In a luxurious room, a young malnourished man lay on silken sheets, his body so weak it seemed a simple breeze could kill him.
The young man's eyes shot open, and a low groan escaped his lips.
"Fuck me… could've been gentler."
The moment he tried to move, pain answered.
Realising he was completely bed-bound, he cursed,"Oh come on, man! How am I supposed to live for myself when I'm like this?!"
For a fleeting moment, he genuinely considered offing himself and rerolling his spawn.
Then a voice—one he had only ever imagined in novels—rang inside his head.
[Ding!]
[System has now loaded!]
[Memories of the current body will be uploaded; this will hurt the Host.]
"Huh? What do you me—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Caspian shoved the silken sheets into his mouth as agony detonated inside his skull, muffling the scream tearing from his throat.
The memories assaulted him all at once.
Images. Faces. Places. Emotions.
Not just knowledge—but feelings.
The body he now inhabited belonged to a young dragon prince, also named Caspian.
His mother was the daughter of the current Dragon King—his grandfather. His father had been absent since birth, and the original Caspian had never felt the need to ask why.
At first, his birth had been celebrated.
His mana reserves were monstrous—far beyond what was considered normal, even among dragons.
For dragonkind, power was respected above all.
But the celebration soon turned to dread.
There was simply too much mana.
Even a draconic body couldn't contain it. Instead of empowering him, it weakened him, slowly and relentlessly.
He couldn't shapeshift.
Couldn't cast even the most basic spells.
Eventually, the strain became too much.
He was confined to his bed.
A disgrace.
A royal who couldn't use mana—and worse, one crippled by it.
Whispers followed him everywhere.
Pity. Contempt. Disgust.
Only one person never treated him differently.
His mother.
Sera cared for him personally, year after year, never letting her smile waver in front of him.
Until the day he fell into a coma.
The guilt crushed him.
He didn't need others to tell him he was useless—he already believed it.
He yearned for the skies. For magic. For strength. For the chance to make his mother proud.
But fate had been cruel.
Blessed with immense power.
Cursed by it all the same.
The memory of Sera's face—etched with guilt and torment—made his chest ache.
And when the flood of memories finally slowed, tears streamed freely down Caspian's face.
"Fucking hell…" he muttered, wiping his eyes."And I thought my life sucked ass."
The emotions lingered, heavy and tangled.
By the end of it, he wasn't sure where he ended and the original Caspian began. It felt less like possession and more like a merging of two souls.
But he didn't care.
"You poor guy," he said quietly. "Don't worry. I've got this."
"All those fools who treated you like trash? They'll pay."
"And your mother—no… our mother—I'll make sure she's proud."
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"What better way to do that than becoming the Dragon King?"
He imagined himself on the throne, his name ringing across the world, those who once shamed him reduced to begging beneath his feet.
Daydreams wouldn't make that future real.
So he turned to the system.
"System, how can I fix this useless body?"
[Host, the Peerless Battle Physique is available to be used.]
"…Was that my wish?" he asked. "The one about being a weapons master?"
[Affirmative Host.]
[Shall I start?]
"Yeah," he said without hesitation. "Let's get to it."
"This world from his memories… it's exactly the kind of place I always wanted."
The next moment, he was biting down on silk once more as the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced tore through him.