Elira approached, her voice quiet. "Madam isn't unkind, young master. She simply… finds it difficult to show warmth. Ever since the Duke's death, she's carried the entire family on her shoulders."
"I can tell," Azael muttered.
He looked toward the wall where a portrait of the Duke hung. Tall, strong, and dignified. His painted eyes seemed to stare straight through him. The man had long red fiery hairs tied in ponytail. His eyes were violet colour. The same Azael possessed.
"…He must've been a great man."
Elira nodded. "He was. The kind of man this house hasn't seen since."
Azael clenched his hand beneath the table, feeling the faint ache of weakness run through his body. This illness, this new life… maybe it was fate's cruel joke.
'Damn. I am already tired at acting like normal, respectful young master.' He thought tiredly.
Honestly, Azael didn't care where he was born again or who his new family was. What stung him the most was this weak body. This body was too much weak.
But it wouldn't let him stop from becoming stronger. He wouldn't fade away like the real Azael.
He looked up at the portrait once more and whispered quietly that only he could hear, "I don't know why I'm here… but I'll make sure your son's name doesn't disappear with him."
'Did I just used some weird line? Like some cliché? Well whatever. What was my mother's name though?' He turned to ellire.
"Ellire… was it too weird to call the Duchess 'mother'?" Azael asked, in a way that wouldn't sound suspicious.
Ellire blinked, then responded, "If you suddenly started to call her mother out of nowhere, I do think she'd find it weird. I mean, you didn't even address her as stepmother—rather, you always used her title. Even I was surprised."
Azael realized it immediately.
'So I'm not her son. No wonder she was surprised and distan. And I don't have any resemblance to her. Then what about my real mother?'
Azael had already accepted his new identity. No need to be more complex. Just accept situation which can be beneficial for oneself.
He glanced at Ellire, who stood silently beside him.
He couldn't directly ask her. She might find it suspicious. Forgetting one's own mother so suddenly.
But since there were only two people at the dining table, it indicated that his real mother wasn't present in the mansion.
Or maybe… she was dead.
Azael got up from his seat and started walking toward his room. Ellire obediently followed him.
"Ellire, can you tell me about my mother… I mean, my real mother? Anything you know that I might be unaware of," Azael asked calmly.
'Don't find it weird. Just answer,' he prayed inwardly.
After thinking for a while, she answered, "Sorry, young master. But I don't know much about your late mother. I wasn't working here at that time. The only thing I know is that she was a maid here."
Azael stopped in his tracks.
He turned his face toward her. "It's alright. No reason to apologize."
Then he continued to stride forward.
So my real mother is dead… and she was a servant here. A commoner. It was still amusing how the current Duchess treated him nicely.
Now Azael understood why she was cold and distant toward him. Even that stepsister didn't feel very close.
Yet they still treated him. Trying to find a cure for his disease.
This isn't like those transmigrated novels where the family hates and mocks the MC for being a bastard child or having half commoner blood… amusing.
He chuckled inwardly.
Azael decided to gather information about this world. He could already guess that it was no longer Earth.
This world possessed magic energy called mana. Just like how his old world had prana.
It doesn't feel much different.
"Ellire, lead the way to the library. I'm thinking of reading some books," Azael said. With this cliché setting, he needed to act like the usual MCs in novels. First step was to gather information.
Ellire looked confused but didn't question it and calmly guided Azael to the library.
---
When he entered the library, he was greeted by the faint scent of parchment and old leather. The room was vast. Two floors of towering shelves lined with books of every color and size. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, dust motes dancing in the beams.
He stood still for a moment, his gaze drawn to the shelves that stretched endlessly upward. "So this is where I'll begin," he murmured softly, stepping forward.
Finding what he sought wasn't difficult. The Ignivar library was well organized, categories neatly labeled, sections divided by era and subject. He picked up a thick, leather-bound book titled A Brief History of Aetherion.
As he flipped through the pages, his eyes narrowed, absorbing the words carefully.
For thousands of years, the races of Atherion had coexisted. Some bound by alliances, others locked in unending conflict.
There exist five great continents in this world.
The first was Valerith, the heart of civilization. It served as the homeland of humans, beastkin, and dwarves, where kingdoms rose and fell in the time of history.
To the west lay Morvath, a land steeped in darkness. Demons and vampires ruled its blood-soaked territories, their domains shrouded in eternal twilight.
Next was Faeloria, a vast and verdant continent inhabited by the many elven races. Ancient forests stretched endlessly across its lands.
The fourth continent was Astraeon. A realm spoken of only in legends. It was said to be the dwelling place of mythical beings. d
Dragons, phoenixes, and creatures born of pure mana.
Finally, there was Glacioryn, the frozen continent at the edge of the world. Locked beneath eternal ice and blizzards, it was also home of ancient beings like dragons and other special beings. But in very rare numbers.
Azael turned another page, his eyes narrowing slightly.
The Demon Wars began approximately twelve centuries ago, when the Demon King, Zathriel, sought to unite the infernal legions beneath a single banner. His armies swept across continents, reducing kingdoms to ash and devouring countless lands. Until the intervention of the Goddess herself.
Azael frowned faintly.
"The Goddess, huh…"
He continued reading, his interest steadily growing. This book was far more fascinating than he had expected.