It felt as though he were dreaming—as if, for a fleeting moment, he was just a child again.
Memories surged like a violent tide. He remembered his father, who had once questioned if Edward was even his biological son. He remembered the tragic death of his mother, taken from the world the moment he was born. Then there was his older sister, whose beauty was famed across the seven kingdoms, and his half-brother, who had never missed an opportunity to torment him.
He remembered it all.
After tempering his body and mind for many lifetimes, he had become a master swordsman, wandering the vast continent, as his life became a mess of fighting, until he couldn't tell what was real anymore.
Then, the awful images of the Great Demon War flooded his mind. He was a big deal in that war – a ruler and a great fighter. He wanted to be strong enough to beat the Demon Lord, Azrathion, so he learned every spell, mastered every sword art, and took over every place he could. Every regression was an opportunity to gain a new hold on power.
But it wasn't enough, him standing here, in this place, was proof that he failed again. He had failed to defeat the demon lord once more.
His accomplishments were many, his feats second to none, but all of it was just vanity when faced with a mighty opponent like Azrathion.
Now staring at the mirror, he saw himself from decades ago. He had regressed. His ability to return after every death had triggered once more.
He was back in Vistro Marquis House, a legendary pillar of the Luminaris Kingdom and a staunch loyalist to the crown. Here, he was the youngest—a member of a house where the title of heir was everything. Had he not been so greedy for that title in his many lifetime, perhaps he could have lived in peace. But his family was the exception to every rule of mercy.
Strolling through the rose garden, he gazed at the annex where he lived. It was a beautiful place, tucked away in a corner of the property, but its beauty was a lie. Within the household, this place was known by another name: Exile.
Its sole purpose was to isolate him. He had no servants, no vassals, and no family to support him. This was the reality of the Rose Garden.
"Young Master, I've brought you something to drink."
Edward started. It was Henry, the butler. He was the only person in the entire Vistro estate who had ever shown Edward even a sliver of kindness. Edward looked at the man with a sharp, knowing smile.
"The Henry I knew was a clever one," Edward remarked softly. As he took the glass, he leaned in. "There isn't any poison mixed in this, is there?"
Henry's face paled, his composure momentarily shattered. But Edward let out a short laugh. "It was just a joke. Thank you for the care."
Henry laughed nervously, telling him not to overdo it before making his exit. Edward watched him go. Including Henry, there were nine people in the garden. The other eight were soldiers—guards who were less there to protect him and more to keep him under a watchful, suffocating eye.
Edward checked his hands. No calluses. No mana core. At fifteen, he was fundamentally inadequate compared to the children of other noble houses.
As Edward lost himself in thought, a shadow loomed behind him. A heavy boot stepped onto the wooden deck.
Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. And once again, he had let his guard down against this fool. Sure, it had been years since anyone without a demon aura had dared to strike him.
"You shouldn't distract a dog while it's eating," a voice sneered.
Edward looked down at the shattered glass and the orange juice pooling on the floor. He trembled—not with fear, but with a burgeoning, cold fury.
"Your older brother is here, and you don't even greet him?"
It was Damian Vistro, three years his senior and the second son of the Marquis. Damian was the very reason Edward had been forbidden from mana training. Through years of abuse and threats, Damian had ensured Edward remained weak.
Memories of Damian pouring scalding tea over his head resurfaced. In that memory, Damian had called him useless, a disgrace that should be wiped from existence. He had warned Edward that if he ever tried to learn swordsmanship or magic, it would be seen as a betrayal of his elder brother—an excuse Damian would use to destroy him.
"At least while you're in this household, you'll only eat what we give you and wear what we provide," Damian had sneered.
Edward had been weak-kneed during his first life. The "Shame of the Household." The servants whispered and laughed behind his back, a pathetic excuse for a third son.
The only person who had ever truly cared for him was his eldest sister. But because she was a woman, she could not inherit the title. Her fate was sealed from the start: a political marriage to a man of their father's choosing, destined to live trapped in a mansion to preserve a bloodline.
Damian, the bastard who wanted to use his sister as a bargaining chip with royalty, was now standing before him.
"Would you look at this?" Damian barked, seeing the strange, cold gaze in Edward's eyes. He raised his hand to strike again. "How dare you look at me with that gaze!"
But before the blow could land, Edward's hand shot out. He gripped Damian's wrist with a strength that shouldn't have been possible.
Again and again, Edward repeated the 'teaching the arrogant young master a lesson' cliché. Every time, every regression, he had to beat some sense into Damian.
With that, the guards froze. This was not the Edward they knew. Of course, they didn't know that inside that fifteen-year-old boy lay the experience, comprehension, and expertise of a thousand lifetimes.
"You bastard! Just because you blocked my arm?" Damian screamed, his face contorting. "You're worse than an insect!"
In a blur of motion, Edward didn't just block; he counter-attacked. With a single, swift blow, he sent Damian sprawling to the ground.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Damian gasped from the dirt.
Edward looked down at him, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Should I have given you a hand to help you up?"
Infuriated, Damian unsheathed his sword, mana beginning to emanate from his body. The guards considered stepping in, but the fear of Damian's temper kept them rooted.
"Young Master, you mustn't!" Henry cried out, rushing between them. "You shouldn't use mana in a situation like this!"
Damian didn't hesitate. He backhanded the butler, sending him tumbling away.
Edward's eyes narrowed. He knew that Henry carried many secrets, but for now, his focus was on the "3rd Circle" amateur in front of him. Damian was nothing more than a spoiled child with a clumsy technique.
"You need to be educated a little, don't you think?" Edward whispered, closing the distance.
Damian lunged, but Edward moved like a ghost. He reached out and grabbed Damian by the face, slamming his head toward the stone edge of the fountain.
"It'll only be fair if I return at least 1/100th of the humiliation you've given me," Edward said, his voice devoid of mercy.
He shoved Damian's head into the water. Damian thrashed, unable to use the mana he was so proud of. As he held him under, Edward thought of his sister. She had sacrificed everything for the "glory" of this house, only to be married off to the Fourth Royal Prince—a man known for his disgusting depravity. She had endured it all for a family that didn't deserve her.
"S-spare... please..." Damian sputtered as Edward finally pulled him up by his hair.
Edward looked at him with the eyes of a man who had seen a thousand deaths. "Think very carefully about the things you've done until now. I'll help you remember the value of family."
"I was wrong! Stop! Please!" Damian wailed.
Edward raised a fist, ready to continue, but Henry's voice came again, pleading for him to stop. Edward grumbled, then with one final, brutal blow, he smashed Damian's forehead against the fountain edge and tossed him aside like trash.
Edward turned to a trembling guard. "He's not dead yet. So take him and fuck off."
The guards scrambled to pick up the unconscious second son. As Edward walked away, he passed Henry. The butler's gaze was fixed on him—a look of pure, unadulterated shock.
The rumors began to spread instantly. The "useless" third son had just broken the "genius" second son. The Vistro mansion would never be the same again.