Aeros awoke before dawn, his body aching from the previous day's relentless training. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through his muscles, yet as he sat up, he noticed something different.
[Pain Resistance: Level 2 Acquired]
[Endurance +2]
He exhaled sharply. The system wasn't just for show—it rewarded effort, no matter how brutal. But seriously, did it have to hurt this much? He wasn't a masochist! At this rate, he'd wake up tomorrow missing a limb.
He let out a groan. "Why me? I was just a normal guy! I didn't sign up for a hardcore medieval boot camp!"
Aeros flopped back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. It had been a few days since he found himself in this unfamiliar world, and the situation was still baffling.
He had woken up as Aeros Cromwell, the third son of an Archduke—which sounded impressive until he learned he was basically the black sheep of the family. Weak, untalented, and considered an embarrassment.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, let me get this straight—I'm in a world where nobles settle disputes with swords, magic is real, and I have a literal game interface telling me I suck."
[Acknowledgment Accepted.]
"...Wait, what?"
The screen flashed.
[You currently rank: Weakest Heir]
Aeros glared at the words. "Gee, thanks. Really boosting my confidence here."
[You're welcome.]
"...Are you messing with me?"
[...]
Aeros sighed and rolled out of bed, rubbing his temples. "Fine, fine. Guess I better start training before someone decides to throw me into a gladiator pit or something."
The training grounds were empty except for Instructor Darius, already waiting with arms crossed. A wooden training spear rested against his shoulder, its tip tapping against the ground.
"You're early," Darius remarked.
Aeros yawned. "Yeah, I figured if I die out here, at least it'll be quick."
Darius smirked. "Let's see if you last longer than yesterday."
The next few hours were brutal. Darius pushed him through drills that tested every fiber of his being. Footwork, endurance laps around the field, strength exercises with heavy wooden logs strapped to his back. It was like medieval CrossFit, except instead of getting abs, he was getting his soul crushed.
And then, the sparring began.
Aeros barely blocked the first strike before a second slammed into his ribs. He gasped, stumbling back, but the instructor gave him no reprieve. A third strike came—then a fourth.
[Toughness +1]
[Agility +1]
Aeros groaned as he hit the dirt, staring up at the sky. "This is fine. Everything's fine. I don't regret existing right now."
Darius chuckled. "You're slow, weak, and unskilled… but you don't break."
The old instructor crouched beside him, voice lowering. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
Just as Aeros caught his breath, Darius motioned toward the entrance of the grounds. A figure strode in—
Leonhart Cromwell.
Aeros' older half-brother. Taller, stronger, everything Aeros wasn't. His long blond hair was tied back neatly, his golden eyes carrying an amused glint.
Aeros blinked. "Oh, great. This guy."
Leonhart smirked. "Father's orders. He wants to see if you've improved."
Aeros sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah, about that—do we have to? I mean, can't we just… talk things out like civilized people? Over tea? Cookies?"
Darius crossed his arms. "No."
Leonhart chuckled, stepping forward. "This won't take long."
The duel began.
Leonhart moved like lightning. His first strike sent Aeros reeling. He barely had time to raise his sword before the second attack came, knocking him off his feet. The difference in skill was overwhelming.
[Adaptive Combat: Level 1 Acquired]
[Reflex +1]
Aeros rolled away just in time to dodge another strike. His breathing was ragged, his vision blurry—but then, he saw an opening.
He lunged.
Leonhart's eyes widened slightly as Aeros' sword nearly clipped his shoulder—but then, with an effortless pivot, he brought his own weapon crashing down.
Thud.
Aeros was on the ground again, breathless.
Leonhart sighed, resting the tip of his sword against Aeros' chest. "You've improved," he admitted. "But you're still weak."
The words stung more than the blows, but deep inside, Aeros knew—
This wasn't the end.
That night, as Aeros lay in bed, he stared at the ceiling again.
"Alright, System. What's the deal with me being here? Any hints? Maybe a hidden quest or something?"
[...]
[Try not to die.]
Aeros groaned. "Wow. Super helpful."
His body burned. It wasn't just soreness—it was something deeper. A heat that seemed to pulse from within, igniting something dormant inside him.
His vision blurred, and then—
A symbol appeared on his chest, glowing faintly.
His heart pounded. He recognized this from the old texts in his family's library.
The Mark of the Cromwell Bloodline.
And then, a voice—
[Bloodline Awakening: Initiated.]
Aeros gasped as his body seized up. Energy coursed through his veins, burning, changing, awakening something long buried.
And then, everything went black.
When Aeros woke, his body felt different. Stronger. Lighter.
[Strength +2]
[Dexterity +2]
He stared at his hands. They didn't tremble anymore. The weakness that had defined him for so long felt… distant.
A knock at the door.
"Aeros," a voice called. A soft yet commanding tone.
It wasn't a servant. It was his father.
Aeros sat up, blinking. "...Oh crap."
Today would be different. Today, he would take the next step toward becoming the true heir of the Cromwell family.