A screen, glowing like a gaming notification, suddenly appeared before him. Kalin stared at it, frozen in shock.
"What is this now?" he asked, his eyes scanning the text.
[You have acquired the World Dominion System!]
A system. Kalin knew exactly what that meant. Back when he read manhuas and novels, systems had been one of his favorite genres. Each system came with unique functions, depending on the host who obtained it.
A small smile tugged at his lips. He understood the value of this immediately. A system could provide vital information and grant him a significant edge in this world.
Another screen popped up.
Name: Kalin Veyrath
Age: 18
Title: Viscount's Bastard Son
Strength: 11
Agility: 9
Magic: 8
Spiritual Energy: 1
Endurance: 9
Skill(s):
Sword Mastery (Low-level)
Manifestation (Locked)
Kalin exhaled sharply, taking in the status. It perfectly reflected how useless the previous owner of this body had been. With such pitiful attributes, even basic self-defense would have been a struggle.
"It is what it is. I'll just improve it later," he muttered. His gaze lingered on the locked skill. "Manifestation... locked. No information on its function. Interesting..."
He paused, curiosity flickering across his face. This system could change everything—if he played it right.
[Mandatory Quest Activated]
Quest Name: Body Tempering Trial
Description:
Your body is too weak to bear authority, power, or leadership.
Before commanding others, you must first command your own flesh.
Objective:
Complete 1,000 body-strengthening actions (push-ups, squats, sit-ups, planks, running, or equivalent training)
Maintain training for 7 consecutive days
No external assistance (potions, buffs, equipment)
Conditions:
Skipping a day resets progress
Fainting is allowed; quitting is not
Rewards:
Physique +3
Endurance +5
Pain Resistance (Minor)
Unlock Passive Skill: Basic Body Reinforcement
Failure Penalty:
Temporary debuff: Weakened Constitution (–30% stamina for 3 days)
Fortunately, a solution to his dilemma already existed. All that remained was to act.
"I should rest tonight. My body isn't fully recovered, and pushing myself could lead to serious injury," Kalin decided.
He would skip training for the day. Herin wouldn't have allowed it anyway, especially after the healer's strict instructions.
Morning came.
Kalin woke early, ready to begin his training. With his current status, mastering anything in just a few hours was impossible—it could take a full day or more. He stepped into the hallway and found Herin standing there.
"Good morning, young master," she said, bowing slightly. She wasn't foolish enough to miss the fact that he was heading somewhere. "Do you need anything? Or is there something I can assist you with?"
Kalin returned her greeting with a slight nod. "I don't need anything. Just focus on your assigned tasks." He turned and walked away.
"Understood. But may I ask where you are going?" Herin's voice was careful. Cyrion had tasked her with watching his son after the incident with Isabella. Fear aside, duty compelled her to question him.
"To train," Kalin replied simply.
Herin's eyes widened at his cold response. In over a decade of service, this was the first time she had heard him say he planned to train. His father had assigned instructors in the past, but Kalin had always done everything he could to avoid them—skipping sessions, ignoring instructions, and acting indifferent.
At the same time, another thought crossed her mind. Knowing the young master, he would not let the incident with Isabella go unanswered. Perhaps he was planning to take his revenge.
The rumor of Kalin being beaten by a woman had already spread throughout the city, turning him into a laughingstock.
How could the third son of Viscount Cyrion be defeated by a woman? Everyone knew the Viscount was one of the strongest swordsmen alive.
What could anyone expect from his son? He was completely useless.
After all the trouble he had caused, he deserved it.
Being the Viscount's son had gone to Kalin's head. It had given him a sense of invincibility, leading him to commit acts that harmed the city. No one dared oppose him. Those who tried were crushed immediately, and all anyone could do was watch as he wreaked havoc.
One incident remained particularly unforgettable. Kalin had accidentally bumped into an old man and, in a fit of rage, struck him multiple times with a blunt weapon. The assault continued until the man was on the brink of death. Cyrion himself had to step in, compensate the old man, and save his life. Even the Viscount had bowed his head to show his sincerity, a rare act that left a deep impression on the city.
Cyrion truly cared for his people. Without them, he would not hold the position he did today.
"Young master, don't tell me you're planning to take revenge on Lady Isabella," Herin asked, her face shadowed with worry. After the incident, it seemed training and vengeance were all Kalin had on his mind to redeem himself.
Kalin said nothing. He simply continued with his plan.
Outside, he began his training, giving it not a second thought.
Three days passed, and now it was the fourth day of his relentless routine. Every muscle in his body screamed, joints stiff and bruised, making even the simplest movements feel monumental. On the first day, he had collapsed countless times, barely finishing the exercises. The second day brought no relief—his body ached before he even began, yet he forced himself to repeat the same punishing routines. By the third day, he moved like a walking corpse, eyes hollow, every step heavy with exhaustion.
Each day felt like a brush with death. There were moments when giving up seemed the only reasonable choice, yet he knew that surrender would erase all progress. The debuff would punish him mercilessly. Pain was constant, but quitting was not an option.
Herin watched in silence, amazement growing with each passing day. She had expected the young master to falter immediately, perhaps even pretend to train before giving up entirely. Yet here he was, enduring far more than she could have imagined. Still, she did not presume to understand him. Kalin's thoughts were a mystery, his determination a quiet storm.
"That's what happened, Viscount," Herin reported, her voice steady but tinged with awe. Before her stood the Viscount himself—a man of imposing stature, broad shoulders, and long silver-gray hair. Though he was in his fifties, sharp features and a commanding presence made it impossible to guess his true age.
"What is my bastard son scheming this time?" the Viscount muttered, kneading his chin thoughtfully. "Bring him here."
Herin bowed slightly. "Understood, Viscount. I will leave immediately."
Huff... huff... huff...
On the training ground, Kalin panted heavily, drenched in sweat from the relentless exercises. Each breath burned, but he forced himself to stand taller as he noticed Herin approaching.
"Greetings, young master," she said cautiously.
"What is it?" Kalin asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"The Viscount has summoned you," she replied.
As expected. He had anticipated his father's call. Probably a lecture... or a test. Either way, he already knew the reason, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. There was no surprise, only calculation.
"I see. Let me just change. Thank you," Kalin said smoothly, leaving the training ground without waiting for a response. Herin blinked, caught off guard by his composure.
Thank you? she thought, bewildered. Is he possessed by some spirit? He's completely different from the young master I knew.
A few minutes later, Kalin stood before the door, flanked by guards on either side. Even though he was the Viscount's third son, they gave him no reaction. To Kalin, it was a subtle sign of disrespect—but he chose not to dwell on it.
"My father has summoned me," he said.
One of the guards stepped forward and entered the study. Moments later, he returned. "You may come in, young master," he said.
The doors to the Viscount's study opened with a soft creak. Kalin stepped inside, calm but alert. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and old parchment. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the man behind the massive desk—broad shoulders relaxed, silver-gray hair gleaming like steel, eyes sharp and calculating.
The moment Kalin entered, a heavy weight pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. The suffocating presence radiating from his father seemed to push him back.
As expected... he's really angry, Kalin thought.
Cyrion's gaze was sharp, unyielding, as if he wanted to strip his son bare with a single look.
"Do you know why I called you here?" Cyrion asked, his voice firm, commanding.
Kalin nodded. But then his eyes fell on a beautiful woman standing beside his father—blond hair cascading over her shoulders, expression cold and unreadable. Isabella. The same woman he had once tried to assault. He noticed the disdain in her gaze, a natural response to his past actions.
He bowed deeply. "I am truly sorry for what I have done. I was not in my right mind. Please accept my apology." His voice was sincere, so much so that even Cyrion's eyes widened slightly in surprise.
Isabella said nothing, her gaze lingering for a moment before returning to Cyrion.
"Viscount Cyrion," she said with measured composure, "I respect you greatly. However, after everything that has happened, I cannot continue the engagement. I know this will anger you, but this is my decision, and I accept the consequences."
Cyrion exhaled deeply, understanding her position but unsure how to respond. Before he could speak, Kalin stepped forward.
"Yes, Father," he said firmly. "I believe we should break the engagement."
"You...!" Cyrion's voice cut through the room, sharp with anger and disbelief.