In an unfamiliar location, where voices of women in labor, and midwifes moving from places to places. A child who would change the future was being born. God's and demons where out and about watching, but the location of the child was hidden, hidden by a powerful entity.
A child who had a previous life. Power and riches was at it feat but only to fall like every other politician.
Kaidën Valtorin. That was his name now. A son of noble House Valtorin.
He was once known as Lee Jung-ho, South Korea's Finance Minister. A man of vision, of conviction. He had a purpose, a life, and a nation he was trying to fix—until the day it all ended in blood.
He was an angel in the sight of the common people, standing against corruption and helping the economy of the country but to many who truly knew him, he was a Demon. A vicious MONEY DEMON, sparing not even if children when it comes to finance
****
Like every strong and mighty man, he also had is end. As the saying goes, "every good thing must come to a stop." And so it did, at least earth.
He remembered the moment vividly. The day of the murder. The day a demon was murdered— .The bullet tore through his chest mid-speech, leaving him staggering on stage, wide-eyed, mouth agape in disbelief. The memory was fragmented now, broken apart by death and rebirth, but what remained was clear—he was no longer in South Korea.
He wasn't even in the same world anymore.
And yet, despite the strange lands, the foreign name, and the alien skies, something deep within him felt renewed. As if fate had granted him a second chance. A chance to make the right move, and maybe this time he would be less of a demon and more of an angel.
****
But why?
That question lingered in the quiet corners of his mind. Why him? Why here?
But memories of his death kept hunting him.
He remembered the crowd. The passion in his voice as he preached reform, railing against corruption and economic rot. The auditorium was packed, a sea of faces watching him. Among them were protesters waving signs, and opposition politicians looking on with tight-lipped scowls and masked disdain.
Then he saw him.
A man in the crowd. Quiet. Unmoving. His gaze met Jung-ho's—and a chill swept down his spine. Something was off.
Then came the motion. A flicker of steel. A flash.
Pain exploded in his chest. His steps faltered. He stumbled back, blood blooming through his suit. His vision blurred as panic and disbelief overtook him. He tried to cry out, but his voice was no more than a whisper.
This can't be happening. The world dimmed. Darkness took him.
He had thought it was the end.
But it wasn't.
What came next was beyond comprehension. He felt like he was being dismantled and rebuilt—disassembled at the soul and reconstructed in a form unfamiliar. There were no words to describe it.
And then… he awoke.
He was in a crib.
Surrounded by strangers.
He had tried to speak but only managed the wail of a newborn. Panic rushed in. Where was he? What had happened?
The room around him was opulent, adorned with elegant furniture and rich colors. But the people—the people were what held his attention. Their clothes were archaic, their language unfamiliar, formal, and distant.
And yet, one man approached. Strong-jawed, tall, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair cropped in an unfamiliar style. The man lifted the baby gently into his arms.
"My sweet Kaidën," the man said softly. "Welcome to the world." Kaidën. That was his name now. Not Lee Jung-ho, but Kaidën Valtorin.
A woman approached. Warm and radiant, with curls cascading to her waist and a nurturing smile. She stroked the infant's cheek gently and whispered, "Our little Kaidën. You're home at last." They were his parents. Not just by name but blood, perhaps in this world, his family won't turn against him.
Kaidën looked up at them and, despite the confusion in his mind, felt a strange peace settle in his chest. He had a new beginning.
A second opportunity.
****-
Meanwhile, in a distant, shadow-drenched chamber, two figures conspired. The room reeked of decay and old parchment. A hooded man sat across from a middle-aged noble with one leg crossed over the other.
"…and so you see now, Lord Ravenswood," the hooded man said in a raspy voice, "the only way to destabilize House Valtorin is to exploit their economic vulnerabilities."
Lord Ravenswood's eyes gleamed with cold interest. "I've reviewed their accounts. Let's just say… they're far from transparent."
The hooded man leaned forward, shadows curling around his cloak. "Exactly. The cracks are there. With the right amount of pressure, we can push them toward desperation and probably bankruptcy."
A slow smile crept onto Ravenswood's face. "I've already begun. Quiet manipulations. Raising the prices in their supply chains. Tampering with margins. Whisper campaigns accusing them of selling counterfeit goods—it's spreading like wildfire."
The hooded figure gave a slight nod, shrouded in darkness. "Excellent. If the plan continues to take root, in five years House Valtorin will be drowning in debt."
Ravenswood gave a dry chuckle. "And when they're gasping for air, we strike the final blow."
"Patience," the hooded man murmured, reclining into the gloom. "This will be a masterclass in silent destruction. And when the time is right, we unleash the final stage of our plan, taking the king down with the his sister."
Ravenswood's eyes narrowed, glittering with anticipation.
The game had begun.
And House Valtorin—unaware—stood on the edge of ruin, poised to be swallowed by shadows and financial ruin.