A soft voice cut through the haze of unconsciousness.
"Young master… it's time to wake up."
The boy stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pale, fragile face. Blinking rapidly, he whispered to himself,"Where… am I? Is this… a dream?"
The voice came again, patient yet firm. "No, young master. It's far too real."
He pinched his arm hard. Pain shot through his body. "Yeah… I'm not dreaming. This… is like one of those books I read…"
He tried to push himself up but his body refused. Every muscle screamed, every joint burned, and a sharp pang throbbed through his chest. He groaned in frustration.
A strong hand caught him, steadying him.
"Take it easy, young master. Did you forget your condition?"
"Condition?" he murmured, confused.
"Yes," the steward said. His tone was calm but edged with worry. "You have a rare heart disorder called Fragilis Cordis. Your heart is unusually fragile, your body far too weak to handle sudden exertion. Even a small strain could be fatal."
Soren froze, staring at the ceiling. "Even… in this life, I can't escape disease…"
"You understand?" the steward asked, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders.
"I… I understand," Soren muttered, though inside, he was seething with frustration. Even reincarnated, his body was not entirely free.
"Good," the steward said, relief in his tone. "Now, get ready, young master. Breakfast is almost ready. You must eat to regain your strength, however little it may be."
Soren swallowed. His chest tightened with the reminder of his fragile heart, but he nodded. Even with a body weak enough to betray him, he refused to let this life slip away like the last.
Soren's thoughts refused to settle.
There had to be more. This body didn't feel sick in just one way it felt wrong, like something had already broken long before he woke up in it.
What happened to the original owner of this body?Did he die… and I replaced him? Or did something else happen?
As that thought crossed his mind, the air in front of him shifted.
A faint, translucent panel appeared hovering, unreal. Lines and symbols layered over one another, forming something that looked like a blueprint, yet not quite. It wasn't paper, metal, or magic he recognized. It felt… structured. Intentional.
"What… is this?" Soren whispered.
The panel responded by unfolding, layers sliding apart like interlocking schematics. Information flowed not words at first, but concepts. He understood without being told.
This wasn't a voice.This wasn't a spirit.
It was a Blueprint.
A framework that analyzed his body, identified weaknesses, and provided optimized corrective actions. Not magic. Not medicine. A system for rebuilding.
Is this… like the systems from those books? he thought, stunned.
A single directive appeared clearly:
First Objective:Complete 20 Controlled Breathing Cycles Inhale. Exhale.
Soren stared at it. "Breathing… that's it?"
He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. Whatever this is… let's try it.
He pushed himself upright.
Pain exploded through his chest.
"Ouch—!" He clenched his teeth, sweat forming instantly. His lungs burned as if they refused to cooperate.
He inhaled.
Agony.
He exhaled.
Worse.
"I can't even breathe properly," he muttered between gasps. "What is wrong with this body?"
Still, he didn't stop.
One breath.Two.Three.
Each cycle hurt but subtly, something changed. The pain dulled just a fraction. His breathing steadied. His chest didn't feel as tight.
Ten breaths.Fifteen.
His shirt clung to his back with sweat, his legs shaking, but the suffocating pressure was easing.
Twenty.
The blueprint pulsed softly.
Objective Complete.Result: Minor Cardiopulmonary Reinforcement-status: Body Stabilisation in Progress
The panel folded in on itself and vanished.
Soren stood there, stunned. He placed a hand over his chest.
"My heart…" he murmured. "It's beating faster but it doesn't hurt as much."
He took a cautious step.
Then another.
"I… I can stand."
Before he could process that, the door opened.
"Young master?" a voice called out urgently.
Soren turned as the steward rushed in and froze.
"Y‑Young master?" the man gasped. "You're standing…? It's been a long time since I've seen you on your feet."
Soren blinked. "Is that… unusual?"
"It's a miracle," the steward breathed.
"It's not a miracle," Soren replied instinctively, waving it off.
The steward steadied himself, then bowed. "My name is Cedric. I am the steward of the Drake House. My duty is to assist you in all matters. If you need anything, please ask."
Cedric hesitated, studying Soren's face carefully. "Young master… are you experiencing memory loss? That would be… a serious condition."
Soren paused, then shook his head. "No. No, I'm fine. Just… a little dizzy from standing."
Cedric relaxed slightly. "I see. Please don't push yourself."
Soren nodded but inside, his thoughts were racing.
A blueprint that makes my body stronger…A fragile heart that can be repaired…
For the first time since waking up, a dangerous thought surfaced:
Maybe… this life won't end the same way.
Cedric gestured, leading Soren through the wide corridors of the Drake estate. "It's been a long time since you've walked these halls, young master. There are many things I wish to show you."
Soren's eyes scanned the surroundings, ignoring Cedric's words. He noticed the polished wood, the intricate tapestries, and the sunlight spilling through tall windows.
The whispers started almost immediately.
"Is that… young master Soren?" a maid murmured.
"By the gods… he's really alive?" another voice whispered.
Soren didn't turn to look. He kept walking, his mind focused on the strange new sensations in his body the lingering ache, the rhythm of his heart, the faint pulse of the Blueprint.
Cedric cleared his throat. "Over here, young master. This way."
As they approached a heavy wooden door, a tall, armored figure stepped forward, blocking their path. "This area is restricted," the knight said, voice cold and commanding.
Cedric's hand tightened slightly on Soren's arm. "I don't think you understand who this is. This is the young master."
The knight's eyes narrowed, a cruel smirk forming. "Oh, I know exactly who he is… but this area is restricted."
Cedric's jaw tightened. "You dare speak to the master that way?"
The knight's smirk deepened, his gaze turning icy. "You're nothing but a lowly steward… and you speak to me like that?"
Soren's chest tightened for a moment, a flicker of irritation passing through him. Without a word, he grabbed Cedric's arm.
"Let's go," he said simply. "We can ignore him."
They walked past the knight, who remained still, watching them with a mixture of surprise and rage. Behind them, the whispers and murmurs of the servants continued, but Soren paid them no mind.
Let them stare, he thought. It changes nothing.
Soren stepped outside the estate gates and inhaled deeply. The morning air was crisp, carrying the smells of the town smoke from chimneys, baked bread, and the faint stench of unwashed streets.
The estate wasn't far from the heart of the town; the walls were low, more like a boundary than a fortress, and streets wove tightly around it. Houses leaned against each other, many broken or patched with wood. Some windows were boarded, and the residents shuffled about, gaunt, tired, sickly.
Children ran through the narrow streets, laughing amidst the rubble. Broken walls, collapsed roofs, and leaning fences framed their games. Knights patrolled lazily, some sitting or lying against walls, asleep on the job.
Cedric came running after him, voice sharp with worry. "Young master! You can't be out here! It's dangerous! Anyone could "
Soren raised a hand. "Let's go back."
Cedric hesitated, gasping for breath. "Young master… the Baron heard the news that you're awake. He's calling for you."
Soren's gaze swept over the streets. This is the state of my estate… my home… The people were weak, the defenses slacking, the order lost. Everything here needs to be rebuilt. Everything… strengthened.
Cedric fell into step beside him, keeping his voice low. "I'll make sure you are protected, but please… don't underestimate how dangerous the town can be, even now."
Soren's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond, only observing the life in the streets broken, struggling, yet moving forward.
This is mine to fix.
The office was quiet, warm with the scent of polished wood and old parchment. Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with records of the estate's past. Behind the desk stood the Baron Soren's father.
He turned the moment Soren entered.
There was no cold scrutiny this time. Only relief, carefully restrained.
"Soren," the Baron said, voice firm yet gentle. "You're standing."
"Yes, father."
The Baron gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. Slowly."
Soren obeyed. His body still felt fragile, but he forced himself to remain composed.
The Baron studied him closely. "How do you feel?"
Soren hesitated. "Weak. But… clearer than before."
"Any pain?"
"A constant pressure in my chest. It eases when I rest."
The Baron nodded, as if confirming something the physicians had already told him. "Your heart has always been fragile. You were not expected to wake so soon." His tone softened. "I'm glad you did."
Soren lowered his gaze for a moment, then spoke carefully."Father… when I woke, I noticed things. The estate no, the town around it. The walls are worn. The people look tired. Even the guards"
The Baron smiled and raised a hand, gently cutting him off.
"That is none of your concern, Soren."
Soren looked up.
"You have been bedridden for years," the Baron continued calmly. "Your body is weak, and your heart even more so. What lies beyond these walls can wait."
He stepped closer, resting a hand on the desk. "Right now, your only responsibility is your health. Nothing else."
Soren clenched his fingers in his lap but nodded. "Yes, father."
The Baron's smile deepened slightly proud, protective. "Recover first. When you are strong enough, then we will speak of other matters."
There was a pause.
"You are my son," the Baron said quietly. "And I would not lose you again."
Soren felt something twist in his chest not pain, but weight.
"I understand," he replied.
The Baron straightened. "You may go. Rest."
Soren stood and bowed his head before leaving the office.
As the door closed behind him, his expression hardened just a fraction.
Soren stepped out of the office, the door closing softly behind him.
A faint smile crossed his face.
For a brief moment, his vision blurred—and a memory surfaced.
Not this world.
His old life.
A cramped apartment. Shattered glass. A man towering over him, fists clenched, face twisted with rage. His old father's voice echoed in his head—harsh, cruel, endless. Every mistake met with blows. Every silence met with anger.
Pain. Fear. Helplessness.
Soren's smile faded.
At least here… he thought, I won't feel any regret helping this land.
As he continued down the corridor, the sound of soft footsteps approached.
A woman stood ahead well-dressed, elegant, her posture refined. Her jewelry gleamed faintly in the light. She looked at him with narrowed eyes before letting a smile spread across her lips.
"It seems you've finally woken up," she said smoothly.
"Yes," Soren replied, returning a polite smile.
Who is she? he wondered.
Her smile sharpened.
"You should have stayed dead."
The words struck like a blade.
In an instant, memories that were not his but now were flooded his mind.
Her voice, cold and mocking.Her orders whispered to servants.Maidens turning away with lowered heads.Food trays left empty outside his room.
And then
One memory burned brighter than the rest.
A trembling maid, kneeling beside his bed, tears streaming down her face.
"It was the mistress," she whispered. "She poisoned your meals. Slowly. That's why your heart became weak."
Soren's breath stopped.
His vision darkened.
He raised his eyes to the woman before him.
Killing intent poured out of him, raw and uncontrollable.
The air seemed to tighten.
The woman stiffened, her confident smile vanishing as fear crept into her eyes.
"You—" she snapped, masking her panic with anger. "How dare you look at me like that?"
She raised her hand to strike him.
Soren caught her wrist mid-air.
Firm. Unyielding.
His grip tightened just enough to make his intent clear.
He leaned closer, his voice calm too calm.
"If you want to live a normal life here," he said quietly, "you'd better stay out of my sight."
Her hand trembled.
Soren released her and stepped past without another glance.
Behind him, the woman stood frozen, her pride shattered—fear replacing arrogance.
Soren continued down the hall, his expression unreadable.
But inside, something had changed.
And it would not be ignored.
Soren returned to his room and closed the door behind him.
He leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
How do I activate that thing again? he thought.
He focused his mind.
"Awaken."
Nothing.
"No… system. No status," he muttered. "It looked more like a… blueprint."
The moment the thought crossed his mind—
Boom.
A translucent blue interface unfolded in the air before him, lines and symbols forming like an architect's draft coming to life.
Soren's eyes widened.
"There you are…"
At the center of the blueprint, a bar pulsed faintly.
[Awaken Progress — Black Dragon Sword Style]5%
"Five percent?" Soren frowned. "Is that… because of the breathing?"
He studied the interface more carefully. It felt different from the systems in the novels he read—less flashy, more… structured. Like it wasn't giving him power, but building it.
Another window slid open.
[Quest Assigned]Breathing Exercise x100
Soren stared at it.
"…One hundred."
He sighed deeply. "This is going to hurt."
He sat down, steadying himself, and began.
The first breath—
Pain stabbed through his chest.
By the tenth, his lungs burned.
By the twentieth, sweat dripped down his face.
At forty, his hands trembled violently.
"This body…" he gasped. "It's really that bad…"
The next twenty still hurt—but something was different. The pain no longer felt chaotic. His breathing became steadier. More controlled.
By seventy, the ache dulled.
By ninety, warmth spread through his chest.
When he reached one hundred, he exhaled slowly.
The blueprint pulsed.
[Breathing Exercise Complete]
Soren suddenly felt lighter.
He stood.
No sharp pain.
His heartbeat was stronger—clearer.
He jumped once.
Then again.
"…It hurts less," he whispered.
Another window appeared.
[Quest: Weak Hatchling's Trial]Description: A dragon does not rise without suffering.Objectives:– Sword Swings x100– Continuous Movement (Run / Walk) — 3 Hours
Failure Penalty: Severe Heart Pain (50 seconds)
Soren stared at it.
"…Weak Hatchling," he muttered. "That's insulting."
He grabbed a wooden practice sword from the corner of the room and stepped outside.
The training yard was quiet at first.
Then
A few knights noticed him.
"Is that… the young master?" one whispered.
Soren raised the sword.
The first swing was clumsy.
The tenth burned his arms.
By thirty, his legs shook.
A knight laughed.
"Look at him can barely hold the sword."
Another smirked. "Thought nobles didn't train."
Soren said nothing.
Swing by swing, his posture adjusted.
At fifty, sweat soaked his clothes.
At seventy, his breathing synced with his movement.
At one hundred—
The sword cut cleanly through the air.
[Sword Swings Complete]
No time to rest.
He started running.
One hour passed.
His vision blurred.
Two hours.
Every step felt like dragging chains.
Knights passed him, laughing, mocking, calling him pathetic.
He kept moving.
Three hours.
His legs screamed.
His chest burned.
But—
He didn't stop.
As the sun dipped low and dusk painted the sky crimson, the blueprint flashed.
[Quest Complete: Weak Hatchling's Trial]Reward:– Physical Reinforcement (Minor)– Black Dragon Sword Style Progress +3%
Soren collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily.
But he was smiling.
"I did it…"
Footsteps approached.
Cedric bowed slightly. "Young master… I'll have your bath prepared."
Soren looked up at the fading sky.
"…Yeah," he said quietly. "That sounds good."
Inside him, something ancient stirred.
The hatchling had survived.
Soren woke with a sharp gasp.
Pain flooded his body.
It felt as if dozens of knives were buried in his muscles, twisting with every breath. His arms refused to move. His legs throbbed. Worst of all—his heart ached, each beat heavy and strained, like it might shatter if pushed any harder.
"So this is… delayed pain," he muttered hoarsely.
Before he could even sit up, the familiar translucent lines unfolded above him.
[Daily Conditioning Detected]
[Quest 1: Breathing Exercise x100][Quest 2: Sword Swings x100][Quest 3: Push-ups x100][Quest 4: Continuous Run — 3 Hours]
Soren stared at it.
"…You're trying to kill me."
No response.
He clenched his teeth and forced himself upright. The moment his feet touched the floor, agony shot through his legs. He staggered, barely catching himself on the bed.
"Doesn't matter," he whispered. "I already started."
He began with breathing.
The first ten breaths nearly made him vomit. His chest tightened, lungs screaming for air. By thirty, sweat soaked his sheets. By fifty, his vision darkened at the edges.
He finished all one hundred lying flat on the floor, gasping like a dying animal.
But when he stood again—
The pain, while still there, was steadier.
"…Again," he said.
The training yard was already alive when he arrived. Knights paused mid-conversation when they saw him raise the wooden sword.
"Look who's back," one sneered."The sick noble thinks he's a warrior now?""Don't die today, young master."
Laughter followed every swing.
Soren ignored them.
One swing. Two. Ten.
By thirty, his arms trembled violently. At fifty, his grip slipped, the sword nearly falling from his hands. At eighty, he was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood.
One hundred.
He dropped the sword.
Push-ups came next.
He barely managed ten before collapsing face-first into the dirt.
"Pathetic," someone muttered.
He pushed again.
Twenty.
Thirty.
At forty, bile rose in his throat. He turned his head just in time to vomit onto the ground.
The knights laughed louder.
Soren wiped his mouth with his sleeve and continued.
When he finally reached one hundred, his arms gave out completely.
Then came the run.
Step by step, he moved through the town roads surrounding the estate. His breathing was ragged. His heart burned. People stared. Knights passed him on horseback, shaking their heads.
At some point, he stopped feeling embarrassment.
Only movement mattered.
When dusk arrived again, Soren collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
The blueprint flickered.
[Daily Conditioning Complete]
He lay back on the cold ground, staring at the sky.
"…If this is what it takes," he whispered, "then I'll keep doing it."