Morning arrived with the distant sound of training steel clashing in the courtyard.
Leon opened his eyes to sunlight filtering through heavy curtains. For a brief moment, he forgot.
Then the ceiling came into focus.
Carved oak beams.
Crystal chandelier.
This was not Earth.
"…Right."
He sat up slowly, allowing his mind to fully settle into this body again.
The memories felt more stable today. Less like a storm. More like a library he could browse at will.
Leon Brack.
Seventeen.
Eldest son of Baron Aldric Brack.
Heir to a declining barony in the western region of the kingdom.
And widely considered a disappointment.
He rose from bed and dressed himself in simple noble attire—dark trousers, white shirt, fitted coat bearing the crest of House Brack: a silver hawk over a fading blue shield.
The hawk symbolized vigilance.
Ironically.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter."
The same maid from yesterday stepped inside, bowing slightly.
"The Baron has requested your presence in the study, Young Lord."
Already.
Efficient.
Leon nodded. "I'll be there shortly."
As he walked through the estate halls, servants subtly paused to watch him.
Whispers followed.
"…He looks normal."
"…After attempting something like that…"
"…Maybe he finally realized his position."
He ignored them.
Observation first.
Reaction later.
The estate itself was not poor. Stone walls were well maintained. Floors polished. Windows clean.
This was not the home of a bankrupt noble.
This was the home of a stagnating one.
He reached the study and knocked once.
"Enter," came the firm voice of Baron Aldric.
Leon stepped inside.
The study smelled faintly of parchment and ink. Maps covered the central table. Shelves of records lined the walls.
Aldric stood near the window, arms folded behind his back.
Across the table stood another young man—broad-shouldered, disciplined posture, short dark hair.
His younger brother.
Rowan Brack.
Sixteen.
Unlike Leon, Rowan trained daily with knights and showed promise in mana control.
Rowan's gaze flicked toward him, unreadable.
"Sit," Aldric ordered.
Leon obeyed.
Aldric did not waste time.
"Word of your… incident has not spread beyond the estate. Officially, you fell ill."
A deliberate pause.
"You will not disgrace this house further."
"I won't," Leon replied calmly.
Rowan frowned slightly.
The old Leon would have snapped defensively.
Aldric studied him again.
"Very well. Then begin by proving it."
He gestured toward the maps.
"Explain to me why House Brack's grain exports have declined for three consecutive seasons."
Leon blinked.
Ah.
A test.
He stepped closer to the table.
The map showed trade routes branching toward neighboring territories. Several routes had red markings.
He sifted through inherited memories.
The old Leon never cared about this.
But the information existed.
Slowly, he pieced it together.
"Our western road," Leon said carefully, "has deteriorated. Merchants prefer the southern route controlled by Count Marveil."
Rowan's brows lifted slightly.
Aldric remained silent.
Leon continued.
"Additionally, our river transport has become unreliable due to reduced maintenance on the docks. And… bandit activity has increased near the forest border."
Aldric's eyes sharpened.
"And why," he asked, "has that maintenance not been performed?"
Leon looked up.
"Because we redirected funds to military expansion last year. Which failed to yield results."
Silence filled the room.
Rowan shifted.
Aldric spoke slowly.
"You have never before shown interest in these matters."
Leon met his father's gaze.
"I was foolish."
Not defensive.
Not dramatic.
Simply stated.
"I won't be anymore."
Rowan stared at him openly now.
Aldric walked around the table.
"If you truly intend to change," he said, "then you will accompany me to the village council meeting this afternoon."
Leon inclined his head.
"As you wish."
Aldric dismissed them.
Rowan lingered as they exited into the corridor.
"…Are you serious?" Rowan asked quietly once they were alone.
"About?"
"This act."
Leon glanced at him.
"You think it's an act?"
Rowan crossed his arms.
"You hated meetings. You avoided responsibility. Now you're analyzing trade routes?"
Leon allowed a faint smile.
"People can change."
Rowan studied him carefully.
"…If you're serious," he said at last, "then don't embarrass Father again."
He walked away before Leon could respond.
Leon exhaled softly.
Family dynamics complicated.
Good.
Complication meant depth.
—
The ride to the central village revealed the true condition of the territory.
Fields stretched wide and fertile—but irrigation channels were poorly maintained.
Farmers worked diligently, yet their tools were outdated.
The roads were uneven.
Potential.
Wasted potential.
Leon observed quietly from horseback beside his father.
Aldric noticed.
"You see it now?" he asked without looking at him.
"Yes."
"And?"
"We're not weak because of land."
Aldric's eyes flicked toward him briefly.
"We're weak because of management."
Aldric did not respond.
But his grip on the reins tightened slightly.
—
The village hall meeting was tense.
Elders gathered around a long wooden table.
Complaints flowed quickly.
"Bandits attacked two caravans last week!"
"Our tools break too easily!"
"The forest edge feels… strange at night. The animals avoid it."
That last statement caught Leon's attention.
Strange.
He remained silent, observing.
Aldric addressed military concerns.
Rowan discussed increasing patrol rotations.
When trade was mentioned, Leon finally spoke.
"What if," he said carefully, "instead of increasing patrols immediately, we repair the western road first?"
Several elders blinked in surprise.
"The Young Lord speaks?" one whispered.
Leon continued calmly.
"If merchants can travel faster and safer on maintained roads, bandits lose easy targets. Increased trade revenue can then fund stronger patrols."
Murmurs spread.
Logical.
Measured.
Aldric watched him closely.
An elder nodded slowly.
"That… would make sense."
Leon added, "Additionally, reopening river transport reduces road congestion and diversifies routes."
Silence.
Then—
"…Perhaps the Young Lord truly has matured," someone muttered.
Aldric spoke at last.
"We will review the budget."
It was not approval.
But it was not dismissal.
For now, that was enough.
—
That evening, Leon walked alone along the estate's outer grounds.
The air felt heavier here.
Colder.
The inherited memories surfaced again.
There had always been rumors about the forest bordering their territory.
Ancient ruins.
Sealed caves.
Strange mana fluctuations.
The old Leon never cared.
But the Korean man within him was curious.
The villagers' comment lingered in his mind.
The forest edge feels strange at night.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
Mana in this body was weak—
—but perception was not entirely absent.
He felt it.
Faint.
A pulse.
Deep beneath the earth.
Not natural.
Not random.
Ancient.
His eyes snapped open.
"…Interesting."
He followed the sensation toward a neglected section of land near the forest boundary.
Overgrown vines concealed what looked like a collapsed stone structure.
Ruins.
Old.
Very old.
The pulse grew slightly stronger.
He knelt and brushed aside dirt.
Draconic script faintly etched into stone.
His breath stilled.
Even with limited knowledge, he recognized it.
Dragon language.
"…Why is this here?"
Dragons were rare.
Almost myth.
Why would their script exist beneath the weakest territory in the kingdom?
The pulse throbbed again.
Deep underground.
As if responding to his presence.
Leon stood slowly.
This was dangerous.
Unknown ancient forces beneath your land never meant good news.
He should report this.
Seal it.
Ignore it.
Return to the estate.
Live peacefully.
He stared at the stone again.
Then sighed.
"…Peace really isn't easy."
He began clearing more debris.
Minutes passed.
Eventually, a narrow stone stairway revealed itself beneath tangled roots.
Descending into darkness.
The air that rose from below was warm.
Carrying an overwhelming density of mana.
Even his weak body felt pressure.
His instincts screamed caution.
But curiosity—and something deeper—pulled him forward.
He lit a small lantern and began descending.
Each step echoed softly.
The mana grew heavier.
Ancient carvings lined the walls.
Dragons with wings spread wide.
Elven figures kneeling before them.
The script spoke of legacy.
Of bloodline.
Of guardianship.
His pulse quickened.
Finally, the stairway opened into a vast underground chamber.
His lantern light barely scratched its scale.
At the center stood a stone altar.
And upon it—
An enormous egg.
Nearly the size of a carriage.
Its surface shimmered faintly, gold veins pulsing beneath smooth ivory shell.
Leon froze.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The mana here was suffocating.
Even without strong talent, he could feel its power.
This was not a random artifact.
This was—
The egg pulsed.
Light flickered across its surface.
And for a brief second—
He felt something brush against his consciousness.
Soft.
Curious.
Lonely.
He staggered slightly.
"…You're alive."
The pulse strengthened.
As if answering.
His rational mind screamed.
This is dangerous.
This is beyond you.
Report it.
Seal it.
Run.
But another thought surfaced.
If this egg hatches—
In your territory.
In secret.
Then House Brack will no longer be weak.
No.
Not that.
He corrected himself.
If this thing hatches and others discover it—
House Brack will be destroyed.
Kings would kill for this.
Elves would worship it.
Demons might hunt it.
Dragons—
He didn't even know.
He stepped closer cautiously.
The shell felt warm.
And when his hand brushed its surface—
The golden veins flared brightly.
The entire chamber trembled.
Cracks spread faintly across the egg.
He jumped back.
"No, no— not now—"
The cracking intensified.
Light spilled through the fractures.
Mana surged violently outward, slamming into him like a tidal wave.
He shielded his face.
A final, thunderous crack echoed.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Sacred.
Slowly, he lowered his arm.
Before him—
Curled upon the altar—
Lay a small dragon.
Not massive.
Not yet.
But unmistakably draconic.
Ivory scales tinged with gold.
Small folded wings.
Eyes closed.
Breathing softly.
Alive.
Leon stared.
"…This is exactly the opposite of peaceful."
The dragon's eyes fluttered open.
Golden irises met his.
Ancient.
Intelligent.
And impossibly clear.
For a long second, they simply looked at each other.
Then—
The small dragon shifted clumsily.
Looked around.
And finally focused solely on him.
She tilted her head.
Studying.
Evaluating.
Then, with innocent certainty—
She spoke.
One word.
Clear.
Soft.
"Father."
Leon's mind went blank.
"…What?"
The dragon attempted to stand, wobbling slightly, then took a few unstable steps toward him.
"Father."
She pressed her small forehead against his leg.
Warm.
Trusting.
Claiming.
He stared down at her in disbelief.
"…You have the wrong person."
She looked up again, golden eyes shining.
And repeated, firmly:
"Father."
Leon covered his face with one hand.
He had wanted peace.
Comfort.
A quiet second life.
Instead—
He now stood in a hidden dragon chamber, with a newborn dragon calling him father.
He let out a long, slow breath.
"…Fine."
He looked down at her again.
"If I'm your father…"
He hesitated.
Then muttered softly—
"…Then I suppose I'll have to take responsibility."
Above them, the ground lay silent.
The world remained unaware.
For now.