Taking slow, deliberate steps, Kene assessed his situation. He could not help but be distracted by the sheer amount of mana in the atmosphere. Compared to the world of the forgotten timeline, this land felt saturated. In that era, corruption had leeched the world dry, leaving barely a trace of mana in the environment.

  He had been branded a cripple by his family, so it seemed prudent to check his core and see what he was working with.

  “What?” he muttered in shock.

  The sight left him baffled. All that was wrong was a slight atrophy of the core. Cases like this were rare but not unheard of. Normally, they were easily corrected with a mana well array or an elixir—hardly a real setback.

  Kene frowned. His family had never struggled for coin, so why had no one bothered to fix this over all these years? Perhaps it was a cultural oversight. Or maybe prejudice of some sort had been at play, though he could not be sure.

  If his father had sent him here to earn the coin for an elixir, that explanation made the most sense. Mana Well elixirs existed in this region, but they were uncommon and expensive.

  “I can earn coin quickly by tackling dungeons or spires,” Kene thought. Records of these structures were sparse, even in the golden age of magic. Most scholars agreed that they were remnants of some intelligent civilization, far older than humanity. Occasionally, murals or cryptic texts appeared within them, too frequent to ignore. In his era, these sites had been thoroughly looted, with entire industries built around exploration, research, and trade.

  There were a few notable dungeons he planned to visit once he gained enough power—places unavailable to him in the forgotten timeline.

  Fortunately, Ester’s mana veins were intact and healthy. This meant he could awaken on the martial path for the time being. Though he had been primarily a mage in the forgotten timeline, he had also dual-classed as an Enforcer.

  “I suppose I’m starting in the opposite direction now,” Kene thought. The mana in the air was more than enough for him to open his first gate at any moment, but he preferred to do so in the safety of his home.

  That reminded him of another task: he needed to root out traitors and remove them promptly. His eyes darkened slightly, though it was not anger that drove him. It was simply another variable he could not ignore.

  Ahead, the gate to his territory came into view, flanked by two guards. They spotted him immediately and eyed him warily. Recognition quickly replaced caution with shock.

  “Young Master,” one of them stammered, “you’re injured. We need to take you for medical treatment.”

  “I would like that,” Kene said.

  “Come. I will escort you to your estate,” the guard added, leading the way.

  The rest of the trip was a blur as Kene’s consciousness was fading and an out, he made out more guards rushing to his aid, seemingly led by a middle aged man in a butlers uniform. He had a worried look on his face when he took one look at Kene.

  He vaguely felt his body being laid on a bed, then he fell asleep.

  ***

  One of the mages, a woman named Celiel, stepped forward and began weaving healing magic over the wound. Pale light gathered around her hands as flesh slowly knit itself back together. As Kene watched, he could not help but notice the inefficiency in her rune sequence. The structure of the spell bled mana unnecessarily.

  There was a constant loss. Twenty percent, no—closer to thirty.

  “Mage Celiel,” Kene said after a moment, “what circle are you currently?”

  “Master Ester, I am a Second Circle Mage,” she replied without hesitation.

  Second circle. Kene frowned inwardly. That explained some of it, but not all. Even a trainee should not have been taught something so poorly optimized. Whatever institution had trained her was questionable at best. The foundational array itself was flawed.

  Once the wound fully closed, Celiel bowed and turned to leave. Kene stopped her.

  “Wait.”

  She paused and turned back. “Can I be of further assistance, young master?”

  “Give me a moment,” Kene said.

  He reached for paper and began sketching a diagram. Lines flowed quickly beneath his hand, forming an improved magic array. He hesitated briefly, considering whether helping her was worth the trouble. In the end, he decided there was no harm in it. The inefficiency had been bothering him more than he cared to admit.

  He handed her the page. “Here.”

  “What is this—” Celiel began, but stopped as recognition dawned. Her eyes traced the runes, lingering on the altered pathways.

  “I noticed your array was inefficient,” Kene said calmly. “This is a standard optimized model. Consider it a thank-you for aiding me.”

  The original Ester had never tried to build relationships with the vassals his father had assigned him. The boy had been too consumed by his own misery, which was understandable to a point. Still, it had been shortsighted. Had he earned the trust of his mages and enforcers, he might have secured the resources needed to correct his limitations.

  Kene considered that further. Yes, that was likely the intent. A test from his host’s father, designed to see whether Ester could stand on his own. Kene found such games tedious, but merit-based thinking was common among mages. Turning adversity into proof of worth appealed to them.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He studied Celiel’s expression. It was not what he expected.

  She looked confused.

  “Is something wrong?” Kene asked, curiosity stirring.

  “Where did you learn this?” she asked quietly.

  What?

  “It is a standard array,” Kene replied. “It should be more efficient than the one you used.”

  Her eyes flickered with doubt, subtle but unmistakable. She tried to hide it, but Kene noticed.

  “The young master is very kind,” she said stiffly.

  So she thought he was lying. Or worse, mistaken.

  “If you are skeptical,” Kene said evenly, “you may take it to a mage tower. They can verify the array’s validity.”

  “A mage… tower?” Celiel repeated. “What is that, young master?”

  The words hit him like a blade.

  Mage towers were fundamental institutions during the golden age of magic. Research centres, academies, and political nexuses all rolled into one. He had assumed that was where she had trained.

  A dark premonition formed in his mind.

  Too many things did not add up. His family’s neglect of his atrophied core. The crude healing array. A mage unfamiliar with mage towers.

  His thoughts returned to the ancient presence that had interfered with the ritual. Something had gone wrong. Far more than he had realized.

  “Celiel,” Kene asked slowly, “what year is it?”

  He should have arrived in the year 1200, the height of the golden age. The calamity would not begin until 1423.

  “The year is 789, young master,” she answered.

  So it was worse than he thought.

  The ritual had not sent him back two hundred years. It had sent him back more than six hundred.

  Understanding settled heavily over him. This was a pre-magic era. Knowledge was fragmented and hoarded. Magic itself was crude and inefficient. Mage towers had not yet been founded. An atrophied core was not a minor defect here. It was a crippling disability. The treatment simply did not exist.

  Suddenly, his family’s actions made sense.

  There were further implications. The Enforcer path was not common knowledge yet, preserved only by isolated tribes in mana-poor regions. Much of what Kene knew about structured cultivation did not exist.

  So his guards were really just regular guards. Kene assumed they were Enforcers since that was common in the golden age.

  He would have to discard his assumptions about the golden age. His knowledge of this era was sparse, limited to Ester’s fractured memories.

  Still, opportunity remained.

  Dragons should still roam the mortal realm, untouched by the calamity. Gaining a sacred bloodline was not just possible, it was feasible. He had time. Time to prepare humanity. Time to ‘invent’ the Enforcer path. Time to refine magic itself.

  And time to find Hiro and the others.

  “Young master,” Celiel said carefully, “you have been silent for some time. Is everything all right? Your injury—”

  “I am fine,” Kene said, rising to his feet. “And thank you, Celiel.”

  He met her gaze. “I recommend you try the array before dismissing it. I am aware of my condition, but I was tutored by my father’s best when I was younger. If you like what you see, know that I can offer more.”

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  “Think about it,” Kene said, and turned to leave.

  ***

  After eating dinner alone in his room, Kene retired to his main office and began writing his plans in his native language. Five minutes had barely passed when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” he said.

  A man in his late fifties entered. His black hair was streaked with silver, and despite his age, his eyes were sharp and observant. He wore a neatly pressed, formal suit more befitting a butler than a noble retainer. This was Mikkel, Ester’s personal attendant.

  From Ester’s memories, Kene knew the man well. Mikkel had been one of the few who treated Ester kindly during his childhood, intervening whenever he could against the cruelty of the household.

  Kene felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly.

  So I can still smile, he thought. It felt unfamiliar. Perhaps the host’s memories were bleeding into him more than he had realized.

  “Master Flamebearer,” Mikkel said with a small bow, “it is good to see your health has improved. You wished to see me?”

  “Yes,” Kene replied. “You are likely curious about how I sustained my injury.”

  Mikkel’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  “It was the guard assigned to escort me during my morning walk,” Kene continued. “I do not remember their face. Did any guards return late or go missing around that time?”

  “No, Master Flamebearer,” Mikkel said, concern evident in his voice. “We searched for your escort while you were unconscious. All guards were accounted for. None were missing.”

  “I see,” Kene said slowly. “Then it was an assassin. They infiltrated our ranks, carried out the attack, and vanished.”

  “Yes,” Mikkel said grimly. “As troubling as it sounds, that appears to be the case. Security across the compound has been increased, and a bounty has been issued.”

  They succeeded, Kene thought. The previous host had died. That was the only reason his soul had been able to take Ester’s body.

  They likely confirmed the heart had stopped before leaving. By now, they were probably on their way to collect payment. The real question was who ordered it.

  Ester’s memories offered few answers. The only figure who surfaced repeatedly was his eldest brother. Of all his siblings, he had been the cruelest, singling Ester out relentlessly.

  But even that felt excessive.

  If they return to finish the job, they will be in for a surprise.

  Kene refocused on Mikkel. “Thank you for your vigilance. You have always been dependable.”

  Mikkel bowed slightly. “Think nothing of it, Master Flamebearer.”

  “This incident has taught me something,” Kene said. “I am no longer under my father’s direct protection. I must be more pragmatic about my safety.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” Mikkel asked.

  “I need to become stronger,” Kene said. “Regardless of my disability. I want you to gather any books on exotic or unconventional magic within the Sepment Kingdom.”

  The name surfaced in his memory a heartbeat too late, but he concealed the hesitation.

  “I cannot cast magic in the traditional sense,” he continued, “but there may be alternatives.”

  Mikkel’s expression shifted. Skepticism mixed with quiet sadness. He had seen Ester attempt this before. Every effort to overcome his limitations had ended in disappointment, until the boy eventually gave up.

  Kene noticed it, but did not comment. He needed a plausible explanation for what was to come. When he awakened as an Enforcer, he would claim inspiration drawn from obscure, preexisting records. A reconstruction, not an invention.

  “I also want to begin training with the guard unit,” Kene added. “Weapons instruction under Knight Merva. Starting two days from now.”

  “As you wish, Master Flamebearer,” Mikkel said without hesitation.

  “One more thing,” Kene said. “Give me a brief overview of the territory’s condition. I will read the full reports later.”

  Mikkel obliged.

  The situation was bleak. Bandit raids had intensified along merchant routes, slowing trade and causing shortages of goods and food. A mine had been overrun by beasts, halting ore production entirely. An extermination attempt led by Knight Merva had ended poorly, with three dead and several injured after encountering a magical beast. The farmland struggled to yield crops, and with winter approaching, there was not enough food to sustain the population.

  Kene clicked his tongue softly.

  If he were a mage, he knew spells that could resolve half of these issues. Soil enrichment alone would have stabilized the farms. But for now, he was an Enforcer. Powerful, yes, but limited. Enforcers excelled at one thing: destruction. Their strength lay in enhancing the body, not reshaping the world.

  Still, opportunity existed. Mikkel mentioned a dungeon within the territory’s borders. That alone was worth attention.

  For now, Kene needed to focus on one thing.

  Improving himself.