The world greets him with light. Harsh, blinding light.
The warmth of the womb gives way to cold air, and the muffled world becomes sharp and vibrant. He cries—not from pain, but necessity. It's expected of a newborn. Another act in the grand play of life.
But unlike others, he is aware. Calculating.
He forces a wail, and the reaction is instant.
Cheers erupt around him.
"He's healthy!"
"Look at his eyes—like fire!"
"By the heavens, his hair… it's like molten gold!"
The newborn opens his eyes slowly, blinking through the blur. The first faces he sees are filled with emotion.
His father—a towering man with eyes of steel and a jaw like carved granite. A battle-hardened knight. Mana rolls off him in waves—controlled, powerful, disciplined. His armor glints under moonlight, the crest of Arkanveil shining bright on his chest.
His mother—soft, radiant, and brimming with love. She has the calming presence of a healer, yet her mana is dense, refined. Her eyes well with tears as she cradles him to her chest, murmuring something too soft to hear.
He feels her mana instinctively scan his body—checking for anomalies, weakness, defects. She gasps, just slightly. Not out of fear, but awe.
His mana core—though undeveloped—is vast.
Far too vast for a newborn.
Still, she says nothing, only kisses his forehead, whispering, "You're going to be something special… I can feel it."
You have no idea, he thinks, giggling.
---
One by one, his siblings gather.
First comes his eldest brother, Aleron. Broad-shouldered and stoic, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. His eyes linger on the baby not with jealousy, but with curiosity. A sword is strapped to his back, and he carries himself like a warrior already shaped by blood and fire.
Then his older sister, elegant and sharp-eyed. There's a flame to her aura—figuratively and literally. Mana dances around her in wisps of heat. She leans in, pokes his chubby cheek, and chuckles. "He's cuter than I expected."
You'll be stronger soon, he thinks, recalling the Flame Lotus Seed he would one day give her.
The others arrive next: a younger brother, just a toddler—staring with wide eyes—and finally, a baby girl, barely able to walk, toddling with the help of a maid. She giggles when he giggles.
I'll protect you all, he promises silently, his mind already weaving futures like tapestries.
---
They name him that night.
"Lucien Arkanveil," his father declares, holding him up under the crimson moon. "Son of House Arkanveil. Born under the blood moon—blessed by power."
The family kneels in reverence.
Lucien's red eyes meet the moonlight. It's a rare lunar event, considered a powerful omen—one that marks a child as destined for greatness… or tragedy.
Fitting, Lucien muses. The villain of the story was born under this same moon.
Only this time, the villain is a player who knows the script.
---
Days pass.
Lucien plays his part well. He giggles when expected, cries when bored, sleeps when his body demands it. But behind every movement is intention.
He listens.
He observes.
He learns.
The maids whisper of his beauty. The guards speak of his aura. The elders mutter that he may be the second coming of the Founder.
At night, when everyone sleeps, he focuses inward.
> [Meditation - Lv 4 (23/200)]
> [Mana Control - Lv 3 (77/300)]
His proficiency panel remains silent unless he acts—but every skill gained in the womb continues to grow. His infantile body limits him, but his soul refuses stagnation.
He begins working on mana channeling—forming tiny circuits within his undeveloped limbs.
> [Skill Acquired: Mana Circuit Formation - Lv 1 (1/100)]
Progress is slow, but steady.
> [Mana Perception - Lv 2 Unlocked]
> [Mana Perception - Lv 2 (5/200)]
His senses sharpen. He can feel mana sources with more clarity—his mother's healing aura, his father's knightly pressure, his siblings' varying elements.
His youngest sister has the potential for light magic.
Elric's sister—her giggles echoing from the servant wing—has a spark of wind mana, delicate but vibrant.
Yes… the pieces are all here.
The game has already begun.
---
One evening, his father visits alone.
Lucien lies still in the crib, pretending to sleep, while the Duke sits beside him. For a man of war, his presence is oddly gentle here.
"You will bear the name of Arkanveil," the Duke says softly, brushing a strand of golden hair from Lucien's face. "It is a name that demands strength, but I will not force it upon you."
Lucien's tiny hand twitches. He wants to speak. To answer. But he doesn't. Not yet.
"I hope… you will not walk the same path as your uncle."
Ah.
So it begins.
Even now, the shadow of the original Lucien looms—spoiled, jealous, broken by limitations. A genius turned bitter villain.
But this Lucien is different.
He was a god of a world before, a ruler who climbed the peak of power. And now, he is reborn with that wisdom, that fire, and one singular goal—
Rewrite destiny.
---
When the Duke leaves, Lucien turns his gaze to the ceiling.
He doesn't fear the path ahead.
He welcomes it.
Every memory of the novel he read in his last life is etched in his mind. He knows the names of the heroes, the rise of the protagonist, the turning points that would shape the continent.
He knows when the dragons will stir.
When the demons will march.
When the traitors will bare their fangs.
And most importantly—he knows the villain's end.
Not this time.
This time, Lucien Arkanveil will not fall.
He will rise—higher than anyone.
Even if he must become the villain the world fears… to protect the ones he loves.
> [Proficiency Panel Synced]
> [All systems stable]
> [Awaiting Host's Awakening: Age 14]
A long journey awaits.
But for now, he is just a baby.
A beautiful, giggling baby—
—hiding the soul of a king.