The soft rustle of leaves and the gentle scent of blooming flowers filled the air. A breeze carried the fragrance of roses and jasmine through the wide garden of the Cross family estate. Sunlight filtered through the branches of old oaks, casting dappled patterns on the neatly kept stone paths.
Adrian Cross sat quietly on a carved marble bench, his small hands resting on his knees. He looked down at them—hands that were no longer scarred and calloused, no longer stained by blood or dirt.
These… are a child's hands.
His gaze lifted, and in the polished windows of the great mansion behind him, he caught sight of his reflection. A boy's face. Pale, smooth. Dark hair that fell just above sharp grey eyes. But those eyes—they belonged to someone who had seen too much.
I really did come back…
The quiet of the garden wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, but beneath that peace, his heart beat steady and strong. The world felt brighter, sharper—as if his very senses had been refined.
And there, deep inside, he felt it.
A presence. Silent. Powerful. Watching. Not a voice in his ear, but a force bound to his soul.
> ‹ SYSTEM BINDING: COMPLETE ›
‹ CLASS: MASTER CRAFTSMAN ›
‹ SUMMONING: TIED TO IMAGINATION AND KNOWLEDGE ›
‹ LIMITS: NONE ›
‹ GIFTS: NONE ›
‹ FATE: YOURS TO FORGE ›
It did not speak again. It did not guide. It waited—for him.
"Master Adrian," came a soft voice.
Adrian turned his head. There she stood—Elise, his personal maid. A girl just a few years older than him, with soft brown hair tied neatly at her neck and kind green eyes that watched him with quiet concern. She carried a silver tray with tea and small cakes, just as she always did in those peaceful afternoons of his first life.
Except now, everything was different.
"You're quiet today," Elise said gently, setting the tray on the table beside him. "Is something troubling you?"
Adrian looked at her for a long moment, as if seeing her for the first time. In his past life, Elise had been one of the few who had stayed loyal… until the very end. He remembered her tear-streaked face, kneeling beside his broken body as the traitors walked away.
I won't let that happen again.
He smiled softly, the expression both boyish and strange on his young face. "I'm just… thinking about the future, Elise."
Elise tilted her head slightly, puzzled. "The future? But you're so young to worry about such things…"
Not this time.
Adrian picked up the delicate teacup with steady hands. The system's silent strength pulsed deep inside him—no gifts, no items, no instructions. Just potential. Endless potential. His to shape.
"I plan to make something great of it," he said quietly. "This time, I'll shape everything with my own hands."
And the wind, as if it too sensed the change, stirred the garden's leaves in quiet applause.
The garden of the Cross family estate stretched wide and quiet beneath the morning sun. Roses climbed along the black-iron fences. Ancient oaks shaded the polished stone paths. A fountain sang softly at the center, its waters clear as glass.
Adrian Cross sat alone on a marble bench, the youngest son of the great Cross family. A boy of ten, dark-haired, grey-eyed, dressed neatly in a black waistcoat and silver-buttoned shirt. His small hands held a thin fallen branch. As the breeze stirred the garden, he peeled it carefully, strip by strip, his movements slow and thoughtful.
Adrian Cross. That's me.
The youngest. The quiet one. The one no one took seriously.
His eyes flicked toward the great house beyond the garden, where voices echoed faintly through open windows. The confident laughter of older brothers. The soft, sweet chatter of older sisters. All of them stronger, faster, smarter—or so they believed.
In my first life, I was content to let them think that. I smiled when they smiled. I stayed silent when they spoke over me. And when the time came, they betrayed me without hesitation.
Knives in the dark. Smiles in the day. That was my family.
The branch snapped between his fingers. Adrian watched the broken piece fall to the grass at his feet.
But this time… this time was different.
He lifted his gaze to the sky. The air felt sharper now, clearer, as if the world itself had changed. Inside him, that silent force—the system—rested. It didn't speak. It didn't offer guidance. It waited. As if daring him to begin.
No more blind trust. No more hesitation. This time, I'll be the one crafting the future. My own tools. My own weapons. My own fate.
Adrian rose from the bench, brushing dust from his trousers. The garden's peace wrapped around him like a cloak, but beneath that peace, his mind turned, sharp and restless.
They see me as the youngest. The weakest. Let them. It'll make the moment I surpass them all the sweeter.
He walked the path slowly, the sun warm on his face, his small figure swallowed by the shadows of the great house as he stepped inside.
And the system waited—silent, loyal, bound to his soul—ready for the day he chose to act.
Adrian's polished shoes clicked softly on the marble floors as he walked the wide corridors of the Cross family mansion. Tall windows let sunlight pour in, casting warm golden light across the grand hallways. The walls were lined with portraits of ancestors, stern faces watching over the estate that had stood for centuries.
Adrian's small hands were clasped behind his back, his pace slow and thoughtful.
I really did come back in time, he thought, his grey eyes tracing the familiar patterns in the carpet, the slight crack in the corner of a windowpane — details he remembered from childhood. This is no dream.
His lips curved in a small, soft smile.
And this time, I'll do it right.
As he wandered, his gaze fell on something near a windowsill — a bent piece of copper wire, no doubt dropped by a servant repairing the shutters.
Without hesitation, Adrian bent down and picked it up.
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Bent Copper Wire ›
‹ A discarded piece of low-grade copper. Usable for basic crafting. ›
He continued down the hall, his sharp eyes catching other small things no one else would bother with — a loose nail by the baseboard, a thin strip of tarnished silver from a broken frame.
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Rusted Nail ›
‹ A common iron nail, worn and slightly bent. May be reforged. ›
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Silver Trim Fragment ›
‹ A delicate strip of low-purity silver. Decorative, but with potential for craftsmanship. ›
Adrian's small hands closed around these pieces, his mind already imagining what he could create.
As he moved through the corridor, a pair of maids stopped to watch him — one carrying fresh linens, the other polishing a vase. They blinked in surprise as they noticed the young master picking up scraps from the floor.
"Ah—M-Master Adrian, those are dirty…" one said gently, a hint of confusion in her voice.
Adrian turned to them, holding the bits of metal in his hands. His smile was soft, almost shy, and his eyes sparkled in the morning light.
"It's alright," he said in a quiet voice that somehow made their hearts skip. "These are important to me."
The maids exchanged glances, cheeks warming slightly, caught off guard by his innocent charm.
How can someone be so adorable…? one of them thought, pressing a hand to her cheek as if to cool the sudden flush.
Adrian simply nodded politely and continued on, his small figure disappearing around the corner, leaving behind two very flustered maids.
Yes, he thought, fingers tightening around the scraps. Even from these, I'll build my path forward.
And deep inside, the system remained silent but ready — recognizing each item, waiting for its master's command.
For nearly an hour, Adrian wandered the halls, courtyards, and storage rooms of the great Cross estate. His small hands brushed lightly over forgotten corners, his sharp eyes catching what no one else bothered to see — a bent spoon beneath a sideboard, a strip of brass from a broken lantern, a snapped hinge near the servant's quarters.
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Bent Tin Spoon ›
‹ A low-grade tin utensil, dented and discarded. Still usable in smelting. ›
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Brass Lantern Fragment ›
‹ A piece of worn brass with soot stains. Could be reforged or repurposed. ›
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Broken Iron Hinge ›
‹ An iron hinge cracked at the joint. The metal remains strong. ›
He moved quietly, his small frame and soft steps making barely a sound. Each time he found something, he'd stoop with a gentle, precise motion, as if even picking up scraps deserved care.
And oh, how the servants noticed.
Hidden glances followed him wherever he went. The maids paused their dusting, hands half-lifted, watching the little master crouch by a planter to retrieve a strip of metal.
So cute… one thought, biting her lip as she tried not to giggle.
Look at how serious he is… another whispered, cheeks flushed pink.
A stable hand froze as Adrian passed, blinking as the boy knelt by the fence to lift a stray piece of wire, the morning sun glinting off his dark hair.
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Stray Steel Wire ›
‹ A length of steel wire, rusted at the ends. Potential for crafting. ›
Finally, near the tool shed, Adrian's searching gaze fell on a small worn canvas bag, half-buried beneath an old barrel.
Without a word, he tugged it free, dusted it off, and began placing his gathered pieces inside — copper, brass, tin, steel — each clink of metal in the bag a quiet promise of what was to come.
> ‹ ITEM ACQUIRED: Worn Canvas Bag ›
‹ A simple bag with patches and faded stitching. Useful for carrying tools or materials. ›
Adrian slung the bag over his shoulder — it hung low on his small frame — and with a satisfied nod, began the walk back to his room.
As he passed through the halls, servants whispered behind his back, their hearts caught between confusion and adoration.
The young master really spent all morning picking up scraps…
But he looked so adorable doing it!
Adrian's smile was soft, polite, as he walked — as if he didn't notice the attention, or maybe as if he didn't mind.
This time, he thought, his steps steady, I'll start small. I'll build what I need. I won't need anyone's permission.
And the system stayed with him, silent, patient — its presence like a quiet hum beneath his skin, waiting for the moment he would begin to create.
In the highest room of the western Cross mansion — the seat of the family's true power — the morning light spilled across polished wood floors and velvet curtains.
Seated at a massive oak desk, Gregor Cross, Patriarch of the Cross family, worked through the day's documents. His hair, silver at the temples, was neatly combed back, his sharp eyes cold and unreadable. His presence alone seemed to fill the room with weight.
A knock came at the door.
"Enter," Gregor said without looking up.
The door opened, and a tall man stepped inside, dressed in dark armor polished to a mirror shine. His face was lined with age and experience, but his posture was straight, his gaze steady — this was Sir Darius Venn, the patriarch's most trusted knight and the captain of the Cross family's elite guard.
"My lord," Darius said with a respectful nod. "A report from the main estate."
Gregor's pen paused above the page. "Go on."
Darius cleared his throat, his tone calm but with a trace of uncertainty. "It concerns… young Master Adrian."
That earned Gregor's full attention. He set the pen down and leaned back slightly in his chair, grey eyes narrowing. "Adrian? What about him?"
Darius spoke carefully, as if still trying to make sense of what he'd heard. "He has been seen, for the better part of an hour, walking the halls and grounds… gathering scraps, my lord. Bits of copper, tin, wire… anything discarded. He even found himself a small bag to carry them in. The servants report he seemed focused. Purposeful."
For a moment, the room was silent. Only the faint crackle of the fireplace filled the air.
Gregor folded his hands beneath his chin, considering the words. "Scraps…? You're certain?"
"I am, my lord," Darius confirmed. "Several of the staff saw him. They say…" — he hesitated — "they say the young master smiled at them. Sweetly. As he worked."
Gregor blinked once. Slowly.
Then his lips curved — just slightly — into a smirk.
"Now that's weird…" he muttered, almost to himself. His voice, deep and low, held the weight of a man used to seeing every scheme, every game. And yet…
He leaned back further in his chair, eyes thoughtful, a spark of interest lighting in their depths.
"…and interesting at the same time."
Darius tilted his head slightly, waiting for orders, but Gregor only chuckled once under his breath, shaking his head.
"Let the boy be for now. But keep an eye on him, Darius. Report to me if anything… unexpected happens."
"As you command." Darius bowed, then turned and left, leaving Gregor alone with his thoughts.
The patriarch stared at the window, the garden below hidden behind heavy curtains.
Adrian… just what are you up to, boy?
Adrian's room was warm and filled with soft afternoon light. The curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the open window, and the faint scent of the garden roses drifted inside.
Adrian lay on his bed, small hands behind his head, his worn canvas bag resting beside him on the covers. From inside the bag came the faint clink of metal scraps: copper, tin, iron — treasures no one else wanted, but to Adrian, they were the first pieces of his new future.
His grey eyes stared up at the carved ceiling, thoughtful and focused.
Alright, Adrian, he told himself, think. What am I going to make first? A tool? A small machine? Maybe I can melt some of these down and forge something simple…
He turned his head slightly, glancing at the bag as if it might whisper the answer to him. His soft, serious expression, combined with the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, made him look almost too cute for his own good — like a child playing at being a great inventor.
"Hmmm…" Adrian muttered aloud, brow furrowing as he thought. His small feet kicked gently at the blankets, as if the movement would help him come up with a plan.
And then — with all the seriousness of a master strategist — he let out a sigh and said softly to himself:
"…What am I up to, anyway?"