...Then, to his surprise, a sigh echoed below.
"It's the useless prince again," one of the guards muttered.
Oliver's eyes widened slightly.
Another guard chuckled. "Figures. He's probably just sneaking around to find a place to sleep. Let him be."
Oliver nearly laughed. His old habits had unwittingly saved him. These guards were so used to his antics that they dismissed his presence entirely.
Shaking his head, Oliver continued crawling forward.
Let them think he was useless. And that... would only make his eventual rise all the more shocking.
The vent's metal grating let out a faint creak as Oliver slowly pushed it open. A rush of cooler air met him, carrying the scent of parchment, aged leather, and the faint lingering musk of his father's cologne.
He lowered himself carefully, his bare feet landing soundlessly onto the thick, woven carpet. The soft texture beneath him was such a stark contrast to the cold, hard floors he had grown accustomed to in his past life that he had to pause for a second.
A pang of nostalgia struck him as he took in the room.
To the him that had been reborn, it had been years since he had last stepped foot here, back when he was small enough to run to his father and eagerly sit on his lap. Back then, his father had been a towering, awe-inspiring figure—someone Oliver desperately wanted to be close to. But that feeling had been shattered the day his father had sent him away with nothing more than a dismissive wave, never once looking up from the documents in his hands. Oliver exhaled slowly, shaking his head. That was a long time ago.
The study was grand, befitting a ruler of his father's stature. A massive ebony desk sat near the far wall, covered in neatly arranged scrolls and royal decrees. To one side, an elaborate bookshelf stretched to the ceiling, filled with rare tomes and historical texts, their spines adorned with gold lettering. A single chair with deep crimson cushions rested behind the desk, draped with a velvet cloak embroidered with the family crest in silver thread. On another wall, a rack displayed ceremonial weapons—ornate but sharp enough to be deadly. And near the farthest corner, a bed was positioned in such a way that it had full view of the entire study, a testament to a man who never truly let his guard down.
Oliver wasted no time and began his search.
Drawers were pulled open and shut, stacks of parchment sifted through, the bed checked for hidden compartments. But no matter how much he searched, the Alchemist's Seal was nowhere to be found. With each passing minute, his frustration grew.
He finally paused, closing his eyes in thought. If I were the crown prince, proud as I act, where would I hide something so valuable?
A smirk twitched at his lips as he straightened his posture, putting on a mock air of superiority.
"Hmph! I, the mighty and wise crown prince Richie Von Rich, would never store such a treasure in plain sight," he said, mimicking an exaggerated version of his father's voice. "No, only a fool would think such a thing!"
He rolled his eyes at himself and kept searching, muttering his thoughts aloud as he overturned chairs and examined the corners of bookshelves.
Time ticked away, and soon, an entire hour had passed.
The mimicking joke earlier was to ease his heart. But time, on a tango with the knowledge he had from a certain future mocked him a better punchline.
Oliver's fingers trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists. The air in the room felt heavier now, pressing down on him like the weight of his past life. He couldn't fail. He couldn't go back to that life again.
He couldn't.
A cold shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought. The chains. The hunger. The helplessness. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memories back, but they clawed at the edges of his mind like a beast waiting to pounce. His breath came quicker, shallow and uneven.
I can't do it again.
For a moment, he just stood there, gripping his arms, trying to steady himself. Then, finally, he let out a slow, shuddering breath and lay down on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling in exhaustion.
Above him, golden light from a chandelier flickered over a grand mural depicting King Solomon at the height of his reign. The legendary king stood with his staff raised high, commanding a legion of demons and mystical spirits against a dark host of fiends. His presence alone seemed to bend the forces of the supernatural to his will, an undeniable force of power and wisdom.
Even orphaned children in the slums had heard this story. The greatest man who had ever lived.
Even though it was thousands of years ago, that legend was still fresh through the generations.
Oliver stared at the painting, lost in thought. His mind drifted, the familiar tale intertwining with his own struggle. 'Solomon had once faced an empire of demons and conquered them. And here I am, trying to steal from my father just to survive.'
He exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright. He didn't have time to reminisce. If he couldn't find it here, then he needed to try elsewhere. The mansion was massive, but searching blind was better than sitting here doing nothing.
At least, he could still guess a few places here and there that he could check.
There was still the treasury protected by that old man and his greedy daughter. Worse case scenario, he would have to call in his elder sister for a favour.
Regardless, he had to move fast.
There was barely two hours before
With renewed determination, Oliver climbed back into the vent, making his way towards the corridor. He carefully pried the grate open and lowered himself down—only for a hand to seize his hair and yank him upward with brute force.
Pain exploded across his scalp as he was lifted off the ground, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.
"Got you, demon snort!"
Through the haze of pain, Oliver's eyes snapped up to see his stepbrother Leston's smug face twisted in satisfaction.
Before he could react, a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. His body instinctively curled inward from the impact as pain erupted through his ribs. His vision wavered, but one thing was clear—
He had been...