The mansion had fallen quiet long before midnight. The lamps in the corridors were dimmed, servants asleep in their quarters, guards stationed only at the outer gate. Nev sat on the edge of his bed, the room lit by a single lantern. On the table before him lay the things he had brought back from the black market.
The sword rested against the wall, its plain steel catching the lantern light. The monster core sat wrapped in cloth, pulsing faintly like a sleeping heart. Beside it, the Blood Recovery Elixir waited in its vial, dark and still.
Nev stared at them for a long moment.
This was the first time in this life that he had chosen his own tools. Not gifts. Not protection borrowed from family. Things earned through risk and intent.
He stood, slipped the sword into its sheath, and left the room quietly.
The path to the underground training room was hidden behind a false wall in the eastern wing of the mansion. Only his father and a handful of trusted servants knew of its existence. The original Nev had visited it only a few times in his life, more out of curiosity than discipline.
Nev pressed his palm against the wall. A soft click echoed, and the stone slid aside.
A narrow stairway led downward, the air growing cooler with every step. The lantern light revealed smooth stone walls reinforced with metal supports. This was not a decorative room. It was a place built for strength.
At the bottom, the space opened into a wide chamber. Training dummies lined one wall. Weapon racks stood opposite them. The floor was marked with faded circles and lines, worn down by years of use. This room had seen real training once. Just not from the person whose body Nev now wore.
Nev closed the door behind him and set the lantern down.
Silence settled.
He removed his coat and placed the items neatly on a stone table. Then he took the monster core into his hands and sat cross-legged on the floor.
He breathed slowly.
The shard within his chest responded almost immediately. Threads stirred, faint at first, then clearer. Nev guided the energy from the core inward, careful not to rush. The warmth spread through his limbs, settling into muscle and bone.
Pain followed. Not sharp, but deep. Like his body was being reminded of something it had never done properly.
He clenched his jaw and endured.
As the energy settled, something shifted.
Images surfaced.
Not memories of his past lives. Not the void.
These were different.
These were his body's memories.
He saw himself younger, standing in this same room, sword in hand. But the boy's grip was loose. His stance sloppy. Sweat formed quickly, not from effort but from fear.
He remembered his father standing nearby, arms crossed, voice firm but not unkind.
"You do not need to be the best," the man had said. "But you must decide what you want."
The younger Nev had looked away.
Another memory surfaced. A banquet hall filled with laughter and polished silverware. Nobles talking about guilds and monsters and power. Someone asked him if he planned to become a Holder.
He laughed it off. Said he would think about it.
He never did.
The memories came faster now.
This Nev had grown up wealthy. Sheltered. Protected by walls, guards, and reputation. He had friends, but none close. He had opportunities, but no drive. He had watched others train and rise while he stayed comfortable and still.
He had not been weak.
He had been afraid.
Nev opened his eyes.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
This body had lived a life he never could in his first world. Safety. Food. Parents who cared. A future that did not demand blood as payment.
And it had done nothing with it.
Nev exhaled slowly and stood.
He picked up the sword.
The blade felt different now. Familiar in a way it had not before. He adjusted his grip instinctively, correcting habits the original Nev never learned.
He began with simple movements. Slow swings. Controlled footwork. Each motion pulled more fragments of memory to the surface.
He remembered tutors coming and going. His father offering private instructors. His mother arranging lessons. He remembered excuses. Delays. Polite refusals.
He remembered choosing comfort every time.
The anger that rose in him was quiet, not explosive.
Not hatred.
Regret.
As he trained, his thoughts turned outward.
This region was not weak, but it was not strong either. Tier One Holders were respected here. Tier Two were rare enough to be known by name. Tier Three were considered pillars of the region, often tied to guild leadership or monster suppression forces.
Above that, power became distant and abstract.
Guilds held real authority here. Not kings. Not nobles. Trade routes, monster control, and protection contracts decided influence. The Obsidian Order stood at the center of it all, publicly praised as defenders of the region.
And beneath that praise, the cult breathed quietly.
Nev stopped moving and rested the sword against the floor.
The original Nev had known these things. Not deeply, but enough. He had grown up hearing names like Ryan mentioned casually in conversation. Guild executives were spoken of with respect, sometimes fear.
He remembered overhearing his father once say, "Do not cross the Order. Even money has limits."
At the time, the boy had not cared.
Now, Nev did.
He drank the Blood Recovery Elixir and felt the strain fade from his muscles. He resumed training, faster this time. Cleaner.
As his body strengthened, the memories stopped feeling foreign.
They aligned.
This life was not empty.
It had simply been unused.
Nev slowed and finally stopped, breathing evenly. Sweat ran down his back. His muscles burned, but the pain felt earned.
He looked around the training room.
This place had waited for him.
He sheathed the sword and sat on the stone floor, thoughts steady.
"I will not waste this," he whispered.
Not this body.Not this world.Not the chance to become strong enough to protect what mattered.