He searched for hours.
Even with dulled senses, he could still perceive mana. faint currents drifting through the air like invisible mist. Yet there was no anchor point. No mana gate. No distortion.
In illusion magic, there is always a source. A flaw. A vein feeding the spell.
He found none.
Everything was stable.
Real.
Even the greatest archmage of Magnus could not sustain a flawless illusion for hours without error.
This was no spell.
This was reality.
A second life… or a curse.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his racing thoughts into order.
Then,
Something brushed against the back of his hand.
A book.
A worn diary.
He stared at it for a long moment.
"Forgive me, boy," he muttered quietly. "I must trespass upon your memories."
He opened it.
The script was familiar,. an evolved form of his own language. The structure refined, slightly modernized, yet rooted in the same foundation.
He began to read.
Good morning, world.
It's tough out here. But how can I give up? After everything Father has endured… and more importantly...
How can I, a future knight, falter in something so small?
I just need to stick to my principles and continue forward.
To become the greatest knight.
Mark my words.
From the future knight, Kael Dravenheart.
His breath stopped.
Dravenheart.....
That name belonged to a noble house sworn to Magnus.
A loyal house.
A warrior's lineage.
His fingers tightened on the page.
He flipped ahead.
Then he stopped on a page
Does any of this even matter?
I thought if I stayed true to my principles, things would work out.
Why am I punished for being knightly?
All I did was protect a kid being bullied. Was it wrong to stand up for Justice?
This damn system…
Further.
I think this is the end.
Someone put mana-dispersing poison in my food.
My core feels like it's shattering.
My body is going numb.
If I had one more chance… I would kill those bastards. I would-
The ink trailed violently across the page.
Dried blood stained the margin.
Silence filled the room.
He closed his eyes.
"So that is why this body feels hollow…"
Mana dispersion poison.
A coward's weapon.
His jaw tightened.
"Rest, boy," he said softly. "You did nothing wrong."
"A knight raises his sword for the weak."
"There is no shame in that."
His voice hardened.
"I will fulfill your wish."
He straightened.
"I, the knight of Magnus Kingdom, Sir-"
The word caught in his throat.
He froze.
Sir…
What was his name?
His mind searched.
Battlefields.
Steel.
Blood.
His Lord.
His oath.
But the name.
Nothing.....
His heartbeat quickened.
He rushed toward the mirror again.
The face was unfamiliar.
And now
Even the one he once wore had faded.
His own name.
His own face.
Totally gone...
Only fragments remained.
A vow.
A battlefield.
And the echo of the Sword Saint.
He staggered back.
"Have the gods stripped even my name from me…?"
Or...
Was this the price of rebirth? He muttered distressfully.