Christopher stood in the center of a dense, shadowy forest. All around him, the air was thick with the scent of soil and sweat. The digging had been going on for days, and now the moment had come.
Suddenly, a worker shouted with excitement, his voice ringing through the trees:
"We found it! We found the Crimson Shards!"
A rush of energy spread through the workers. Cheers broke out. Even Duchess Helena Ravion, standing nearby, let out a breath of relief. The tension in her chest finally loosened.
Just a few weeks ago, when she was ordered to escort and serve the First Prince—Christopher Zadberg—she had felt thrilled. She thought this was her chance. If she could get close to him, maybe even seduce him, she could become part of the Royal Family.
But her dreams were shattered quickly.
Christopher didn't fall for her beauty. He didn't flirt, didn't praise her. He didn't even look at her the way most men did.
Instead, he looked through her—cold, sharp, calculating.
Worse, he found the secret she had hidden from the world for ten years:
She had a son.
And with that knowledge, he blackmailed her into giving him access to one of the most dangerous secrets of the realm—an illegal Crimson Shard mine.
These shards were forbidden. The Royal Family had outlawed them completely. No one was allowed to mine, trade, or even possess them. But Helena, desperate to hide her past and protect her position, used her personal resources and loyal soldiers to secretly dig a private mine deep in the woods.
Now, standing next to the very man who twisted her fate, she realized something:
Christopher was nothing like what the nobles said.
He wasn't spoiled, arrogant, or greedy.
He was silent. Controlled. Dangerous.
Even as the Crimson Shards—so rare, so powerful—were revealed in the ground before him, Christopher didn't smile. He didn't even blink.
To him, the shards were just a tool—a way to level up. Nothing more.
If he hadn't found them, he would have moved on without regret. Because in this world, Christopher believed in only one thing:
> "Nothing ever goes according to plan. So keep moving forward."
That's all he did.
And that's what made him terrifying.
As he watched the glowing red shards being lifted from the dirt, Christopher's mind drifted—to his brother.
Clinton.
A few days ago, Christopher had received word that Clinton had killed a nobleman.
That was… unusual.
Clinton had always been impulsive, but never reckless. Never violent without reason. And now, there were whispers—ice element awakening, new strength, strange behavior…
Christopher narrowed his eyes.
> "He's changing," he thought. "Becoming… a variable."
And Christopher Zadberg hated variables.
Christopher's POV – Under the Sky
Christopher sat quietly beneath a tall tree, its leaves rustling gently in the wind above him. He looked up at the sky—it was beautiful today. Peaceful. Clouds drifted lazily past, glowing orange and gold in the light of the setting sun.
But his mind wasn't at peace.
His heart wasn't here.
> "In my previous life… I never made it this far."
Despite being the First Prince, despite being the most hardworking son of the king, the nobles never truly accepted him.
Neither did the public.
Why?
Because he wasn't born of royal blood. He was the not the king's son, the outsider with no true claim to the throne in their eyes.
No matter how many wars he won, no matter how much he sacrificed—they never saw him as one of their own.
In the end, Clinton, his younger brother, was chosen to be king.
And him?
They made Christopher Zadberg, the First Prince, into nothing more than a minister of the central region.
Even that role didn't last long.
At the age of just 45, Christopher was assassinated—killed by none other than his own stepmother, the queen…
Loarine.
She smiled at him while plunging the dagger into his chest.
That smile still haunted him.
But fate had other plans.
> "Instead of dying… I opened my eyes again."
He had been reborn—in his 11-year-old body, the same age when everything had just begun to go wrong.
This time…
There would be no mistakes.
This time, he would not serve anyone.
This time, he would rule.
He clenched his fist as he stared at the open sky above.
> "I'm going to change everything.
I'm going to take back what's mine.
And I'm going to make all of them pay."
His voice was calm, but his heart burned with cold fire.
The tree, the wind, the sky—everything around him felt still, like the world itself was waiting to see what he would do next.
The mighty King of Velmora, Adam Zadberg, fell to his knees.
His chest was pierced clean through—by something not of this world.
A claw, twisted and black, glowing faintly with a purple hue, had run him through. Around him, the battlefield was silent—a graveyard of his kingdom's finest soldiers, their blood soaking into the dark, lifeless earth.
The sky above was red.
The air smelled of ash.
And then…
> THUMP!
"Huff… huff… huff…"
Adam gasped as he shot upright in his grand bed, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
> "That damned dream again…"
His voice was hoarse—almost tired of being afraid.
The king wiped his face and slowly climbed out of bed. Barefoot and without a word, he crossed the marble floors of his royal chamber and exited through a silent corridor, until he reached a door carved with ancient runes.
His private library.
The guards outside didn't move. They had been instructed long ago—no one followed the king into the library. Ever.
Inside, the scent of old books and ink filled the air. The torches on the walls flickered as he passed, casting long shadows between the shelves.
He walked with purpose.
Shelf Four.
Fifth book.
He reached for it without hesitation.
The title read:
> "Dark Fragments."
The moment his fingers wrapped around the spine and pulled it free, the entire shelf shuddered—then began to slide upward, groaning like an ancient beast disturbed from its sleep.
Behind it, hidden in plain sight, was a wooden door—old, reinforced with black metal, its edges sealed to keep something in… or perhaps, out.
Adam placed his hand on the door, his face grim.