* * *
Of course, Verdin would eventually be killed by the Crown Prince.
A man as obsessive and deranged as him wouldn’t leave someone like Verdin alive for long.
Not long after Verdin’s death, the Crown Prince himself met a wretched end at the hands of the second prince, Harca—who had fought alongside Verdin in the war and, enraged by the Crown Prince’s tyranny, led a rebellion backed by the furious populace.
In the blood-soaked palace, Harca would go on to battle Leo in a final, brutal confrontation—killing even him in the end.
Looking at it all now… it really was a bloodbath.
No wonder this novel ranked number one in the tragic genre. It was a true bad ending where almost everyone died.
Honestly, Anakin didn’t care whether the imperial power shifted—as long as his family survived.
But he couldn’t help wondering… could someone like Harca, now in control of the empire, really become a wise ruler?
Even in the original, Harca was unreadable.
Readers had always viewed him with dread. He was practically a hidden final boss.
Would a world ruled by him truly be at peace?
No one knew.
“…Sigh. I see. If your conviction is that strong, then there’s no stopping you. I had hoped to bring you to Delphine, but… if you ever change your mind, please let me know.”
“…Okay.”
Delphine’s elder, Mikhail, seemed to want to take me to Delphine… but unfortunately, I had to turn him down.
“So, I’ve lost my chance to officially become your teacher. What a shame…”
“Ah…”
As Anakin looked up at Mikhail with a troubled expression, Mikhail smiled as if he understood and gently patted his head.
“It’s alright. I may not be your official teacher, but I’m still a teacher to you. You’re unofficially my student, so feel free to ask me anything you want.”
For a mage, taking on a disciple is a delicate matter, and he had every reason to feel hurt—but Mikhail simply smiled like the mature adult he was.
Then Anakin hesitantly clutched the hem of Mikhail’s robe and said:
“You’re my very first teacher.”
From the Imperial Palace to the Count’s household—though they had parted due to unfortunate events, meeting again like this felt like fate.
Mikhail was undoubtedly the first teacher destiny had given him.
Mikhail couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“It’s an honor, Anakin.”
Ever since Mikhail arrived at the estate, Anakin’s magic skills had been growing rapidly, like branches spreading from a tree.
With his goal set on Pasadian, Anakin devoted himself to magic without a single idle day.
On the first day, Mikhail had forcibly opened Anakin’s mana channels—but the method didn’t last long.
The strain on Anakin’s fragile body had caused him to pass out.
It all started because he ignored Mikhail’s warning:
“It’s the fastest way, yes—but forcing open someone’s mana channels puts a heavy burden on the body. It’ll be extremely painful.”
“It’s fine. I can take it.”
Maybe he’d been too greedy.
Mikhail, seeing Anakin’s resolute face, sighed deeply and placed his hand on the boy’s delicate back.
Warm mana slowly spread through his body, but with it came pain—sharp, like a blade slicing through skin.
The deeper it went, the worse it got.
He clenched his teeth, but his body couldn’t endure.
Later, Mikhail told him he had collapsed after holding on until he was drenched in sweat.
“…It’s no good after all.”
Because of that, his magic lessons were indefinitely postponed.
Anakin ended up bedridden—lectured by his mother and smothered with care from the servants.
“Your recovery is quick, but please don’t push yourself.”
“…Okay.”
Used to the physician’s daily scolding, Anakin simply bowed his head.
Just then, Roman appeared without warning.
He strode toward Anakin with his usual brisk steps, sweat still clinging to his training uniform—clearly, he hadn’t even bathed after practice.
“Uh…”
Anakin glanced at the physician in panic, but the man, catching Roman’s expression, coughed awkwardly and quietly slipped out of the room.
Click.
Was he always that quick to leave?
Staring blankly at the closed door, Anakin yanked the blanket over his head.
“Anakin. Show me your face.”
Roman’s voice was calm—too calm.
That made it even scarier.
With no other choice, Anakin sat up slowly, like a child scolded by a parent.
“Your face.”
Biting his lip, Anakin finally lifted his head.
Roman yanked the blanket off and carefully examined him.
Pale skin.
A naturally slim waist.
A lively, flushed face.
At least he looked fine.
“You…”
“…”
“You have a habit of neglecting your body. Once you have a goal, you charge ahead, no matter the cost.”
“…”
“Even if it destroys you, you’d probably still say, ‘It was worth it. I had fun.’”
“…”
“But you don’t seem to think about the people by your side, do you?”
“…”
Anakin had nothing to say.
He pressed his bitten lips together—but Roman’s fingers slipped between them, stopping him.
Startled, Anakin blinked rapidly.
“Don’t bite your lips. You’ll hurt yourself. Unless you really want me to scold you.”
“…Okay.”
Roman frowned as he gently rubbed the teeth marks from Anakin’s lips.
“Don’t be mad…”
Seeing Anakin on the verge of tears, Roman closed his eyes.
Clearly, the boy was trying to manipulate him with those pitiful eyes—and Roman knew it—but he gave in anyway.
‘Maybe I’m the bigger fool here.’
With a helpless smile, Roman lifted Anakin’s chin.
“You really are a sly little thing.”
Looking at Anakin’s small face and shifting eyes, Roman sighed in defeat and opened his arms.
Naturally, Anakin moved in for a hug—but Roman quickly pushed him back.
“You haven’t even bathed.”
“Ha ha. You’re so uptight~”
Anakin kicked his feet teasingly, and Roman shot up and headed to the bathroom.
Roman might’ve let it go—but the Count and Countess were a different story.
He had to run around the estate full of energy, show them he was perfectly fine, and pour out every ounce of charm he had just to get them to ease up.
‘Never again… I’m never collapsing again.’
With tears welling in his eyes, Anakin made a firm vow.
The more focused you are, the faster time seems to fly.
And Anakin’s time flew faster than he expected.
He trained without overexerting himself and steadily recovered.
As his body matured, Anakin finally came to realize just how beautiful he truly was.
Fourteen.
Eyes like deep crimson pools, a fragile, almost otherworldly aura.
A delicate jawline, a proud nose, skin like porcelain.
And hair like a cascade of night, falling all the way to his waist.
He was only fourteen—and yet already beautiful enough to stun the continent.
If Anakin truly set his mind to seducing someone, he could probably build his own kingdom.
The beauty that once turned the imperial palace upside down was now fully coming into its own.
Just when he thought he was getting used to this body, it felt like he was back to square one.
‘I’m still not ready to handle this face.’
With such cold, sharp features, he looked more like a proud, aloof beauty than a gentle one.
“Um… Sir Ed.”
Ed Drick. An aura-user with elite skills from the Delta Knights.
Anakin quietly approached Ed, who was patrolling the training grounds.
Unlike the other knights, Ed didn’t flush red or freeze like a broken toy whenever Anakin talked to him.
He was the only one Anakin could have a proper conversation with.
“Yes, Young Master?”
“Wanna spar with me?”
Ed’s expression turned dead serious.
“Young Master, that’s the twentieth time you’ve asked. If you want me thrown out of the estate, just say so.”
Pressing his palm down hard on the sheath of his sword, Ed sighed.
Anakin replied in a small voice.
“I just… don’t know how strong I am. No one will spar with me.”
“Of course not. Hurting you would mean losing our titles—or worse, being banished from the Count’s household.”
“…Before I enter the academy… I want to fight too.”
Ed tried to ignore Anakin’s pleading gaze—but in the end, he couldn’t resist those bright, hopeful eyes and gave a small nod.
“…Alright. But I’ll only defend. Try and hit me.”
They moved to the far corner of the training ground.
Ed picked up a wooden sword.
‘Ed’s strong. He’s not like the others. Simple attacks won’t get through.’
“Fireball.”
BOOM.
A crimson energy swirled above the sky.
Scorching, intense flames formed a circle, growing larger and larger.
And just as the fireball reached its peak, searing beams of light burst out from it in all directions like rain.
Anakin’s talent could only be described as monstrous.
The pure, pristine mana he possessed was of such high quality that only elemental spirits could hope to wield it.
That kind of nature-friendly mana carried potential beyond imagination.
What was even more astonishing was that his affinity with mana—and his sensitivity to it—were so high that he could use two to three times more mana than others.
Why did Anakin let such a godlike gift go to waste?
He was practically born blessed.
* * *
