Reincarnation (2)

One assassin, a rebel army, and the mighty Kaighton Empire.

Absurd.

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In my memories, the Drelin Kingdom where I grew up was a hellish realm ruled by outrageously evil demons. Yet according to the history books, it might as well have been some laughably pathetic backwater nation.

They weren't that bad in my memories... Hmm. If they didn't know about the secret passage map I had, maybe they'd judge it that way?

In the end, things went according to my plan—the rebels following Uncle Philbert stepped in at the right time to throw the kingdom into chaos. The only maddening part was that "path of decline" between the rebel uprising and the Kaighton Empire's conquest...

This is one of the more detailed books, and even it stops here. Can't learn any more.

The Drelin Kingdom fell 500 years ago. My enemy, my homeland, was now just some obscure nation known only to hardcore history buffs.

To students, it was the kind of country they'd cram for a history exam and forget the moment the test period ended. Exactly that level.

"...Haa."

It had been my lifelong nemesis, one I'd staked my life against. Yet history painted it as a militarily and diplomatically disastrous cesspool. It felt strangely off-putting.

What was the word? Like realizing the monstrous father from your childhood tales was just an ordinary man once you grew up. Of course, in my past life, I'd lost both parents before I could even walk, so I'd never felt that myself.

Knock knock!

Someone knocked from outside, followed by a soft, sweet voice.

"Young master, dinner is ready."

"Be out soon."

I slid the book back onto the shelf, frowning.

If I'd known it'd turn out like this, I should've at least revealed my name before dying.

When planning the assassination, I'd aimed to meet my end without my identity ever being exposed. I hadn't considered future history books at all—hiding oneself was one of an assassin's ironclad rules.

Why bother leaving a mark in history when I couldn't know how people would react after my death anyway?

But... reincarnate?

It still sounded ridiculous no matter how many times I mulled it over.

Reborn as the son of a Kaighton Empire count's family—the one that devoured Drelin 500 years after my death.

Not 5 years or 50, but a whopping 500-year gap. Adapting to all the changes made my childhood fly by in a blur.

Childhood was manageable, but infancy...

When I first opened my eyes as a newborn, I was shocked to be alive again, but thrilled at my new status as the son of an imperial noble family.

Looking back now, it was pure horror.

Unable to do anything, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling—and each day felt like an eternity.

Me, a proud rebel and shadowy assassin, reduced to having a governess change my diapers... The humiliation still made my body shudder and my head throb at the memory.

I still have nightmares from those times sometimes.

I rubbed my forehead, opened the door, and stepped out of the study.

"Let's go, Charlotte."

"Yes, young master. I hope I didn't interrupt your reading?"

A maid girl stood politely at the study door, hands clasped. Her name was Charlotte, a household servant with no family name. Same age as me, but her oddly advanced development made it hard to look at her sometimes—though she was a comfortable friend to be around.

"I was just finishing up. You?"

"Pardon?"

"The book you said you wanted to read. I snuck it out of Father's study and lent it to you. Finished it?"

"Oh, of course! You said I had to return it within three days to be safe, so I read it three times already."

"Three times in three days...?"

"Hehe, romance novels are so page-turning."

"Wasn't that a mystery novel?"

"It turns into romance by the end. The ultimate love story. You'd know if you read it, young master."

I tilted my head, following Charlotte down the ornate staircase.

Unlike typical servants, Charlotte loved books voraciously. Growing up together, we always had plenty to talk about. I'd focused on history books to piece together the last 500 years, but she read across all genres.

"Looking for history ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠books again?"

"Yeah. Pretty much ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠read everything in the study now."

"It's amazing. You have the opposite image from your older brother, so I figured you wouldn't read much—but you really love history."

"Is that your way of saying I look dumber than Ned?"

"N-No! That's not what I meant... Um... Young master Deneb excels at combat like Lady ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Luisa..."

"Whatever. I'm still a Lehinar."

Our family, the Lehinar count house, had long served as advisors to the imperial court. Loyal strategists, perhaps? Especially during the kingdom era when Kaighton was swallowing neighboring lands—Lehinars had played a huge role, from what I'd read.

Now, with the empire stable, we'd stepped back from noisy central politics to manage the Magical Library for generations.

"So don't compare me to our fight-obsessed sister. It's weirder that Father, the Magical Library director, has a daughter like her."

"Ah... haha..."

"Good thing we have Ned. Imagine if Luisa inherited the library directorship. It'd turn into a dueling arena."

"Y-Young master..."

"It's fine. I said it loud enough for her to hear on purpose."

Charlotte's odd gaze seemed fixed on something—or someone—behind me, desperately signaling with nonverbal cues.

But there was no need. I'd sensed someone at the bottom of the stairs since leaving Father's study.

And I knew exactly who it was.

"Skipping school vacation to badmouth your sister at home?!"

"Then ambushing your long-lost sister is normal?"

Whoosh!

I whipped around to see a brown-haired woman lunging with a straight punch aimed at me. But the attack was laughably predictable.

I grabbed her arm—my sister Luisa's—deflected the fist, and struck her elbow.

With my past life's memories intact, a student's amateur swing was child's play.

"Ow! Ouch! It hurts! You're killing your sister!"

"Training every day, and you're still this weak?"

"Insane. I snuck down silently for a surprise attack—how'd you spot me?"

"That was supposed to be stealth? I saw everything."

Luisa had prepared an ambush well—hidden in my blind spot, dead silent. It was just my senses being too sharp for her luck.

Well, I was a former pro assassin.

Not just memories— the honed senses from my past life carried over perfectly, still surprising me sometimes.

Even if she'd evaded my sight and hearing, she couldn't escape smell or other senses. Plus, the killer instinct assassins develop was at its peak.

She had no real intent to harm, so her killing intent was thread-thin, but I caught it anyway.

"Damn it, fine. You win. Not my first time losing to my little brother... My sisterly dignity's in the dirt."

"Good attitude."

The short-haired woman who'd thrown the punch without warning was Luisa Lehinar, second child of the Lehinar family and my big sister.

Unlike scholarly Ned, she took after the Lehinar blood in combat prowess. We'd sparred since childhood, always ending in my victory.

Mentally over fifty, beating a girl felt a bit guilty sometimes—but as the top assassin in the business, losing to one would've bruised my pride.

"Ugh, I'm top-tier at school, so why do I always lose to you? Am I subconsciously holding back?"

"Nah, don't get down. It's not that you're weak—I'm just strong. Even on an off day, you're easy."

"Cocky much... Fine, grudgingly, you've got talent. Even I can see no one at school matches you."

The word "talent" made me burst out laughing.

"Talent? You really can't spot real talent. Someone like me doesn't even qualify. The world's full of people way better."

"Hmph, says the shut-in. Who could be that talented? Not Charlotte, right?"

"N-No! I can't fight!"

Charlotte flushed and waved her hands. I started to answer Luisa but clamped my mouth shut.

My sudden gloom puzzled both her and Charlotte, but my dark expression kept them from prying.

"Wh-What's wrong all of a sudden? Did I say something bad, Charlotte?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I don't..."

"Nah, it's nothing. Just... stuff."

In our chat, I'd unconsciously thought of Elfin.

The elf girl born with forbidden necromancy talent and heroic combat gifts, abandoned by her kin. 500 years later, she wasn't a girl anymore—but in my memories, she was still fresh and vibrant.

Elfin, Liwin, Yustina... what happened to you all?

Right after reincarnating, those three girls were the first on my mind.

Of course, I wondered about the rebels Uncle led, Drelin's downfall, how history recorded me—but that was secondary.

I'd scoured history books hoping to find traces of the three girls I'd practically raised.

Liwin... just stay alive, please.

With her time magic talent, maybe she could still be out there. Optimistic, sure—but I wasn't even certain time magic could extend life.

Normally, after 500 years, she'd be long gone. Demon and human lifespans topped out under 100 years.

Still, I clung to that sliver of hope.

Yustina... no idea where she is.

Dragons defied normal lifespans entirely. 500 years was a blip in her life.

They often wandered in human guise, switching identities, so her trail going cold wasn't odd.

If only there was a way to signal I was alive—I'd love to meet again someday. But I hadn't found one yet.

This body was still too young to venture far, and frequent illnesses left it frail.

The others, maybe... but Elfin, what really happened to you?

Of the three, she puzzled me most. Given her personality, race, and talents, unless she'd hidden in some mountain village, her name should've echoed in history.

But "Elfin" appeared nowhere.

Elves lived over a thousand years—no natural death there. The thought of her dying abroad kept me up nights sometimes.

I desperately wanted to see all three, confirm they were safe and sound.

I regretted not saying goodbye properly. To face them again, apologize for leaving without a word or explanation.

"Ahem."

A cough snapped me from my reverie. I looked up.

"Our baby bro looks down."

"...It's nothing. And 'our baby bro'? You're only a year older."

"A year's a lot! Anyway, your big sis got you a gift."

"A gift?"

Luisa, utterly unladylike, with a gift? Probably some feral pet or brutal weapon.

But her hands were empty. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

"D-Don't get your hopes up. Just passing on Father's message."

"What'd Father say?"

"Deneb, how old are you now?"

"...Sixteen. Why?"

I tilted my head. Luisa grinned like a chess master delivering checkmate—terrifying.

"Next month?"

"..."

"Answer, Deneb. How old next month?"

"Sixteen... seven..."

"Mm. Kaighton noble kids usually enter the academy at seventeen, right?"

"Wait, no way..."

Luisa grabbed my shoulders.

"Congrats on becoming my underclassman!"

"...What?"

"What else? You're joining Denebergen Academy as a freshman!"

Past-life me was an illiterate thug who'd never seen a school doorstep.

This life, frail health kept me homebound with tutors until sixteen.

"...The academy?"

In other words, after roughly fifty years total...

I'd never set foot in a school. Not once.