*3 MONTHS LATER
It's been a long time…
The maid hesitated in front of the door, fingers tightening around the tray in her hands.
The Young Master… I heard he started walking again.But that can't be right. He could barely breathe before.Everyone knows he was weak. Fragile. Always sick…
She had been away from the estate for months, sent to another town. Rumors reached her ears on the road whispers that sounded more like jokes than truth.
Walking? Standing? Training?No way…
She swallowed and gently pushed the door open.
"Y-young master? I—"
The tray almost slipped from her hands.
Her thoughts shattered.
Standing near the balcony was Soren Drake shirtless, bathed in sunlight. His body was nothing like the frail figure she remembered. Defined muscles lined his abdomen, his chest broad and firm, arms carved by effort and strain. His posture was straight, steady, and powerful like someone who had never known sickness.
W-What…?
Her face heated instantly.
That's… the Young Master?But he used to cough blood…He couldn't even walk across the room…
She froze, heart racing, eyes glued to a body that told a completely different story.
"I—I'm sorry!" she blurted, spinning around as fast as she could.
The door shut with a sharp thud as she fled, cheeks burning.
Silence returned to the room.
Soren turned slowly from the balcony, confused for half a second then understanding dawned.
He looked down at his own body.
Three months.
Three months of breathing until his lungs burned.Three months of sword swings until his arms went numb.Three months of running until his heart screamed in protest.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass sharper jawline, broader shoulders, a body rebuilt piece by piece through pain.
"I really changed," he said quietly.
A familiar presence flickered into existence before his eyes.
[Blueprint Status]Body Reinforcement: 99% Complete
His brows furrowed.
"Still not finished?"
The blueprint shifted again, unfolding like layered schematics.
[Final Requirement Unlocked]Sanare Elixir — Completion Condition
Ingredients appeared one by one:
Silverleaf Herb
Redroot Bark
Sunthorn Flower
Clearwater Resin
Ironberry Seed
Purified Spring Water
Soren's hand slowly clenched.
"So this is the last step…"
"Cedric."
Soren's voice was calm, steady—nothing like the weak tone he once carried.
The steward rushed in almost instantly. "Y-yes, young master?"
"Bring me a piece of paper and a pencil. And inform my father that I wish to speak with him."
Cedric's eyes widened slightly, but he bowed without hesitation. "At once, young master."
He hurried out.
Soren turned back toward the balcony, the blueprint still faintly lingering in his vision. The list of ingredients burned itself into his mind.
Sanare Elixir…
Not just a cure for his heart.
If the blueprint was right if the formulation worked as perfectly as it claimedhis elixir could cleanse sickness, purge poisons, strengthen weakened organs. Common illnesses, noble diseases, even conditions physicians had given up on.
This isn't just medicine.
His thoughts accelerated.
If I control the production…If the recipe stays with me…
He imagined it clearly: nobles begging for access, estates offering gold and favors, families desperate to save their families . Even the poorest—if distributed carefully—could be healed, earning loyalty instead of coin.
Money, influence, stability.
A single elixir could pull Valdoria out of decay.
Roads repaired. Walls rebuilt. Knights paid properly.The sick working again. The dying saved.
His fingers curled slowly.
This estate doesn't need charity.It needs leverage.
Footsteps approached.
Cedric returned, slightly out of breath, holding paper and a pencil. He placed them carefully on the desk.
"Here, young master. And… the Baron has agreed to see you. He is ready when you are."
"Good."
Soren sat down, posture straight, and began writing.
Ingredient ratios. Preparation order. Heating methods. Cooling times. What could be substituted. What absolutely could not. He wrote not as a noble—but as an engineer who once designed systems meant to function without failure.
Every line was deliberate.
After several minutes, he set the pencil down.
This wasn't just a plan.
It was the beginning of Valdoria's revival.
Soren stood.
"Let's go, Cedric."
"Cedric."
Soren's voice was calm, steady—nothing like the weak tone he once carried.
The steward rushed in almost instantly. "Y-yes, young master?"
"Bring me a piece of paper and a pencil. And inform my father that I wish to speak with him."
Cedric's eyes widened slightly, but he bowed without hesitation. "At once, young master."
He hurried out.
Soren turned back toward the balcony, the blueprint still faintly lingering in his vision. The list of ingredients burned itself into his mind.
Sanare Elixir…
Not just a cure for his heart.
If the blueprint was right—if the formulation worked as perfectly as it claimed—this elixir could cleanse sickness, purge poisons, strengthen weakened organs. Common illnesses, noble diseases, even conditions physicians had given up on.
This isn't just medicine.
His thoughts accelerated.
If I control the production…If the recipe stays with me…
He imagined it clearly: nobles begging for access, estates offering gold and favors, families desperate to save their heirs. Even the poorest—if distributed carefully—could be healed, earning loyalty instead of coin.
Money, influence, stability.
A single elixir could pull Valdoria out of decay.
Roads repaired. Walls rebuilt. Knights paid properly.The sick working again. The dying saved.
His fingers curled slowly.
This estate doesn't need charity.It needs leverage.
Footsteps approached.
Cedric returned, slightly out of breath, holding paper and a pencil. He placed them carefully on the desk.
"Here, young master. And… the Baron has agreed to see you. He is ready when you are."
"Good."
Soren sat down, posture straight, and began writing.
Ingredient ratios. Preparation order. Heating methods. Cooling times. What could be substituted. What absolutely could not. He wrote not as a noble—but as an engineer who once designed systems meant to function without failure.
Every line was deliberate.
After several minutes, he set the pencil down.
This wasn't just a plan.
It was the beginning of Valdoria's revival.
Soren stood.
"Let's go, Cedric."
The ingredients arrived just as the morning sun broke through the curtains. Soren looked at them carefully laid out on the polished wooden table. Silverleaf Herb glimmered faintly with dew, Redroot Bark looked dark and fibrous, Sunthorn Flower's yellow petals seemed to glow, Clearwater Resin sat in a thick, translucent blob, Ironberry Seeds were small and black, and the purified spring water shimmered with clarity.
Soren exhaled slowly and summoned the blueprint. The glowing schematic floated in front of him. Lines and labels hovered in midair. It was not a guide in words, but a full simulation of the potion's preparation, showing each step with perfect precision. When he touched the holographic representation of Redroot Bark, it highlighted the exact time and temperature needed for drying. When he gestured toward the Ironberry Seeds, the blueprint demonstrated the optimal grind size, how fine the powder needed to be, and even the stirring motion to incorporate it properly.
He began the first day by preparing the Redroot Bark. He carefully checked every strip for defects, brushing away dust, measuring each piece by hand, then setting them out to dry exactly seven days. He measured their weight repeatedly, cross-referencing it with the blueprint, making sure not a single milligram was off.
When the drying period ended, he began grinding the Ironberry Seeds. The blueprint projected a faint grid around the mortar, indicating the correct pressure to apply. If he ground too hard, the seeds would lose their potency. If too soft, the powder would remain coarse and could rupture the heart in the final elixir. His hands ached within minutes, but he continued, eyes fixed on the grid, listening to the hum of the blueprint guiding him.
Next he washed the Silverleaf Herb gently in cold water as the blueprint indicated. No heat, no friction. He laid the leaves in neat rows, inspecting each one for damage. Sunthorn Flower petals had to be added later, but the blueprint reminded him constantly not to overheat them.
On the fifth day, he began the brewing phase. Boiling the purified spring water, the blueprint projected an overlay showing exactly when to add the Redroot Bark and how long to simmer it. Soren set a timer and watched, stirring gently, counting every second. After twenty minutes, the water had absorbed the bark's essence. The blueprint prompted him to add Silverleaf and Sunthorn, showing a low heat wave animation to keep the mixture safe. Soren stirred clockwise exactly thirty-six times, each movement precise and deliberate, following the holographic hand projected by the system.
The first attempt failed. The liquid turned thick and black, bubbling aggressively. The blueprint flickered red and flashed the warning: instability detected. Soren cursed softly and poured it out, taking a moment to steady his breathing. He studied the projection, replaying the steps, analyzing the temperature, stirring angle, and even the humidity of the room.
The second attempt lasted hours. He measured the water temperature with a small glass thermometer, adjusted the flame with a slow hand, and added the bark a second later than before. The Silverleaf and Sunthorn were added carefully, stirred slowly, and the Clearwater Resin was added drop by drop. For a moment, the mixture seemed stable, but a hissing sound escaped as it began to separate. The blueprint glowed red again. Soren realized he had poured the resin too quickly. He caught it mid-drop, but a small portion was ruined. He dumped the batch into the river outside, letting the water carry it away.
He sat for a moment, head in his hands, feeling the ache in his arms, the dull burn in his lungs, and the sting of failure. Then he reminded himself that the blueprint was not just guiding him, it was teaching him. It had shown him the correct speed, angle, and temperature. He would follow it. Every step. No shortcuts.
The third attempt took almost a week of continuous effort. He ground the Ironberry Seeds until the powder was as fine as flour. He gently washed the Silverleaf leaves and arranged the Sunthorn Flowers according to the holographic guide. The water was heated, cooled, and reheated several times to reach perfect stability. Every stir, every drop, every second was dictated by the blueprint, and Soren obeyed without hesitation.
When he added the Clearwater Resin slowly, he monitored the temperature and movement of the liquid as the blueprint suggested. Then he removed it from heat and let it cool naturally. Once it reached the right temperature, he carefully added the Ironberry powder, filtering the potion once through a fine cloth. He carried the dark liquid to the river as the final step, holding it in his hands and letting the water flow around it. Slowly, the black faded into dark blue, then soft blue, until it was a clear, pale blue with a faint shimmer.
He had made one potion. Then two. The third one took longer; his hands trembled during the resin phase, but he adjusted in time. Each time, the blueprint guided him silently, showing him what was right, what could be adjusted, what was dangerous.
By the end of three weeks, Soren sat back, chest heaving, sweat and bruises on his arms, but his eyes glimmered. Three bottles of Sanare Elixir sat before him, identical, perfectly made. The blueprint faded with a soft hum, signaling completion.
Soren touched one of the bottles and whispered, almost to himself, "This… this saves my bodyIt saves Valdoria. And it begins with me."
He leaned back, exhaustion hitting every muscle, but for the first time since waking in this new life, he felt the satisfaction of complete mastery.
The system had taught him. He had followed. And he had succeeded.
Soren leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. "I couldn't have done this without the blueprint… and its tools. The ThermoGlass, the AquaBoil, the Gravimeter… I can't believe I can actually summon them."
He looked at the three pale blue vials on the table. Each shimmered with weeks of effort and struggle. Every tool had guided him at the perfect moment, measuring, heating, and stirring with precision.
"I actually can summon them whenever I need. Without them… none of this would've been possible," he muttered, a small smile on his face.
He raced toward the training grounds, feeling his new strength but realizing this was only the beginning.
The first day was brutal. He practiced the Dragon Claw, the opening move of the Black Dragon Sword Style. Each slash required perfect timing, a flow of energy from his legs through his core into the sword, and the avatar floated beside him, correcting his stance, speed, and angle.
The first ten tries ended in failure. His strikes were clumsy, the sword's tip misaligned, the power uneven. Each mistake caused his arms to ache, his legs to burn, and his lungs to scream. The avatar glowed blue with each correction, forcing him to repeat the move until his body began to memorize it.
A year passed. Every day, without fail, Soren woke before dawn, his body screaming with exhaustion, his lungs burning, his muscles aching from the relentless practice. He spent hours mastering the Black Dragon Sword Style, perfecting each strike, each stance, each fluid motion. Rain, wind, or scorching sun—nothing stopped him.
By the time he was nineteen, the transformation was undeniable. His once weak, fragile body was now honed, athletic, and deadly. Muscle and sinew worked in perfect harmony. His reflexes had sharpened; his heart, once frail and easily fatigued, now beat strong and unyielding, driving power through every strike.
Every morning began with precise breathing exercises, building stamina and control over his body. Every afternoon was filled with hours of sword drills, the Black Dragon Sword Style repeated until motions became instinct. Evening brought sparring sessions against the holographic avatars and sometimes the knights who sneered and mocked him at first—but quickly learned to keep their distance.
Even in the rare moments of rest, he meditated, visualizing combat, honing his focus, and letting the system refine his skills internally. His mind, once fogged by weakness and pain, now sharpened with clarity and precision.
After a full year of unwavering discipline, Soren was no longer the frail young man who awoke in this new world. He was strong, fast, and lethal. The Black Dragon Sword Style wasn't just a set of movements—it had become a part of him, as natural as his heartbeat. Every muscle, every tendon, every drop of sweat over the past year had forged him into someone capable of facing the threats of Valdoria, and beyond.
When he finally stepped onto the training grounds one calm morning, holding his sword with ease, he realized the truth: a year of unbroken effort had made him unstoppable. Nineteen years old, fully awakened, and ready to challenge the world.