Elias Thorne, a talented, but frail, medical student who was diagnosed with an aggressive, terminal illness, accepted his fate and died peacefully in his sleep.
He awakens in the body of Alistair Valerius, a ten-year-old child with striking white hair and crimson red eyes.
Alistair is the despised, illegitimate son of the prestigious Swordsmanship family, Duke Cassian Valerius.
The first thing Alistair noticed was the silence—not the peace Elias Thorne had accepted in death, but the deep, echoing silence of utter neglect.
He lay on a cot, tucked into a forgotten attic room of the Valerius estate. The air smelled of dust and dry wood.
Alistair Valerius. The name was now a blend of two souls: the mature, analytical mind of Elias, the medical genius, fused with the raw, desperate memory of the ten-year-old boy who had suffered here.
The original Alistair's life was misery, dominated by three certainties: the hatred of the main family, the scorn of the household, and the overwhelming emptiness left by his mother's recent death. His mother, the only warmth in his life, was gone—leaving him defenseless against the Swordsman Duke and his legitimate children.
I am the shame of the Swordsman Duke, and now, I am an orphan twice over.
He slowly lifted a hand. White hair, like sterile winter snow, fell across his eyes of startling, unnatural crimson. The Blood Mark of the Outcast was a literal brand of shame.
Trait: Dual Consciousness is active. Unwavering Mind is stabilizing conflicting emotions.
"Survival first," he whispered, the voice coming out as the thin, reedy treble of a ten-year-old. "Vengeance, if necessary, comes later."
A faint, translucent panel shimmered into existence before his eyes, displaying his ludicrous stats: {INT 20} and {MNA 23} staring down contemptuously at {STR 4} and {AGI 5}.
"The body is garbage for a swordsman," he muttered, the old medical student analyzing his new form. "But the mind is a fortress and the Mana is an ocean."
Passive Skill: Systemic Adaptability is analyzing host deficiencies.
A second panel snapped up, an unmissable call to action:
[Quest] A Path to Dignity
Goal: Correct the deficiency that shames the Valerius name.
Objective 1: Achieve a perfect, successful execution of the Valerius First Form (Beginner Rank).
Objective 2: Raise STR to 5.
Reward: +1 Level, Unique Item: Beginner Mana Potion Formula.
Failure Penalty: Current level progression is temporarily frozen.
Alistair scoffed, recalling the complexity of the Valerius First Form. "A perfect execution with {AGI 5}? Only if time stands still."
He stood in the center of the dusty room, closed his eyes, and focused the massive Mana pool within. He didn't have a sword, so he visualized one.
"Five uses today. One minute maximum," he calculated, factoring in the risk of the Temporal Recoil Dependency. "I must hit the required proficiency check and stop before the {INT} penalty cripples me."
He pushed the colossal pressure of his MNA 23 into his unique skill.
Unique Skill: Micro-Slow (Lvl 1) activated.
Cost: High MNA drain.
The world shattered.
The dust motes froze in mid-air. The sound of a distant, creaking floorboard stretched into a vast, deep groan. His own body felt light, every nerve ending hyper-aware. He could perceive the minute strain on his muscles, the shifting of his ligaments. Time around him was truly 1/4th speed.
This is magnificent.
He moved, slowly and deliberately, tracing the perfect, complex arcs of the Valerius First Form. He didn't move fast, but he had all the time in the world to correct his {AGI 5} body into the flawless posture his {INT 20} mind demanded.
"Stance... lock the hip... breathe," he narrated, injecting the anatomical knowledge of Elias Thorne into the martial movements.
The form finished, perfect and graceful.
System Notification: Objective 1 Complete! Valerius First Form (Beginner Rank) Execution: PERFECT!
He felt the sharp drop in his Mana pool and checked the clock.
"Temporal Recoil Warning: 15 seconds remaining until safe duration ends."
He immediately cut the Mana supply.
Micro-Slow Deactivated.
Duration: 45 seconds. Recoil Threshold NOT exceeded.
Micro-Slow Remaining Uses Today: 4.
The world snapped back to normal.
Alistair stood, breathless, his heart hammering against his {VIT 7} chest, but his MNA and STA were manageable. His Unwavering Mind had done its job. The genius had triumphed over the body.
He looked at the reward The next steps required him to raise his strength, and the reward was a Beginner Mana Potion Formula.
"I need ingredients," he decided, the medical student taking charge. "Herbs, reagents, anything to brew that formula and begin the grind. But first, I need access to the outside."
He ran his fingers over the white hair. He had to assume his Blood Mark of the Outcast would trigger instant hostility from any Valerius retainer. He couldn't rely on brute force, only strategy and his supreme charisma.
He slowly walked to the door, erasing the tension from his shoulders. The memory of the original Alistair's fear was replaced by cold calculation. The Acting Master trait surfaced, erasing the genius strategist and replacing him with a mask of wide-eyed, fragile vulnerability.
He was the neglected, legitimate shame. And he was about to use it.
He pushed the door open, stepped into the dusty hall, and walked straight toward the kitchen. He knew the kitchen maid, Eliza, was weak-willed and overly sympathetic. She was the path out.
A few minutes later, he found her polishing silverware in a brightly lit corridor. She was a large woman, easily twice his weight, with kind, tired eyes. She looked up and instantly her face shifted to a practiced sneer of disdain, remembering his parentage.
Alistair stopped dead, tilting his head just slightly, making his crimson eyes seem larger and more tragic under the fall of white hair. He forced a tremor into his voice, but his CHM 24 instantly took over the delivery.
"Excuse me, M-Maid Eliza," Alistair said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I shouldn't bother you, but..."
Eliza's sneer wavered. She saw the Blood Mark of the Outcast, but she also felt the overwhelming, genuine pathos radiating from the child.
Eye of Judgment Activated. Target: Eliza, Kitchen Maid.
Status Peek: {CHM 12}, {LVL 3} (Commoner). Easily swayed.
Lie Deduction: Statement: "I hate this family." 10% Probability of Lie. (She truly resents the Duke's wife).
"What is it, you wretched child?" she asked, her voice harsh, but her posture softening. "Get back to your room before the Master sees you."
Alistair let a single, perfect tear roll down his cheek. He was the Acting Master, and this was his stage.
"My mother..." he paused, letting the grief feel raw and fresh. "She used to tell me that if I went to outside and brought back the pretty, purple Nightshade Blossoms, it would stop her heart from hurting so much.
I know it's silly now, but... could you, please, just tell me how to get to the garden? I—I just want to bring one back, f-for her memory."
He knew Nightshade was a deadly poison, and he needed it to test an alchemical reagent from the potion formula. But Eliza only saw the perfect, grief-stricken child.
Eliza dropped her polishing cloth. Her eyes misted over. "Oh, you poor dear. Your mother loved you so much, even if the Duke..." She checked herself, then grabbed his small shoulder. "No, no. You can't go to the main gardens, you'll be seen! But there's a small, neglected plot behind the south stables. It's full of weeds and..."
She hesitated. Alistair gave her a tiny, grateful, and utterly disarming smile.
"Thank you, Maid Eliza. Thank you so much."
His {CHM 24} had secured his escape route. Now, he just had to brave the weeds and find his poison.