Note : sorry for previous delay in ch , I will try to be continuous from now on
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The first thing Reinhart felt was the softness beneath him.
A bed. Sheets. Warmth.
For a long moment, he didn't move — just stared at the ceiling, watching faint sunlight slide across the carved wooden beams. His head felt heavy, his mouth dry. The air smelled faintly of medicine and herbs.
Then he turned his head.
The doctor sat beside him again — that same middle-aged man with tired eyes, scribbling something in his small notebook. Reinhart's chest tightened. For a second, he thought he was still dreaming.
The doctor noticed him stir.
"You're awake," he said calmly, setting the quill aside. "You collapsed near the courtyard garden. Do you feel well right now ?"
Reinhart opened his mouth but only a hoarse whisper came out.
"…I… think so."
The doctor sighed softly, his gaze gentle but probing. "You should rest more, young master. Your body seems fine, but your pulse was erratic when we found you. I'll inform the Duke that you're conscious."
He rose, gathered his notes, and left with the quiet efficiency of someone used to strange patients.
The sound of the door closing was like a weight lifting from Reinhart's chest.
He let out a long breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Silence again. Peace, however brief.
But it didn't last.
The door creaked open, and Seraphine entered — her steps soft yet deliberate. Her usual composure seemed off today. There was worry in her eyes, subtle but real.
"Reinhart," she said, approaching the bed. "Are you feeling alright? The guards said they found you unconscious. What happened last night?"
Maybe she is trying to get information out of me , classic move
He sat up slowly, forcing a faint smile. "Nothing serious. I just… heard something. A whisper, maybe. Then a dog barked and it startled me." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Guess I tripped and fell. Embarrassing, really."
Her eyes lingered on him for a long second — too long.
She was searching for something.
" a whisper?" she repeated quietly.
"Yeah," he nodded, eyes darting toward the window. "Must've been the wind "
Seraphine's gaze softened, though doubt still hid beneath the surface. She sighed and crossed her arms. "Be more careful next time. You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."
"I know."
She turned toward the door, pausing before leaving. "Get some rest. The training can wait."
When she left, the room fell silent once again. Reinhart leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
She was weird today , her behaviour is not like that but it also show that she is immature in this region
She is not a trained spy or assasin , whatever she is
Maybe someone is forcing her , but who and why her ?
He tried to remember last night but still couldn't figure out anything useful from his memories
He wondered which of the two was more dangerous — the nightmare that haunted his sleep… or the secret he'd stumbled upon .
...
Morning passed slowly.
He had barely finished dressing when a servant knocked and bowed.
"The Duke has summoned you, young master."
Reinhart felt a flicker of unease. The duke , rarely summoned him without reason — and the tone of the servant's voice suggested it wasn't for praise.
He straightened his uniform and followed the servant through the long marble corridor toward the Duke's private office. Every step echoed like a hammer inside his head.
When the heavy doors opened, he saw his father standing near the tall window, arms folded behind his back.
"Reinhart," his father said without turning. "Come in."
Reinhart stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Father."
The Duke finally turned to face him, his gaze sweeping from head to toe.
"You look like you've been dragged through a battlefield. Dark circles, unkempt uniform, sleepless eyes… Is this how a son of Valdric presents himself?"
Reinhart remained silent.
The Duke's voice was calm, but every word struck like a blade. "I allowed you freedom during your training because I believed discipline would follow effort. Yet it seems you've forgotten the very foundation of a Dukedom heir — composure."
He began pacing slowly around the desk, hands clasped behind his back. " what do servants will say , that their young master got so afraid of a dog bark that he collapsed there on the spot "
Reinhart lowered his gaze. He wanted to speak, to defend himself, yet no words came.
As the Duke continued, Reinhart's attention drifted — his eyes caught something on a shelf behind his father's desk.
An old revolver.
Its metal was dull, blanketed with dust. But beneath the rust, faint traces of gold and silver plating gleamed. A two-headed eagle was engraved along the barrel — worn yet still majestic.
The sight pulled at him, strange and heavy. The longer he looked, the more he felt something stir in his chest — quiet curiosity .
" It looks similar to the revolver I had in the game " reinhart thought
The Duke's voice snapped him back. "—Do you understand, Reinhart?"
"Yes, Father," he replied automatically.
The Duke studied him for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Good. See to it that you regain your focus. You are dismissed."
Reinhart hesitated before bowing again. But as he turned to leave, his gaze flicked once more toward the revolver.
"Father," he said quietly. "That weapon on your shelf… may I ask about it?"
The Duke followed his gaze and chuckled faintly. "That? A piece of junk that doesn't work anymore. Your grandfather's sidearm from past."
He walked over and brushed the dust from it, revealing more of the intricate design. "It's broken now. Doesn't support mana bullets — relies on the old gunpowder type instead. Outdated, heavy, inefficient."
Reinhart's eyes lingered on the weapon. "Can I… have it?"
The Duke shrugged. "If you wish. It's of no use to me. Just be careful — it's not a toy. And remember, it no longer works as it once did."
He placed the revolver on the desk and returned to his papers, dismissing him with a silent gesture.
Reinhart stepped forward, brushing off the last of the dust as he picked it up. The cold metal felt rough in his hands — old, imperfect, yet solid.
He asked for it because it looked cool and in the game he personally customised it .
He put it under his coat and went to his room , hoping to examine this revolver more carefully
For the first time in days, his thoughts quieted — just a little.