The last thing he remembered was the sting of betrayal.
"You were never one of us," the voice of his former handler echoed in his mind as the explosion consumed him. The ultimate spy—known only as Phantom—had been the best. A master of every martial art, a ghost in the shadows, a man who could outthink and outfight any opponent. But none of that mattered when his own country turned on him.
And then, darkness.
Until—
Pain.
A sharp gasp tore from his lips as his body convulsed, his senses flooding with new sensations. The scent of damp earth, the rustle of leaves, the distant clang of steel. His vision swam into focus, and he found himself staring at a ceiling of carved stone, his body small, weak—different.
"What the hell…?"
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A woman’s voice, cold and disdainful, cut through his thoughts. "Awake at last, bastard?"
He turned his head—too slow, his reflexes dulled—and saw a noblewoman in an elaborate gown, her lips curled in disgust. Behind her stood armored guards, their hands resting on sword hilts.
"You are the seventh prince of Eldrin," she spat. "An accident. A stain on the royal bloodline. Be grateful His Majesty allows you to live."
His mind raced. Reincarnation? A new world?
But before he could process it, instincts kicked in. His body was weak, but his mind was sharp. He forced himself to sit up, ignoring the throbbing in his skull.
"Understood," he said, his voice hoarse but steady.
The woman scoffed and left, the guards following.
Alone, he examined himself—pale skin, dark hair, a child’s body. But his soul? That of a seasoned spy.
And then, something shifted inside him.
A surge of energy flooded his veins, foreign yet familiar. His vision sharpened, his muscles tingled with latent power. A voice—no, an instinct—whispered in his mind.
"Mana."
Magic.
He clenched his fist, and a shadow coiled around his fingers like a living thing.
A grin spread across his face.
Oh, this world won’t know what hit it.
