Chapter 4: Synchronization Complete

Craig watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of her mouth and the bright, dutiful sparkle in her eyes.

It was a soft, entirely innocent smile.

To anyone else, Arya was the picture of a loyal servant—a sweet young woman who had tended to the Seventh Young Master’s quarters with meticulous care.

If he hadn’t already lived through the slow, agonizing aftermath of her betrayal, he would have believed it.

He would have smiled back, taken the warm cup from her hands, and thanked her for her constant devotion.

Instead, a profound disgust washed over him, settled deep in his gut like stagnant water.

Behind that gentle face sat the mind of a cold, calculating assassin.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that the steaming liquid on her silver tray was laced with a subtle, colorless poison—a mana-corruption tea designed to seep into his veins and subtly sabotage his body from within.

It would leave him crippled in two days.

Two days...

The memory surfaced suddenly, striking his mind like a hammer against anvil.

In his previous life, Arya hadn’t poisoned him randomly. She had brought this exact tea precisely two days before the Dragon’s Calling Ceremony.

His mind, sharpened by twenty-five years of bloody warfare and the cold strategic thinking of a seasoned General, quickly pieced the timeline together.

The Dragon’s Calling Ceremony was the defining milestone for every youth born under the Darkstar name.

It was the sacred ceremony where the direct descendants and the children of the vassal families were brought before the ancient Temple of Dragons to tame a dragon.

A lifetime partner who would aid the awakening of their mana core.

It was a brutal filter.

Those who demonstrated extraordinary aptitude and dense mana cores were granted direct sponsorship from the main bloodline, securing endless resources, top-grade martial techniques, and an undeniable advantage in the true succession war.

For Craig, a Seventh Young Master with little to no political allies at the time.

This trial had been his one chance to prove his worth to the elders and earn a seat at the table alongside his monstrous cousins.

And he had failed.

He failed to tame a dragon.

In his past life, his mana core had awakened sluggish, fractured, and pathetically weak.

He had been ridiculed, cast aside as a disappointment of the "Von" bloodline, and forced to claw his way up through sheer, suicidal desperation over the next two decades.

It had all been because of this tea.

Because he had foolishly swallowed the poison offered by a girl he trusted, destroying his foundation before his journey had even begun.

He was only fortunate to tame Chaosbringer during a fortuitous encounter in his later years, the mysterious crimson dragon gained its fame as the Almighty Desolation Dragon twenty years from now.

Now that he has regressed 25 years back to the past, he was presented another opportunity.

He has only a few hours left to leave the Lucerion Barony and travel back to the City of Dragons.

The home of the Darkstar Family.

Craig’s right hand twitched.

His fingers curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist at his side as a wave of dark, suffocating rage surged in his chest.

The urge to reach out, snap her slender neck, and paint the polished floorboards with her blood pressed heavily against his mind.

Control it, he ordered himself. You are forty-five years old. You are a General who led continents.

Do not lose yourself to a maid.

With a slow, calculated exhale, Craig suppressed his aura entirely.

The dangerous tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by the casual, slightly arrogant demeanor of a spoiled teenager.

"Thank you, Arya," Craig said smoothly, offering her a faint, dismissive smile as he leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

"But you can set it aside or take it away. I don’t feel much like drinking tea this morning."

He needed to focus on the coming trial.

He needed to clear his mind, inspect his unawakened body, and prepare himself for the Temple of Dragons.

He had no time to waste playing games with a minor pawn.

At his words, Arya froze.

For a fraction of a second, the sweet mask slipped.

Her face darkened, her brow knitting into a sharp, subtle frown as her eyes locked onto his face with hyper-focused scrutiny.

But as quickly as the slip occurred, she smoothed her expression back into that harmless, bubbly smile.

"Oh, but Young Master!" Arya stepped forward, her movement fluid as she placed the silver tray on a small side table.

She reached out, her hands soft as she gently caught Craig’s forearm, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "You’ve been training so hard lately! The head butler personally recommended this herbal blend to boost your health and nourish your body before the big ceremony.

Just a few sips will do you wonders. Please, for your own sake, drink it while it’s hot."

Her voice was sweet, dripping with fake concern as she pushed the lie, trying to coax him into taking the cup.

’This bitch’ Craig sneered inwardly. He looked down at her hands resting on his arm.

A cold, distant sneer threatened to touch his lips.

He didn’t bother arguing.

He simply pulled his arm free from her grasp, his movement firm and unyielding as he pushed her back a half-step.

"I said no, Arya," Craig’s tone flattened, carrying a quiet, heavy authority that made the room feel instantly colder. "Take it and leave. I wish to be alone."

Arya stumbled back slightly, her breath hitching.

This time, she couldn’t entirely hide it.

A sharp, venomous glare flashed in her dark eyes—a spike of raw killing intent so intense it practically prickled against Craig’s skin.

She stared at him, her chest heaving as if she were on the verge of dropping all pretenses and striking him down where he sat.

Yet, the discipline of a trained spy won out.

She forced a deep breath, lowered her head until her face was hidden by her brown hair, and picked up the silver tray.

"Forgive my insolence, Seventh Young Master," she whispered, her voice tight and clipped.

"I shall take my leave."

She bowed deeply, turned on her heel, and walked briskly toward the entrance.

Craig watched her retreating back with a cold, unblinking stare.

The heavy oak doors swung open, then closed behind her with a soft, definitive click.

Silence returned to the bedchamber.

Craig let out a long breath, sliding his legs over the side of the bed as he prepared to stand up and assess his physical condition.

Then, a strange sound vibrated directly inside his mind.

It wasn’t a voice from the hallway, nor was it the echo of a memory.

It was an ethereal, mechanical chime—a sharp, crystal-clear tone that echoed in the quiet space between his ears, cold and unfeeling.

Ding.

[ Synchronization Complete ]

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