As Hector returned to his meal, the weight of the status panel still lingered in his mind. His curiosity burned like an itch he couldn't scratch. 'If this Authority of Sleep thing is real, maybe I've got more going for me in this world than I thought.'
His eyes drifted back to the panel, unable to resist. 'Hector Zorneas'. The name hit him like a cold splash of water. It was branded in his mind, a sharp reminder that he wasn't the person he used to be. The reality of his transmigration had finally sunk in, and now there was no denying it.
But then his gaze flicked down to the rest of the details, each line more unsettling than the last.
Name: Hector Zorneas
Age: 19
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Title: Trash of the Zorneas Family
Authority: Authority of Sleep
And then, right below the Authority, was its description.
Description: Puts any target into sleep.
Hector stared at the panel, his mind churning. 'Okay, so I can make people sleep. That's… useful, I guess?'
But the more he looked at it, the more frustrating it became. 'Where are the usual RPG stats?' No strength, no agility, no intelligence. Nothing to measure his potential like he had seen in the books and stories he used to read. It was just... this.
'I get the title "Trash of the Zorneas Family," but no usable stats?' The frustration in his chest was building, like a pressure cooker about to blow. 'What am I even supposed to do with this?'
The title alone was enough to make his stomach turn. Trash of the Zorneas Family. That label felt more like a curse than a title. It was humiliating and it made his future in this world seem grim. Would that one word define him forever?
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples in a feeble attempt to clear his swirling thoughts. 'Focus, Hector. Focus'. He glanced back at the panel again, his eyes narrowing as he considered what it meant. 'Okay, no typical RPG stats. This world doesn't work like a game. I'm not going to level up by killing monsters or completing quests. It looks like my progress depends on this Authority thing.'
His mind was racing with possibilities when he suddenly noticed a girl at the table. She was older than his other sisters, and her eyes were fixed on him, studying him with an inquisitive look. It was as though she could sense the turmoil inside his mind.
He quickly wiped the confusion from his face, adopting the indifference he had learned to wear so well. But inside, his thoughts were still spinning. 'What do I even do with this Authority?' He couldn't help but wonder if he was destined to become some kind of royal servant, putting people to sleep when they couldn't manage it themselves. 'Maybe I'll be the one they call on when nobles are too stressed to sleep. Great, just what I need.'
He let the fork clink softly against his plate as he absentmindedly prodded at the food. But he barely tasted it anymore. His mind was consumed with thoughts of his new reality, of how to navigate a world where he wasn't even sure what his purpose was.
'Why couldn't I have had the usual RPG stats?' He longed for the simple days of knowing exactly where he stood—strength, intelligence, dexterity—all clearly defined by numbers. It would have been so much easier than this... this mess.
He sighed, the weight of his frustration settling in his shoulders. 'This is going to be a long day.'
But one thing was certain: Hector Zorneas wasn't going to stay trash forever. Whether he took the high road or the low road, he would find a way to become strong in this world. And if he had to, he'd make the world bend to his will—even if that meant taking the path of darkness.
After finishing his meal, Hector stood up, the heaviness of the morning's events still weighing on him. He needed space—some time to think and process everything that had happened. The fog of confusion still clouded his mind, and he wasn't sure how to deal with the mess he had found himself in.
One thing was certain, though—whatever happened next, Hector was determined to make it work for him.
After leaving the dining hall, Hector wandered through the lavish halls of the family estate. Every step he took seemed to reveal new details of his surroundings. The ceilings towered above him, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from a forgotten past. Chandeliers hung like sparkling jewels from the high ceilings, their brilliance casting a warm, almost ethereal glow over the rooms. The walls were lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, their eyes seemingly following him as he walked, as if judging him from the past.
The extravagance of the estate was undeniable, but to Hector, it felt foreign—alien. 'Am I really supposed to belong here?' The thought flickered in his mind as he passed a particularly grandiose vase, its surface gilded with gold and encrusted with jewels. 'This looks like it belongs in a museum, not a house.'
The ornate decor and the quiet hum of servants moving about gave the place an almost surreal atmosphere, like stepping into a world out of a fantasy novel. Hector tried to imagine what life had been like for the original Hector Zorneas in this opulent setting. Had he been a spoiled aristocrat, growing up in luxury? Or had he been an outcast, someone trying to hide the shame of his family's expectations? His musings were interrupted when he arrived at what appeared to be his room.
By the door stood the same maid who had escorted him to breakfast earlier. When she saw him, she immediately straightened, her posture perfect, and gave him a respectful bow. She then stepped forward to open the door for him.
"Young master," she said with a tone of quiet respect, "your bath and clothes have been prepared." She gestured toward a side door leading to an adjoining bathroom, from which steam gently wafted out, carrying with it the scent of fragrant flowers. Without waiting for a response, she placed a neatly folded set of clothes on a small table near the bath and left, her soft footsteps fading as she exited the room.
Hector took a moment to look around his new quarters. The room was spacious, yet it maintained a subtle, minimalist luxury. Unlike the grandeur of the halls outside, his room seemed more restrained—designed with elegance rather than excess. A large bed with pristine white sheets took center stage, accompanied by a writing desk complete with an ink set and parchment. The wardrobe stood nearby, beckoning him to explore.
Stepping into the bathroom, Hector was immediately enveloped by the warm, fragrant air. The bath itself was more like a small pool, its marble edges gleaming under the soft glow of enchanted lighting. The water, infused with flowers, promised to soothe both body and mind. Hector sank into the bath, the heat immediately melting the tension from his muscles. Despite everything else, the bath was a small comfort—a brief escape from the whirlwind of confusion that had consumed his morning.
After finishing his bath, Hector stepped out, feeling refreshed, and dressed in the clothes that had been prepared for him. When he emerged and caught sight of himself in the mirror, he froze.
His reflection stunned him. 'Is this really me?' he thought, leaning closer to examine his features. His new appearance was undeniably striking, though there was something unsettling about it. His golden eyes, sharp and piercing, seemed to carry a detached quality, as if he was observing the world from a distance, unaffected. His white hair framed his face in loose, natural waves, and his pale skin gave him an almost ethereal, otherworldly presence.
But it was the clothing that truly completed the image. Hector ran his fingers over the fabric of the white greca-style overcoat, noting its golden-edged cuffs and intricate detailing. The golden buttons gleamed in the light as he adjusted the hem, which fell to his ankles. Beneath the coat, a light-blue shirt peeked out subtly, and a teardrop earring dangled from his ear. He couldn't help but smirk at his reflection, his fingers brushing the golden infinity symbol embroidered on the coat's high collar.
'Not bad,' he thought with a hint of amusement. 'Looks like I came out of this whole reincarnation thing looking like a prince.'
Still, the outfit felt more like a uniform than casual clothing, and when he checked the wardrobe, his suspicions were confirmed. There were ten identical sets of the same attire, all neatly arranged. It was as if someone had decided that he didn't need variety—only consistency. 'This Hector guy has weird taste,' he mused, 'but still, it looks cool.'
He leaned back against the wardrobe, crossing his arms, and stared at his reflection once more. 'I look the part,' he thought. 'Now I just need to figure out how to act it.'
With a resigned sigh, Hector turned his attention back to the room. The day was still young, and if the events of the morning were any indication, it promised to be just as confusing as it had been exhausting. But one thing was clear—if he was going to survive in this world of nobility and expectations, he would have to adapt. Otherwise, he'd either be crushed under the weight of it all, or he could simply abandon it all and run away.
He turned back to the room, knowing that the day had much more in store for him. There was still much to learn—not just about his new family, but about himself and the power he now wielded.
Hector's gaze drifted over to the desk in the corner of the room. His eyes fell upon a book resting on it, its edges worn with age, and its cover cracked in places, as if it had been handled often. Without thinking much about it, Hector reached over and picked it up, flipping it open to a random page.
His golden eyes scanned the text, but to his dismay, nothing made sense. 'I can't read a thing,' he thought, his frustration mounting. With a slight shake of his head, he put the book back on the desk and left the room, determined to find a target to practice his Authority on.
His mind still a storm of confusion and curiosity. His body moved instinctively, drawn outside by a need to escape the confines of the mansion. The halls, with their high ceilings and intricate frescoes, felt oppressive now. The mansion's grandiosity weighed on him, like a pressure that pressed into his chest. But outside? The air was fresh, the grounds vast—yet the more he explored, the more alien it all seemed.
The Zorneas estate was enormous. Sprawling lawns, meticulously manicured gardens, and fountains that glittered in the sunlight—each corner of the land exuded wealth, the kind of wealth that created its own insular world. But despite the beauty, Hector couldn't shake the sensation that he didn't belong here. 'Is this really my life now? Am I supposed to be one of these people?' The thought gnawed at him as he wandered further, each step a little more uncertain than the last. His fingers brushed against a grandiose vase in passing—gilded with gold and encrusted with jewels. It looked like something you'd see in a museum, not casually displayed in a hallway. The wealth was undeniable, but to Hector, it felt more like a museum than a home.
The air seemed to thrum with an undercurrent of order and expectation, as though every blade of grass had its place. But it wasn't until he reached the far corner of the estate that he saw something that truly caught his attention. His feet had unknowingly carried him to a large, open area—an expansive training ground, the size of a small village square, with soldiers scattered about.
The sight that greeted him was overwhelming. Soldiers, garbed in the Zorneas family's distinctive colors of deep purple and gleaming gold, were scattered across the grounds. Some practiced with swords, their steel clashing with one another in practiced rhythms. Others honed their spear techniques, thrusting and parrying in fluid motions that spoke of years of discipline. Yet more stood in a circle, their hands crackling with the energy of magic, sending bolts of lightning and fire cascading through the air. The smell of sweat and determination hung in the air like a living thing, and the sheer intensity of the place was palpable.
There was a rhythm to the chaos—each person in their place, perfecting their craft, their movements precise and calculated. Hector leaned against a stone wall at the edge of the training ground, his arms crossed as he took it all in. He felt like an outsider—someone who had stumbled into a world he didn't understand. He had always assumed that the world of nobility was one of high-society parties and endless luxuries, but this? This was something else.
The soldiers didn't acknowledge him at first—why would they? He was just the fourth son, a forgotten existence. To them, he was nothing but "trash"—someone they had no reason to pay attention to. Hector noticed the way their gazes barely flickered in his direction. A few polite nods, a lazy wave here and there, but that was all. Their focus was always on the training—on mastering the combat skills that were the foundation of their world.
As he watched them, Hector couldn't help but feel a strange mix of admiration and frustration. This was the kind of world where power was earned, where bloodlines alone didn't guarantee success. These soldiers didn't get to where they were by chance. They had worked, bled, and fought for their position. Their discipline was almost tangible. Each movement, each strike, was part of a greater system. They were all building toward something, pushing themselves to become stronger, better.
He wanted that. But how?
Hector's thoughts were interrupted as a sharp, focused energy rippled through the air—a group of mages in the corner casting spells in unison. The flickering lights of their magic danced across the training ground, illuminating the stone walls with bursts of fire and streams of lightning. The magic was so fluid, so natural. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic mess that was Hector's own mind.
He leaned against the stone wall, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of it all. 'This world is brutal. Not like a game at all. No leveling up for doing fetch quests or beating monsters. Here, strength means everything. If I'm going to survive, I need to understand it.' But where did that leave him? With his Authority of Sleep—what could he even do with that? It was nothing compared to the magic or physical prowess these soldiers wielded. He felt a flicker of resentment stir inside him. I'm stuck with a power that makes people sleep? The idea was absurd. But there had to be more to it, right? Maybe it had potential. Maybe it could be honed. The problem was... he had no idea how.
Hector's gaze shifted to the soldiers again, his thoughts racing. They didn't even spare him a second glance. That was fine, though—he wasn't here to be noticed. He was here to understand this world, to figure out how to exist within it. There was a hierarchy at play, a system where power dictated everything. The soldiers were at the top of that hierarchy—at least, in terms of physical prowess and combat ability. They were tools of war, honed to perfection, and the Zorneas family's future depended on their skill. Hector, by contrast, was... nothing. He had no combat skills, no knowledge of how to wield magic properly. He wasn't even sure how to begin.
But as the soldiers practiced, Hector had an epiphany. 'It's not just about raw power, is it? There's strategy, there's technique, there's refinement. If I can't compete with them physically, maybe I can find another way in.' He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the weight of his Authority of Sleep in his mind. What if it could be used tactically, not just as a blunt tool? Could he use it to influence others, to gain an advantage? I have to figure it out. I'll use whatever I can—because right now, this world is eating me alive.
As he turned to leave the training grounds, Hector's mind was already working, already plotting. The world wasn't kind to the weak or the helpless. But he had to find a way to turn his circumstances to his advantage. No one was going to hand him a chance. He had to take it.
Hector wasn't sure where this new resolve came from. Maybe it was from the soldiers he had just watched, or maybe it was the realization that if he didn't start moving, he'd be buried under the weight of this family's expectations. Whatever it was, it was the spark of something. And it was enough.