Agri

The world of Martis was nothing like Earth. In Martis, phantoms weren't myths or rumors—they were an undeniable reality woven into the very fabric of society. Here, most humans were born as phantoms, beings of both mystery and power. Those few unlucky individuals who were born without phantom abilities often led lives as commoners, seldom attaining any noble rank or respect. It was a land where power dictated class and status, and Zion found himself thrust into this alien world under an entirely new identity, piecing together its rules with the sparse information from the system.

Standing before an ornate mirror in his lavish room, Zion examined himself. His face, his hair, his height—everything seemed identical to his former self on Earth, right down to the smallest detail. Confusion washed over him as he continued to observe his reflection.

"System, did you actually transfer my entire body here?" Zion finally asked, breaking the silence.

Ding!

[A simplified explanation would be that, yes, your entire physical form from Earth was transferred here to Martis under a new identity. However, the body remains the same.]

"Damn… So, if I wanted to, could I return to Earth?" he asked, a flicker of concern showing in his voice.

[You can return anytime you wish, Host.]

Hearing this, Zion breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Audrey or his aunt again, especially not after all that had happened. He felt a reassuring calm settle over him, knowing he could still go back when he needed to.

"Thank goodness," he murmured, before another thought crossed his mind. "By the way, is time the same here as it is on Earth?"

[Not exactly. Two days in Martis equate to one day on Earth.]

With a nod, Zion absorbed this piece of information. "Alright, thank you for the details."

He went to the wardrobe, sifting through a variety of intricate outfits, each more extravagant than the last. He finally settled on an elegant ensemble that accentuated his newfound status as nobility, adding a sense of regal authority to his appearance. The fine garments suited him surprisingly well, making him look both imposing and distinguished.

According to the system, in this world, he was known as Zion Agri, the sole heir to the noble Agri family in the Kingdom of Evalon. His father, Duke Stein Agri, was a highly respected figure in Martis, renowned for his mastery in both politics and combat. As the duke's only son, Zion was expected to carry on this legacy, yet his current reputation was less than flattering. The Zion Agri of Martis was known for being withdrawn and emotionless, living a secluded life within the walls of his grand room. He responded only to the most essential matters, his demeanor cold and indifferent, as though the world around him was of little consequence. He rarely ventured outside, and the few who saw him described him as detached, almost lifeless. His only activities seemed to be eating and sleeping, yet somehow, he still maintained an impressive physical build.

With his attire properly adjusted, Zion left his room and entered the corridor. Several servants were tidying up, and as he walked past them, he could hear their whispered remarks.

"Is that… Young Master Zion?"

"Has he finally decided to leave his room?"

"I wonder if he's up to something foolish again?" The hushed murmurs carried a mix of curiosity and barely veiled amusement.

Zion heard every word but chose to ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. His only aim was to complete his mission and return to Earth, where Audrey awaited. Still, the system had given him no specifics on the mission's requirements, leaving him uncertain about his next steps.

Suddenly, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

Ding!

Mission Assigned:

[You must become a Duke within the Kingdom of Evalon.]

Reward: Unlock potential skills

Time Limit: None

Penalty: None

"Damn it," he muttered internally, clenching his fists. He had hoped for a simple task, something straightforward that he could finish quickly. But this? Becoming a duke was no easy feat, especially in a foreign world with unfamiliar customs and power structures.

"So be it," he sighed, resigned to his fate.

As he walked, his footsteps carried him to the family training grounds—a sprawling area filled with knights in the midst of intense drills. Some were sparring in pairs, while others practiced on training dummies scattered throughout the yard. The moment Zion's presence was noticed, a hush fell over the grounds. Every knight stopped what they were doing, their attention drawn to the rarely seen young master who had suddenly appeared among them.

"What brings you here, Young Master?" a burly knight asked, stepping forward with a smirk. His name was Zamir, a level-19 knight with a reputation for arrogance. He eyed Zion with a mix of amusement and disdain, his bald head gleaming under the sunlight. Scars decorated his muscular frame, and his smirk revealed a twisted enjoyment in the confrontation.

"Just observing," Zion replied, his voice cool as he reached for a wooden sword from the weapon rack nearby.

"Observing, huh?" Zamir chuckled, his tone laced with mockery. "Would you like to spar, Young Master?"

Around them, the other knights snickered, sharing knowing glances. They clearly didn't expect much from Zion.

"Who are you to speak to me like that?" Zion asked, his voice icy, catching Zamir off guard. There was an edge to his tone, a sharpness that none of them were used to.

Zamir's smirk faltered momentarily. This wasn't the quiet, unremarkable young master he had known. Something had changed. Still, he dismissed it as mere bravado. 'He's still the weak, foolish noble he's always been,' Zamir thought.

But before he could ponder any further, Zion spoke again. "Let's spar. I want to see just how strong you are," he said, his gaze piercing.

The knights watching murmured amongst themselves, their amusement turning into interest.

"Alright, Young Master. Let's step into the arena," Zamir said, masking his unease. As a knight, he couldn't refuse a challenge, even if it came from the supposedly weak heir of the Agri family.

The two entered the training arena, a wide circle surrounded by eager spectators.

"Is the young master actually challenging Zamir, who's a level-19 knight?"

"He's out of his league!"

"Why would he embarrass himself like this?"

Their whispers floated through the air, but Zion seemed unfazed. His focus was absolute.

"I'll give you three moves, Young Master," Zamir announced, flashing a cocky grin, confident in his victory.

"Three moves?" Zion repeated, smirking slightly. "Alright."

With a swift motion, Zion activated his skill, Shadow Step, and vanished from sight. In an instant, he reappeared behind Zamir, his wooden sword raised high. The move was so fast that Zamir barely registered what was happening. Before he could react, Zion struck with precise force, swinging the wooden blade cleanly toward his neck. In a flash, Zamir's head separated from his shoulders, falling to the ground with a look of disbelief frozen on his face.

The arena fell into a shocked silence. It had happened too fast, too smoothly. How could a simple wooden sword behead someone?

The knights stood frozen, staring at Zion with expressions of fear and awe. A chill swept through them all. Until now, they'd thought of Zion as the "weak" young master. But this act reminded them that he was, after all, a descendant of the Agri family—a line known for producing formidable warriors.

"This was too easy," Zion muttered, his voice carrying an unnerving calm. He surveyed the remaining knights, his gaze as sharp as his blade.

"Anyone else care to try?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his tone. Silence filled the air, none of the knights daring to respond.

Seeing no one willing to step forward, Zion discarded the wooden sword, tossing it to the side. "This is a waste of my time," he muttered, turning his back on the crowd.

Meanwhile, up on the second floor of the manor, a middle-aged man had been observing everything through a nearby window. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth slightly agape.

"What in the world happened to Young Master Zion?" he whispered, still processing the scene he had just witnessed. "He was never like this… Where did he learn such strength—and that ruthlessness?"

This man, Zemel, had served as a steward to the Agri family for many years, and he had never seen anything like this from Zion. Troubled and intrigued, he straightened his posture and hurried down the hall.

"I must inform the Duke at once," he said under his breath, his mind racing with questions he couldn't yet answer.