The Phenomenon Known As Reincarnation

Inside a room filled with towering bookshelves and scattered tomes, a boy sat by the window, sunlight streaming in and illuminating the pages of a book titled Reincarnation.

His name was Leonhardt Twilight. He had shoulder-length platinum blonde hair and sharp violet eyes that sparkled like rare gems. Combined with his flawless features and ethereal beauty, he stood out no matter where he went.

He closed the book with a quiet sigh and turned toward the window, gazing at the clear blue sky. Despite it still being daytime, three moons hung silently above the horizon.

"...Has it really been seven years since 'that' day...?" he murmured, a tinge of longing in his voice.

He could never forget it—the day he died. The day they all died, at the hands of the Summoner in the Silent Space. He could still remember it vividly... the pain, the fear, the helplessness right before the end.

But then, he had opened his eyes in an unfamiliar room, cradled in the arms of a woman he didn’t know. Confusion and panic had struck instantly. Where am I? What happened? What happened to the others? Those were the only thoughts in his infant mind. Finding answers, however, proved difficult when he couldn’t even walk.

And so, the years passed.

Now seven years old, Leonhardt had spent most of his time buried in the mansion’s library, consuming knowledge. It was there that he stumbled upon the concept of reincarnation—a phenomenon in which a soul, upon death, transfers into a fetus and is reborn, often retaining memories of its past life.

Reincarnation was an extremely rare occurrence in Primordia, and knowledge of it was classified as Forbidden, accessible only to nobles and the upper ranks.

Fortunately for Reo, now Leonhardt, he had been born into a noble household.

"I wonder... how is everyone else doing?" he whispered, almost inaudibly.

It was a thought that plagued him constantly. If he reincarnated, surely the others had as well? But there was no certainty. And even if they had, how would they recognize each other, now reborn into entirely different bodies?

Leonhardt closed his eyes briefly, then glanced down at the back of his right hand.

Four-pointed stars glowed faintly. One was white outlined in black, while the other one was pitch black, outlined in an even darker line.

Every being on this planet, even monsters, were born with these marks. They were known as [Nova Arts]. A being could have no more than two and most people were only born with one. 

There were two kinds: Passive and Active.

The white stars marked Passive [Nova Arts]—constantly active and requiring no mana particles.

The black stars marked Active [Nova Arts], which required both mana and the user’s will to activate.

Leonhardt had two of them.

"Perfect Memory and Quantero... Two Nova Arts, yet I can only use one," he muttered with a bitter chuckle.

'In my past life, I had a mana particle count of 9,850. Now... I don’t even have one.' He sighed lightly, turning back to the window.

Below was a beautifully maintained garden, with trimmed grass sculptures lining the concrete path. A white carriage rolled through the gate, its side etched with a violet crescent moon devouring a tiny golden sun.

Leonhardt’s gaze sharpened. That carriage only belonged to one person...

Knock. Knock.

"Enter," Leonhardt said calmly, not even glancing at the door.

He already knew who it was.

The door creaked open, and a man with neatly tied brown hair stepped inside. His eyes remained closed, and a faint, unreadable smile played on his lips.

Jaxson Rhiler. Leonhardt’s personal attendant—and a person planted to keep an eye on him.

The reason? A prophecy made seven years ago, during the failed hero summoning.

The Saintess had spoken:

“Seven extraordinary individuals will be born into this world. Gifted in all things, their presence shall bring calamity.”

These seven were called the Fallen, each bearing a seven-pointed black star somewhere on their bodies. All were immediately classified as A-Rank Demonoids.

To be deemed a Demonoid as a human meant one had done something truly inhumane.

Leonhardt knew that classification well. In his past life, he was branded as a C-Rank Demonoid. Once classified as a Demonoid, the world turned on you—hunting you like prey for bounty or fame.

And the Summoner had called him and his friends “the Fallen.” It was no coincidence.

The knowledge comforted him somewhat. If I’m here… maybe they are too. But the uncertainty still haunted him.

Leonhardt had drawn attention from a young age. Having two [Nova Arts] he inevitably brought the eye of the patriarch.

Fortunately, the cursed mark from the prophecy had yet to appear on his body. The patriarch checked him monthly—ordering Jaxson to bring him in on the same day every time.

Today was that day.

Jaxson stood before him, unreadable as always. His half-smile hid countless secrets. He gave a slight bow.

"Young Master, the patriarch—"

"I know," Leonhardt interrupted coldly.

He avoided talking to Jaxson more than necessary. His [Nova Arts] made that difficult.

'Jaxson Rhiler… The man the patriarch trusts most. And the only one in the kingdom capable of reading fragments of someone’s memories... Tch. How annoying.' Leonhardt thought, his gaze shifting back to the window.

A figure stepped out of the carriage, a violet parasol hiding their face. But Leonhardt already knew—only one person used that parasol.

He rose, returned the book to the shelf, and said, “Lead the way.”

Jaxson cracked one eye open to inspect him. 'Plain clothes. Messy hair. He plans to meet the patriarch looking like this...?'

"Young Master, if I may… it would be wise to change into something more presentable."

Leonhardt didn’t meet his gaze. "It’s fine. Or is the patriarch only inspecting my clothes today?"

"N-No, but—"

"I said it’s fine. You're wasting time. You know how the patriarch gets when I’m late," Leonhardt replied.

Jaxson hesitated, then gave in. The patriarch hated undignified behavior, but... perhaps they’d let it go this once.

"...Then please, this way, Young Master." He bowed and led Leonhardt to the second floor. The door clicked shut behind them.

***

The hallway upstairs was lined with lavish paintings. At the end stood a massive set of white double doors.

“This is where I leave you, Young Master,” Jaxson said with a final bow before turning away.

Leonhardt stared at the doors, then stepped forward. Before his hand could touch them, they opened on their own.

He entered.

Behind a desk stacked with mountains of documents sat a woman.

Her platinum blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. A hand fan obscured half her face, but her sharp violet eyes studied Leonhardt like a hawk.

With a flick, she snapped the fan shut.

“Remove your clothing,” she said softly.

Her tone was gentle, but her words held no warmth.

“Yes, Mother,” Leonhardt replied as the doors shut behind him—sealing away whatever was about to take place.