The name Morgan alone was enough to send shivers down the spine of any warrior.
A family built on pure swordsmanship and battle glory. A family whose bloodline birthed the finest bladesmen the empire had ever known.
Among them, Duke Hugo Morgan stood above all. A man said to have never lost a single battle in his prime.
But within that family of legends was born a bastard. An illegitimate son of Duke Hugo Morgan—Tris Morgan.
...
After dedicating his 24 years of life to the duke, the reward he received was something he might never have imagined.
It's not like he ever expected his family to love him. After all, he was just a tool, a bastard raised to do the dirty work for the family.
Even after being faithful and never questioning anything, no one tried to believe him—his reward was decapitation.
Tris knew that deep down, Duke Hugo understood it too. But what he couldn't understand was why he is getting executed so needlessly. It's not like he ever posed a threat to the family.
He wasn't even that strong swordsman. But instead of groaning in rage, he remained calm, surrounded by public in the hall of execution.
He knew there was no need to retaliate anymore, as there was no one by his side. He calmly accepted his death.
But that was merely a façade—deep down, he was suffering uncontrollable rage towards the family, especially Hugo.
Hugo glared at him with is crimson eyes. After a while, he waved his hand, signaling to commence the execution.
Following the order, the executioner whispered:
"Traitor, may your soul banish to the depths of Forbanna."
And with that, he was decapitated. His last consciousness saw Hugo coldly gazing at the severed head.
'I swear, I will… kill you.'
With that vow, his final consciousness faded. Tris took his last breath in this world.
'…'
But the fate of Tris was not as it seemed. In the next instant, his consciousness returned to the world.
But his vision was blurry. All he could perceive were the sounds of cries coming from all around him.
He could feel his arms, his legs, even his neck—but something felt off. His body felt much lighter, his fingers like tiny matchsticks, and his cheeks unusually chubby.
'Based on this absurd situation, it's safe to say I was reborn.'
He thought so, but the question was—where?
Although curious, he couldn't do anything about it. He waited quietly for his body to grow, calmly waiting for his vision to clear.
For now, all he could hope was that he was reborn in the same family. After all, he had some old debts to pay.
After lying down for a few months, his vision finally became clear, and he could perceive his surroundings much better.
Although he had already expected it, he was now certain that he was born into the Morgan family again—this time with past memories and deep resentment toward the duke.
But for now, he was too annoyed by the cries of the other babies to think about revenge.
He alone remained nonchalant, acting calm and observing his surroundings. One of the nannies found it particularly creepy.
Just then—
"How are the brats?"
A man entered the room. Just looking at him made Tris glare daggers with his crimson red eyes.
The man was wearing a slick black shirt layered under a matching suit, the fabric catching just enough light to make his silhouette look razor-sharp.
His black hair and neatly kept beard framed a face that looked far younger than Tris remembered.
But what stood out most were his eyes: vivid, crimson red, burning with an intense glare that made it impossible to guess his thoughts.
One of the nannies hurriedly appeared before him and bowed respectfully before replying.
"N-no child has any disease. No one was born disabled, but—"
"But?"
"F-fifteen babies have died due to severe malnutrition so far."
That was obviously not something he wanted to hear. He gave the old nanny a murderous glare. A glare so oppressive and intense that almost all the babies began crying out in fear.
'Tch! The recent generation is all trash.'
Hugo inspected each and every baby, glaring at them with his dagger-like red eyes. Almost all of them started screaming out of fear, which greatly irritated him.
Except for one. There was a single baby who cared for nothing. As he glared at him, Tris glared back with an unreadable expression.
'Hugo Les Morgan!!! I swear I am going to kill you.'
Looking at the man this close, the familiar facial feature confirmed it. It was undeniably his father in his younger self.
"What's up with this baby?"
"C-codename Tris. He has been unusually quiet ever since he was born. Even when the babies were given no food, he remained in perfect condition."
After glaring at the kid for a while, he finally looked away.
"Take the brat to the resonance chamber."
"L-Lord, that would be too mu—"
One glare from Hugo shut her mouth instantly. She only let out a breath of relief after the duke walked away.
The nanny picked Tris up and kissed his cheek.
"Lord forgive this child," she said before taking him to the resonance chamber.
On the way, under his nonchalant façade, Tris was flabbergasted as much as he was filled with rage. What the hell was that mad duke thinking?
Taking a baby just four months old into the resonance chamber was too much. Tris remembered he had a big scar on his chest from his previous life.
But the situation was different back then—he was 2 years old during the trial, not 4 months.
Even then, he broke his ribcage and came close to a heart attack due to the immense pressure.
'Is he seriously trying to kill me?'
The resonance chamber was no joke. It was a large room filled with small pipes and tubes that diffused immense concentrated dark mana, used primarily to test endurance.
Those who could not withstand it would die. This was one of the dark secrets behind producing the finest swordsmen of the Morgans.
After being placed inside the empty chamber, the concentrated mana slowly began suffocating Tris.
'I will not die under any circumstances.'
He thought as he braced himself for what was to come. All the while, Hugo coldly watched his child suffocate inside the chamber from the transparent glass.
Suddenly, the pressure became so intense that he almost died on the spot—but even worse was to come.
Tris endured using every ounce of strength he had. The fog of mana grew thicker and thicker, making it harder for his fragile lungs to breathe.
'Fear not… fear not… huff… huff… I have a goal to finish. You are not dying here.'
Tris tried his best to deflect the immense pressure. His lungs inflated painfully, his fragile ribcage about to break once again.
Just then, something came to mind. His body tensed, he closed his eyes, and slowly—very slowly—began breathing gently.
Thankfully, in his previous life, he had been taught the proper way to breathe during meditation, and it came in handy now.
Breathing too loudly was a death sentence. Not breathing at all was also a death sentence. He maintained his composure and kept a peaceful rhythm.
Hugo, watching the kid from above through the transparent glass, was dumbfounded. His expression mixed with curiosity and amusement.
He ordered one of the servants to retrieve the kid.
The trial was over. Tris survived the chamber, making him the youngest survivor in the entire family's history.
Everyone watching was dumbfounded. Hugo picked Tris up—who had passed out by then. His gaze was slightly different from his usual cold glare.
That didn't go unnoticed by his butler Victor, an old man standing by his side.
After all, in all his 30 years of serving him, this was the first time he had seen Hugo grinning so widely.