"It's because of troublemakers like you that Duke Larkam is no longer pleased with us!"
His father's voice still echoed in his mind, sharp, accusatory, every word edged with restrained fury.
Jarius had said nothing.
He stood there quietly, hands at his sides, eyes steady. No protest. No defense. No plea for understanding. Silence had long become his shield, the only armor he possessed in that house.
Now, beneath the open sky, Jarius walked alone through the stone courtyard. The morning air was crisp, the flagstones cool beneath his boots. His steps were slow, unhurried. His face gave nothing away.
Unlike his half-siblings, he had no escort trailing behind him. No guards. No maids whispering politely at his side.
He was alone.
From the day his mother passed until now, no attendants had ever been assigned to him. No one came to check his meals, his clothes, his studies. He had long ceased expecting it.
Only Sebastian.
The old butler was the single exception, and even his help came in secret.
Whenever an opportunity arose, Sebastian would leave small things behind. Always discreet. Never in the open.
As for meals…
They never invited him to dine. No servant came bearing trays or silver plates.
What he received were leftovers.
Dishes scraped clean of the best portions, sent to the small outbuilding at the far end of the estate, a modest structure with uneven floors and worn furniture.
A shack, in all but name.
Still part of the Razin grounds, but far removed in warmth and worth.
That was his place.
Far from the laughter of the main halls.
Far from the reach of his father's gaze.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
Money?
What was that to him?
He didn't know.
He had never know about the coin of this world if it not because of him. That time, Sebastian had quietly slipped two copper coins into his hand, their surfaces warm from the butler's palm.
"Keep them," he had said softly. "Just so you know what they look like."
Jarius had stared at them for a long while that day, tracing the worn edges, the faint engravings that marked value and authority. Symbols of a world he was born into but never allowed to participate in.
His father had never offered him anything.
No allowance.
No stipend.
Not even the hollow gesture of a noble's token.
No books.
No robes.
Not even the bare necessities a child should have.
The clothes he wore now, a plain tunic and trousers, were the same ones he had worn for the past five years. Too small at first, then patched and stretched as he grew. Each passing year, he adjusted them himself: a stitch here, a patch there.
One needle. One thread.
One quiet act of survival at a time.
The tools he used? Sebastian again.
The scraps of fabric? Also from Sebastian, left behind without a word, without a witness.
Even his knowledge, his understanding of mana, the skills he honed late at night under a dim glow of a magic crystal, none of it had been given to him.
It had all been taken.
Stolen, piece by piece, from the estate's library.
When no one watched. When no one cared.
He remembered the cold floors beneath his feet as he crept through the silent corridors. The flicker of candlelight in distant halls. The fear of being caught, and yet the stronger fear of remaining ignorant forever.
He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it.
"Stealing… from my own family."
The words slipped out like a bitter sigh.
Born under this roof, yet treated like a stranger.
Denied even the right to learn what should have been his by birth.
He tilted his head back, eyes tracing the clouds drifting lazily across the sky.
School…
What did a school even look like in this world?
Were commoners and nobles kept apart?
Did they have proper academies where magic and swordsmanship were taught side by side?
Were there dormitories, rivalries, hidden talents, and grand duels, like the ones he used to read about in those fantasy novels back home?
His lips curved faintly, half wistful, half bitter.
"Probably not," he murmured. "This world isn't that kind of story."
Jarius's gaze drifted across the quiet courtyard, his thoughts carrying far beyond the estate walls.
There's more.
So much more to explore.
So much to learn.
Once he reached the proper age…
Once he could walk freely under his own name…
Then, the world would open.
And he would take everything it tried to deny him.
He stopped beside a familiar bush, nestled near the edge of the small shack he called home.
Kneeling down, he reached beneath the thick leaves, careful, deliberate.
And just as he expected… it was there.
A small bundle, neatly wrapped in cloth.
He drew it out gently and loosened the knot. Inside were two worn books, their leather covers cracked with age, a neatly folded change of clothes, and a small, fist-sized piece of iron ore wrapped in parchment.
Jarius let out a quiet breath.
"Thank you, Sebastian."
His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but sincere.
He ran his fingers over the covers of the books, feeling the worn leather. Then to the ore, coarse, rough, but full of potential.
"I'll repay you one day."
He rose slowly, the bundle resting in his arms like something far more valuable than its humble contents.
"When I can earn money with my own hands… I swear, I'll return every favor."
He turned toward the shack, the place he had molded into his quiet sanctuary.
As the wind rustled the leaves behind him, he muttered under his breath:
"I won't ever forget this debt, Sebastian."
( End Of Chapter )