The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

Chapter 117: Shadows of the Past

Klaus hadn’t slept for three days. The once sharp and calculating glint in his eyes had dulled, replaced with a haunted, distant look. He stumbled through the grand corridors of the Lionhart estate, his steps heavy, his mind a fog of confusion and exhaustion. Dark circles marred his usually pristine face, and he felt as if the world around him was slowly unraveling. It wasn’t just sleep he was missing—it was his grip on reality.

The nightmares had started abruptly, violently. Each night, the scenes grew more vivid, more intense, blurring the line between dream and memory. Each time, he would awaken drenched in sweat, gasping for air, with Dudu’s small paw resting on his chest, as if to remind him that the horrors weren’t real. But they felt real. Too real to ignore any longer.

Klaus had spent the last three days trying to make sense of the visions. They couldn’t be random. No, there had to be something—some deep-rooted connection to his family’s legacy, something Roman had hidden from him. Klaus was too exhausted to think clearly, but the fragments of those dreams—blood, corpses, that cold, detached voice speaking from his own lips—refused to let him rest.

As he approached the doors to Roman’s chamber, his heart pounded not just from fatigue, but from frustration. He pushed open the heavy doors with more force than intended, the creak echoing through the grand hall.

Inside, Roman Lionhart sat on his golden throne, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass casting a rainbow of colors across the floor. The grandeur of the room only highlighted the weariness in Klaus’s soul. Roman, as usual, looked every bit the imposing patriarch, but there was something in his eyes when he saw Klaus that gave him pause—concern.

"Klaus," Roman said, his deep voice reverberating through the hall. There was no need for formalities. The tension in Klaus’s body was palpable. "What’s troubling you?"

Klaus marched forward, his hand trembling slightly as he clenched it into a fist. His usually sharp mind was clouded with exhaustion, the nightmares gnawing at his sanity. "I need answers," he said, his voice edged with a frustration that surprised even him. "These dreams—no, these *memories*—they aren’t normal. They can’t be."

Roman raised an eyebrow, studying Klaus with a calm, scrutinizing gaze. He could see the strain on the young man’s face, the desperation in his voice. Klaus had always been composed, methodical, but now he was unraveling before him.

"What kind of dreams?" Roman asked, standing up from his throne and walking slowly towards his grandson. "Tell me."

Klaus ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his breath shallow. He couldn’t stand the weight of it anymore. "I’m standing in fields of bodies," he began, his voice unsteady. "Blood everywhere. Men, women, children—slaughtered. And I’m there, in the middle of it. I can’t move, I can’t stop it. And then… I see myself. I see me, but it’s not me. I’m saying things, doing things—things I would never do."

Roman’s expression tightened. He stepped closer, his voice calm but carrying the weight of his authority. "What do you mean by not you?"

Klaus took a deep, shaky breath. "It’s like I’m trapped in my own body, watching it all happen. I kill people, I give orders… It’s my voice, but it’s not me. It feels like I’m reliving something, like I’ve lived it before."

Roman’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, a flicker of something dark passed over his face. But he quickly masked it. "You’re not making any sense, Klaus," he said, though his tone lacked the coldness Klaus expected. "You’ve had nightmares before no?"

Klaus’s frustration boiled over. "That’s exactly my point! These aren’t just dreams. They’re memories, Ro...Grandfather. And they’re connected to this family." His voice cracked, the exhaustion making him unsteady. "What have you been hiding from me? What aren’t you telling me?"

Roman’s face remained impassive, but Klaus noticed the slightest twitch of his jaw. "You’re exhausted," Roman said, his voice softer than Klaus anticipated. "You’re jumping to conclusions because you haven’t slept. This is unlike you my boy."

"I’m not," Klaus snapped, his eyes flashing with desperation. "I know you’ve kept secrets. This family—our bloodline—it’s tied to something dark. I need to know what it is."

Roman took a step back, his eyes now fixed on Klaus with a more calculating gaze. Klaus was unraveling, yes—but there was something else here. The mention of memories, of a voice not his own—it triggered something in Roman’s mind. A buried thought. A prophecy.

Roman had heard it whispered since he was a boy. Passed down from Lionhart patriarch to patriarch: a child of pure Lionhart blood would bring either ruin or unification to the continent. The vision had haunted his forefathers—of cities burning, of the world torn apart by the power of that child. And now, hearing Klaus’s words, the old prophecy surged to the front of Roman’s mind.

But he couldn’t be certain. Not yet.

"What exactly do you see in these dreams?" Roman asked, his tone more measured now, almost cautious.

Klaus exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I see people begging for their lives. I see a battlefield, corpses everywhere. And I see myself standing above them, commanding armies. But it’s not me—at least, not the me I know."

Roman’s heart pounded. This wasn’t Klaus, the boy beaming with confidence, the boy in front of him looked disoriented and exhausted. It was quite painful to watch. "And you think this has to do with the Lionhart family?"

Klaus looked up, his eyes burning with exhaustion and confusion. "I don’t know. But it feels… ancient. Like something buried in our bloodline. I can’t explain it, but I need you to be honest with me, Grandfather."

Roman’s gaze softened hearing the word Grandfather and seeing the toll this was taking on his grandson. "I’ve never kept anything from you that you weren’t ready to hear," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "But this—these memories—there’s more at play here than you realize."

Klaus’s face contorted with frustration. "Then tell me. Help me understand." Explore more at empire

Roman sighed deeply, rubbing his chin. He couldn’t tell Klaus everything. Not now. The prophecy loomed too large, and there were still too many unknowns. But he also couldn’t leave Klaus in this state.

"Klaus," Roman said slowly, his voice low and measured, "there is an ancient prophecy tied to our bloodline. It speaks of a child of pure Lionhart blood who will either unite the continent or bring it to ruin. It’s been passed down for generations." The prophecy was a secret duty that each patriarch had. They needed to guide that child so that he would not seek destruction but rather unification.

Klaus’s eyes widened slightly, his heart racing. "You think that’s me? You think I’m the one who’ll bring ruin?"

Roman shook his head, though doubt lingered in his mind. "I don’t know. But what you’ve described—it’s unsettling. If these are memories, they could be from something deeper than our family. Something tied to your very soul."

Klaus felt his knees go weak. The weight of everything Roman was saying, combined with his own exhaustion, was too much. "My soul?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

Roman sighed. He had to be careful with his words. "There are mysteries in this world, Klaus. Things even I don’t fully understand. But I don’t believe these dreams are tied to our family’s bloodline. They may come from somewhere else entirely."

Klaus shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. He was too tired, too lost in his own mind. "I just want this to stop," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I can’t keep waking up to that… to them."

Roman placed a hand on Klaus’s shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. "We’ll figure it out. But first, you need to rest. You’re no good to anyone like this."

Klaus looked at his grandfather, his mind racing, but his body betrayed him. He was at his limit. Roman’s words cut through the haze, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of calm.

But in the back of Roman’s mind, one lingering thought remained: if Klaus wasn’t the child of the prophecy, then who was?

And somewhere, across the Lionhart Youth Training ground, another child of pure blood—Alex Lionhart—trained, unaware of the storm brewing around him.