Reincarnated User Manual

The journey back to Dawn Castle was smooth as if someone had paved the way.

The blizzard-ridden mountain range gave way to sunny weather as soon as they entered, with no attacks from unknown beasts.

They arrived at night.

Shiron, having returned to Dawn Castle without shedding blood or even getting his hands dirty, walked down the frost-covered corridor.

“Yuma. Where is Siriel’s room?”

“I’ll guide you.”

Covered in dust after weeks of camping, Shiron thought delivering the holy sword to Siriel was more important than taking a bath right away.

Following Yuma down the corridor, Shiron soon reached a bright white door. Yuma concentrated his senses to confirm that Siriel was inside.

“Miss Siriel is in there.”

Handling a sensitive young girl required caution. Shiron took a few deep breaths before knocking on the door.

-Who is it?

“It’s me.”

Her brief response seemed to be enough to open the door of a teenage girl’s room. After a moment of hurried movement behind the door, Siriel’s figure appeared.

“Oh, when did you get back?”

“Just now.”

“…Sorry, I couldn’t come to meet you.”

Siriel smiled awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Her action of twirling her hair was quite cute, but Shiron frowned instead.

‘Is there some trouble?’

Siriel’s complexion did not look good. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her forehead was sticky with hair, as if she had been sweating.

Wanting to give her a present and talk, but not wanting to bother her while she was sick, Shiron decided it was best to just give the gift and leave for today.

Shiron took out the holy sword from his cloak and handed it to Siriel. Her eyes widened as she received the gift graciously.

“……What is this?”

“What does it look like?”

“…”

Siriel, faced with a question, couldn’t respond and simply alternated her gaze between the holy sword and Shiron. The effort put into the wrapping indicated it was a gift, yet considering the recent incident with the burning spear, Siriel hesitated to call it a gift.

“Is this… a loan?”

“What are you talking about? It’s a gift.”

“……Thank you.”

Siriel hugged the large sword tightly and bowed her head. Seeing her happiness, Shiron decided it was time to end the conversation and stepped back from the door.

“Leaving already? Have some coffee before you go.”

“It’s getting late for coffee. You look tired; you should sleep too.”

“Yeah… you’re right.”

“Don’t swing the sword around just because you got a gift. You don’t look well; take a good rest.”

“Okay. Thanks for worrying about me.”

Shiron turned and walked away, while Siriel slowly waved her hand toward the departing Shiron.

Siriel closed the door, feeling a sense of loss heavier than the weight of the sword she held.

But it was true; she hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks.

Sitting on the bed, Siriel untied the leather strap around the sword.

Then, a jewel-like sword was revealed.

It was a beauty that seemed more suited for decoration than actual combat, absorbing the flow of mana instantly upon touch.

“…”

Even those ignorant of such things would exclaim in admiration at the sight of such a fine sword, but Siriel couldn’t.

‘…It’s exactly like the sword I saw in my dream.’

Siriel picked up the sword with trembling hands. Shiron hadn’t explained anything about the sword, but Siriel knew its name with certainty.

Spica.

The dream that had been tormenting Siriel so severely that she couldn’t sleep properly was not merely a nightmare.

‘The content of the dream… has become reality.’

That fact alone was enough to make her head rush with blood.

-Get lost, you’re a nuisance.

The sword she held in her dreams, not now, but when she was a bit more grown up.

The self in her dreams was a bit more mature than she was now.

-The same seed was sown, yet how can it grow so differently?

The adult ‘her’ spewed venom at her brother, who looked older than he did now. The same seed, who was she comparing him to?

‘Lucia?’

-The unworthy trash.

-Do you really need to be worthy?

The brother in her dream spoke quietly, but his expression twisted with malice, almost ghostly. A face unimaginable at present. What had he experienced to wear such an expression?

The more she watched their conflict, the more unpleasant she felt. She pitied her adult brother and even resented the idea of growing up…

Siriel loathed the adult version of herself who was nasty to her brother. She clenched her teeth.

Click-

Click- Click-

Then, she turned off the lights and threw herself onto the bed roughly.

To dream more, to understand why the adult ‘her’ was so cruel to her brother.

‘I must…’

Desperately wishing to change the future,

Siriel rubbed her burning eyes roughly.

The next morning…

Everyone living in Dawn Castle gathered in its largest hall.

“Lucia Prient.”

Glen Prient stood in the center of the room, facing Lucia. His disheveled hair was now tidy, and he wore a dignified uniform exuding authority.

Glen remembered the scene he had witnessed at the Prient’s grave.

Siriel [Lucia]

The name shone prominently on the giant monument.

“You were the most radiant one.”

“…Yes.”

“You are the family head.”

Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap-

As Glen finished speaking, the room filled with applause. All the maids of Dawn Castle clapped in unison, and Shiron and Siriel celebrated Lucia with genuine sentiment.

However, Lucia, receiving everyone’s congratulations, looked somewhat uncomfortable. Glen, observing her, gave a hearty laugh.

“You don’t seem happy.”

“…I am happy.”

“You can be honest. I, as the head, allow it.”

“…”

At Glen’s words, Lucia turned back.

Shiron fiddled with his mouth, sporting a carefree smile.

“What? Need to go to the bathroom?”

“Ha…”

Lucia turned to face Glen and spoke.

“Being the family head… It’s a good thing, right?”

“Hm? Of course, it’s better than not having it.”

Lucia hesitated at Glen’s response.

“I honestly don’t know what a family head does. I don’t even know why I should be it.”

“Hmm…”

Glen stroked his smooth chin, pondering the benefits of being the family head. Money? Honor? Envy and admiration from other families? The feeling of superiority? The euphoria of proving oneself? Unless something unusual happened, Lucia would become the head of the Prient family. Wasn’t that enough?

‘Am I, the head of the Prient, happy?’

The answer to that was ‘no’.

Glen decided what to say to the child shining like a gem.

“You are the greatest Prient. The title of family head proves that.”

“…I see.”

“Finally…”

Glen took out a piece of paper from his pocket. The old, worn paper, stained with the touch of previous heads, was an heirloom he had received from his father.

“My child, you’ve gained strength. The fate bestowed upon you…”

Glen, convinced that Lucia had obtained the power of prophecy, continued to offer his blessings while his mouth grew dry.

In the Imperial Palace of the Rien Empire.

The Emperor faced his ministers as usual, surrounded by the red walls of the palace.

“The detailed report on this quarter’s expedition has arrived.”

“…I see.”

“Hugo Prient has requested an audience during the festivities.”

“…Deny it. We have the court banquet soon. Let’s see him then.”

“Understood. I will convey your message.”

“You may leave now.”

The Emperor waved his ministers off as if shooing them away after the last report.

In the now-empty Alhyeon Room, Franz tried to rise from his throne with a creaking body.

Thud—

Franz couldn’t stand up from the throne. His body felt as heavy as if he were wearing a drenched padded coat, as if something were pulling him down. He had no choice but to call for his chief attendant…

“Chief attendant.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“My cane, no. Help me up.”

“Yes.”

Franz, sweating coldly, accepted support from his chief attendant.

‘This is maddening.’

He had just passed fifty. It was no age to be so frail that walking required assistance…

‘The symptoms are worsening day by day.’

The unmistakable abnormality stirred murky suspicions in Franz.

Poison? A curse?

Who could be behind it? Despite daily treatments from the royal physician and detection spells from the court magician Arak, no poison or curse had been found.

‘Could it be mere ordinary aging?’

“Your Majesty.”

Walking toward his office, Franz heard someone call out.

He turned to see a man who bore a close resemblance to him.

The First Prince, Austin Breed de Rien.

Born with a limp and often ill, the prince’s condition was rumored to be deteriorating.

Franz straightened to maintain his dignity.

“What brings you here, Austin?”

“This is the path to the office.”

“I’m quite aware.”

“You appear to be in grave condition.”

“Is that your reason for summoning me?”

“Before being a son, as a minister, I was concerned about Your Majesty’s health and sought to counsel.”

Austin limped toward Franz. His cane was ivory, and his hair was prematurely white, even though he was barely past thirty.

Limp- Thud-

Limp- Thud-

Was he here to broach the subject of accelerating the appointment of a crown prince? Franz’s mind raced with dark thoughts and suspicions.

Yet, the words from the First Prince Austin were unexpected.

“But seeing you full of vigor, I am relieved.”

“Are you now?”

Franz met the faint smile on Austin’s lips.

“Then, I shall take my leave.”

“…”

Franz watched his son walk away and then continued on his own path.

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