Lucas Ebern, father to both Rest and Cedric, served as a Court Mage.
He was one of the kingdom's preeminent magic users, a talent inherited by his only legitimate son, Cedric.
Yet it wasn't just talent that had been passed down; Cedric had also inherited his father's malice and twisted personality in their entirety.
"Ahahahahaha! Go on, run! Run!"
"Guh...!"
Within the grounds of the Honorary Viscount House of Ebern, Cedric unleashed spell after spell. Fist-sized fireballs pursued the fleeing Rest, scorching his clothes and searing his skin.
"What’s the matter? Out of breath already? If you stop, you’re going to get hit! Ahahahahahaha!"
Cedric let out a grating, boisterous laugh as he bombarded Rest with fireballs while the boy scrambled across the garden. As the son of a Court Mage who aspired to follow in his father’s footsteps, Cedric had made a habit of using Rest as a live target.
Children take after their parents. Having watched his father despise Rest and his mother abuse him, Cedric had found his own sadistic pleasure in tormenting his half-brother.
With no one to restrain him—not even his parents—his "training sessions," which were little more than attempted murder, grew increasingly violent.
"Please, forgive me... I beg you, show mercy...!"
(He really never gets tired of this, does he? He’s his father’s son, all right. There’s no way he’ll grow up to be a decent human being.)
Even as he scrambled away and offered piteous pleas for his life, Rest’s mind was filled with cold contempt.
(Are all nobles such absolute trash? Between the father who forced himself on my mother and the stepmother who torments me out of pure spite, there isn't a single decent person in this lot.)
"Hahaha! Time for the grand finale! Try out my latest spell... Thunderball!"
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"
A sphere of crackling electricity slammed into Rest's back. Lightning tore through him like jagged blades. Rest collapsed, falling perfectly still.
"What? Finished already? Figures. A Magicless commoner brat is good for nothing!"
Cedric puffed out his chest in satisfaction and gave the prone Rest a sharp kick with the tip of his boot.
"Clean up the garden. If you slack off, you’ll regret it!"
"......"
"Haha! He really is just trash. I can’t believe a thing like this is my brother."
Hurling insults until the very end, Cedric strode out of the garden.
"......"
Rest continued to play dead for several minutes. Once he was certain Cedric’s presence had vanished entirely, he pushed himself up.
"Good grief... Finally, he's gone."
He stood and immediately invoked his magic. A Healing spell mended his wounds, while Purification stripped away the dirt and grime until he was spotless.
To an observer, it had looked like he was being unilaterally brutalized, but the actual damage was far less severe than it seemed. He had simply played the part, exaggerating his movements and his agony. In reality, he had coated his skin in a thin layer of mana to minimize the impact of every strike.
(Lightning magic, huh? The guy is certainly versatile.)
Whenever Cedric mastered a new technique, he invariably used Rest as his guinea pig. Despite his loathsome personality, his skill was the real deal—befitting the son of a Court Mage. He could wield a surprisingly wide array of spells.
(I don't have any other mages my age to compare him to, but he's likely quite talented. Unfortunately.)
Had his personality been even slightly better, Rest might have respected him as an older brother. They say heaven doesn't grant two gifts to one person; in Cedric’s case, God had granted him magical talent but neglected to provide the moral compass required to use it properly.
"Thunderball."
Rest molded his mana and projected it. A sphere of lightning, crackling with violent purple sparks, manifested above his palm. It was identical to the spell Cedric had just used—except that it was significantly larger.
"...It’s actually quite helpful that he insists on showing off every new spell he learns. It's very educational."
That was the true reason Rest endured Cedric's training sessions without attempting to escape. It was likely a perk of his reincarnation; not only did Rest possess an inexhaustible, bottomless reservoir of mana, but he also had the innate ability to replicate any magic he had seen even once.
Shunned as a mere commoner, Rest was denied all formal education. He had no access to magical grimoires or tutors. Yet, thanks to Cedric’s insistence on using him as a live test subject, he was mastering a vast repertoire of spells.
(I wonder what kind of face my foolish brother would make if he realized he was actually helping me grow stronger?)
Cedric might have been a prodigy, but Rest was certain that his own potential far eclipsed his brother's. If he revealed his talent to his father, his status in the house might change, but he had no desire for that man's recognition.
"Not yet... It’s still too early. I just have to endure until I'm of age."
Rest clenched his fist, steadying his resolve. He was only twelve. Adulthood in this kingdom was set at fifteen—three more years to go. No matter how much magic he wielded, a minor couldn't secure legitimate employment. If anything, revealing his power now would only lead to unscrupulous adults exploiting him for a pittance. He wouldn't show his fangs just yet.
Though he could easily kill his stepmother and Cedric for their persecution, he chose instead to hone his magic while enduring their abuse.
(One day, I’ll leave them all behind. I’ll ascend to heights far beyond anything my father or Cedric could imagine!)
Wealth, status, and power—he would surpass them in every arena. He would reach a height from which he could look down and crush the people of the Honorary Viscount House of Ebern beneath his heel.
(To achieve that, I can handle being a practice target. I can handle being treated like a dog.)
This was his time to lie low—a period of quiet preparation and bitter perseverance. He would endure the bone-chilling drafts of the stable and the scraps he was forced to eat.
With a final, resolute squeeze of his fist, Rest set to work cleaning the garden.