Chapter 4

  I silently looked at Sia.

“……”

“……”

A moment of silence.

“…Ah.”

Sia suddenly realized she had made a mistake. Her eyes flickered in panic, and she began fidgeting nervously.

“Ahaha.”

I let out a small laugh.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Uh. Th-that’s…”

“You, I mean.”

As I reached out my hand, Sia tightly shut her eyes as though bracing herself for something.

But instead of touching her, my hand scooped up Lucis, who was sitting beside me, and pulled him into my arms.

“Talking carelessly in front of a child, really.”

“…Huh?”

Sia opened her eyes wide in surprise.

I gently lifted Lucis’ right hand and waved it toward Sia and Simon.

“Say hello. This is your aunt—and great-aunt.”

Then I lowered my head to meet Lucis’ eyes.

“Greet them. They’re your uncle, your aunt, and in a way, distant cousins too.”

“Oooh…”

Lucis carefully scanned the two of them, taking in their faces. Hearing they were blood relatives seemed to please him.

He gave a small nod and said briefly:

“Hi.”

Simon and Sia exchanged bewildered looks, then hastily offered greetings with awkward coughs.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

The two greeted him at the same time—then quickly turned toward each other as though each had just lost their minds.

I could almost read the thoughts flashing in their eyes:

• Informal speech to an elder aunt?

• Formal speech to a nephew?!

Hesitating, they turned back to Lucis and tried again.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

This time, they had swapped.

Lucis couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter at the sight of them.

“Pfft, hahaha.”

He laughed so openly, shoulders shaking, eyes bright with joy.

Because he was usually a child with little expression, that smile shone even more brilliantly.

“Ah…”

The two younger siblings, who had been looking at each other strangely, soon found themselves staring blankly at Lucis’ innocent grin.

Lucis then tilted his chin up proudly, as if very satisfied with himself, wearing an expression that said, Well done, me.

And I felt like I could read the lofty thought behind his smug little nose-in-the-air posture:

• You may adore me more. For I am, of course, a magnificent being worthy of admiration.

They said young dragons were especially prideful, and it was no exaggeration.

Of course, in Lucis’ case, it suited him perfectly.

After all, he was a dragon—and more importantly, he was simply adorable.

“……”

But I couldn’t enjoy that cuteness wholeheartedly.

Something was stirring violently inside my chest.

• Are you planning to kill Uncle too?

Uncle, too.

What exactly had that meant?

* * *

Simon, the second son of the Mausoleum family, could not remember ever being loved by his family.

His mother had died not long after giving birth to the youngest, Sia. His father was a man who had no interest in his family.

As for his elder brother, Seymour… Simon didn’t even want to put it into words.

So Simon poured all his affection into Sia, the youngest.

With no mother, and with a father who was as good as absent, Simon wanted to fill those empty roles for her.

He was often criticized for being too soft, unworthy of the Mausoleum bloodline. But as long as Sia grew up bright and healthy, Simon didn’t mind.

• Don’t expect too much.

Don’t expect too much from this family.

Don’t expect anything from Father, nor from Elder Brother.

Don’t expect love.

Don’t expect them to be family.

Just focus on surviving.

But then—

• Say hello. This is your nephew—and great-aunt.

• Hi.

When he saw things like this, he couldn’t help but waver.

When he glimpsed even a shred of ordinary warmth from Seymour, hope inevitably crept in.

The walls he had built in his heart, the defenses meant to keep him from being hurt—they began to shake.

“…Brother.”

Hearing a voice call to him, Simon lifted his head.

In the attic beneath the roof, their secret sibling hideout, Sia was curled up on a worn-out sofa, hugging her knees.

Her gaze seemed both calculating and hopeful—hopeful enough to throw all calculations away.

“Do you… trust Brother Seymour?”

The question itself was really her way of saying she wanted to trust him.

Normally, Simon would have at least offered comforting words, even a lie—that he felt the same, that he wanted to believe too.

Because aside from in front of Seymour, Simon was always on Sia’s side.

“……”

But this time, he couldn’t answer.

Because answering honestly meant facing his fear.

He was too afraid of Seymour.

Sia saw her brother burying his face in his hands, his fingertips trembling.

To her, Simon was as good as her parent.

In front of other nobles, in front of servants, he was always confident and dignified.

But in front of their elder brother, he shrank into a boy of seven, dwarfed before a giant.

She didn’t know what exactly had happened between her two brothers to make Simon fear Seymour so much.

But she knew it wasn’t some trivial matter.

Still, Sia didn’t want to let this chance slip by.

Father was dead.

Elder Brother had changed.

They had a cute nephew now too.

Maybe—just maybe—this was their first and last chance for this family to change.

A chance to become, even a little, like a normal family.

“Simon.”

Sia cautiously spoke again.

“Seymour smiled at us, didn’t he?”

“……”

“Has Seymour ever once shown us anything other than a mocking smile?”

Never.

“Has he ever joked around about nieces and great-aunts before?”

Never.

“Maybe… Seymour really is changing. Maybe he can change.”

Simon knew.

Objectively, Sia’s words made sense.

But…

“I don’t know.”

He couldn’t imagine it.

“I just… can’t picture him changing.”

Even now, when Simon thought of Seymour, he could hear sounds in his head—

The whisper of wind across the surface of a cold lake.

The creaking of the small boat beneath his feet.

• ……

And Seymour’s emotionless eyes, weighing life and death as if on a scale.

* * *

“…Hm?”

While reading in the study, I suddenly raised my hand to my stomach.

“I’ve digested everything already?”

I had eaten every last piece of steak served at lunch without leaving a scrap.

I had been so stuffed I could hardly breathe, yet only a few hours later it was all digested cleanly.

Ah, youth really is beautiful…!

Of course, part of it was also Seymour’s body—strong and vigorous thanks to his bloodline.

I remembered my worn-out body back on Earth, where eating meat at lunch meant feeling bloated until the end of the workday, and turned another page of my book with a satisfied smile.

Since lunch I had holed up in the study, reading. There was something I wanted to look into.

If I’ve ended up in a game world, I should at least try magic, shouldn’t I?

It was partly curiosity, but mostly necessity—being able to use magic was essential for survival in this world.

Here, whether or not you can use mana—more precisely, whether you can sense it—decides your whole life.

In this world, just as important as social rank were wealth and magical power.

That was why Seymour, who had everything except mana, had risked his life entering the Mausoleum crypt.

I flipped another page. Luckily, even though this was a language I had never seen before, I could read it fluently—I wouldn’t need to start over from scratch.

So it seems… Unlike in the game, chanting the name of a spell alone doesn’t activate magic here.

Using magic here required not clear pronunciation, but sensitivity to mana, mental strength, and sheer willpower.

In game terms, there were no active skills—only stats and passive skills.

“Passive skills, huh…”

I tore my gaze from the book and turned my head. A strange ‘window’ floated beside me, appearing the moment I thought about magic.

At first I had been shocked, but then realized—these were the skills Seymour had been set up with from the beginning.

A skill window? But it looks different from the game’s interface.

Instead of a sleek, modern display, it looked as though burning black flames had formed the letters.

Right… Seymour’s mana had always manifested in this form.

Remembering that Seymour’s mana had come from his contract with the Mausoleum, this ‘skill window’ must also be tied to that power.

So this is also part of the contract between Seymour and the Mausoleum?

The thought seemed reasonable, and I nodded.

For Seymour, who had once been unable to wield mana at all, to rise in a single year into a terrifying villain who shook both the family and the underworld—this level of ability was only natural.

Having a clear visual display of growth paths and progress was an unbelievably powerful advantage for anyone seeking strength.

I studied the window again.

Thankfully, its format worked the same as the game.

The prefixes like “Faint,” “Basic,” or “Sturdy” indicated skill levels, and the percentages rose to 100 before advancing to the next tier.

Curious, I touched one of the skill names—and just like in the game, a detailed description popped up.

A passive skill tied to Seymour’s bloodline.

Next, I tapped the one below it.

Gravity magic.

The very trademark of Seymour Mausoleum.

It was listed at 0% under “Basic” because this skill had only awakened after Seymour had gained mana through his contract.

I stroked my chin, deep in thought.

Just what kind of contract did Seymour make with the Mausoleum?

A miraculous contract that turned a frail heir on the brink of death into the greatest power in the capital within a year.

Gravity magic. The skill window. And even Lucis.

Had the protagonist not stopped him, Seymour might have gone beyond being a villain—he could have swallowed the entire Empire.

What price did he pay to gain this power?

The price of the contract.

That was what I wanted to know.

What was Seymour—I—supposed to fulfill?

In the original story, did Seymour die because he paid that price?

Pondering it only made me shake my head and rise to my feet.

It was something I couldn’t possibly figure out yet.

For now, let’s just try some magic.

I glanced around.

The study was full of books—not the best place to experiment.

And besides, Lucis was fast asleep on the sofa, drooling as he dreamed.

I quietly opened the study window and stepped out onto the balcony.

Up in the sky, a white pigeon flew by at low altitude.

Perfect target for testing gravity magic.

I stretched out my hand toward the bird.

Then, just as I had read in the book, I focused my will and spirit.

The core of magic is invocation. If one wishes strongly enough, mana will move to make it happen.

Magic here was like a prayer—not to a god, but to oneself.

The difference was that the power to answer the prayer came from within.

Fall.

As my invocation resounded, I felt mana stirring from deep within my heart.

Magic had begun to manifest.

And in that instant—

The world flipped upside down.