Chapter 7

My name is Rudeus.

It's been two years since I arrived in this world.

Life here hasn't exactly been kind to me.

Sure, being a baby gave me the chance to do things I could only dream of in my past life—things I'd always longed for. But that infuriating kid, Roya Greyrat, keeps getting in my way, ruining everything.

Today, though, I'm going to make him pay for humiliating me.

With that resolve blazing in his mind, Rudeus crept toward Roya's room. The door stood slightly ajar. He eased it open without a sound, not even a creak to give him away.

Bursting inside, he stopped dead at the sight before him.

There stood the delicate little boy, a dagger clutched between his slender, pale fingers. It was jet-black, forged from countless dark threads that glimmered faintly in the light.

As the door flew open, Roya's icy gaze snapped to the yellow-haired intruder.

The magical blade danced between his fingers, spinning like a butterfly knife in a smooth, elegant arc, leaving wisps of black trailing in its wake.

"Pretty cool," Rudeus mumbled, genuinely impressed despite himself.

But those cold, emotionless eyes drilled into him.

"Rudeus, don't you know how to knock?" Roya's voice was calm and polished, carrying a quiet authority that belied his young age.

Rudeus flapped his chubby hands, fumbling for an excuse.

But when he met those sharp, piercing eyes, his words faltered. He bowed his head and muttered, "Sorry."

Roya let out a soft sigh. "Don't do it again," he said, flicking his hand to shoo Rudeus away.

Yet Rudeus's curiosity overpowered his embarrassment. "Brother Roya, was that magic just now?" he asked.

Roya gave a slight nod, his expression cool and composed.

"What kind was it? Why didn't you chant?" Rudeus pressed, his interest flaring.

Ever since he'd discovered this world's supernatural powers at the age of one, Rudeus had immersed himself in studying magic and refining his mana. He could now cast intermediate spells and had even developed a way to bypass incantations entirely.

Roya's lips curved faintly—Rudeus thought it might be a smirk, but then Roya teased, "Who says you have to chant to use magic?"

Rudeus blinked, stumbling over his words. "But… the books say you need to recite a long spell, don't they?"

Roya shot him a sidelong glance. "Magic shouldn't be that cumbersome. Do you really trust those so-called experts in the books? Just because they couldn't figure it out doesn't mean you can't. Take their words with a pinch of skepticism."

Rudeus fell silent, staring at his four-year-old brother. He opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it and closed it again.

His pride stung. He'd considered himself a genius after reincarnating, but Roya seemed to be on an entirely different level.

After a moment of brooding, he perked up as Roya went on, "It's a technique I came up with myself. I call it the Magic Sword."

Rudeus's eyes lit up. Hesitantly, he ventured, "Um… could I learn it?"

Roya wasn't surprised that Rudeus had been secretly practicing magic. He tilted his head, considering the question. "How's your mana control?"

"It's decent," Rudeus answered.

"Can you focus it?"

"Yeah." Rudeus nodded.

"Don't shape it into wind, fire, water, or earth," Roya instructed. "Keep it as pure, raw mana. Compress it, condense it, again and again. See what happens."

Rudeus frowned, focusing hard. Before long, his face paled, and he let out a defeated sigh. "I can't. My mana pool's too small for that."

Roya waved a hand dismissively. "Guess you're not ready for it."

That single word—"not"—hit Rudeus like a punch to the gut.

His cheeks flushed with anger. He glared at the impassive boy, certain Roya was mocking him, even if his face remained unreadable.

Outside, the summer sun blazed high, white clouds drifting lazily across a vivid blue sky. Roya glanced out the window and said, "Let's go outside."

The words "go outside" made Rudeus flinch. He wanted to object, but before he could, Roya's frigid tone sliced through: "That's an order, not a suggestion."

Rudeus managed a weak, awkward smile. "Why go out? It's hot, and it's nice and cool in here. Why roast under the sun?"

Roya didn't reply—just stared.

Rudeus swallowed hard, wilting under that deadly gaze. He couldn't find the courage to agree outright.

In the end, Roya dragged him out anyway. "I'm heading out," he called to Lilia, pulling a dejected Rudeus behind him like a child who'd lost everything.

The world outside was breathtaking. The day wasn't as hot as Rudeus had feared, and a gentle breeze brushed against their skin. Golden fields of rice and wheat stretched out before them, tended by farmers while children their age played in the distance. Rudeus took it all in with a wary eye.

Even after two years, his old fears clung to him. Deep down, he was still a coward.

Then, a warm hand gripped his. Startled, Rudeus looked up and caught a rare, subtle smile on Roya's lips.

It was gentle—like the warmth of spring sunlight or the coolness of an autumn breeze—quiet but striking.

Sunlight gleamed off Roya's golden hair, the long strands swaying in the wind. His serene eyes sparkled like a clear, untouched spring.

Rudeus found himself captivated.

Roya led the reluctant boy toward the golden rice stalks and murmured, "Hold out your hand."

Rudeus complied. Roya raised his own hand toward the stalks, where ripe grains swayed in the breeze, glowing under the sun. Rudeus's fingers brushed the rice, a faint itch tickling his skin. A small bug crawled along the stalk, and he stared at it, lost in thought.

Puzzled, he looked up at Roya. Those clear, luminous eyes seemed to see straight through him, as if they could peel back every layer of his soul.

"I don't know what you're afraid of," Roya said slowly, "but you only get one life. Your health, your purpose, the people you care about—those are what matter most."

Rudeus stared at him, mouth agape. In the soft light, Roya's striking features seemed almost otherworldly.

In that moment, Rudeus saw his brother as something divine.

Roya Greyrat had carved out a permanent place in his heart.