Nigel dreamed.
<system: Loading Nigel Grau Montstein’s memories.>
The dream began as the windows rose before him, as if telling him not to run from the truth.
In the dream, Inas was always busy. He was supposed to be Nigel’s knight, yet he constantly ignored Nigel’s orders and wandered off on his own.
Unable to stand it, Nigel finally called him over and scolded him. He demanded to know why his own knight was neglecting orders and told him to do his job properly. Inas’s reply was shocking.
“A half‑baked duke like you should know your place and stay quiet.”
“What did you just say?”
“Without me, do you even deserve to be called a duke? You can’t perform even the most basic duties of the Duke of Magnus.”
The merciless words made Nigel’s face flush hot, burning with humiliation.
The Duke of Magnus was supposed to fight the monsters invading from Intusnica. But because of his weak body, Nigel couldn’t stand on the front lines and had to send Inas in his stead.
If anyone else had said it, Nigel would have had something to fire back with.
But coming from Inas—a man who’d practically been sold into the ducal house because of Nigel, a man who could have earned far greater honor and wealth on his own if not forced to live in Nigel’s shadow—Nigel had no retort.
“I don’t have time to waste on someone like you.”
“Inas Idenbach!”
“I handle what I’m assigned just fine. You stay tucked away quietly and don’t get in my way.”
Nigel froze at the excessive insult. Inas swept past with a cold, contemptuous glance.
The filthy dream ended, and his consciousness was forcibly dragged awake.
His body felt heavy. His mind sank like waterlogged cotton. Nigel wanted nothing more than to keep his eyes closed and sleep forever—though of course that wasn’t possible.
He tried lifting his eyelids, but they wouldn’t open easily. As they quivered repeatedly, a flurry of voices called his name beside him.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, the first thing he saw was a man who looked like a mountain bandit—his father. The beard that was usually trimmed neat was a wild mess, and the dark circles under his eyes were pitch-black. Nigel couldn’t tell if Ruder was crying or smiling.
“D‑Dad?”
His throat stung. His voice came out cracked and raw. At the sound, Ruder grabbed him in a crushing embrace, as if he’d never let him go again.
Held tight against his father’s solid chest, Nigel could only roll his eyes around, trying to understand what was happening. All he could see was Ruder’s broad torso.
When Nigel tapped weakly on Ruder’s arm, someone nearby advised that the boy might suffocate. Only then did Ruder loosen his grip with a sniffle, though Nigel’s view was still blocked.
“You’ve been asleep for a week, Nigel.”
“Nigel, do you remember anything from the moment you received the revelation?”
Before Nigel could even process Ruder’s words, a priest cut in urgently. Ruder shot the priest a murderous glare and shielded Nigel again.
“Don’t confuse a sick child with your nonsense.”
“But Duke Magnus—this concerns a divine revelation. The first in a thousand years. Surely the god granted Nigel such a blessing for a reason—”
As the noisy voices continued, Nigel pieced the situation together. Whatever Glarus had done had caused a major uproar.
A divine revelation. Nigel, who had never been religious and as of today thought gods were obnoxious as hell, found it all a nuisance. But to the devout, it was a miracle beyond measure. Considering Glarus was the continent’s only god and the temple’s power, the impact would be massive.
The temple would obviously try to pull Nigel to their side. But Ruder, with a sickly only heir, would never surrender his son to them.
Normally, the temple would pressure their way through—but the opponent was the Duke of Magnus. A house that not only defended the entire continent, but had the legacy of fighting Edelta and the mad dragon Odelrat for generations. The political clash over Nigel must have been enormous.
Still, resolving the immediate situation wasn’t difficult. Nigel pushed lightly at his father. Ruder frowned and shook his head.
“Nigel.”
“Dad, it’s alright.”
Nigel held Ruder’s gaze. Seeing the maturity that didn’t match the child’s body, Ruder winced and stepped back.
A whole week had passed. Not only the priests of Montstein’s temple, but also high priests and holy knights from elsewhere had crowded in. Nigel smiled, imagining how hard Ruder must have had to struggle.
The second son of the Duke of Magnus—fragile, sickly, unfit to lead. Someone who wasn’t meant to stand above others.
He’d heard it endlessly as a child, yet he still fought through everything and eventually rose to the position of duke. True, he was only twenty‑three, and half of the foundation had been laid by Ruder and Inas. But the other half, he’d built himself. Handling something like this was nothing.
“I heard the voice of Lord Glarus.”
The room went silent with tension. Nigel quickly reviewed the Skill Window text he’d seen earlier, careful not to sound too practiced.
False Revelation
Converts your words into Glarus’s divine message and spreads it to those around you. Has absolute influence depending on the listener’s faith. Warning: Effectiveness may decrease if used in unreasonable situations or excessively abused.
In short, it worked best in believable situations. If he said something plausible, these devout priests would swallow it whole.
“Lord Glarus granted me the power of foresight.”
“F‑foresight…!”
Voices buzzed in shock. Nigel glanced around, then clung to Ruder as if nervous.
“I can’t see everything. But he said that if I follow where my heart leads, I’ll naturally glimpse the future.”
Which meant: don’t force me to join the temple. Nigel pressed deeper into Ruder’s arms, clearly showing where his “heart” pointed.
“I can’t see anything right now… but if something comes to me, I’ll inform the temple immediately.”
He added the line timidly. Perfect. He didn’t actually have foresight, but he remembered events up through the year 283. He could report major events as needed. If the future changed, he could simply claim it changed due to interference with the prophecy.
A massive con—but Nigel had the trump card of a Reset anyway. Not that he intended to loop carelessly; he wanted to live properly if possible.
Ruder watched, then whispered gently.
“Do you want to go home?”
Softly spoken, but loud enough for all to hear. Nigel smiled and nodded.
“Yes… I want to go home.”
“Then we will. I assume no one objects.”
Ruder cut in swiftly. Since Nigel had said this was where his “heart led,” the high priest reluctantly agreed.
Of course, the temple would never give up a divine messenger. They’d try to approach him, persuade him, entangle him. Even as successor to the duke, he’d have to maintain a closer relationship with them than before. But that was a problem for later.
Ruder carried Nigel to the carriage without a word. Only when the temple was far behind did he finally sigh. He looked ten years older.
“Dad.”
“You’re alright, Nigel?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Good… good. But still—divine messenger? What on earth…”
Exactly. Thanks to that damn god dumping responsibility onto him, everything had spiraled into something absurd. Last loop, the duke had been forced to flee from the ducal estate; now Nigel was a divine messenger.
Ever since being killed by the one he loved and looping back, life had stopped being boring—and started becoming far too chaotic.
“I suppose… maybe this is for the best.”
Ruder stared at Nigel, who sat with an expression of pure innocence, and sighed deeply.
“Maybe being a priest would suit you better than being a duke.”
“…What?”
What the hell was better about that? Nigel blinked, failing to understand. Ruder gazed at his second son with gentle pity.
“You never wanted to become duke anyway. Truthfully, the title is far too heavy for you. You would never be able to fulfill it properly…”
“Ah…”
Nigel’s mind went blank.
“I’m not saying you should go to the temple. A child raised in comfort shouldn’t have to adopt the life of humble priests. But the temple will oppose you becoming duke. So it might be better to keep your status ambiguous.”
“T‑then… the ducal title…”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find another successor. You don’t need to concern yourself.”
Nigel gaped dumbly. He couldn’t even form a response.
True, he hadn’t wanted the position at first. But after changing his mindset, he’d fought tooth and nail for eleven years to fulfill the duties of duke.
He knew he wasn’t perfect. But he’d done everything he could. He had grown into the role.
And the man who gave him that role—his father—was now dismissing it as a burden that never fit him.
“A half‑baked duke like you should stay quiet.”
Why did he have to hear such things right after reliving that awful memory? The pride he’d built as duke crumbled. Words spoken by the two people most important to him—one now, one then—cut straight into his self‑esteem.
“Nigel?”
“N‑no, it’s nothing…”
He told himself Ruder meant well. Nigel hugged his father tightly.
***
When he returned to the estate, Nigel suffered through the fussing of the family doctor and the servants before using exhaustion as an excuse to shut himself in his room.
Alone, he pulled the blanket over his head.
It wasn’t wrong. Ruder had struggled for years to prepare the ducal seat for a frail, weak son. Even if Inas swore loyalty, Nigel’s authority was still half‑formed at best.
And Glarus had said he’d return Etna. If his brother came back, Nigel wouldn’t become duke anyway. It had nothing to do with him. No reason to feel miserable.
“Nigel.”
Suddenly, Inas’s voice filled the room. Nigel wanted to be left alone, but the bastard came to his bedside every day without fail and never cared whether Nigel wanted company.
Nigel tried pretending to sleep, but no knight could be fooled by breathing patterns or footsteps. Heavy steps approached. The blanket was yanked away. Inas hauled the curled‑up Nigel upright—then froze like a broken puppet.
“Nigel?”
“…”
Nigel turned his face away. Sure, his body was twelve, but inside he was twenty‑three—and he’d just been caught silently crying. It was mortifying. If only Inas would pretend not to notice.
“Who made you cry?”
Inas’s voice dropped, dark and venomous, as if he would sever the head of whoever had produced those tears at once.
