Chapter 2
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Under the Pale Moonlight (2)
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There was no time to hesitate.
Fortunately, the soldiers visible nearby numbered just two, moving in pairs as always.
In his original body, he could have dispatched them in the blink of an eye. But right now, he was nothing more than a thirteen-year-old boy.
Turning around and scrambling out through the dog hole would be too slow—the soldiers were too close. The moment he turned and dove in, they'd grab him.
"Young Master!"
Emilia's voice cried out from beyond the wall, raw with desperation.
And then there were the two soldiers approaching with gleeful smirks, eager to capture Blanc.
To them, he was just a young boy standing before them. Easier prey than a swift rabbit.
"Heh heh heh. Wonder how much we'll get for hauling that one in?"
"Money's just the start. This is a straight shot to promotion."
Capturing the heir to the Cardmus family would surely bring a hefty reward. Buoyed by that thought, the two soldiers closed in on Blanc.
But then...
"I didn't go through all that hell and come back just to get tripped up by the likes of you."
From the bloodshot eyes of the boy—who they'd thought would be as easy to catch as a rabbit—poured an utterly sinister, ferocious aura.
Overwhelmed by that gaze, the soldiers froze for a split second.
And in that instant...
A golden flash streaked toward the halted soldiers with lethal precision.
It was a hairpin made of gold. The kind women used to pin up their hair.
His mother's keepsake hairpin flew straight at the soldiers who meant to harm her son.
"Argh!"
It pierced the left eye of one soldier.
"Huh?"
The two soldiers couldn't react to the events unfolding in the blink of an eye.
One clutched at the hairpin embedded in his eye, howling in agony. The other stood dumbfounded, unable to process the situation.
Blanc didn't miss the opening. He charged at them and swung his left hand toward the still-stunned soldier.
As Blanc whipped his left hand forward, he opened his tightly clenched fist. A handful of dirt flew straight into the soldier's eyes.
"Gah!"
The dirt hit dead-on. In an instant, both soldiers' vision was impaired.
Blanc flowed behind them like water, sweeping low at their ankles.
'As expected!'
Gartaria Kingdom soldiers characteristically carried a small dagger strapped near their ankles.
Blanc already knew from his previous life's memories that the men burning the Cardmus estate were Gartaria soldiers. Without hesitation, he'd targeted those daggers.
Yanking the dagger free from one soldier's ankle with swift precision, Blanc scrambled up the man's body like a squirrel and slashed the blade across his throat without a moment's pause.
"Gurk... grrrgh."
This wasn't the clumsy movement of a pampered baron's heir. It was the work of a seasoned assassin.
The soldier, unable to accept what was happening, frothed at the mouth as he desperately clawed at the gaping wound on his neck.
Blanc was indeed a thirteen-year-old boy, but even a child could kill with a blade in hand.
"You crazy little—!"
The soldier with the hairpin in his eye forgot his pain at the sight of his dying comrade and frantically reached for his sword.
But...
"Not happening."
Blanc hurled the dagger he'd been holding straight at the other soldier.
It was the Throwing Knife Technique, honed over twenty years in his past life.
His young body lacked power, making it an imperfect strike. But the instincts etched into his soul remained alive.
Though weakened, the sharply thrown dagger flew true and buried itself in the soldier's nape.
"Kek!"
The soldier collapsed, clutching not the hairpin in his eye but the dagger in his neck, letting out a final death rattle.
In mere moments, two burly soldiers writhed on the ground, spurting blood.
The wounds were fatal, but Blanc hadn't pierced their hearts or severed their throats completely—they were still clinging to life.
Still, there wasn't time to finish them off properly.
One must have blown a signal horn, because torches flickered in the distance now, soldiers approaching the estate.
"Hand it over. My mother's hairpin."
"Guh... grrrk!"
Blanc roughly yanked the hairpin from the soldier who could barely speak with the dagger in his throat.
The eyeball dangled grotesquely from the bloodied golden pin, but Blanc flicked it off with his fingers as if it were nothing.
"Young Master! Young Maaaster!"
Emilia's voice grew more frantic from beyond the wall, drawn by the soldiers' screams.
In response, Blanc dove swiftly through the dog hole.
That was the last sight those two soldiers beheld as their breaths faded.
A young boy in the guise of...
'A demon... a demon.'
That was the final scene burned into their eyes before death claimed them.
The moment Emilia spotted Blanc emerging from the hole, her mind went blank.
Her young master, hair disheveled, clothes soaked in blood, clutching a gore-streaked golden hairpin—it was too much to process.
But Blanc seized the staggering Emilia's hand firmly and bolted toward the dark forest path.
He pitied her unsteady steps, but they had no luxury for her to faint.
Fortunately, the sky was clear, and it was full moon season, providing ample light to navigate the shadowy woods.
The pursuing soldiers would benefit just as much, but Blanc didn't care. These hunting grounds were his playground, his home turf.
He couldn't make it to the deepest parts of the forest, but the path to gamekeeper Rakshar's cabin? He could find it blindfolded, with a bit of exaggeration.
"Emilia, hang in there. Rakshar's cabin isn't far."
"Hah... hah..."
Emilia was too exhausted to reply, managing only ragged breaths.
Behind the fleeing pair, the white estate burned.
Just like in his previous life.
But this time was different. This time, Emilia ran at Blanc's side.
Blanc focused on that fact.
Saving just one Emilia—what good would it do his future path?
She wasn't a mage wielding magic or a knight with a sturdy frame. Just an ordinary maid.
Yet to Blanc, dashing hand-in-hand with her, she was utterly precious. This went beyond the fondness he'd held for her in his past life.
She was the first anomaly of this new life.
Today, the Cardmus estate burned once more. His mother had passed a week ago. His father would be executed tomorrow.
Nothing had changed.
This tragedy had thrust his unprepared past-life self into a merciless world.
If things continued this way, he'd end up a beggar mercenary scraping by in back alleys, living like a dog for thirty years.
And in the end, he'd witness the world's demise.
Swallowed by a dark, colossal tree, hollowed out into emptiness.
But unlike before, Emilia lived at his side now.
The heartbeat pulsing through her hand into his fingertips told him so.
Emilia was still alive.
'I can change it.'
Unlike before, he could alter things. Like with Emilia.
His life.
And the world's end.
A faint light flickered in the distance.
It came from the cabin of Rakshar, the groundskeeper and gamekeeper of these woods.
"Heh... hehk..."
Emilia, utterly spent from the run, panted like a dog with her tongue lolling out. Blanc, showing no fatigue, stood tall and scanned their surroundings relentlessly.
'This is killing me for real.'
Blanc wasn't unscathed either. Physically, Emilia—who'd kept active with her maid duties—might have fared better.
But though his body was frail, the soul within had been tempered over thirty years into a warrior's blade.
'Can't help the strain, though. Need to settle down quick and start training in the Aura Cultivation Method.'
Blanc hadn't regressed to thirty years ago unprepared.
Traveling through a soul-only pathway meant no weapons, artifacts, or strong body came with him. But that very limitation had driven him to etch every memory and technique into his soul, memorizing them relentlessly.
One such treasure: the Assansio family's Aura Cultivation Method, White Lightning.
By this era, the family was wiped out, surviving only in records—making it safe from any backlash, in every sense.
In his past life, he'd begun learning it in his mid-thirties and never fully mastered it. But with his accumulated experience and youthful body now, he could absorb it completely.
Still, to enact any plan, he first needed to escape this crisis. And for that, he needed Rakshar's help—the cabin's owner.
"Rakshar! Rakshar! Open the door!"
Blanc pounded on the door, calling out.
The flimsy hut shook with the force of a child's fists, creaking ominously.
"..."
Yet Rakshar gave no response, despite Blanc's shouts that could wake the dead.
The hunter was flawless in his skills but notoriously reclusive.
Only the Cardmus steward and Blanc himself could hold a conversation with him—evidence of his isolated life.
"Y-Young Master?"
"Yeah, it's me! Open up!"
How many people would visit his cabin in the dead of night, deep in the woods? Rakshar's wariness was perfectly reasonable.
Besides, with his keen eyesight, he'd already spotted the burning Cardmus estate and deemed it an emergency.
He'd packed his meager belongings, preparing to head there.
"How... how did you get here, Young Master...?"
"No time to explain. We need to get out of here now. Open the door."
Hearing Blanc's urgency, sniffing sounds came from inside.
"Young Master? That's Blanc, all right."
The rickety wooden door creaked open.
And stepping out into the full moonlight was the towering hunter.
Over two meters tall, with broad shoulders to match.
Grey fur covering his body, sharp fangs protruding.
"Eek!"
Emilia let out an involuntary yelp at the intimidating figure.
Rakshar flinched at her short scream and began slinking back inside.
A baron's family from the Felix Kingdom.
Rakshar, gamekeeper of the Cardmus hunting grounds.
He was a half werewolf.