The Lord's Arrival
"How much time do I have left?" I asked, my voice low and measured.
"-He will arrive in approximately thirty minutes," the servant replied.
"I need to wash my face. Prepare the water," I said firmly.
"-Yes, sir."
I caught the subtle note of confusion in his tone. He likely hadn't expected me to actually comply, to take the necessary steps to prepare myself.
In the past, whenever such a day arrived, I would throw a fit. I would hurl objects around, scream at the world, all because the morning had dared to disturb my slumber. I had lost count of the things I had shattered in the house over those tantrums.
Why? Perhaps it was my discomfort with the thought of facing my father, the Lord of the Fireheart clan.
Nothing had changed in that feeling, yet now, escape was not an option. This time, I had to face it.
After washing my face, I donned my formal attire, the fabric crisp against my skin. The servant assisting me seemed to shiver with apprehension, as if expecting another outburst.
Does he think I'm going to throw everything around again? I wondered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
I mean… only a ten-year-old would do something like that.
'…Then again, I did do it,' I admitted to myself.
Fully prepared, I stepped outside, immediately meeting a barrage of gazes. Whispers swirled around me, carried by the soft spring breeze.
"-I'm surprised he's willing to see his father," one voice murmured.
"-He always threw a tantrum because he didn't want to wake up in the morning…"
I could hear them all. To be honest, calling my past outbursts 'tantrums' was polite—they were more like storms of destruction.
When my eyes met two of the whisperers, they instinctively bowed, startled, but I waved them off, dismissing them gently.
What would I have done in the past? Hmm… probably scolded them both, and they'd likely have been sent from the clan the next day.
'Let's not think too much about it…' I muttered.
Walking forward, my eyes fell on flowers newly in bloom. The world outside was alive with the fresh warmth of spring, a stark contrast to the dark, cold days I had just left behind in the Martial Alliance.
Back then, the world had seemed always in autumn or winter, bleak and unforgiving.
Well… honestly, I didn't even know the season when I died. Perhaps my fascination with these flowers was simply a side effect of having the leisure to notice them.
"It's probably the latter," I said softly.
"Huh?" my escort, Kevin, asked.
"Nothing," I replied, keeping my focus forward.
After a while, passing through several manors and gardens in bloom, we arrived at the Fireheart clan's front gate. The crowd had already gathered—faces I barely remembered, seen only fleetingly over the past days.
Every one of them froze upon seeing me, their surprise evident, yet they all bowed deeply in respect. I felt a strange awkwardness at being treated with such courtesy after so long, but I masked it.
Once past the bowing crowd, only a few remained—those who did not show the customary respect. One stepped forward, speaking directly.
"…I certainly did not expect you to be here."
She was a young woman, perhaps twenty at most, her long hair tied neatly. Her beauty was undeniable, yet there was a warrior's poise in her stance and in the sharp focus of her eyes.
Among the clan's younger women, few could avoid showing me respect, but under twenty, there was only one.
Mio Fireheart.
My sister, the Flaming Sword, destined to be praised across the Martial World.
Yet today, in this fleeting moment, she was simply my sister.
"It's mandatory for me to be here," I replied, keeping my tone calm.
Mio scoffed. "And you, all this time, didn't bother to come out knowing this?" Her words were sharp, almost icy.
She was right. I had always shirked my responsibilities, running from what I knew I should face.
"I wonder why I did that too," I admitted softly.
"…What?"
"I admit I was wrong. I'll apologize to the Lord of the clan later," I added, keeping my voice level.
Mio's expression flickered with confusion, but she spoke again shortly after.
"I don't know what kind of act you're trying to pull off, but if you're trying to mess with others, I suggest you stop immediately, or I will get really mad."
She turned away, leaving me to sigh quietly. This wasn't going to be easy.
"The Lord of the clan is arriving," a servant announced.
I turned to the gate. In the distance, a carriage appeared, moving steadily toward the compound. The red horse pulling it was massive, easily twice the size of normal steeds, and it thundered onward without pause.
The carriage reached the gate far quicker than I expected, despite the distance.
As the door opened, a middle-aged man descended—a long scar streaking across half his face, his robes deep crimson, symbolizing the Fireheart clan.
Many in the crowd dared not meet his gaze; his sharp red eyes were enough to command obedience.
Father.
The Lord of Emberhold, head of the Fireheart clan, my father—Loret Fireheart—stood before me. One of the few living experts of the Martial Alliance, his presence alone radiated authority.
His eyes swept over the crowd before settling briefly on me. I met his gaze steadily, recalling the fear it had instilled in me as a child.
After a moment, his focus shifted elsewhere, scanning the assembly, a silent yet commanding presence. That was my father—always deliberate, always composed.
"My Lord. I'm glad you returned without any problems," a subordinate greeted respectfully.
"General," Father replied curtly.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Are there any swordsmen on standby?"
"The first team has just returned and is resting. The fourth team is on standby," came the answer.
"Then inform the chief of the fourth team to come see me before nightfall."
"Yes, sir. Congratulations on your return, my Lord."
With the brief exchange complete, Father entered the clan grounds, his footsteps silent yet heavy with authority. The crowd parted in instinctive deference, and I followed along.
Looking at his back, still broad and commanding, I felt both awe and a flicker of fear.
Returning to the past was miraculous, but the problems ahead were immense.
'Regardless, I'm glad to be here now,' I thought. Returning any later would have rendered my efforts useless. This was a chance few could ever hope for.
– Stomp.
Father stopped abruptly.
"Third son will come to my room after dinner," he announced without turning around.
Third son. That must mean me.
But why? Why me, and only me? The reasons seemed endless, yet none stood out clearly.
"Yes, Father," I replied promptly, keeping my voice steady despite the whirl of questions inside.
His steps resumed, echoing softly through the grounds.
Before dinner, I had already decided on my first priority—the first crucial step since returning to this past life.
"Kevin," I whispered to my escort.
"Yes, young master," he replied, attentive.
"Take me to a medic before dinner."
Kevin's face betrayed concern.
"D-Do you feel unwell?"
"…No. Eating in my current state would surely make me sick. I plan to prepare some digestive medicine beforehand."
"Oh…" he murmured, still hesitant but obeying.