in the last chapter,arells says to himself In my last life, I didn't save anyone—not even myself."
He curled around the pup, sheltering it with his small body.
"But in this one? I'll be better. I have to be."
The puppy whimpered, pressing into his chest as if understanding.
And for the first time in two lives, Arell felt something new blossom in the hollow of his heart—
Purpose.
Arell woke with a stiff groan, back popping like cracked wood as cold morning air slid beneath his shirt. The barn roof above him leaked streaks of early dawn, the slanted beams catching dust motes that drifted lazily in the quiet stillness.
For a few seconds, he didn't move.
Warmth pressed against his ribs—small, soft, and impossibly trusting. The tiny pup curled beside him let out a squeaky yawn, blinking up at him with sleepy black eyes that shone like marbles.
Arell stared at him.
"...Blade," he whispered.
The pup blinked again, as if waiting for his soul-binding oath.
"Right. That's your name now," Arell muttered. "Because you survived yesterday. You cut through fate. Either that or you're just too stubborn to die."
Blade gave a tired wag, and Arell couldn't help the grin tugging at his lips.
He lifted his hand, hesitated—and placed it gently on the pup's head.
"What am I even doing?" he whispered to himself. "Naming dogs. Cuddling puppies. This wasn't on my mafia bucket list."
The dog licked his thumb.
Arell sighed.
Yeah, this was happening.
Minutes later, Arell splashed icy water from a barrel onto his face, nearly screaming from the cold. He scrubbed dirt from his hands, wiped hay from his hair, and tried to flatten his red mop, which stubbornly bounced back up like it had rebellion ingrained in its strands.
Blade yipped impatiently.
"I'm going, I'm going," Arell muttered.
He wrapped Blade under his coat—carefully, gently—and crept around the barn. The grass was still wet with dew, the air sharp enough to chew through his lungs. Birds stirred lazily, and the world was quiet enough to feel like it belonged only to them.
Arell's eyes locked on the manor.
Those towering walls loomed like prison bars, stark in the glow of early sun. Yesterday he escaped them—barely. This morning he had to return.
"Alright," he whispered. "New life rule number one: avoid my murder-happy family until I'm at least able to outrun them."
He crouched low and moved toward a side wall, hugging every shadow he could find. Decades growing up in the gutters, dodging cops and gang rivals, had gifted him with unnatural stealth.
A guard walked past.
Arell held his breath.
Blade wriggled.
"Stop moving," Arell hissed through his teeth.
Blade froze instantly.
Good boy. Mafia instincts.
The guard yawned, scratched his ass, and shuffled away.
Arell exhaled, heart pounding.
"This is so stupid," he whispered. "I survived Mumbai gunfights. Now I'm playing hide-and-seek with medieval rent-a-cops."
With careful timing, he slipped through the back garden archway, ducked beneath a hedge, and rolled across gravel until he reached a terrace edge.
Just one more sprint—
And then he froze.
Someone was sitting alone in the garden.
A small girl in a pristine sapphire dress sat on a stone bench, feet dangling, blonde hair tied perfectly with a silk ribbon. Her shoulders curled inward, posture rigid, gaze fixed on a bed of moonlit flowers as if they held all the secrets in the world.
Arell stared at her.
Oh hell no. Not again. No more noble brats today.
He started to back away, inch by quiet inch.
She lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, neither of them moved nor breathed.
From her perspective—Arell in rumpled sleeping clothes, hair wild, barefoot, and carrying... something squirming under his coat.
From his—her elegant dress practically screamed high status, danger, and "will probably complain to an adult if breathed on."
She blinked.
Inside her head:
"Who is that? He's... messy. Definitely one of the duke's sons. How shameful. Sleeping clothes? No manners? No attendant? Mother would faint."
Inside Arell's head:
Shit. Abort mission. Abort.
He gave her a stiff nod, then turned to leave.
But the girl didn't stop staring.
Her fingers curled in her lap.
Mother do I really have to do this? she thought, voice small inside her mind.
A sharp flash—memory.
Her mother's voice:
"Girls of noble blood must be perfect. Graceful. Educated. Ready to wed before eighteen. You will not embarrass this family."
She had practiced etiquette until her hands bled.
She had worn corsets so tight she could barely breathe.
And now, at eleven, she was already promised—to someone she did not love, someone she barely knew.
"...Yes Mother," her younger voice echoed.
Her throat tightened.
A butler appeared behind her.
"My Lady Ava, the Duke has summoned you."
Right. Ava Valenhart.
The overlooked daughter of the Duke's fifth family line, betrothed without her consent to the first wife's second son.
"Of course," she murmured. "Lead the way."
She rose, back straightening.
This was her duty.
She followed, disappearing toward the manor halls with dignified, brittle grace.
Arell blinked once.
"...Whatever that was, I want NO part of it."
He slipped away before any other nobles decided to monologue about family expectations.
By the time Arell reached his room, his back screamed in agony from the barn floor.
He collapsed face-first onto the mattress.
"Oh God. I'm dying at ten years old. My spine is dust."
He dropped Blade onto the floor.
"There. Go chew on something. Not my clothes."
Blade scampered toward a carpet corner and immediately began gnawing it like a starving gremlin.
Arell rolled over, groaning.
He needed sleep. Just five minutes. Maybe ten.
He closed his eyes—
—and his door slammed open so hard the hinges shrieked.
Arell bolted upright.
"What the f—"
His mind screeched to a halt.
Captain Rodric stood in the doorway, fully armored, sword strapped across his back, helmet tucked beneath one arm. His glare could have melted stone.
Behind him, Mira stood trembling, holding towels and soap.
Arell's heart plummeted.
Blade squeaked.
Rodric's eyebrow twitched.
"Young master Arell," Rodric said, tone flat enough to flatten mountains.
"The Duke demands your immediate presence. But first—"
He sniffed once.
Arell winced.
"You smell," Rodric finished bluntly.
Mira nodded with frantic agreement.
"B-Barn stench, my lord."
Arell bristled.
"You try fighting wolves and sleeping on dirt, then come talk—"
Rodric's stare deepened.
"Bath. Now."
Mira gulped and rushed forward with towels.
Blade barked defensively.
Arell sighed dramatically.
"Fine. But if I drown, I'm haunting all of you."
He began peeling his shirt off—
And Mira shrieked, cheeks flaring red.
"Y-young master please warn me before doing that!"
Arell blinked.
"ohhh hey mira, like what you see? i am not some typical anime guy to hide you know,
Rodric stepped backward instantly, slapping his helmet on as if the air suddenly turned radioactive.
"I will wait outside," he muttered.
Arell smirked.
"Scared of soap, Captain?"
Rodric grunted something that sounded like "insolent brat" and fled.
Mira fussed, washing him like a nervous chicken plucker, all sputtering and flailing hands while Arell sat calmly as if this was normal Tuesday behavior.
"You're very composed," Mira mumbled.
"Lady, I was shot three times in my past life," Arell muttered. "Being scrubbed isn't even in the top fifty weird things that have happened to me."
Mira paused.
"...You're joking, right?"
Arell smirked.
"Sure."
Blade hopped into the bath.
All hell broke loose.
Clean, dressed, and faintly smelling of flowers, Arell finally marched downstairs.
Mira hovered behind him anxiously, Blade tucked in his sleeve like a furry smuggling operation.
Ahead, the council chamber doors loomed.
Arell inhaled.
"This house is exhausting," he muttered.
Blade wagged.
Mira squeezed his shoulder.
And the world began to shift again.
TO BE CONTINUED...