Aeros sat in silence, his hands trembling as he stared at the translucent screen hovering before him. The words on it were clear, undeniable.
[Welcome, Aeros Cromwell. Third son of Archduke Julius Cromwell.]
It had been a full day since he had awakened in this unfamiliar world, in this unfamiliar body, but the shock hadn't faded. He had memories that weren't his, emotions that felt foreign yet deeply ingrained. He was Alfred, a man from another world, yet he was also Aeros, the forsaken heir of one of the greatest noble houses in Aetherion.
Even though the memories provided him with some understanding of this world, they were fragmented, like pieces of a shattered mirror. There were gaps in his knowledge—faces he couldn't recall, conversations that felt distant, and a life that, up until now, had been defined by weakness.
Aeros exhaled, running a hand through his unkempt silver hair. He caught a glimpse of himself in the large, ornate mirror near his bed. His reflection was unfamiliar yet eerily familiar. A young boy, barely fifteen, with piercing gray-blue eyes and a noble yet frail frame. The thin body lacked any signs of rigorous training or combat experience, and the faint traces of malnutrition hinted at years of neglect.
Neglect.
His mother was dead. His father was distant. His siblings, the very ones who should have supported him, had barely acknowledged his existence.
A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.
"Lord Aeros, your father requests your presence."
The voice was cold, emotionless. The maid stood at the threshold, head bowed, waiting for him to respond.
Aeros hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "I'll be there shortly."
The grand halls of the Cromwell estate were lined with towering marble pillars, intricate chandeliers casting golden light across the polished floors. The silence was heavy, save for the soft echoes of his footsteps as he approached the audience chamber. Along the way, he passed several knights, their expressions indifferent as they barely acknowledged his presence.
To them, he was nothing more than a shadow—a forgotten son of the Archduke.
As he neared the great hall, whispers reached his ears. Two young noblemen, likely distant relatives, stood near the corridor, their hushed voices carrying a sharp edge.
"I heard Lord Julius summoned the weakling today. Do you think he's finally disowning him?"
"Tch. About time. The Cromwell name doesn't need such disgrace."
Aeros clenched his fists but kept walking. He had no strength to refute them—not yet. But someday, they would see. They all would.
Two knights in silver armor stood by the massive oak doors. At his arrival, they pushed them open, revealing a long room where a lone figure sat upon an elevated throne.
Archduke Julius Cromwell was a man of undeniable presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding authority with every breath, his sharp golden eyes locked onto Aeros with an unreadable expression.
"You finally came." His voice was deep, commanding. "Sit."
Aeros obeyed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his neck.
"You have been weak since birth. You lack both the physical and magical strength expected of a Cromwell." His father's gaze sharpened. "Do you intend to live your life in mediocrity?"
Aeros clenched his fists. This wasn't a conversation—it was a judgment. But before he could respond, the system flickered before his eyes once more.
[Quest Initiated: Prove Your Worth]
Objective: Begin training in martial arts and awaken your bloodline.]
His heart pounded. This was it—his first step. He could fall under the weight of his family name… or he could rise and carve his own path.
Aeros met his father's gaze. "No. I will not remain weak."
Julius Cromwell's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Then prove it."
*Aeros's First Trial*
The next morning, Aeros stood in the training grounds, his body stiff, heart racing. The courtyard was vast, lined with racks of weapons, training dummies, and sparring areas filled with knights engaged in rigorous drills.
Standing before him was Instructor Darius, a grizzled man with a scar running down his left cheek. His sharp eyes scrutinized Aeros, clearly unimpressed.
"So, you're the Archduke's third son," Darius mused, arms crossed. "I've trained beasts with more backbone."
Aeros said nothing, focusing on steadying his breath.
Darius tossed him a wooden training sword. The weight was foreign in his hands, unsteady.
"Your first lesson—endurance."
Aeros barely had time to react before a strike slammed against his shoulder, sending him stumbling.
Pain flared through his body. He barely had time to recover before another blow landed.
"Defend yourself!" Darius barked.
Aeros gritted his teeth, raising his wooden sword. The next strike came, and he barely deflected it. His arms screamed in protest, his body protesting every movement.
He was weak. Pathetically weak.
But as the hours passed, as the bruises multiplied, he refused to fall.
[Aetherial Codex Activating...]
A notification blinked before him.
[Pain Resistance: Acquired.]
[Endurance +1]
Aeros' eyes widened. The system was rewarding his suffering.
Darius raised an eyebrow. "Still standing?"
Aeros wiped the sweat from his brow, gripping his sword tighter. His body ached, but something inside him burned brighter than ever.
He would not break.
He could not break.
The road to power had begun.