The Regressed Heir of Ravencrest

Isabella was stunned momentarily, her violet eyes searching his face in close detail.

"R-Ravencrest?" she repeated, the word hanging softly between them.

"Yes," Ethan answered, his voice steady.

Something shifted in her expression as the weight of the name settled in. Her mind immediately traced back to her private lessons on the Northern Guardians—the battle-hardened warriors who held the frostbitten borders of the Empire, facing monster waves numbering in the tens of thousands every few months amidst the brutal northern storms.

She knew most southern mages looked down on the North, dismissing its people as unrefined barbarians. But both of her parents had taught her otherwise. The harsh environment didn’t make them uncivilized; it forged them into the strongest, most resilient warriors in the Empire. And House Ravencrest, despite holding the rank of Marquis, possessed a military might that rivaled the high ducal families. Their patriarchs—Sir Severus and Marquis Adrian—were living legends whose names echoed across the entire continent.

Isabella looked at him with renewed wonder. "You are...?"

"I am the Sword of the North’s child," Ethan replied quietly.

A faint, unbidden smile bloomed on Isabella’s lips. A wave of quiet relief washed over her, though she didn’t quite understand why she felt it.

Seeing her smile made Ethan’s heart melt. For a brief second, the memory of her older self overlaid the young girl before him—a woman whose single, rare smile had been enough to motivate him through the darkest hours of his past life.

They resumed walking down the long marble corridor, the awkward tension between them completely dissolving.

Isabella harbored a hundred questions—she wanted to know why he had been so severely injured, how her grandmother had found him. It was completely unlike her to be so curious about a stranger, but she suppressed the urge, keeping her hands neatly folded before her.

As they drew closer to the main estate, Ethan noticed subtle changes. Festive banners and refined floral decorations lined the grand archways. More surprisingly, the Valerian household guards they passed didn’t just bow to Isabella—they bowed deeply to Ethan as well, a level of deference reserved only for crucial house guests or visiting royalty.

"Lady Isabella... what is going on?" Ethan asked calmly, gesturing slightly toward the decorated halls.

"I don’t know..." Isabella admitted softly. "Perhaps it’s an order from grandmother. And... you don’t need to address me so formally. You can call me Isabella when we are together. Grandmother mentioned we are around the same age."

"Ah—yes, My Lady," Ethan stuttered, caught slightly off-guard.

"No, just... Isabella."

"Yes... My La—" Ethan tried, but the name caught in his throat.

Seeing him struggle against his ingrained noble decorum, Isabella let out a soft, silent huff, choosing not to push him further. A comfortable, quiet harmony settled between them until they arrived at the grand entrance of the Dining Hall.

Even before the doors opened, the rich, mouth-watering aromas of roasted meats, rare magical herbs, and sweet pastries wafted through the heavy oak. It was an extravagant feast—far beyond what even a Ducal house would prepare for a standard evening meal.

Are they celebrating Lady Iris’s return? Ethan thought.

The armored guards stationed at the entrance bowed in unison and pushed open the massive double doors.

Inside, a vast mahogany dining table stretched across the hall, laden with hundreds of exquisite dishes. The moment Ethan and Isabella stepped across the threshold, every eye in the room snapped directly toward them.

At the head of the table sat Lady Iris, looking utterly relaxed. To her left sat Duke Lucas Valerian—Isabella’s father and the current head of the house—beside his wife, Lady Estelle. Nearby sat Isabella’s younger brother, Noah, his wide eyes full of childhood curiosity. Everyone was dressed in high formal attire.

The moment the family laid eyes on Ethan, quiet murmurs died down. Wearing the deep midnight-blue Moonspun Silk tunic, Ethan’s refined features, sharp jawline, and effortless composure gave him the unmistakable aura of high nobility. It didn’t look as though the luxurious silk was elevating his appearance; rather, his presence gave the garment its distinction. Though the Duke and Duchess had only seen a bloodied, unconscious boy two days ago, they now saw why Iris had treated his arrival with such absolute gravity.

"Well, don’t you two look splendid together," Iris chimed, a grin of pure amusement spreading across her face.

Duke Lucas’s face twitched violently at his mother’s shameless remark. Beside him, Lady Estelle quickly covered her mouth to hide a subtle smile, while young Noah looked back and forth between his grandmother and the guests, completely oblivious to the sudden spike in tension.

Both Ethan and Isabella froze for a fraction of a second, stunned by the Mage Saint’s bold teasing, before instantly recovering their rigid noble composure.

Ethan stepped forward and inclined his head in a precise, measured bow. "Ethan Ravencrest greets Lady Iris, Duke Valerian, and Lady Estelle. Please forgive the intrusion and the trouble I have caused your estate."

So he chose to reveal his identity, I thought he would hide it.

The moment the name Ravencrest left his lips, shock flickered across both Lucas and Estelle’s faces. They hadn’t expected the battered boy Iris brought home to be the heir of the Northern Guardians—nor had they anticipated his connection to the grand preparations Iris had personally ordered.

Iris grinned triumphantly, thoroughly enjoying the dumbfounded expressions on her son’s and daughter-in-law’s faces.

Lucas was still processing the revelation when Estelle gave his knee a firm, subtle nudge under the table, glaring at him to regain his composure.

"Please, there is no need for apologies," Estelle said warmly, offering Ethan a gracious smile. "You are an honored guest of House Valerian."

"Hey, you two, stop standing at the door like statues," Iris interrupted, waving her hand casually as she gestured toward the seat of honor to her right and the chair directly beside it. "Come, sit here."

Ethan glanced at Iris, then at Duke Lucas, instantly picking up on the rising awkwardness in the room.

She is completely enjoying this...!

Lucas looked as if he wanted to object—having his daughter seated directly beside a young man at a private family dinner set off every protective paternal instinct he had—but the moment he considered speaking against his mother, a sudden chill ran down his spine. Realizing Iris had deliberately orchestrated this setup, he swallowed his protest and grimaced in silence.

"Yes," Ethan and Isabella spoke at the exact same moment.

Unknowingly falling into perfect synchrony, they stepped forward in unison, causing a bright, satisfied smile to bloom across Iris’s face as they moved together and took their assigned seats.

The mahogany table groaned beneath an extraordinary spread. Golden-roasted loins glazed in mountain honey occupied the central platters, surrounded by steaming tureens of creamy snow-root soup, crystal-clear bowls of moon-blossom salad, and buttered rolls infused with mana-herbs that drifted a warm, savory aroma across the hall. It was a feast blending the refined elegance of southern culinary art with high-energy delicacies meant to restore drained mana.

Ethan moved with quiet, practiced grace, taking small, measured bites. Across the table, young Noah leaned forward, resting his chin in his small hands, his wide eyes glued to Ethan.

"Are you really from the North?" Noah asked suddenly, his childlike voice breaking the quiet clatter of silverware. "Do people in the North really fight monsters all year?"

Estelle gasped softly. "Noah, mind your manners."

Ethan paused, offering the boy a gentle, faint smile. "No," he replied softly. "Mostly every few months when the beast population increases."

"Did Lord Adrian really kill a Frostfang Alpha?"

"Ah—yes."

Noah’s eyes sparkled with awe, but before he could blurt out another question, Estelle quietly passed him a plate of glazed fruits to occupy his attention.

Throughout the meal, Duke Lucas kept his gaze fixed on Ethan, his sharp eyes evaluating every movement, every breath, and the subtle way the boy adjusted to sit slightly between Isabella and any perceived line of sight—an instinct born purely of battle. Lucas burned to ask questions. How had the heir of House Ravencrest ended up severely wounded? What kind of monster had he fought to sustain such injuries, and why was he involved in such deadly affairs when he was so young?

Yet, Lucas held his tongue. He distinctly remembered his mother’s stern, uncharacteristic warning before Ethan had woken: Do not pry into the boy’s affairs. Ask nothing unless he brings it up himself, or unless I tell you myself.

Iris, meanwhile, enjoyed every second of the unspoken tension, sipping her wine with a sly, satisfied grin.

Sensing the sheer frustration and curiosity burning inside her son’s mind, Iris focused her mana.

’He is ten years old and he can use Intent in battle. Do you understand what that implies?’ she spoke directly into the minds of both Lucas and Estelle.

Both of them suddenly turned to look at the Mage Saint, their surprised expressions impossible to conceal. Iris gave them a calm glance, and Estelle immediately understood why the Mage Saint insisted on absolute secrecy regarding the boy.

’Wha—!’

Just as Lucas was about to shout out loud, Iris’s eyes twitched. This idiot. With a subtle flick of her wrist under the table, a sharp shot of mana struck his jaw, causing him to groan internally and swallow his shout. Beside him, Estelle quickly nudged his arm, helping him regain his stoic demeanor.

That was when Lucas suddenly remembered that the Ravencrest heir had yet to even undergo his Awakening Ceremony.

’Mother, are you serious?’ Lucas asked, his voice echoing purely within the mind-link shared by Estelle, Iris, and himself.

’Yes.’

’Did he really use Intent?’

’Are you doubting me?’

’No... but what did he even fight to get injured like that if he used Intent?’

’A Peak Knight Lord.’

Lucas nearly spat out the wine he was sipping, but a sudden pressure of telekinetically held mana clutched his lips tight, forcing him to swallow.

This guy... how will he even handle the house if I leave? Iris thought to herself, imagining the worst possible outcome if Estelle weren’t around to manage him.

The entire exchange happened in a span of few seconds, going completely unnoticed by Noah and Isabella—but it didn’t escape Ethan’s sharp senses. He noticed the micro-expressions, the subtle mana ripples, and the Duke’s sudden rigid posture.

It seems Lady Iris mentioned something about me...

Where Lucas had previously watched Ethan with protective suspicion, his eyes were now filled with intense, burning curiosity as he thought of Severus and Adrian. It seems House Ravencrest has produced yet another monster.

The rest of the meal proceeded normally, filled with subtle, respectful glances from Estelle and Lucas, which Ethan met with unbothered calm.

As the meal concluded and servants cleared the grand platters, Iris placed her crystal glass onto the table with a soft clink. The playful air around her vanished in an instant, replaced by the cool, heavy gravity of a Saint.

"Ethan," Iris spoke, her voice cutting clearly through the room. "Follow me to my study. We have matters to discuss."

Isabella looked up, a flicker of worry touching her pale eyes, while Lucas and Estelle exchanged a quiet look.

Ethan wiped his hands with a linen napkin, stood up smoothly, and bowed deeply to the family. "Thank you for the magnificent dinner, Duke Valerian, Lady Estelle."

He offered Isabella a quiet, lingering glance before turning to follow the Mage Saint. Iris led him out of the grand hall, her staff clicking against the silent marble floors as they ascended toward the highest tower of the estate.

The Grand Study of the Mage Saint

Ethan stood in the center of the vast chamber, looking out over an impossible expanse. Towering shelves stretched endlessly in all directions, filled with tens of thousands of magical texts, hovering artifacts, and glowing research scrolls. It was an isolated pocket dimension, completely detached from the physical realm—a private domain created by Iris herself.

Iris turned around slowly, her sharp violet eyes locking onto him with absolute focus.

Finally, she spoke.

"So... it chose you."

The moment the words left the Mage Saint’s lips, the quiet air shattered, and the tension in the room spiked to a suffocating peak.

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