Standing in front of the door, wearing recently polished silver armor and resting his hand habitually on the hilt of his sword, was Lance.
In Henry's previous life, Lance had been the one who followed Arnold's orders with grim, silent efficiency
Henry stood frozen, his eyes tracing Lance's familiar face and the uncompromising stiffness of his posture. For a moment, the hall in front of him dissolved, replaced by the memory of Lance dragging him out of the castle and tossing him onto a horse bound for the Garrison.
"Young Master?" Lance's voice was deep, grounding Henry back into the present. The knight's brow furrowed, his keen eyes scanning Henry's pale face. "You're staring. Is there a problem?"
Henry blinked, the phantom sensation of being dragged by his collar fading away. He realized he was gripping the doorframe so hard his knuckles were white. He forced his fingers to relax, taking a slow, steadying breath. He wasn't that pathetic drunk anymore, and Lance wasn't his enemy.
"I'm fine, Lance," Henry said, his voice regaining its newfound iron. He stepped out into the hall, closing the distance between them. "I was just... lost in thought.
Lance tilted his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his stoic features, wondering when Henry had taken the time to learn his name, but he chose not to ask.
They walked towards the main hall in a comfortable silence.
Reaching the main hall, Lance quickly opened the doors for Henry, who was met by the scene of the Sinclair baronies' aristocrats, as well as fourteen of his father's thirty active knights. Notably, Adar and William weren't in attendance.
Henry's eyes went straight to the dias at the far side of the hall. There stood Arnold Sinclair, his father, clad in heavy ceremonial plate, holding the Sinclair Black Blade—a jagged, obsidian-edged great sword that had tasted the blood of thousands of mana Beast and monsters. It was the physical manifestation of the family's duty to protect the Regium kingdom's border. His left hand held the aptitude-testing orb.
The orb was deceptively humble. It wasn't a glowing, grand relic of crystal, but a palm-sized stone, smooth and charcoal-grey, looking like something pulled from the bed of a mountain river. Yet the air around it seemed to thicken; it seemed to possess a strange magnetic pull.
The Great Hall fell into a sudden, expectant silence as Arnold's brown eyes locked onto Henry's. With a sharp nod, the Lord of Sinclair beckoned his son forward. Henry began the long walk toward the dais, with every step, a single question hammered in his mind. Had his second chance come with an increase in aptitude?
He reached his father, who stood like a statue of living armor. Arnold didn't speak at first; he simply held out the small, smooth stone, its strange pulling power tugging at Henry's very soul.
"Place your hand upon the orb, Henry," Arnold commanded, his voice a low, resonant rumble. "And speak the Rite: Inquire Aptitude."
Henry reached out, his fingers settling against the cool, vibrating surface. He took a steadying breath and spoke the words with crystal clarity.
"Inquire Aptitude."
The effect was instantaneous. The ordinary-looking stone didn't just glow—it erupted. A brilliant, piercing blue light surged out, swirling around Henry in a violent, luminous vortex. For five seconds, the radiance completely enveloped him, the blue light vibrating through his bones, searching for the limit of his potential.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished, sucked back into the heart of the stone with a sharp thrum.
The orb pulsed once, twice, and then projected a beam of pure light into the air above them. The shimmering characters stabilized, allowing everyone in attendance to see the results.
[Name: Henry Sinclair]
[Knight aptitude: Rank C
[Mage aptitude: N/A]
Just as in his previous life, Henry caught the flicker of a familiar shadow in his father's eyes—a microscopic wince of disappointment. Even with an average showing, it wasn't the world-shaking miracle his father had likely hoped for from his second son. But the look vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the mask of a stoic Lord.
"Step down from the dais, Henry," Arnold commanded, his voice regaining its professional edge. "I have a couple of important announcements to make before the house."
As Henry descended from the platform, the heavy weight of the past pressed against him. He stood tall as Arnold's voice boomed through the hall, officially naming Howard Sinclair as the primary heir to the Barony. The room erupted into a thunderous applause.
In his first life, this moment had been the poison that curdled his soul. He remembered the hot, prickly sting of shame, the way the applause felt like a physical mocking of his own uselessness. It had been the catalyst for his spiral. But now, standing there, Henry felt only a strange, cold relief.
'Let Howard have the stone walls and the ledgers,' Henry thought, his eyes tracking the different joyous reactions around him. 'This only cements it. My path isn't here, following in my father's shadow. I need to find my own strength.'
He was pulled from his thoughts by the second announcement—the one that he had once barely registered.
"Furthermore," Arnold continued, "to strengthen the bond between our houses, I am proud to announce the engagement of my son, Henry, to Ashley Winslow, the only child of Baron Winslow."
The nobles murmured with approval, but Arnold's gaze snapped toward Henry. He was clearly looking for the shock, the stutter, or the indignation he had expected from a sixteen-year-old being sold into a political marriage. Instead, he found Henry's face as calm and unmoving as a frozen lake. The lack of surprise was so profound it caused Arnold to falter for a split second, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"That... is all for the formalities," Arnold finished, regaining his bearing with effort. "Enjoy the ceremony."
As the hall transitioned into a gala of networking and hushed deals, Henry retreated to the back of the hall. He observed the nobility's interactions from the perspective of someone not yet eager to participate in their game.
Eventually, Arnold approached, flanked by two men who radiated an intensity that made the air around them hum.
"Henry," Arnold said, his tone clipped. "This is Captain Garrett, leader of the Sinclair Knights."
Garrett was a burly, middle-aged titan of a man. His aura oozed a raw, physical power that Henry had only ever felt from his father. With grey-streaked hair and piercing brown eyes, the five-foot-eleven-inch warrior looked every bit the pillar of strength his position called for.
"Aptitude definitely matters, lad," Garrett rumbled as Henry introduced himself. "But the world is full of talented corpses. What matters is the effort you put into your sword."
"I understand, Captain," Henry replied, his voice steady. "I've already begun to realize that."
Next to the Captain stood a man who was almost his polar opposite. Standing at a modest five foot eight inches with dark brown hair, the man didn't look like much—until you felt the air surrounding him. He radiated magic power so intense that it felt like he could burn someone without any spell.
"And this," Arnold added, "is Ryker, my lone attack mage."
"Hello, Young Master," Ryker said with a sharp, knowing smile. "A shame my partner, Camden, couldn't be here. He was eager to meet you today, but he got caught up in some... delicate work."
"Pass on my thanks to him, regardless, Sir," Henry said, inclining his head. "I appreciate the interest."
The sheer adrenaline of his earlier training had finally begun to ebb, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that Henry's sixteen-year-old muscles weren't yet prepared to handle. The ten laps, five hundred strikes, and the body-weight training circuit were a debt his body was now demanding he pay in full.
As he watched the broad shoulders of Captain Garrett and the shimmering aura of Ryker vanish into the crowd, Henry felt his eyelids grow heavy. He navigated the sea of perfumed nobles and clinking glass, eventually spotting his mother and Howard near the center of the hall.
"Mother, Howard," Henry said, his voice slightly strained from the day's exertions. "My training has finally caught up with me. I'm going to head to bed a little early."
Sarah reached out, her hand lingering on his cheek with a worried but proud smile. "Of course, Henry. You've had a long day. Rest. We'll talk more in the morning."
Howard gave him a playful, yet respectful, shove on the shoulder. "Don't sleep too long, little brother. I expect you in the yard at dawn."
Henry managed a tired smirk and nodded, turning to slip out of the Great Hall before any more well-wishers could corner him.
Entering his room, Henry began to think about what his immediate goals should be.
"Knowledge," Henry whispered to the empty, moonlit room as he kicked off his boots. "In the last life, I died because I was weak. In this one, I'll survive and strive for greatness.
His list of priorities formed as he got into bed, forgetting to fully undress himself as he got into his fur covers.
He needed to temper his body's conditioning and study the world's power system. He knew he should have an idea, but he had spent his childhood and early teenage years making it his mission to ignore and skip his lectures.
'No point in worrying about it now. All that's left is to fix the issue,' Henry thought as he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.