revenge of the reborn sword hound

The cold stone floor bit into his cheek, the metallic tang of blood thick in his mouth. In his last moments, he had looked up at the faces he had served all his life — his own father, his younger brother, and the woman he had once thought he would marry. They had called him useless, a stain on the great house’s name, a failure who could not even hold a sword straight or summon a single spark of magic. And then, they had driven the blade deeper. “Dispose of the trash,” his father had said, turning away without a second glance. Darkness swallowed him, and he thought it was over… until the biting cold turned into the soft, familiar weight of silk sheets. Eyes flew open. This was not the execution ground. This was his old room — the chamber of the young master of the Valtier household, from ten years ago. He lifted a hand; slender, unscarred fingers stared back at him. The body of the so‑called failure was whole and young again… but the soul inside it belonged to the Sword Hound, the monster who had learned to kill kings and outmatch legends. They thought they had buried him. But they had only awakened a weapon sharp enough to cut them all down.