Chapter 1: Rebirth of a Genius

The air hummed with magic. Rondell was a realm; it was a realm where the arcane and mechanics fit, formed; a realm of harmony. In sprawling cities, the skies were riddled with airships charring through space, their hulls dripping runes of a blue glowing power faintly.

MANA resonated everywhere with magic. The wind whispered through every breath and creak of cobblestones, hummed in the spires of aristocratic mansions, echoed.

The divide between the society was sharp and relentless. Both magical and material, Aqueous, were the power wielded by Aristocrats, heirs of ancient bloodlines. With wealth, they were able to create and maintain wonders. On the other hand, commoners could only work hard to climb a rigorous social ladder. Magic was a privilege for the lucky or the relentless.

The velvet curtains of a grand chamber were filtered with a soft light. Inside was opulent, with carving and tapestry, showing bloody battles. There was a history, privilege, power in every corner.

His fingers brushed against the silk sheets beneath him, and Brian Bladeheart stirred. His eyes opened slowly, but where he was not opulent. The memories came flooding in, raw and vivid, instead of turning his heart into poundage.

Sam Vik. That had been his name. A soldier. A leader. A man of Earth.

It replayed in his head again, a mission gone wrong, a selfless act that ended in a blinding, all encompassing light.

He sat up now, gasping for breath. He could see his reflection in the ornate mirror across the room, and his breath caught in his throat.

This was not his face.

Once rugged features cut by war, now a visage sharp and noble, with white hair. It was a handsome face, one that bore a power and privilege to it. He was slight and his body was strong and carried an air of aristocracy.

He stood on unsteady legs, steadied himself, whispered, "I'm alive… but not as me." His voice wasn't so much foreign as it was softer, raspier.

He combined memories of this new life with his old. Battlefields and camaraderie gave way to alien fragments: One is Rondell's most powerful noble house, the Bladeheart family. Magic coursed through his veins and was potent and undeniable.

He remembered a younger sister who loved him, a family legacy that required greatness because he was born.

He had conflicting emotions. And it was at once awe at the unlimited potential of this new life and disdain for the mindless rigidity of the aristocracy. The culture of entitlement he could not ignore was bred by their privilege.

Brian clenched his fists. It wasn't just a second chance, he murmured. "It's a challenge."

His thoughts were pulled from by the sound of approaching footsteps. A maid bowed very deeply as the grand oak door creaked open.

"we are waiting for you in the main hall over breakfast, young master."

Brian's mind raced. A nod masked his unease. He would meet his new family soon, step into the life of Brian Bladeheart.

He pulled on the fine garments that had been laid out for him as he dressed, and in the mirror caught one last look at himself.

Furthermore, he whispered determination as he told himself: 'I'll prove to Rondell I'm not just another aristocrat.'

Brian Bladeheart would have risen to the occasion. He was no longer a soldier, a man of the past. He was a reborn genius,

---

It was a heavy name: that of Brian Bladeheart, second son of Viscount Bladeheart. In Rondell's noble circles, it won the admiration of allies and the envy of rivals. Beyond being a genius, Brian was a child prodigy of unrivaled talent, and magic and combat were his game — a reputation that quite a few would settle for.

There was never a cost for brilliance. Some eyes were filled with awe, others with envy, but his rise drew eyes. It was a banner of greatness and a bullet in his chest.

Precision was the name of the game for Brian right from the beginning. His commands were beautiful things, magical things, his spells danced like an artist's brush applied but years. His combat skills were as sharp as a knight decades his senior in training.

But this brilliance threw long shadows. Compassion were whipped, whispers of ambition and fear were born of his potential and their fragile camaraderie, the aristocracy, cracked in the presence of his potential.

The weight of his genius nearly crushed him, during his seventh year.

Just another evening, a lavish family dinner in the Bladeheart estate with its grandeur contrasted by warm chatter and the silverware clink, but the evening started out any other way. Delicacies were passed, and fine wine clashed in endless toasts, glasses clashing.

Brian sat, politely silent among the chatter, but as he did so, a wave of unbearable heat surged through his chest. A moment later, it was replaced with a suffocating cold, a paralyzing sensation that paralyzed his body. His vision clouded, his breaths became shallow and breaths, each one a war against the void trying to suffocate his lungs.

His body betrayed him, he tried to speak, and to move.

Laughter and chatter continued unabated around him. It was growing terror, and the clink of goblets and cheerful banter mocked him. The boy sat frozen in place, his heart pounding like a war drum, and no one noticed.

The realization struck him like a dagger to the gut: poison.

Brian's eyes scanned the room for answers. He looked at Asetie Standards, his stepmother. Her gaze stopped to the shadows, sharp and calculating and determined.

Her face was blank, calm, cold, and distant. But her presence, her terrifying stillness, screamed it. Brian knew. Though others whispered in the days that followed, she had noble lineage and unshakable connections, so she was not punished.

The betrayal cut deep.

Something changed that night in Brian Bladeheart. The world that had so promised endless opportunity was a viper's nest of lies and deceit. Inside, standing in front of a facade, was a glittering hall of gilded promises – and a web of ambition and treachery.

The poison didn't kill him, but it broke his trust. It was able to plant a seed in his heart, and a seed of isolation, to sort of resolve to always tread carefully, to always trust sparingly and to rely solely on his strength.

The venom in his veins wouldn't kill Brian, but the mental wounds it would leave behind would never heal. He would harden him, and make him into something more, something of brilliance, and something of unyielding determination.

Even a genius in the world of Rondell was only as strong as he could stand. Even at seven years old, Brian Bladeheart vowed that he would endure, and he meant it. He would stand, not for the aristocracy, but despite it.

---

Flash forward ten years. Brian Bladeheart had become the perfect apathy. Those days of training, of being the best that you can be, were long over.

He didn't take to being a reclusive noble, rarely leaving the giant estate he lived on. He spent all his days in a virtual reality game called Psalm Online in those days.

Brian Bladeheart was a lazy, uninspired noble to the outside world, wasting his potential. Every movement, every word, was very deliberate to not bring attention to himself. A long time ago, he knew how to blend in.

Brian stood in line at a local store and bought more Psalm Online point cards. The commoners murmured at his presence.

Some mocked him for having no ambition, and some pitied him for squandering the genius for which he was once famous.

'…' whispered one of the commoners. The nobleman placed the cards on the counter, and he's wasting his life, he said. "Such a shame. But he could have changed the world, he hides behind his game."

Brian didn't react. They didn't care what they thought.

Brian found his half brother, Tim, was as cold as an iceberg when he returned to the Bladeheart estate. Tim was ever the ambitious one, and as always, Brian's lifestyle was open contempt.

Standing arrogantly tall with his own relentless drive, Tim sneered.

"You have all the talent in the world, and you don't even use it."

"Father wants you to run Parr Distribution, but you're too busy playing games to even realize you're supposed to."

Brian did not move at all. He wasn't concerned about the family business, didn't care about Tim's scorn. He had other plans.

Brian shrugged, as if he didn't care. "I'm not interested. Let someone else take over."

The words were in Tim's eyes, but Brian saw them. He wasn't finished with Tim yet. If anything, it was only just beginning.

It wasn't just the game. A carefully laid plan was part of Brian's obsession with Psalm Online. Behind the facade of laziness and apathy, Brian was working toward a singular goal: completing the Genesis Quest.

The game held more secrets to it than anyone knew of or more secrets than anyone knew about the world around him, and Brian wanted to know all of them.

Brian logged in to the game and focused more. There were no usual distractions.

A system message flashed before his eyes:

[Genesis Quest Complete, Stage One: Body Synchronization: 80%.]

Brian's heart skipped a beat. This was the moment he'd been waiting for.

He smiled a small, satisfied smile. He knew what he was doing. It wasn't a distraction, it was a weapon. A way to reshape his destiny.

He whispered, "If they want to control me, they have to follow me into my game world"