The Regressed Heir of Ravencrest

The delivery commission was finally complete. As Ethan stepped out of Mayor Bran’s residence, his thoughts had already shifted miles down the road.

The borderlands were shifting. The air carried that sharp, electric tension that usually preceded a storm.

Ethan knew that to everyone else, Bluewind still had nearly two months before its debt came due. Merchants continued their trade, citizens lived their daily lives, and Lady Luna was still searching for a way to save her house. None of them knew that an army was already gathering beyond the mountains. In his previous life, by this time next week, these same streets had been stained with the blood of those who fought to protect them.

Ethan moved along the trade road, keeping a steady, unobtrusive pace. To any passing merchant or lone traveler, he was merely a young adventurer carrying out routine guild work, wearing his Vice-Captain badge visibly on his cloak. Yet beneath that calm exterior, his senses were tuned to every whisper of the wind and every crunch of gravel underfoot.

By the time the sprawling, jagged silhouette of Bluewind City rose against the twilight sky, the sun was sinking fast, painting the western horizon in deep, bruised shades of violet and crimson.

Ethan slowed his approach, choosing to enter through the main northern gate rather than slipping over the walls immediately. He wanted to see the Bluewind Luna had fought so desperately to protect.

What he saw was a territory bleeding out from the inside.

The streets of Bluewind City were hushed, devoid of the bustling energy one would expect from a regional hub. Merchants were pulling down their wooden shutters early. The stalls in the central market were half-empty, offering wilted produce and scrap iron at inflated prices. Economic strangulation by House Thorn had done its work; the lifeblood of commerce had been drained month by month, leaving a hollow shell.

Even the conversations drifting through the streets carried less laughter than they should have.

Ethan paused near a public fountain, his gaze drifting toward a four-man squad of city guards patrolling the thoroughfare.

He didn’t just look at them; he evaluated them with a cold, trained eye.

The guards wore dull, cracked leather jerkins over patched tunics. Only two of them possessed iron breastplates, and even those were pitted with rust along the rivets. The swords hanging at their hips were nicked, poorly maintained, and lacked proper oiling. More telling than their equipment, however, was their posture. Their shoulders slouched. Their eyes were hollow, reflecting exhaustion and demoralization. These were not soldiers ready to defend their homes; these were men who hadn’t been paid properly in months, waiting for the inevitable collapse.

If House Thorn attacked today, these men would die before understanding why the battle had begun.

Ethan silently watched the children chasing one another across the street while their parents smiled from nearby doorsteps. Even as House Bluemoon stood on the brink of collapse, Luna had refused to shift the burden onto her people.

Even now... you still chose your people before yourself.

You really haven’t changed, Luna.

No wonder they followed you until the very end.

He waited until the sky turned pitch black, the stars swallowed by dense, heavy storm clouds. The city lamps flickered weakly, fueled by low-grade tallow. It was the perfect atmosphere.

He wasn’t here to visit an old friend.

He was here to rewrite the fate that had once claimed her house.

Ethan stepped into a dark recess between two stone warehouses. He closed his eyes, taking a single, controlled breath.

Night Sovereign Art : First Form

Shadowless Breath

The world seemed to exhale.

The ambient shadows surrounding him seemed to stretch, wrapping around his frame like a second skin. His presence vanished from the physical realm—his heartbeat quieted, his body heat suppressed, and his mana signature collapsed into a singular, imperceptible point.

He didn’t make a sound as he glided upward, scaling the stone wall of a three-story grain silo with effortless grace. From the rooftop, Ethan surveyed the Bluemoon estate perched on the higher district of the city.

He wasn’t looking for standard guards; he was looking for the mole who betrayed House Bluemoon.

For nearly two hours, Ethan remained motionless atop the cold stone, a silent watcher in the night. Smaller patrols came and went. Servants extinguished lanterns one after another until only the watchtowers remained illuminated. Bluewind gradually surrendered itself to the night. But around two hours after midnight, a subtle ripple in the mana flow near the military quarters caught his attention.

A figure emerged from a side door of the officer barracks.

Ethan had not chosen this rooftop at random. In his previous life, after Bluewind had fallen, Luna had uncovered the names of the officers who betrayed her from within. Among them, one name had remained burned into Ethan’s memory more than any other—the Vanguard Commander. Tonight, he intended to watch history repeat itself... one final time.

The man was broad-shouldered, draped in a heavy, dark travelling cloak that concealed his official armor. Yet, through his sharpened perception, Ethan instantly recognized the crest stamped into the steel plate beneath the cloak, as well as the dense, refined mana surrounding him.

This was no ordinary soldier. This was a high-ranking officer. Specifically, the Vanguard Commander of House Bluemoon—the very man tasked with overseeing the frontline defenses.

The rat finally left its nest...

The Vanguard Commander moved with practiced stealth, avoiding the primary guard routes with intimate knowledge of the estate’s schedule. He slipped past the inner courtyard, bypassed a sleepy watchtower, and exited through a small, forgotten postern gate in the city’s eastern wall.

Every turn he took confirmed Ethan’s memories. The man wasn’t improvising. He had walked this route so many times that even the darkness no longer slowed his steps.

Ethan’s lips curved into a cold, hard line.

The man entrusted with defending Bluewind was the one opening its gates to the enemy.

Without a sound, Ethan dropped from the rooftop, melting into the shadows behind the officer.

The Vanguard Commander moved quickly, taking a narrow, unpaved trail that veered away from the main trade route. He was a veteran, occasionally stopping to check his surroundings, casting sharp looks back toward the city walls. But against the absolute mastery of the Night Sovereign Art, his precautions were useless. Ethan trailed him like an invisible ghost, staying thirty paces behind, perfectly matched to his rhythm.

Two hours of rapid travel brought them to the base of the jagged mountain range that formed Bluemoon’s natural eastern wall and the border fortress. Its stone ramparts were lit by torches, guarding the narrow pass below.

Under normal circumstances, an officer approaching the border fortress at night would trigger a formal protocol—horns blown, lanterns raised, passwords exchanged.

Instead, the Vanguard Commander simply raised a hand, flashing a private signet ring into the torchlight of the lower gate. The gatekeeper, a rough-looking soldier who barely glanced at him, silently pulled the wooden lever, allowing the Commander to slip through the fortress gate without a single word being logged in the sentry register.

Ethan glided over the outer fortress wall, landing soundlessly on the battlements before dropping down on the other side.

Ethan’s eyes swept across the battlements.

Half the sentries weren’t even watching the pass.

Others chatted idly beside dying braziers.

No wonder Bluewind fell so quickly.

The fortress had already been hollowed out from within.

Once past the fortress, the terrain grew rougher and narrower. The path squeezed between towering walls of sheer black granite—the deep mountain pass. Cold winds whistled through the ravine, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat.

They continued twenty kilometers past the border fortress, deep into the treacherous twists of the mountain range where no civilian would dare wander after dark.

Ahead, tucked inside a natural hollow surrounded by steep stone cliffs, a hidden encampment came into view.

Ethan pulled himself up onto a high rock ledge overlooking the hollow and expanded his senses to observe.

The establishment was well-hidden, camouflaged by dark canvas tents and minimal fires built in stone pits to hide the light. To an untrained eye, it looked like a standard bandit camp—rough wooden palisades, unkempt supply crates, and crude leather banners.

But Ethan’s sharp mind instantly dismantled the illusion.

There were roughly fifty to sixty men scattered around the camp. None of them were drinking or gambling. Their watch rotations were strict, executed with military precision every fifteen minutes. Their weapons were stacked neatly near their tents, polished and oiled. Even the way they walked—low centers of gravity, hands resting comfortably near their hilts—spoke of formal military drill.

Bandits? Ethan scoffed internally. These are House Thorn’s elite vanguard knights, dressed in ragtag gear to plunder Bluemoon’s trade routes and bleed their economy dry.

The Vanguard Commander strode casually into the center of the camp. The guards didn’t draw their weapons; they simply saluted, stepping aside to let him enter the main central tent.

Ethan shifted his position, dropping down from the ledge to a wooden beam hanging directly behind the main tent. He pressed himself into the dense shadows, tuning his hearing to catch every word spoken inside.

Inside the tent, two men stood over a rough wooden table littered with maps of the Bluewind valley.

One was the Vanguard Commander, his cloak thrown back, revealing his official Bluemoon insignia. The other was a towering, scarred man wearing reinforced dark plate armor covered by a ragged wolf skin—the supposed "Bandit Leader."

Ethan focused his perception on both men. The air around them vibrated with a subtle, heavy pressure.

Peak Knight Commander.

Ethan silently judged their mana fluctuations.

Both of them.

One commanded House Bluemoon’s armies.

The other commanded House Thorn’s advance force.

Luna... your enemies were never outside the walls.

They were standing beside you all along.

"You’re late, Commander," the Bandit Leader growled, his voice thick and raspy. He poured a cup of cheap wine and pushed it across the table.

"I had to ensure the logistics department cleared my route," the Vanguard Commander replied coolly, taking a sip. "The Logistics Commander had to falsify the border supply reports before I could step out. If Lady Luna checks the ledgers tomorrow, she will only see that our border garrisons are fully stocked and vigilant."

"She still trusts your reports?"

"What do you think?" the commander grinned.

The Bandit Leader let out a dark, booming laugh. "Lies on top of lies. Beautiful. And what of the scouts? Has the little Lady sent any fresh patrols toward the ravine?"

"None," the Vanguard Commander sneered. "Our scouts report back only to me and the Logistics Commander. We tell her the eastern roads are quiet, that Count Thorn is merely conducting seasonal drills on his own land. She has no idea four thousand men are mobilizing behind the ridge."

"Good," the Bandit Leader grinned, leaning over the map. "In three days, our main force will pass through this canyon. Your garrison will open the fortress gates from the inside, and we will take Bluewind City before she even has time to draw her sword."

"Just remember our deal," the Vanguard Commander grunted. "When Count Thorn takes the territory, I take over the Mines and will be given the position of Viscount, and the Logistics Commander gets his cut of the tax revenues."

"Count Thorn has never forgotten those who prove useful."

The Bandit Leader chuckled.

Outside, perched in the dark above the tent canvas, Ethan’s eyes cold-hardened into ice.

He had heard enough. The entire puzzle was complete. The Vanguard Commander, the Logistics Commander, and this hidden force of sixty disguised knights were the dagger planted directly into House Bluemoon’s back.

Ethan slowly closed his eyes.

Every piece was finally in place.

Now...

It was time to remove every piece from the board.

He reached to his side, his hand closing around the hilt of the Eternal Sovereign Blade. The weapon seemed to resonate with his intent, its subtle runic engravings pulsing with a faint, dangerous violet light that remained hidden.

Without needing a command, Rune slipped silently from Ethan’s cloak. The little cub’s blue eyes glowed beneath the darkness as he matched Ethan’s intent perfectly.

Without a word, Ethan stepped off the beam and vanished into the night.

Outside the tent, three disguised knights were sitting around a low fire, sharpening their daggers.

A shadow lengthened behind them.

Swish.

A thin, dark line flashed through the air. Before the first knight could even register a breeze, Rune cleaved through three throats in a single, fluid arc of compressed aura. Blood spray hissed against the burning embers, but before the bodies could crash to the dirt, Ethan caught them with a sweep of mana, lowering them silently to the ground.

He moved like an absolute phantom through the perimeter.

One.

Then three.

Then seven.

By the time the tenth heartbeat passed...

Twelve men were already dead.

While Ethan carved a silent path through the heart of the camp, Rune prowled along its outskirts like a silver phantom, silently tearing through isolated sentries before they could react. Between them, not a single cry escaped into the night.

By the time he reached the eastern edge of the camp, twenty-five men had died without knowing an enemy was in their midst.

However, a war camp full of trained veterans cannot remain silent forever.

A sentry standing on a raised wooden platform turned to call out to his partner. He blinked, seeing only an empty watchpost and a fresh smear of dark red on the timber rail.

"Enemy—!"

The sentry’s shout cut off as Ethan’s blade threw a razor-thin crescent of shadow aura, slicing through the platform’s support beam and the sentry’s chest simultaneously. The wooden tower collapsed with a loud, splintering CRASH!

Instantly, the quiet night exploded into chaos.

"Ambush! Attack!" shouts echoed through the camp as the remaining thirty-five knights scrambled, drawing their longswords and kicking away their chairs. Torchlight flickered violently against the mountain walls.

Inside the central tent, the table flipped over.

The Vanguard Commander and the Bandit Leader burst out of the canvas, their heavy longswords drawn, their Peak Knight Commander aura flaring in massive, suffocating surges of dark red and sickly yellow energy.

"What is happening?!" the Vanguard Commander roared, his eyes wide as he looked around.

"Why is no one answering?!"

The Bandit Leader’s veteran instincts screamed.

There were too few sounds.

Battles were supposed to be loud.

This...

was slaughter.

Nearly half their men were already lying motionless in the dirt, their blood pooling in the gravel. And standing in the center of the flickering torchlight was a solitary, cloak-clad figure holding a dark, glowing blade.

The metallic scent of fresh blood hung heavily over the camp, replacing the smell of roasted meat that had filled it only moments before.

Corpses lay where men had been laughing only moments earlier.

Ethan didn’t retreat. He didn’t take a defensive stance.

As thirty armed knights rushed him from all sides with weapons raised, Ethan’s eyes flared with a lethal, terrifying light. He adjusted his grip on the blade, his aura exploding outward in a heavy, suffocating wave of dense, dark violet pressure that made the surrounding torches flicker and die.

Thirty-five Great Knights.

Two Peak Knight Commanders.

Against one Knight.

Not one of them realized...

...they were the ones surrounded.

Ethan slowly raised the Eternal Sovereign Blade.

The mountain pass fell silent for a single heartbeat.

Then...

Ethan disappeared.