Vengeance of The Reborn Heir

Year 3025, Thalara, United Kingdom of Thandor, Planet Arken

"Ronan, how many times do I have to say it?"

"There’s no way I, Calista Sable, will ever fall for you—let alone marry you!"

At New Era City Plaza, the heart of Thalara’s capital, a large crowd had gathered, drawn by the spectacle.

There stood a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, no older than her early twenties.

Her tall, graceful figure, long silver-blonde hair cascading like liquid moonlight, and porcelain skin made her appear ethereal.

But it was her eyes—sharp, phoenix-shaped sapphires—that held the crowd frozen.

Cold. Arrogant. Unforgiving.

Facing her was a young man—Ronan Crowne, heir to the ancient and mighty House Crowne.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like a statue carved from obsidian, cloaked in black and silver.

His hair was dark, his eyes darker still, carrying the kind of natural nobility that couldn’t be imitated.

But at this moment, his expression was distant.

His gaze unfocused, as though caught between this world and another unseen one.

No one noticed.

All eyes remained on Calista as her voice rang out—melodious, yet edged with ice.

“I’m tired of your pathetic little performances,” she said sharply. “You really think showering me with gifts and pouring your heart out will change how I feel?”

“How many times is this now? Two hundred and fourteen? Are you desperate, or just addicted to humiliating yourself?”

Gasps and whispers rippled through the crowd.

“Did she say 214?!”

“Damn… Calista’s savage. No wonder she’s one of the Four Beauties.”

“And she just crushed the Crowne heir like he’s nothing!”

“Wait—what’s in that box she’s holding?”

“It’s a royal-grade case... Something powerful has to be inside!”

The murmurs intensified as Calista clicked open the ornate weapon box, its golden carvings gleaming under the sun.

A radiant glow burst forth.

The stunned crowd recoiled slightly as light spilled over them.

Inside was a dagger—sleek, curved like a serpent’s fang, no longer than a forearm, but radiating ominous power.

“Wait… is that—?”

“The Vermilion Fang! That’s the one!”

“A B-rank extraordinary weapon!”

“It’s small, but it’s made to kill—flesh and soul alike.”

“Even Rank 7 grandmasters would kill for it!”

Calista’s eyes narrowed.

A flicker of awe—perhaps greed—passed through them, but was gone in an instant.

Without hesitation, she shut the lid and gripped the handle tight.

“She took it!”

“And she’s still rejecting him?!”

“Reject my ass! Didn’t you see she grabs the weapon like itls hers?”

“Ten years of chasing… 214 confessions… that’s got to be true love, right?and she grabs the weapon like it’s hers?”

“You call that love? That’s just stupidity.”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down!”

The air thickened with tension.

And at the center of it all, Ronan Crowne stood still.

Frozen.

He stared at Calista, his breath caught.

Where was he?

Wasn’t he already dead?

Why was he seeing her again—young, beautiful, alive?

Before he could think further, a sudden pain tore through his skull.

“...Tch—damn…”

He gritted his teeth. His vision blurred. Then—like a dam breaking—memories flooded in.

He was Ronan Crowne, heir to a bloodline that had stood tall since the Great Cataclysm a thousand years ago.

His grandfather, Arthur Crowne, a Martial Saint.

His father, Lucas Crowne, a Rank 9 Elder Archmaster.

The Crownes had never known defeat.

Until him.

He, the so-called prodigy, had thrown away his dignity to grovel before a woman.

Calista Sable.

Measured beside him, she was nothing.

Her talent a flicker next to his flame.

Her family, the Sables, were recent nobility—barely clinging to relevance.

Their only Rank 7 Grandmaster had died long ago.

Without House Crowne’s support, they would have crumbled.

But instead, they latched on.

Year after year, they drained Crowne resources while Calista toyed with his feelings.

Behind his back, they used his help to support another man—Lucien Cross, the so-called Chosen One.

With Lucien’s rise, the Sables climbed to second place in planetary power.

Then—betrayal.

The very people Ronan had helped turned against his family and led the purge that destroyed them.

And they had the gall to call it justice.

The Crownes had defended Arken for centuries.

Every Martial Saint of his line had died for this world.

But the world turned its back on them.

Ronan alone survived—carrying a century of guilt.

And now...

Here he was.

Back at the plaza.

Back where everything began.

He blinked at the weapon box still in Calista’s hands.

So… he had really gone back?

This was year 3025—a full century before the fall.

He remembered now.

Just moments ago, this had been the 214th confession.

The last one, before everything fell apart.

Fate had hurled him through time.

Was this redemption?

Or a final test?

Either way, he wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.

This time, Calista Sable and Lucien Cross would not destroy House Crowne.

He would be the one writing their end.