Despite the existence of magic in his old world, King Arthur had never thought of it as a replacement for ingenuity.
It had been a world of mages and swords, yes, but it was not primitive.
Its scholars had married magic to technology long ago — televisions glowed in noble manors, streams of duels were broadcast across the continent, even planes cut the sky.
And yet, despite all that brilliance, not one healer nor machine nor alchemical miracle could draw the poison from his veins.
'Technology cannot cure betrayal,'Arthur thought, watching the sun warm his new body.
'Nor can magic save a man whose death has already been purchased.m
But here he was.
Alive again, under the open sky, breathing through the lungs of another.
And all of this because of a game.
Return of the Swordmaster's Bastard Son.
Arthur almost chuckled.
Doria had called it a masterpiece, insisting he try it when he had grown too weak to leave his bed.
That was his first game.
The only game he had ever played.
And though he had sneered at the idea of entertainment, he had found himself drawn into it.
The plot had been cruel, bitter, deliciously tragic.
What made the protagonist truly relatable to him was that he had a System of his own — an inferior thing compared to Arthur's, but still enough to push him into greatness.
A revenge story, a path of blood and steel.
Arthur had enjoyed it far too much.
"The Lysandre family…" he murmured now, closing his eyes against the sun. "One of the big four families."
The memories of the game flooded back.
Their silver hair was their pride, a signature as strong as the blood magic that coursed through their veins.
Their bloodlines awakened at birth, each child marked by power.
But not Damian Lysandre.
No silver hair.
No awakened blood.
Just black hair — handsome, yes, but to the Lysandres that was not proof of legitimacy.
To them it was proof of sin.
His mother was accused of infidelity.
His birth branded as shame.
And Damian had paid the price every day.
Everyone in the family despised him.
His mother resented him.
His kin scorned him.
The only warmth he had ever known came from his fiancée, a heroine beloved by players.
She alone had seen his worth. But when he "died" early on, she had grown cold, severing herself from the rest of the cast.
On the other hand, Darian had cultivated the demonic path and become the Demonic Demi-god, the final boss who eclipsed the sun with darkness, wielding the stolen power of the Demon God.
And he had fallen beneath the blade of the Swordmaster's bastard, the game's protagonist.
That had been the ending Arthur had reached.
But would he repeat it?
Arthur's lips curled into a smirk. "No. I am not worried."
The thought of bowing to a demon sickened him.
"If you must consort with a demon to gain strength, then you are no human at all."
Arthur had always despised them.
Even as King, he had seen the corruption of Outer Demons, the way they reduced men to husks.
He would not sully himself now.
A familiar chime broke his reverie.
[Ding]
[You have received a Starter Pack]
[Starter pack has been opened]
[You have received Four Starting Skills]
[You have received Bloodline Awakening Pill]
Arthur blinked at the glowing panels, then chuckled low in his throat.
"Hehe… just like that time."
He remembered it vividly — the day he had first received his System in his old life.
A "Starter Pack," meager compared to the heights he had later scaled, but still the first gift on his path to power.
Now here it was again.
"What is this… bloodline awakening pill?" he mused, turning the item in his mind.
In the game, bloodlines awakened at birth.
They were hereditary, burning to life when the child first breathed the world's air.
But Damian? His blood had never awakened.
Was this the reason he had been so weak?
Arthur's smirk widened.
"So fate has dealt me a better hand already. Very well. Let us see these skills."
The first panel unfolded before his eyes.
[Unique Skill: Resting (LV. 1)]
[The more you rest, the more your body recovers. Even if you are broken and beaten, if you can lay your head to sleep, your body shall return to wholeness. Sleep ten hours, and rise as though untouched.]
Arthur let out a low whistle. "So… sleep as medicine."
In his past life, he had barely closed his eyes.
A king did not have the luxury of slumber.
He had ruled nations, fought wars, crushed rebellions.
Now? Perhaps he could finally rest without fear.
The thought almost made him laugh.
"I will sleep more often," he muttered. "If nothing else, I have earned that much."
Another panel shimmered open.
[Unique Skill: Killing Intent (LV. 1 → Max)]
[The battlefield writes its own scripture in blood. Every foe cut down, every army laid low — your will has been tempered into a blade sharper than steel. When unleashed, your Killing Intent is no mere pressure, but a force that suffocates, that breaks the spirit, that can slay the weak outright.]
Arthur's grin widened. "Ah… yes. That one suits me."
This was no gift of Damian.
This was Arthur's own inheritance, born of years where one man had stood against legions and prevailed.
He had been King of the World not because of crown or title, but because he had killed until nothing remained to resist him.
He had broken armies apart, made generals bow to him, corpses piled high under his blade.
He had been war incarnate.
And now, even in a new body, that essence remained.
"Killing Intent, is it? I gained it a bit after my fiftieth kill in my past life."
The third panel spread its light.
[Unique Skill: Weapon Genius (LV. 1 -> Max)]
[The hands that seek steel are never strangers to it. From sword to spear, bow to dagger, no weapon is alien. The moment you grip it, it becomes an extension of your will. Experience is your tutor, battle your guide.]
Arthur laughed softly. "Any weapon, eh?"
It was fitting.
In his prime, he had mastered blade, lance, and axe alike.
The battlefield had been his teacher.
To wield any weapon was not talent — it was necessity.
With this skill, he would need no tutor, no noble tradition.
Whatever weapon lay before him, he would make it his.
The final panel blossomed.
[Unique Skill: Magical Genius (LV. 1 -> 5)]
[Magic bends to those who understand its song. Most claw at it with crude will; you, however, are attuned to its rhythm. Incantations flow from you like poetry, formations align themselves at your call, and every mystery of spellcraft yields to your grasp. You are not a student of magic—you are its favored.]
Arthur stilled.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"…Poetic indeed."
Magic had never been his strong suit.
In his last life, he had been a king of blades, not scrolls.
His System had compensated, giving him raw power where others had studied for decades.
He closed his eyes, letting the skills sink into him.
Rest to heal.
Killing Intent to terrify.
Weapons to master.
Magic to command.
A stronger foundation than Damian had ever known.
Arthur chuckled again, low and dangerous. "Let me take the bloodline pill now."
And in his hand materialized a small crimson pill, he swallowed it in an instant and pain overcame him.