The morning sun pierced through the thin curtains of the manor room, and I blinked against the light. My body, still that of the spoiled noble brat I had inherited, felt heavier than yesterday. A groan escaped me—not of pain, but of irritation. How had someone like me ever survived the trivial struggles of this house without being utterly useless?
The System chimed softly in my mind, its presence almost comforting in contrast to the world outside.
[Kaelen's Current Strength]
Physical: Low (Rank G)
Mana/Aura: Minimal (Rank G-)
Skills: Basic survival, combat rudimentary
[Upcoming Challenge]
Academic Entrance Trials: 1 Month
Survival Probability Without Training: <10%
I gritted my teeth. One month. One month to transform from a pampered brat into someone who wouldn't be killed the moment the trials began. The academy would not coddle me, and my enemies—both seen and unseen—were already sharpening their knives.
I stepped outside, and the morning air of the capital's lower district hit me. The smells of bread, livestock, and unwashed humans filled the street. Kaelen, the "Golden Heir of House Veylor," would never have wandered here. But I had to. Survival demanded it.
The System spoke again, highlighting a nearby training arena:
[Task Assigned: Trial of Strength – Immediate]
Objective: Survive and defeat 3 trained mercenaries
Reward: +1 Rank Physical, +5 Combat Points
Penalty: Failure = Severe Injury or Death
I smirked. "Not bad for a starter," I muttered, letting my body adjust to the gravity of my inherited form. My new arms were weaker than they looked, my legs clumsy. I could feel the System analyzing every nerve, every twitch.
The first mercenary appeared, a burly man with a cruel grin and a longsword larger than I had ever held. He lunged immediately. Instinct, sharpened over centuries in memories I didn't live, took over. I sidestepped clumsily, barely, and let the System guide my counter. A surge of aura wrapped around my fist, and I struck. The man grunted and stumbled.
The next two were faster, coordinating their attacks. Sweat ran down my face, but the System whispered guidance, suggesting minor manipulations of my aura and energy flow. I learned to fuse mana with my spirit, creating a faint but effective ether shield. Each strike I delivered was measured, precise, nothing like the brute force of my inherited body's nobility.
By the end of the trial, all three mercenaries were unconscious. My arms trembled, my chest heaved. Pain had a flavor I had never known in my pampered life: sweet, invigorating, alive.
[System Reward]
Physical +1 Rank (G → F)
Combat Points +5
Unlock Skill: Ether Strike (Rank G)
I staggered back to the streets, half-walking, half-collapsing. A small grin formed on my lips. I could do this. I had to. The academy, the world, my enemies—none of them would wait for me to become ready. And with each day, each trial, I would rise.
Even if my body still smelled of spoiled nobility, even if the world scoffed at me, I felt something unfamiliar yet intoxicating: the taste of first true strength.
And for the first time since I arrived in this world, I didn't feel entirely helpless.