Noah gasped awake, the scent of blood and steel thick in the air. His fingers clenched around a heavy sword, its blade slick with crimson. Around him, the battlefield was a graveyard—fallen soldiers, broken banners, and the distant echoes of war.
His breath came in sharp gasps. His body ached, his vision swam, but one thought burned through the fog in his mind.
Where… am I?
Then, like a flood, memories surged. Two lives overlapped.
A world of glass towers and electric lights—his past life.
A world of swords, nobility, and war—his present.
Noah Valmont. Heir to House Valmont.
And he was in the middle of a battlefield.
A shout snapped him to the present. A soldier in rusted armor charged toward him, blade raised. Noah's instincts screamed—Move!
His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He sidestepped, sword flashing upward. Metal met flesh. His opponent stumbled, gasping as blood spilled from his chest.
Noah stood over the fallen man, panting. His hands no longer trembled. He felt no fear.
Because this wasn't his first kill.
A distant horn blew. More soldiers approached, but their banners bore the black wolf of House Valmont. His men. His family's elite knights.
One dismounted swiftly, his face grim beneath his blood-spattered helmet.
"Young Lord! You're alive!"
Noah straightened, wiping his blade clean. His body still felt foreign, but he suppressed the discomfort. He was Noah Valmont now.
And if he wanted to survive in this brutal world, he had no choice but to act like it.
"Of course I'm alive," he said, voice steady. He slid his sword back into its sheath and met the knight's gaze. "Now tell me—have we won?"
The knight hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. "The enemy is retreating, my lord. Your father led the charge himself. We have secured victory."
Noah exhaled slowly. His father. Duke Gregor Valmont.
The man whose expectations he would now have to meet.
The battlefield still reeked of blood, but Noah ignored it. He was no longer just a reincarnated man. He was the heir to a family of warlords.
And he had a legacy to uphold.
---
Noah sat in the dimly lit war tent, his body wrapped in bandages. Pain was irrelevant. He had bigger concerns.
This world.
No, not just any world. A novel.
He clenched his jaw. He had read this story before.
The Arkanian Empire would soon summon a Hero to fight against the Demon King. A grand fantasy filled with war, betrayal, and power struggles.
And House Valmont? Fated to fall.
His father would die on the battlefield. His siblings would be used and discarded by the empire. And Noah Valmont—the original one—had been a loyal fool, rushing headfirst into his own destruction.
No.
Noah exhaled sharply. That wouldn't be him.
He wasn't a side character.
He wasn't just another pawn in someone else's story.
This was his life now.
If the world wanted to drag him toward destruction, then he would bend the world itself to his will.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Lord, your father has summoned you."
Noah stood, suppressing the last of his doubts. The first step to survival? Prove himself.
"Take me to him."
---
The Valmont estate was a fortress. Cold. Unforgiving.
Knights lined the halls like statues. Servants moved in silence. Noah knew this place from the novel, but standing within its walls, he felt the weight of House Valmont's power.
Selene Valmont—his stepmother—stood in the grand hall, studying him with an unreadable expression.
"You've returned in one piece," she said. "That is… unexpected."
Noah gave a polite nod. "Disappointed?"
Selene smiled, but her eyes remained cold. "On the contrary. It is always interesting to watch a cub struggle to become a wolf."
With that cryptic remark, she walked away. Politics in this house were just as dangerous as war.
A knight gestured toward the double doors at the end of the hall.
"The Duke is waiting."
Noah pushed them open.
Inside, Duke Gregor Valmont stood by the window, his broad frame casting a shadow across the room.
The Empire's Mad Wolf.
Noah braced himself. His father was a man who commanded armies. A warlord feared by all.
But when Gregor turned to him, the cold warlord vanished.
Instead, his expression softened.
"Noah," Gregor said, striding forward. Before Noah could react, his father's large hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Relief.
"You're alive."
Noah froze. He had expected intimidation. Harsh words. Instead, his father was just relieved.
Gregor let out a breath, fingers tightening. "You were reckless."
"I won," Noah replied smoothly.
Gregor chuckled. "You are just like her."
His mother. The only woman Gregor had ever truly loved.
For a brief moment, his father was not a warlord but a man who had once loved and lost.
Then, as if remembering something, Gregor moved toward his desk and pulled out a sealed letter.
"There is something else," he said. "Your engagement."
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Engagement?"
Gregor nodded. "A promise made by your mother before you were born. To a commoner girl from a minor house."
A commoner?
It made no sense politically. Yet Gregor had honored it, because it was her wish.
Noah turned the letter over in his hands. This was an unknown factor.
"I'll judge for myself," he finally said.
Gregor smirked. "Good."
Noah was dismissed. He returned to his chambers, sinking onto the bed. His mind swirled with plans, threats, and possibilities.
But before all of that, he needed to understand who he was now.
Noah took a slow breath. In his past life, he had been a soldier.
Not a noble. Not a strategist. A foot soldier hardened by war.
That explained why holding a sword had felt so natural.
He had fought before. Killed before.
That made things easier.
Because Noah Valmont was not just an heir.
He was a warrior reborn.