waiting for Nero's return, William decided to slip into something more comfortable. His stiff robes were replaced with a loose, breathable tunic and plain trousers—nothing fancy, but perfect for what he had in mind. As he dressed, he stretched his limbs slowly, feeling the dull ache of inactivity dissipate bit by bit.
He had barely finished touching his toes when a familiar sound rang out in his mind:
{Ding}
{Daily quest has been renewed}
*100 push-ups
*100 squats
*100 sit-ups
*100 inclined push-ups
Reward: 1 point to physique
It was exactly the same set as the first day. Repetitive and grueling, yet effective. And the reward—a single point to physique—was small, but significant in the long run.
'If I keep up this pace… maybe I'll actually start to resemble a human again in a month. Another two and I might build a proper frame. That'd be considered solid progress in this hellhole.'
Despite this bit of optimism, a deeper worry gnawed at him. A bitter truth he couldn't ignore.
Still young Alaric—no, William, reminded himself—had something far more pressing on his mind. He lacked a trait or ability.
In this world, that was a death sentence in itself.
He'd read enough of the local textbooks to understand what it meant. No matter how hard you trained or how disciplined you were, those without a trait or ability remained… human. Weak. Fragile. Forever beneath those who had awakened. And according to the Nobles' Law, if one didn't show signs of an ability before the official awakening test, they would never be permitted to become one of the Awakened.
'Fuck that sorcerer,' he cursed bitterly, scowling. 'Why doesn't he have a trait or ability? How am I even supposed to help him when he doesn't have what's needed to begin with?'
Then, a memory flickered—one of the many methods of awakening a trait. Meditation and the search for inner energy. He remembered reading about it. In theory, by connecting with one's soul, you could ignite a latent ability.
So, with a sigh of reluctant desperation, he gave it a try.
He sat cross-legged on the cold floor, posture rigid, and began following the breathing techniques outlined in one of the old tomes. Deep inhales. Controlled exhales. Eyes shut.
Moments passed.
Nothing happened.
'This is dumb,' he muttered to himself. 'The sorcerer already tried this a dozen times. It never worked.'
He opened his eyes, annoyed and disillusioned. But something within him resisted giving up. A memory from his previous life—something different—began to crawl back to the surface. The method he used to reach the pinnacle… it was nothing like the one here.
'If I combine both methods… it still might not work. But—'
He stopped mid-thought, eyes wide.
There was a way.
He wasn't sure if it would work in this world. It was crude. Primitive. Painful. But it had served him before. There was no harm in trying.
Without hesitating, William raised both hands and extended his thumbs. He stared at them for a heartbeat, then bit down. Hard.
He didn't flinch.
His teeth sank into the flesh until blood trickled out in thick drops. Pain pulsed up his arms, but he didn't cry out. He was no stranger to pain—his mind was steel, hardened by a lifetime of war and solitude.
'By opening two holes in my thumbs… I should be able to pull nature energy into my soul,' he recalled.
He pressed his bloodied thumbs against the ground and closed his eyes again, this time using both the traditional method of this world—seeking inner energy—and his old world's technique: pulling external energy into the soul.
He focused.
He breathed.
He waited.
And all he felt was… nothing.
A hollow void where something should've stirred.
No flicker of power. No rising heat. No pulse of the soul.
Nothing.
The emptiness startled him. His brows furrowed. His breath wavered.
'There's… nothing in here?' he asked himself, stunned.
Anxiety crept in. The fear that maybe this body truly was ordinary. That this was his punishment for once grazing the heavens. For reaching too high in a life long gone.
'Can this be the punishment for touching the pinnacle in my old life? No! That's absurd!'
His eyes snapped open, dark lashes trembling with the weight of suppressed rage.
'I refuse to be a normal human being!'
He clenched his fists as a wave of frustration roared through him.
Then—
Bang!
The door slammed open, echoing through the quiet room like a war drum.
William turned his head slowly, a look of deep irritation forming on his face.
Standing there, hulking in the doorway with his thick arms crossed and a deep scowl twisting his features, was a boy not much older than he was. Broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and clearly well-fed—unlike William's undernourished frame.
The name came to him at once. Not from personal memory, but from the cowardly, broken remnants left by the former William.
His cousin.
Koda Behemoth.
A name weighted with fear and domination in this house.
Koda stepped forward, voice raised in fury.
"How dare you hit my father! Have you forgotten your place?"
William shook his head slowly, locking eyes with him.
Koda—skilled fighter. Already possessed an ability. Favored to become the next heir of the Alaric family. He was power incarnate in a world that bent to the strong.
According to family tradition, when two or more sons existed in either the main or branch lines, they were forced to battle for the right to represent the family name. A public fight. A festival of violence.
The outcome was obvious.
Koda was expected to win.
Even with Fang Zhen's soul possessing William's body… the odds were laughable.
But William didn't care about odds.
"Your father was rough-handling me," William said calmly. "So I returned the favor."
Koda growled, lips curling.
"You're lucky I can't lay a finger on you now. But the duel between us next week—I'll tear off the arm you used to shove him. I'll make sure you scream under my gaze—"
Suddenly, William burst into laughter.
It was unexpected. Loud. Echoing. Mad.
Not the nervous laughter of a boy out of his depth. No—this was different. Cold. Calculated. Unsettling.
It sent a visible shudder down Koda's spine.
He had never heard William laugh like that. No one had. This wasn't the same boy he used to bully. This laugh was something else entirely.
Possessed? Maybe.
Insane? Possibly.
But fearful? Not even close.
"So you dare threaten me," William said, his tone turning dark. "Fine. I'll let that slide, young Behemoth. This body might not look like much yet… but take a good look at it. Burn the image into your memory."
He stepped forward, blood still staining his thumbs, face calm as a winter's lake.
"Because you, cousin, will be my first victim."
His voice held no room for doubt.
Koda paused. Just for a moment. Then turned around and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
"We'll see about that soon!" he barked, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his voice now.
William stood still, eyes locked on the now-closed door.
'Behemoth Koda…' he thought coldly.
'I'll make sure to use you as my first stepping stone toward the pinnacle of this world.'
And this time, he would climb it without falling.