Voices.
Distant at first. Muffled, like I was underwater.
Then… clearer.
— "His body's a wreck... Thin. Malnourished. But his mana flow\... it's ridiculously stable."
A mana... flow?
— "...And the way he unconsciously uses Mantra… it's absurd. Who is this kid?"
The voices circled around me, growing sharper, more defined.
I tried to open my eyes. My body refused.
— "Should we treat him like a street rat, my lord?" a man asked. His tone was sharp, formal.
Another voice responded.
Deeper. Calm.
Strangely… amused.
— "No. Not yet. Look at him. He's not ordinary trash. Not with that level of control… completely instinctual. Even seasoned knights would envy that."
Footsteps approached. A firm, heavy step. Whoever it was, he wasn't just some random noble.
No... this was someone used to being obeyed.
A hand rested against my chest.
Warm... but unnervingly heavy.
— "Hmm... He's still unconscious. Pity. I had some questions."
Silence. Then, the deeper voice spoke again, thoughtful.
— "I was planning to bring in a successor. Someone talented... someone with potential. But this... this might be fate handing me something far more interesting."
Successor...?
I wanted to shout.
Wanted to move.
But my body was frozen.
Darkness tugged at my mind again.
But before it could pull me under completely, I heard one last sentence.
— "Take him. Clean him. Treat his wounds. From today... he belongs to House Ravenhart."
---
When my eyes finally blinked open, the first thing I noticed was... the ceiling.
It wasn't the sky.
Not broken boards or dirty fabrics like the slums.
A real ceiling. Smooth. Polished wood. Ornate carvings.
I blinked again, adjusting to the light. My body felt... warm. Wrapped in something soft.
Wait...
A bed?
I bolted upright—
Immediately regretting it.
Pain shot through my ribs. My stomach cramped. My arms trembled.
— "Ah, you're awake."
A voice, calm but formal.
I turned.
A man stood by the door.
Middle-aged, well-groomed. Dark vest over a crisp white shirt. Gloves. Straight posture. His gaze was sharp but not cruel.
A butler.
Definitely a butler.
He stepped closer, carrying a tray.
— "Eat. Slowly. Your body can't handle much yet."
I glanced down.
Bread. Warm broth. Some fruits.
Real food.
Not scraps. Not rotten leftovers.
My stomach growled so loud it echoed.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Was this… a trick?
Poisoned? A test?
But the smell… the warmth…
My instincts shattered my doubts.
I grabbed the bread and shoved it into my mouth like a wild animal.
It was soft. Sweet. Warm.
I didn't even notice when the broth was placed in my hands.
Sip after sip.
Every drop was heaven.
The butler watched, not saying a word.
Waiting.
When I finally leaned back, breathless and stuffed for the first time in... ever, he nodded.
— "Good. You'll need strength."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
— "...Where am I?"
The butler smiled faintly.
— "In the residence of Duke Ravenhart. Head of one of the Five Grand Ducal Houses of Kamira."
...Duke?
Grand Ducal House?!
My chest tightened.
This was bad.
Really bad.
If nobles caught a street rat like me... it usually meant prison. Or execution. Or worse.
I scrambled back against the headboard.
— "Look, I didn't mean to steal— I was just— I had to eat— Please, I—"
The butler raised a hand. Calm.
— "Relax. No one will punish you for that."
...Huh?
— "In fact... the Duke is quite pleased with you."
What?
Pleased?!
Before I could ask anything else, the door opened.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Measured.
And then he stepped in.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black and crimson.
An elegant cloak. A sword at his waist.
Sharp eyes, dark as obsidian. A well-trimmed beard.
Everything about him screamed power. Authority.
And danger.
This... was the Duke.
His eyes scanned me. Calculating.
Not with disgust.
Not with pity.
But with... curiosity.
— "So... you're awake." His voice was smooth. Deep. Confident. "I've been waiting."
I tried to speak.
Tried to say anything.
But all that came out was—
— "...Why?"
A chuckle.
Low. Controlled.
— "Simple." He stepped closer. His eyes narrowed slightly, watching every twitch in my face.
— "Because from the moment I saw you... I knew. I knew someone was trying to hide you."
My breath caught.
— "Hide... me?"
He smiled.
Sharp. Cold.
— "A boy with that level of Mantra control at your age... with natural mana flow that stable... There's no way you're just a street rat."
No.
No, no, no.
He was wrong.
So, so wrong.
I wasn't anyone.
I wasn't special.
I was just... me.
A hungry kid from the slums.
But his next words made my blood run cold.
— "I don't know whose blood flows in your veins... but it doesn't matter."
His hand extended.
Palm open.
— "From today on... you are my heir. The successor to House Ravenhart."
...What?
WHAT?!