NOVGO.NET Chapter 985: A New Face, An Old Name
Chapter 985: A New Face, An Old Name
The sun filtered weakly through the cracked windows of the Salt Manor as Kent—now wearing the body and name of Philip Salt—sat quietly in the dusty study. The silence of the room was disturbed only by the lazy ticking of an old water-clock on the far wall. Outside the heavy door, muffled whispers floated in, the servants still unsure if what they witnessed was a ghost returned or some twisted trick of fate.
Kent looked down at his hands—pale, thin, and trembling slightly. The skin wasn’t his. The body felt unfamiliar, weak, like a crumbling shell hastily stitched together. But the soul within? That was his. And the memory of jumping into the ancient well, and meeting the old man with the book, still rang clear in his mind.
“This must be the final test,” he murmured to himself.
A knock came.
He turned. “Enter.”
A nervous young maid peeked in. Her eyes flicked between terror and disbelief. “Y-Young Master Philip… the Patriarch has summoned you to the main hall.”
Kent nodded and stood. The girl flinched as if expecting an outburst. Kent observed her closely—eyes twitching, shoulders trembling.
“Why do you fear me so?” he asked coldly.
The girl froze. “Y-you were dead. And now…”
“I’m alive. Which means I am your Young Master once more. Or have you forgotten your place?” His voice didn’t raise, but the sharpness in his tone could cut stone.
She immediately bowed. “Forgive me, Young Master. I didn’t mean—”
“Enough. Take me to the hall.”
As Kent followed her down the long, decaying corridor of Salt Manor, he began piecing fragments of his new identity together. The hallways were littered with signs of neglect—peeling paint, dust-covered statues, and tapestries faded from sunlight. It wasn’t the estate of a proud family; it was a dying legacy clinging to its former grandeur.
On the way, two older servants—men in their late fifties—stood by a pillar, watching him approach. One of them snorted with a whisper meant to be heard, “Look at him. Even death couldn’t fix his cowardice.”
Kent stopped in his tracks.
He turned to them with calm eyes. “Name.”
The older man flinched. “W-what?”
“Your name.”
“Harvan, my lord.”
“You’ve served this house long?”
“Thirty-one years, Young Master.”
“And you, as a mere servant, dare mock your master openly in his own home?”
Harvan went pale.
“I died once. That is true. And now I’ve returned. This house may have tolerated your insolence in my absence… but that ends today.”
Kent stepped forward, his presence like a cold storm sweeping the hall. “You’re dismissed from your position. Leave Salt Manor within the hour.”
Harvan stumbled back. “But… the Patriarch—”
Kent raised a hand. “Would you like me to have this discussion in front of him? I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear how you disrespect his bloodline.”
The man’s face turned ghostly white.
Without a word, Harvan turned and fled down the hall.
The other servant bowed immediately. “I-I meant no harm, Young Master Philip. I was only—”
“Then do your job, and show some spine. Or I’ll remove yours.”
The tension in the air grew thick as word spread quickly through the corridors. Philip Salt—the soft-spoken fool, the weakling who had been bullied by cousins and manipulated by servants—was gone. And in his place stood a man with a glint in his eyes that made seasoned warriors uneasy.
By the time Kent entered the main hall, half the family had already gathered. Rich robes of sea silk rustled as a dozen nobles watched him walk through the ornate double doors.
At the head sat Patriarch Roland Salt, a man of wide shoulders and weathered eyes. His gaze fixed on Kent.
“Philip,” he said slowly. “You’ve returned from the dead.”
Kent bowed politely. “I apologize for worrying you, Father.”
Roland’s eyes narrowed. “You seem different.”
“I am.”
There was a pause.
From the left, a cousin named Mirien scoffed. “This is ridiculous. He dies mysteriously, and now he returns speaking like a war hero. Clearly, some trick is at play.”
Kent turned his eyes to her. “You’ve always been eager to challenge me, cousin. Even when I was too weak to respond. Perhaps you’d like to test your theory now?”
Mirien paled and turned her face away.
The hall fell into silence.
Roland chuckled. “Maybe death did do you some good.”
“I’ve had much time to reflect, Father. And much to regret. But let me be clear: I will no longer be the shadow you all ignored. If I am Philip Salt, then I will live up to the Salt name. And if I am not… then may the heavens strike me down.”
He looked around the hall, meeting every gaze.
“But if you expect me to be weak again… I promise, it is not death you should fear. It is what I have become.”
A heavy silence followed.
Then, slowly, Roland leaned back in his chair.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us see what this new Philip brings.”
Later that evening, Kent wandered the estate’s vast-library. Alone among books and candlelight, he sifted through journals, letters, and logs. Piece by piece, the past of Philip Salt revealed itself.
He had been a sickly child. Ignored by most of the clan. A weakling used as a scapegoat in politics and punished for decisions made by others. His mother had died mysteriously, and his father, though never cruel, had distanced himself, perhaps ashamed of the fragile boy.
There were records of assets being taken from him. Promises-broken. Even arranged-marriages sabotaged by jealous cousins.
Kent closed the final log and stared into the candlelight.
“This boy lived in chains,” he whispered. “And now those who bound him will see what a man does when given a second life.”
At that moment, the doors to the library creaked open. A young-lady entered, barely 18 years old.
“Young Master Philip?” the lady asked nervously.
“Yes?”
“I-I’m Ruri. I help tend the gardens. But I heard what you did to Master Harvan. And I…”
She hesitated.
“I want to serve you. Properly. Not like the others.”
Kent smiled.
“Then you’re the first of my new legacy, Ruri. Go get a journal. We begin changing the Salt household tomorrow.”
The lady shyly nodded her head while secretary taking a peek at him.