in the capital… a mother holding the family together… a father hiding fear behind harshness…"
Seraphius whispered as he closed his reddened eyes.
This was no longer about Overlord—about winning or losing.
It was about survival… and reuniting this family.
He drifted into a deep sleep, his mind already planning the journey into the heart of the village, where his first true steps toward understanding this unforgiving world would begin.