Chapter – 2 – A Different Lucien
“Master Lucien, shall I prepare your bath?”
The soft voice came from beyond the heavy oak door, familiar and tentative.
His fingers wrapped around the iron handle, and he pulled the door open—then immediately turned his back to the threshold, facing the window again. Moonlight spilled over his features, casting half his face in silver shadow and half in darkness.
Maisy stood in the doorway, momentarily frozen.
For six months, she had called to him every single day. For six months, the door had remained closed, answerless. She had grown used to speaking to silence, to pressing her palm against the cold wood and hoping—just hoping—that he could hear her on the other side.
Now, the door was open. And her young master stood with his back to her.
Not from nervousness. She could see that now. He was thinking. Deliberating. As if he were deciding exactly who he wanted to be in this moment.
Maisy was Lucien Vale’s personal maid. In a household where even the servants measured worth by strength, she was one of the few who had seen how hard Lucien worked behind closed doors. She had heard his frustrated whispers, his desperate prayers, the late-night scratching of quill on parchment as he studied magic, artifacts, politics, and history—everything a noble should know but could not wield.
She respected him. Not for his power, but for his persistence.
Tonight, she wore a simple, unadorned maid’s dress. Her long hair was tied to one side, practical and plain. No jewelry. No ring. No bracelet. No ornament of any kind. In noble society, a servant’s appearance reflected their master’s status. Maisy’s plainness was a silent testament to Lucien’s fall—a quiet, humiliating advertisement of a family’s disappointment.
Even so, standing in the doorway with moonlight kissing her red eyes and pale skin, she was beautiful. Not because of her dress or her station, but because of something deeper. Something the original Lucien had never truly seen.
Lucien turned his head.
His gaze swept over her—not dismissively, not with the cold calculation he had shown his reflection, but with something closer to acknowledgment. Observation. Interest.
“Master,” she said softly, steadying herself. “I called for you every day, but you never answered. Lady Vale was worried about you.” A pause. Her red eyes searched his face. “Are you… okay?”
Lucien noticed.
She didn’t ask if he was successful. She asked if he was okay.
That single question told him more about Maisy than any memory could.
He walked toward her slowly, stopping just before the threshold. His voice, when it came, was quiet—almost gentle.
“I remember, Maisy. Every time you called for me. Every time you sat behind that door and cried. Every time you asked me to open it and told me it was okay to be weak.” His gaze held hers. “You said I would find someone who understood me. My feelings. My soul.” A pause. “I heard every word you said.”
Maisy’s lips trembled.
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, embarrassed by her own emotions, but deep in her chest, something warm and aching unfurled. He had heard her. All those months of whispering to a closed door, all those nights of pressing her forehead against cold wood and praying for him to be alive, to be safe, to be anything but broken—
He had heard.
Lucien smiled.
It was not the sinister smile from the mirror. It was softer. Real.
He raised his hand and wiped her tears with his thumb, the touch light but deliberate.
“Don’t worry, Maisy,” he said. “From now on, everything will change.”
Her breath caught. “Does that mean…?”
“Yes. I was successful in my ascension. I am now in the mid-Tempering Realm.”
“Really?” Her voice broke with joy. “Master Lucien, I’m so happy! You were stuck in the early Tempering Realm for so long because of your fragile soul, but now—now you’ve strengthened it enough to break through!”
It will be better if I hide that I’m actually in the peak Tempering Realm because of the Astral Marrow Pills, Lucien thought. If people discover I’m at the peak, they’ll see me as a threat. I should keep this to myself.
“Lady Vale will be so happy,” Maisy continued, her tears still falling but her smile wide now. “Oh! I forgot—I came to prepare your bath.”
“Yes. Prepare it.” He stepped back into the room. “It’s been a while.”
No one bathed at this hour. But Lucien Vale had never been ordinary. Talentless, yes—but not lazy. He used every hour of every day to increase his knowledge: magic, artifacts, noble families, political alliances, historical betrayals. He read everything. He remembered everything.
The only thing he lacked was the courage to act. He had been soft-hearted. Naive. He had read about politics but still been fooled by his fellow noble “friends.”
That weakness had cost him everything.
That weakness is dead now.
The bath was enormous, carved from pale stone and filled with warm, steaming water that Maisy had prepared with careful attention. Lucien lay back, arms spread along the edges, eyes closed. The heat seeped into his muscles, loosening the last remnants of six months of stillness.
Maisy worked quietly beside him, washing his body as she had done every day before his seclusion. But tonight, something was different.
Her hands moved over his shoulders, his arms, his chest—and she felt it. The change. His muscles were tighter now, more refined, as if carved by a master sculptor rather than shaped by mere training. His wet hair clung to his neck like strands of molten gold. And his presence—
She swallowed.
Master Lucien has changed so much. His presence is intimidating now. Not in a frightening way. In a way that makes me want to…
She didn’t finish the thought.
Lucien’s eyes remained closed, but his mind was racing. He was thinking about the original owner’s parents. Would they recognize that he was not their son? People changed when they became stronger. A shift in personality after a breakthrough wouldn’t raise too many questions.
I’m glad I have all of Lucien’s memories intact.
“Hey, Maisy,” he said quietly, still not opening his eyes.
“Yes, Master?”
“Do you want to join me?”
A sharp intake of breath. “What?”
“Ahaha.” He chuckled—low, warm, genuine. “Maybe I just wanted to spend more time with you. Things are about to get very busy. And very interesting.”
Maisy’s hands paused on his arm. Her heart beat faster, but her voice remained steady. “Don’t worry, Master. We can spend as much time together as you want. But right now, Lord Vale and Lady Vale are waiting for you.”
She wasn’t surprised by his words. She had watched him grow from a boy into a man, had seen his loneliness, his desperation, his quiet kindness. She knew that after crossing a realm, confidence often bloomed unpredictably. And maybe—just maybe—she had wanted to hear him say it. Maybe she had wanted to join him.
The original Lucien had been aware of Maisy’s feelings. But he had never acted on them. Born a viscount, raised with strict notions of status, he had kept his distance from commoners—even one as loyal as Maisy. He had never touched her after they grew up, because he understood the invisible walls between their stations.
Cedric did not care.
He had his own desires. His own ambitions. He did not care about titles—commoner, viscount, count, or royal. Status meant nothing to a man who had already died once.
Keeping Maisy loyal, keeping her close, would be more beneficial than any cold, indifferent distance.
After the bath, Maisy dressed Lucien in a dark red long jacket with golden buttons. The fabric was rich, the fit perfect. When he looked at himself in a smaller mirror, he saw a young nobleman ready to face his family.
Not the soft, apologetic Lucien of the past.
Someone new.
The Dining Hall
“So,” Lord Vale said, setting down his cup, “Lucien is finally joining us for breakfast?”
“Yes,” Lady Vale replied, her voice bright with hope. “And I heard he was successful in his realm breakthrough. My Lucien is now in the mid-Tempering Realm. His progress will finally become steady. I’m so happy for him.”
No one knew he had performed two forbidden rituals. To the family, he had simply been trying to awaken his dormant potential.
In this world, there were ten known Realms. The first was the Body Tempering Realm. Each Realm had four stages: Early, Mid, Late, and Peak. The difference between Early and Peak was as vast as a chasm.
Artifacts and relics were also divided into Realms—but some, like the Lost Atlas, could be used by anyone, regardless of their cultivation level. That was why Lucien had risked everything. The Lost Atlas could make his family powerful again.
“So what?” Aria Vale, Lucien’s younger sister, stabbed at her food with her fork. “It’s just Early to Mid. That’s not impressive.”
“You shouldn’t speak of your brother that way,” Lord Vale said, though his tone carried little heat. “Even if he has flaws, he is still your brother.”
“Oh, come on,” Aria scoffed. “If someone is useless, what’s wrong with saying so?”
The doors opened.
Lucien entered.
He walked with a different gait—confident, unhurried. His dark red jacket caught the morning light. His golden hair, still slightly damp, framed a face that seemed sharper than before. Even Aria, at the Early Tempering stage, felt something shift in the air.
He sat down at the table and smiled.
“Good morning, Mother. Father. And my little sister.”
Lady Vale beamed. Lord Vale nodded, his eyes lingering on his second son with something like curiosity.
They began eating.
“The food is delicious,” Lucien said after a few bites. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten something made by Maisy.”
Lady Vale blinked in surprise. “This is the first time you’ve complimented the food, son.”
“After ascending from Early to Mid, I realized I never really appreciated the small things in life.”
Aria snorted. “It’s not that big of a difference. It’s just Early to Mid. Big brother Riven was at Late Tempering at your age.”
Lucien smiled and continued eating. He didn’t answer her. He didn’t argue. He simply… ignored her.
The indifference was worse than any retort could have been.
Lord Vale set down his utensils. “Lucien, what will you do now that you’ve reached the mid-Tempering stage?”
“I just came out of seclusion,” Lucien replied. “I want to test my strength. See where I need to improve. Father, if you don’t mind, I would like to have sparring matches with the foot soldiers.”
Lord Vale’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to see it.”
“I’m sorry, son,” Lady Vale said, touching her chest. “I know your strength has increased, but in a fight, injuries are common. I can’t bear to watch you get hurt.”
“Oh, I would love to see you get beaten,” Aria added with a smirk.
Lucien’s smile didn’t waver.
The Training Ground
The underground training ground was vast, dimly lit by flame torches. Fifty soldiers rested and practiced in lazy drills. With no war to sharpen them, complacency had set in like rust on old blades.
Their captain was Liam Carter.
Liam was a broad-shouldered man with a blonde beard, wearing worn armor with a sword at his hip. He commanded this squad of fifty. He was also one of Riven Vale’s supporters—and the one who had famously stated that Lucien was weaker than a common foot soldier.
He liked Aria, though she was unaware of his feelings. To please her—and to curry favor with Riven—he had made a habit of humiliating Lucien at every opportunity.
Lucien, Lord Vale, Aria, and Maisy entered unannounced.
The soldiers scrambled to look busy. Liam approached with a practiced smile, bowing to Lord Vale and greeting Aria warmly. He did not greet Lucien.
In this world, strength dictated respect. Even a noble could be ignored by a stronger commoner. The original Lucien had accepted this silently, never holding grudges, never demanding acknowledgment.
Cedric was not the original Lucien.
He held grudges. He loved deeply—and hated deeply. He was kind to the kind, and a nightmare to those who opposed him.
“So,” Liam said, finally acknowledging Lucien with a thin smile, “Lord Lucien wants a practice match with us? But isn’t he…?”
He stopped mid-sentence, pretending to catch himself.
“Isn’t he weaker than a foot soldier?” Lucien finished smoothly, a small smile playing on his lips.
Liam’s face paled slightly. “No, no, Lord Lucien, I would never dare say that. I know you’re strong. Lord Vale told me you’ve reached the mid-Tempering Realm.” He straightened his back. “I’m only in the late-Tempering Realm myself.”
No one hated Liam for being late-Tempering. He was a commoner who had risen to command a squad—an achievement that would matter greatly in wartime. But nobles were expected to be stronger. To lead armies, not just squads.
“If you wish to fight my soldiers, I have no objection,” Liam said.
“Then it’s settled.” Lucien’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Tell them to prepare. They can come at me all at once. I don’t mind.”
Lord Vale nodded approvingly. “Good luck, son.”
Aria said nothing.
Liam chose hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to injure Lucien without leaving visible marks—bruises from practice swords would be too obvious. He quietly instructed his soldiers to use full strength.
He was jealous of Lucien. Jealous of his status, his beauty, his maid Maisy, the respect he received despite being weak. It was unfair, Liam thought, that someone so useless should have so much.
Lucien warmed up with light stretches and a few jumps. His movements were economical, precise.
The soldiers charged.
Lucien raised his guard like an experienced fighter. His previous life’s combat training, combined with his newly reforged body, made him a different kind of opponent entirely. His organs were steel. His bones were iron.
He dodged the first soldier’s punch and drove his fist into the man’s lower stomach. Blood sprayed from the soldier’s mouth. Before the man could fall, Lucien struck him across the side of the face—and kept moving.
He was ruthless.
He kicked at joints, breaking them with sharp, wet cracks. He shattered noses. He dislocated shoulders. When one soldier tried to grab him from behind, Lucien seized his arm, pulled him forward, and drove his knee into the man’s ribs twice in rapid succession.
Another soldier lunged. Lucien’s fingers found his eye socket—pushing in, twisting. The man screamed, clawing at Lucien’s wrist as blood ran down his cheek.
It was not a fight. It was a dismantling.
Lord Vale watched calmly. He understood that as long as Lucien didn’t kill anyone, it didn’t matter how much damage he inflicted. In this world, healing magic could regenerate even lost limbs.
But Aria and Liam Carter were not calm.
Aria had never seen real combat. The fights at her academy were controlled, gentle, almost ceremonial. She had never watched a man scream as his eye was gouged out. She had never seen limbs bent the wrong way, heard bones snap like dry twigs.
Is this really Lucien?
The brother she had mocked, the brother she had called pathetic, the brother she had believed incapable of cruelty—stood in the center of the training ground like a wolf among sheep. Blood dripped from his knuckles. His expression was not angry. It was calm. Almost serene.
Soldiers lay groaning around him. Some wept. Some crawled away, leaving trails of blood on the stone floor.
Lucien turned.
His jacket was splattered with red. His golden hair had come loose from its tie, falling across his forehead. And on his lips—a smile.
He looked at Liam Carter.
“Care to join us? Please.”
Author Note:
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