2025-02-07 20:16:28The First Glimpse of Power
Riel drifted between consciousness and oblivion, his body a distant, throbbing mass of pain. The cold stone floor pressed against his cheek, the damp air clawing into his lungs with each labored breath. His limbs refused to move, his muscles unresponsive as though his body had already given up.
Then, the voice returned.
[System Initialization Complete.] [Analyzing Host Status…] [Warning: Severe Physical Degradation Detected.]
A dull chime echoed in his skull, each notification forcing its way into his mind. Then, a glowing interface unfurled before him, words etched in crisp golden script:
—
[Host: Riel Varelis] Age: 17 Strength: 2 (Crippled) Agility: 1 (Near-Paralysis) Endurance: 1 (Severe Atrophy) Vitality: 2 (Weak Constitution) Mana: 0 (Dormant) Skills: None
Passive Ability Unlocked: "Fate Adaptation" The host has been granted an adaptive trait that enhances growth speed beyond normal human limits. Improvement is exponentially tied to effort and determination.
—
His fingers twitched. His body might have been ruined, his stats humiliating, but this — this was something.
His first taste of power.
He forced his head up, his breath rattling in his throat as he processed the rest of the System’s message.
[Mission: Stand and Walk – In Progress] Objective: Take five steps unaided. Failure Penalty: Further Physical Deterioration.
His jaw tightened. So that wasn’t just a warning before—it was real.
If he failed, his body would worsen.
He had been a warlord, a tyrant feared across battlefields. He had withstood blades cleaving into his flesh, arrows piercing his armor. Pain was nothing new to him.
But this?
This frail, useless form? The idea of growing weaker was more terrifying than death itself.
He dug his fingers into the cold stone, feeling the grit beneath his nails. His arms trembled, but he pushed —inch by inch, his body obeying sheer will rather than strength.
His legs were dead weight. Each attempt to lift them sent sharp jolts of agony through his spine, as if his very bones resented movement.
But he had suffered worse.
He dragged himself forward, his breath coming in sharp gasps. If walking was impossible, then crawling would have to do.
The System didn’t specify how he needed to move — only that he had to take five steps.
The silence in the room thickened as he struggled, sweat beading on his forehead. He clawed against the ground, his arms screaming in protest, his fingers numb. The process was painstakingly slow, but he forced his knees beneath him.
Then, with every ounce of strength he could muster, he pushed himself upright.
His body wavered. Every fiber of his being rebelled, but he clenched his jaw and shifted his weight forward—
One step.
His vision swam, but he pressed on.
Two steps.
His knee buckled, sending him lurching forward, but he caught himself against the wall. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.
Three.
Pain rippled through his spine, his legs shaking violently. The effort left him lightheaded, but he refused to stop.
Four.
The last step felt impossible. His body screamed for relief, his muscles locking up.
But he had not come this far just to fail now.
He forced his foot forward, collapsing to one knee just as the System chimed again —
[Mission Completed: Stand and Walk] [Reward: +1 Strength, Minor Pain Resistance]
A rush of warmth flooded his limbs. It was faint—like a dying ember flickering to life—but it was real.
His strength had increased. The pain, while still brutal, was no longer all-consuming.
Kael let out a ragged breath. He had done it.
And now, he understood.
The System would reward him for effort—but it would punish failure.
He would not fail again.
__
He remained on the ground, panting. The rush of success battled against the ache in his bones, his muscles trembling from the effort. He had never known such weakness — not in his past life, not even in the moments before his execution.
Yet, as he knelt there, something stirred within him. Not just pain. Not just exhaustion. It was satisfaction. For the first time since awakening in this pitiful body, he had moved forward—no matter how small, no matter how agonizing.
And the System had acknowledged it.
[Strength +1] [Minor Pain Resistance Acquired]
The subtle shift in his body was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His limbs still ached, but the pain had dulled ever so slightly, no longer sharp enough to leave him gasping. His fingers, which had curled into fists in frustration, now flexed with just a bit more ease.
It wasn’t much.
But it was real.
Riel forced himself upright once more, this time without the immediate sensation of his legs giving out beneath him. They were still weak, still frail, but his past life had drilled one thing into him — momentum was everything.
If he stopped now, the exhaustion would consume him. The doubt would creep back in.
And he had no intention of giving either a foothold.
He clenched his jaw, sucked in a breath, and took another step.
This time, he did not collapse.
[First Step Beyond the Mission Registered.] [Adaptive Growth Triggered: Muscular Coordination Slightly Improved.]
His heart slammed against his ribs. Adaptive Growth?
The System had mentioned it earlier — his so-called Fate Adaptation. But what did this mean in practical terms?
The words lingered before his eyes, pulsing faintly before vanishing, but he could feel something settling into his body, something almost unnatural in how quickly his balance adjusted.
This… this is real improvement.
His lips twitched, just a fraction. A warlord knew the value of any edge in battle. His past self had carved out empires with sheer force of will. If he had been given an ability that rewarded relentless effort, then there was no question—he would use it to the fullest.
But first…
He took a slow glance around the room.
It was sparse, almost insultingly so for someone of noble lineage. A stiff cot sat against one wall, the sheets worn thin from years of disuse. A single candle flickered on a wooden nightstand, its wax melting into long-forgotten rivulets. The stone walls bore no decoration, no banners, and no indication of status.
Riel Varelis. The crippled, disgraced heir.
His father, Duke Varelis, had once been a man of considerable influence. A warrior in his own right, with battle honors that once earned the respect of the Empire. But now, their house was in ruins — three months from total collapse, if the System’s words were true.
Three months.
He exhaled slowly. He had no intention of sitting still while the vultures circled.
He needed to understand his position. His resources. His limits.
And the first step was making sure this body would obey him.
He turned his attention back to the System interface, willing the menu to reappear.
It responded instantly.
—
[Host: Riel Varelis] Age: 17 Strength: 3 (Crippled → Weak) Agility: 1.5 (Near-Paralysis → Slight Movement Ability) Endurance: 1.5 (Severe Atrophy → Minor Recovery) Vitality: 2 Mana: 0 (Dormant) Passive Abilities:
Fate Adaptation (Accelerates improvement based on effort exerted.)
Skills: None.
—
His stats were still abysmal. Even with the slight increase, he was barely above helpless.
But he was no longer stagnant.
And stagnation was the real death.
Kael rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension ripple through his upper body. He had to push further.
He eyed the length of the room, estimating the number of steps it would take to reach the door.
Twelve.
He gritted his teeth and moved.
The first step was still a struggle. His legs wobbled beneath him, his balance shifting with every motion. His muscles fought him, stiff and uncooperative.
But he pressed on.
One step.
Then another.
By the fourth, his breath had grown uneven. By the eighth, his legs burned, his body reminding him of just how fragile it still was.
By the time he reached the door, sweat dripped from his brow. He placed a trembling hand against the wooden frame, steadying himself.
[Adaptive Growth Triggered: Walking Efficiency Increased.]
His grip tightened.
It’s working.
For the first time since opening his eyes in this new life, he felt control returning to him.
The System was not some cruel trick of fate—it was a tool.
And like any tool, it could be wielded.
He forced himself back toward the center of the room, ignoring the way his muscles howled in protest. Pain was an old acquaintance. It was nothing compared to the shame of his past betrayal.
Nothing compared to the fate that had awaited him before his rebirth.
He wouldn’t allow himself to be weak.
Not again.
He lowered himself onto the cot, taking slow, measured breaths. His body would recover. His strength would return.
And when it did—
He would tear apart the fate that had been written for him.
The System flickered once more, bringing forth one final notification for the night.
[Next Mission Unlocked: Strength Assessment] [Objective: Strike an Object with Full Force – Measure Strength] [Failure Penalty: Physical Deterioration.]
Riel exhaled through his nose. His training had only just begun. But it didn’t matter. He had taken his first step. And there would be no stopping him now.
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A whisper of steel. A breath of death.I twisted—instinct, raw and desperate. Air split where my throat had been. A dagger, too close, too fast. My pulse detonated in my chest. Another strike—I wrenched away. Fire slashed across my shoulder, hot and deep.Shadows peeled from the night. Three. Masked. Lethal.The first lunged low, blade thirsty for my gut. The second went high, a curved sword flashing toward my skull. The third? He stood back, watching, measuring. A wolf scenting weakness.I wasn’t ready.Hesitation cost me. A boot slammed into my ribs. The world buckled sideways. A hot splash of blood filled my mouth. Before I could gasp, another blade whistled down. I hit the dirt, rolled—metal carved air where my heart had been.Move. Move.The system roared to life. Numbers. Angles. Weaknesses. The flood of data seared my vision. My mind clawed through it—too slow.The first assassin lunged. I blocked, but it wasn’t clean. Steel kissed my forearm. A line of agony ripped through me.
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The courtyard reeked of sweat and dust, the earth so compacted it seemed to protest every bootbeat that had ever traversed its surface. Riel stood at the center, bare-chested, his lean body a testament to countless battles, hardened as though by countless fires. The training blade in his hand was scarred from strikes that had pushed him to his limits. Opposite him, Ser Andric—the knight whose broad shoulders and unwavering stance belied a calm ferocity—mirrored his readiness with his own honed sword.Riel inhaled deeply, feeling the sting in his ribs from the previous bout and the dull, burning ache of fatigue in his muscles. A quiet battle raged within him: the desire to push harder against his limits versus the nagging fear of overreaching. With a conflicted resolve, he stepped forward, raised his blade, and struck. Andric intercepted his attack, twisting it, turning Riel’s own momentum against him. Riel staggered, his heart pounding with both the sting of failure and the thrill of
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