As Lucien lay there, his sister's worried gaze lingered on him. She was lying next to him, concern evident in her eyes.
"Brother, you were shaking in your sleep again," Clorinde said softly, her voice laced with worry.
"It was just another nightmare. Nothing to worry about," he said, his voice steady. It was the truth—he had, in fact, had a nightmare.
"But…" she tried to protest.
"Listen, Clorinde, there's nothing to worry about," he reassured her. "I won't let some bad dreams bring me down, okay? Now go back to sleep."
He forced a small, reassuring smile, hoping she'd let it go. Even if the nightmares wouldn't.
She nodded and returned to her own bed, quickly drifting back to sleep.
But sleep wouldn't come for him. JUST GREAT
His father was a piece of shit—a man who beat him—but he wasn't here now, and he sure as hell doesn't control him anymore. As for his mother… she had allowed the abuse to continue.
He sighed. And yet, he couldn't fully blame her. She had suffered too.
But still, she was an adult. Why hadn't she asked her parents for help? They were lawyers, after all.
Or at the very least, why hadn't she gotten the police involved?
Then again… he hadn't either. He didn't know why. Maybe fear, maybe hopelessness. But it didn't matter now—he was a few years away from being free of that hellhole.
And that was all that mattered.
Until he died, reborn into Genshin, yet his past still haunted him. This wasn't like those novels where the protagonist gets a system, forgets all about their past life, and somehow becomes a genius. No, his memories lingered, uninvited, reminding him of everything He had been through.
Wait, maybe I will get a system! He called out for it in his mind.
Nope, nothing. Figures.
He sighed. At least I've had you. He glanced over at the nightstand, where his stunning Pistolet lay.
He reached out, his hand gripping his gun.
If he couldn't sleep, he might as well head out. He stood up from the bed, grabbing his pistolet with a quiet gasp, and walked out, stepping into the cool night.
The moonlight washed over his skin as he moved into the quiet world outside.
"Hey there, kiddo." Petronilla's voice cut through the silence as she leaned against the cabin wall.
Lucien's body tensed, a chill running through him as he jumped, his heart racing and skipping a beat.
"Master, you scared me!" Lucien quickly collected himself as his weapon slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
"You must always keep your guard up, Lucien. If I were an enemy, you'd be dead," she warned.
He nodded in agreement and bent down to retrieve his weapon.
"There's no need to carry that firearm around if you can't use it properly," Petronilla said firmly. "So use this instead."
She extended her hand, offering him a pocket knife. Its handle was elegantly crafted in white and gold.
Lucien's breath hitched. He had never seen a knife like this before.
"Use this to defend yourself," she instructed, her gaze steady.
Lucien took it, gripping the handle firmly. "Thank you."
Petronilla tilted her head slightly. "So, why are you awake this early?"
"Just had a nightmare and couldn't go back to sleep," he admitted. "Figured I'd start my training early today."
"Another nightmare, huh?" She studied him for a moment. "Tell me, was it the same one? The one where you're being chased by monsters? Or something different this time?"
He hesitated. He had never really told anyone about his problems before. But he decided to share at least part of the truth.
"…It was about my parents," he said quietly."
Petronilla sighed, crossing her arms. "As someone who grew up without parents, you learn to be independent and not rely on others. But at least you have your sister."
She paused before continuing, "You're young, so it's understandable you'd want to know why they left you and your sister. But don't waste your breath on them—those kinds of people are scum. There's no sign of struggle.If they couldn't handle raising you, they would've left you at an orphanage. But no, they're just scum."
"Yeah, I know," Lucien said, though the words didn't bother him much. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how Clorinde felt about it.
"Good. Now I'm heading out," she said, adjusting her hat. "There are rumors of a group of Treasure Hoarders nearby, so I'm going to handle them. But once I'm back, we'll start your training."
She turned to leave but hesitated for a moment. "If you're going to wander off, make sure to leave markings so you can find your way back," she advised before disappearing.
Lucien glanced back at the knife, turning the thought over in his mind. I shouldn't let these nightmares win. He needed to focus on the present, not dwell on his past life. He was free now, and he was grateful his master didn't treat him like a child.
Yet, he still didn't get what he hoped from Petronilla—how to deal with the abuse he had experienced . But it wouldn't get anywhere unless he was willing to share or move past it.
His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as rapid footsteps echoed closer.
Then—boom!
A massive force slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs.
"Hey! What's the big deal?!" he grumbled.
"Nothing," Clorinde said with a smirk. "I woke back up, so let's fight. Loser does all the cleaning for a week."
The morning sun crept over the horizon, washing away the thoughts that had lingered from the night. Lucien grinned. "You got yourself a bet."
They stood outside their home, wooden sticks in hand, eyes locked in a tense standoff. The wind tousled their hair as they glared at each other, the air thick with anticipation.
Then, in a flash, they moved—fast. Lucien dodge Clorinde's swift strikes, his body weaving with precision as he tried to disarm her. But she was quick on her feet, just as agile and ready to evade his every attempt.
Tap, tap, tap! Their sticks clashed in rapid succession, the rhythmic sound filling the air as they spared for victory.
He gritted his teeth. His sister was good with the stick—he'd given her that. But he was better. Determined, he shifted to the offense, pressing forward while she fell into a defensive stance, carefully blocking his strikes.
But then, a rock caught his foot, throwing him off balance. As he twisted to regain it, Clorinde's stick was inches away from his neck before he could react.
His grip faltered, and his stick slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. With a sigh, he raised his hands in defeat.
"C'mon, that's not fair! That dumb rock made me lose!" Lucien grumbled, frustration clear in his voice.
"Should've watched where you stepped, brother," Clorinde giggled, clearly enjoying the victory.
"Great, now I'm on cleaning duty," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
Frustration bubbled inside him as he swung his foot at the offending rock. The moment his toes connected, a sharp, searing pain shot up his leg.
"Argh! My foot!" Lucien howled, stumbling back as he clutched it, hopping on one leg while biting back more curses. Clorinde, watching the whole thing unfold, laughing.
Suddenly, the sharp snap of a breaking stick cut through the air, making them both tense.
They spun around, their eyes landing on a group of men with their faces covered by bandanas, approaching with weapons in hand.
Clearly, they had bad intentions as they stalked forward, their movements slow and deliberate.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" one of them sneered, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Two little kids all alone."
Another man smirked. "Look at that—a house behind them. That must be where they live."
"There's gotta be something good in there. Let's rob them!"
Lucien pulled out his knife, gripping it tightly as he prepared to defend himself—but maybe that was a mistake. His heart pounded, but he stood his ground.
Beside him, Clorinde shifted into a battle stance, her eyes sharp and unwavering.
One of them let out a low, mocking chuckle. "Look at that—they're trying to act tough," he sneered. Cracking his knuckles, he smirked. "Let's teach them a lesson."
Without thinking, Lucien rushed in, using his small size to his advantage. Meanwhile, Clorinde dashed toward a nearby tree where she had left her short sword. Their training hadn't been enough for a fight like this—they both knew it. But one thing was certain: if these guys were here, their master couldn't be far.
Lucien slashed at one of the bandit's legs with his knife, drawing a sharp, pained shout. "You fucking bastard!" the man roared, fury in his eyes. With a growl, he retaliated, launching a powerful kick. Lucien tried to dodge, but the blow hit him hard, sending him stumbling backward.
Clorinde dashed in, short sword in hand, but she was just a second too slow. A bandit's boot slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.
"Clorinde!" Lucien shouted, trying to push himself up, but a rough hand seized his wrist, twisting it until his knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. Before he could react, he was grabbed by the shirt and was hoisted into the air like he weighed nothing.
Fuck. He was completely useless. What the hell was he thinking? A three-year-old fighting adults? How stupid could he be? They should have run.
But then—he smiled.
In the distance, he saw a figure.
Instead of struggling, Lucien looked the man dead in the eyes and spat in his face.
"You little shit," the man growled, gritting his teeth. He drew back his fist, ready to strike—
BANG!