001

c h a p t e r   1  :  y o u n g   m a s t e r (1)

He was dead.

He was sure he had died already. Even at the moment, he could still feel that bone-chilling sensation of pain when a glinting sword slowly pierced through his body. He could still vividly remember the cold cement against his face, his twitching broken fingers all the while bathing on his blood. He was forced to listen to their continues laughing and mockery as they doused him a bucket of freezing water startling him awake every time. The pain was so stimulating he could barely open his eyes. He had been humiliated and tortured for days—maybe months.

He didn't know—just like the place and circumstances he was in as of the moment. He had been staring ahead unblinkingly, unable to process the likeliness of every suffering and devastation he had experienced was nothing but a mere dream.

Just a while ago, after his poor life had finally ended, he found himself waking up with that sour, stomach-clenching smell that permeating the air. The rundown room itself and the fact that he doesn't have any idea where he was greeted him.

His eyes traveled to a glass of water sitting on top of the bedside table, the steam coming from it made his hands feel itchy. He glanced at it, full of disgust.

The room was awfully small and old. He could spot visible cracks on the wall that extended up to the ceiling—there were even cobwebs on the corners. While the only usable furniture around was probably this crudely made single bed and that bedside table where the disgusting drink was placed.

His body stilled for a moment.

The familiar adrenaline full of rigor rushed through his head as that urge to commit violence occupied yet another space inside him. His bloodshot eyes oozing hatred and killing intent would scare anyone into running away.

Ironically, it was that smell he despised the most that brought him out of his stupor.

'I'm alive,' he thought, dumbfounded. He could hear his heart thumping loud. As if it was making its existence known.

While he was staring blankly, there came a silent knock; the door was naturally opened by a man who looked like a servant that seems to be in his mid-twenties. He looked young but practiced; donning on an eye patch on his left eye.

Upon hearing the door opening, Ains looked in its direction. He stared dumbly at the person who was now making his way towards him. Those butler suit perfectly wrapped around his torso, enunciating his broad chest and wide shoulders. The eye-patch. That chill-inducing deep, black eyes.

"Amir," he unconsciously blurted out.

"Yes, young master." Amir moved closer to his bedside, his back slightly bent downward.

"Why are you here?" Ains asked, pale-faced.

"I am your servant, young master. It is only natural for me to be near you."

His eyes dimmed slightly. He was his second brother's person. What was he pretending to be loyal for?

He could still vividly recall how this same man, that was declaring his loyalty, stood by his second brother's side and watched as he gets tortured publicly.

His previous life was messy and lively. He was the third born prince of the Credia Kingdom. With his title alone, he could play to his heart's content and no one will dare to stop him.

He was playful and all, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that people viewed him as incompetent and useless. He knew that everyone around him that constantly flatters and serves him was sent to him to spy and watch his movements.

And out of those people, Amir was the only person he believed to be truly loyal to him. But he wasn't.

The moment he saw him standing beside his second brother, he knew that Amir was one of those people.

Ains diverted his eyes away from the butler. When it came to this person, he didn't know how to handle him.

The calmly smiling butler gestured at him to stand up, which Ains sullenly followed. His height only reached the other's chin, so he had to crane his neck up to see the butler's face; not that he was very willing to stare at those fine features of the devil itself.

Amir helped him get dressed as he had always done in his previous life. The other would bend over very slightly as those nimble slender fingers would occasionally rub against his skin.

If he wasn't aware of this person's true self, he would not find it uncomfortable since he grew up accustomed to having someone always helping him get dressed. However, he knew that those pale hands, that would even brush against his neck when fixing his collar, could kill him within a second.

Amir was putting on the last pin on his chest, Ains really couldn't stand it anymore. He was the most disgusted when a person was pretending to be his ally. He hated it.

He was that servant who was always with his second brother. Slavomir.

Feeling irritated, he slapped away those hands fiddling with his clothes.

"That's enough."

Ains breezily walked outside the room, the bewildered butler followed after him in tow.

The house was so small, Ains only had to walk a few steps before reaching the living room. There were only two couches placed right in the middle of the room with a table at the center that only reach his knee. His footsteps faltered for a moment upon seeing the middle-aged man sitting on the single couch; his legs crossed while he read a newspaper.

He had this aura around him that was both dignified and rouge. Those golden framed spectacles hid a pair of focused and deep aqua irises that held wisdom within. He wore a vested white shirt and trousers. His boots made a tapping sound on the wooden floor as he bounced his legs up and down.

"You're up." That uncle did not even glance up as he casually greeted Ains.

"If you're hungry, hurry to the kitchen and make something to eat. In need of a bath? Go borrow Perru's basin next door. As for clothes, I have few tattered clothes if you don't mind. I mean-"

"Shut it," Ains interrupted. He flopped down the couch across.

While the person sitting across from him lowered the newspaper hindering his face. A pair of glinting orbs narrowed in Ains direction. He gave the butler a look who merely smiled in return.

'What happened to the timid and always nervous third child? Did he finally lose his mind after being stared at by both of his brothers?'

He sighed. 'How could he be the only one that is so unpromising?'

"What are you standing there for? Waiting for me to invite you to have a sit? Are you stupid?" Ains picked at his butler. He was so annoyed and angry at the thought of someone preying at him ignorantly.

"Then please excuse me, young master."

Ains paid him no heed. He turned his attention to the person in front of him. If he wasn't mistaken, that person was Baron Bardrick—the famous exiled noble.

"How's Merlin?" Ains asked nonchalantly. His previous sassy attitude was nowhere to be found. Instead, his eyes now scream innocence.

Bardrick flinched at the question. "He's fine. Do you perhaps know him personally?"

Ains waved a hand, as he denied Bardrick's question. "I occasionally heard of him from the bards and performers, hence the curiosity. I wish to meet him someday, though." He smiled.

"I'll let him know," Bardrick stiffly replied.

"That's great!"

Ains happily leaned back on the couch as he waited for his food. On the other hand, Bardrick's face visibly turned gloomy.

* * *

AINS was on his study, a bunch of blank papers scattered carelessly on his table. He was trying to recall all the important events that had occurred in his previous life so he could avoid falling into a pitfall that might cause his death.

His hands gripped tightly on his hair. Inhaling a mouthful of air, he sighed loudly. Calming his nerves down, he remained unmoved for a whole three minutes.

After a while, he started to write relentlessly.

Two years from now, the Credia Kingdom will be besieged from all sides. The Znoci¹ Kingdom from the west, the Poherto Kingdom from the east. The Promising Cavalry of the Utopia from the north, and mercenaries from the south.

As for the reason? He was very well aware of the root of the war. In two years, a bottle of purple potion will appear in Black Tower's Auction House. It was said to have the ability to cure all illnesses and bring forth eternal life.

If that was all, then it wasn't enough to cause enough destruction to the whole continent. But the person who made the potion happened to be a genius. He put a bunch of heaven-defying potions one after another. The night before the auction starts, he suddenly put a restriction on who could purchase his potions.

He fucking announced that he will only sell his potions to the Credia Kingdom. That moron, unconsciously or not, brought a disaster to his kingdom.

Now, that was only a general outline of what would happen in two years. As for the remaining time, he had to perform a major clean-up in the kingdom. Previously, they only manage to hold on for a month due to corruption and incompetent soldiers. This time, he had to extend that time and completely push back all the enemies back into their respective territories.

First, he had to go back to the palace and leave this sickening place immediately.

* * *

footnotes: (1) Znoci | \ no-zi