A single mana-lamp burned on the main table, casting a pool of weak, lonely light.

And sitting in that light, cleaning his blade with a methodical, almost rhythmic motion, was Marcus.

He didn't look up as I entered.

His face was calm, his cultivator's mask firmly in place, but the air around him felt heavy, charged with a silent, suffocating pressure.

"You're back," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"I am." I walked into the light, dropping into the chair opposite him. I felt heavy. Not physically, but spiritually.

Marcus stopped cleaning his sword. He looked at me, his eyes dark and ancient.

"The docks are on fire," he said softly. "I can smell the smoke from here. And before that... I felt it. That energy."

He didn't ask what it was. He looked at me with the eyes of a man who had seen battlefields far bloodier than any D-Rank dungeon.

"It was... Abyssal," he noted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Darker than your usual Ice or Lightning. It felt like the void itself opened up for a second."

"It did," I admitted, rubbing my face with my hands. "Gregor... he summoned something. Or tried to. I had to put it down. And then I burned the rest."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Good. In my... experience, weeds must be cut by the roots. You didn't leave any roots."

"But I was too late to stop them from striking first," I said, the bitterness seeping into my voice. "Father..."

"Father will live," Marcus cut in, his voice firm. "Thorne is good. The corruption is purged. But... his sword arm took the brunt of the curse. The meridians—or mana circuits, as you call them here—are shattered. He likely won't fight on the front lines again."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Darius Willson, the man who defined himself by his strength, by his ability to protect his family... sidelined.

Because I hadn't acted sooner.

I clenched my fist on the table.

"I should have seen it coming. I knew Magnus Daven was backing them. I knew they were desperate."

"We both missed it," Marcus said, reaching out to grip my forearm.

His hand was warm, steady. "I was on the caravan too, Michael. I sensed the killing intent too late. We were arrogant. We thought a C-Rank victory made us untouchable."

He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective light.

"But we learn. I won't let that happen here again. And neither will you."

He released my arm and stood, pacing to the window. "The Iron Vipers are gone. But the hand that held their leash... Magnus Daven... he's still in Arcadia."

"He is," I agreed, my voice turning cold. "And he's going to pay. But not yet. I need to go back to the Academy stronger. I need to secure our position here so completely that he can't touch us again without losing a hand."

Marcus turned back to me, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. "Michael."

The tone of his voice changed. It dropped an octave, losing the brotherly warmth and gaining a terrifying, razor-sharp edge. It was the voice of the man who had severed the Ogre Chieftain's tendon in a single breath.

"We need to talk. About us."

I stiffened. "Us?"

"Don't play dumb," Marcus said, walking back to the table. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "I've been watching you. Since the moment I came home. Since Grizzly Pass."

He leaned in, his gaze piercing. "That Lightning Art you used... 'Judgment Chain.' It's not an Academy spell. It's a high-tier technique, precise and devastating. Your command over the battlefield... you predicted the Ogre's movements before it even made them. You orchestrated that fight like a general moving pawns, not a student fighting for his life."

He paused, letting the silence stretch, expression remained like stone, but his eyes... his eyes flickered.

"My 'skills'..." I said, "they're not from the Academy. They're memories. Techniques from that past life that I'm... I'm struggling to adapt to this world's mana system. The tactics I used at Grizzly Pass? They were standard formations from my old legion. The 'Judgment Chain'... it was a spell I recreated from memory."

I gestured to my sword, Draken. "And this blade... it feels familiar. Like a weapon I once knew. The dark aura you felt? It's the residue of that past life, leaking through when I lose control."

I had laid it bare. A partial truth. I wasn't a "gamer." I was a "reincarnated general." It explained the skills, the maturity, the ruthlessness, without revealing the fragile reality of this world.

I expected him to laugh. To call me insane.

Marcus just stared. His face went utterly blank. He stared at me, then through me, as if processing a concept so vast it shattered his worldview.

"You..." Marcus breathed, his voice trembling for the first time. "You... remember... a past life?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

Marcus stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked from me to the wall, to his own hands, as if seeing the world, and himself, for the first time.

Then, a sound tore from his throat. It wasn't a word. It was a low, choked laugh, half-sob, half-disbelief.

"Hah... hahaha... I... I thought I was the only one," he whispered, his voice trembling. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his calm mask completely gone. "I thought I was a ghost possessing my own body. A failed immortal in a world that didn't even know what Qi was."

He looked back at me, and the suspicion was gone, replaced by a profound, earth-shattering wave of recognition.

"You... you're like me," he stated, the words heavy with meaning.

I froze. Immortal? Qi?

"What?" I asked, stunned.

"My past life," Marcus said, his eyes shining with a wild, manic light. "I was a cultivator. A Sword Immortal. I failed my Heavenly Tribulation... I thought I had died... and I woke up here. In this body. In this world of 'mana' instead of 'Qi'."

He stepped forward, grabbing my shoulders. "I thought I was alone. I thought I was a monster hiding in human skin. But you... a General? A Strategist?"

He laughed again, a pure, genuine laugh of relief. "We... we're both monsters, aren't we?"

A shaky laugh of my own escaped. "It seems so."

The tension didn't just break; it imploded. The heavy, hostile atmosphere was replaced by a giddy, almost hysterical sense of shared kinship. My brother wasn't just talented; he was a transmigrator from a Xianxia world. I was from a Game/Novel world. We were two anomalies from different genres, shoved into the same family.

"So," Marcus said, his voice steadier now, wiping a tear from his eye. "You have your 'strategies' and 'spells' from your past life?"

"And you have your 'Cultivation' and 'Sword Arts' from yours," I finished.

"Yes," Marcus said. He looked at me, his expression turning serious, solemn. He held out his hand. "We protect this family, Michael. I don't care about past lives. I am Marcus Willson. You are Michael Willson. This is our home."

His eyes burned with the fire of a Sword Immortal. "I will protect them from the front. My blade will be their shield. You... you use your 'strategies.' You handle the shadows. The politics. The enemies we can't see."

"A two-pronged approach," I agreed, clasping his forearm firmly. "Together."

A new, secret, and impossibly complex bond was forged in that small, dark room. The "Willson Brothers" were now something far more dangerous than the world could ever imagine.

"Good," Marcus said, releasing me. "Now, rest. You look like you fought a war."

"One last thing," I said, my mind shifting back to my objectives. "I have a personal... mission. I need to go to the 'Whispering Crypts' dungeon tomorrow."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "The D-Rank dungeon south of the city? It's filled with intangible spirits. Shadow-Wraiths. Nasty business for a swordsman."

"I need a material drop from them," I said. "For... reasons." (I didn't mention the egg yet; one shock at a time). "But I need someone who can hit intangible targets."

Marcus grinned, a true, predatory grin that belonged to a Sword Immortal. "Intangible spirits? My 'Sword Qi'... it cuts the soul. They are the perfect practice dummies."

"Then we leave at dawn," I said.

_________________

As I walked up the stairs to my room, I pulled up my status window. The events of the night had pushed me forward, in more ways than one.

[System Status]

Name: Michael Willson

Age: 15

Class: Magic Swordsman

Rank: E+ (Approaching D-)

Affinities: Ice, Space, Lightning

Traits: Mana Manipulation, Weapon Master

Titles: Mindbreaker, First Year Monarch

STR – 147

STA – 145

AGI – 169

ENC – 102

INT – 162

Mana: 4800 / 4800

Unallocated Stats: 0

SP: 224,720

[Quest Log:]

[Main Quest: Hatch the Abyssal Wyrmling]

[Time Limit: 26 Days remaining]

[Objective 3: Provide [1x Vial of C-Rank Shadow-Wraith Ectoplasm] (0/1 - URGENT)]

[Inventory:]

Draken (Divine - Sealed 1/5)

Loki Mask (Epic)

Skill Select Card (1x)

Skill Scroll Fragment [Sever] (1/3)

I had the stats. I had the skills. I had a brother who could cut ghosts. And now, I had a target.

Tomorrow, the Crypts.

(To be continued?)

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