The sound of soft footsteps echoed faintly through the halls of the Eryndor estate. Curtains of silk and gold shimmered in the morning light, their brilliance reflecting the wealth and power of the noble family that resided there. Yet, none of it mattered to Leon, who stared at his reflection in the ornate mirror across the room, the taste of bewilderment sharp on his tongue.
This... isn’t my face.
Gone were the hardened features of Ghost, the world’s most lethal assassin. In their place was the visage of a young noble boy, barely fifteen. The face staring back at him was delicate yet sharp, with tousled black hair and emerald green eyes that gleamed with the curiosity of youth. Yet there was something else—something cold and calculating that hadn’t belonged to this body before today.
“Leon Eryndor,” he muttered, testing the name aloud. It rolled off his tongue awkwardly, as if it didn’t belong to him. And in truth, it didn’t.
The flood of memories that had overwhelmed him earlier still lingered, like echoes of a life not his own. Sword lessons. Etiquette drills. Endless lectures about duty and honor. Yet beneath it all, one thought pulsed with increasing urgency:
You have to survive.
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The life of Leon Eryndor, eldest son of Duke Eryndor, was far from idyllic. Born into privilege, yes, but also thrust into a world of cutthroat politics and expectations. The boy had lived under the weight of his father’s disapproval and his peers’ ridicule, his timid nature making him an easy target.
A flash of memory hit Leon like a hammer: a duel gone terribly wrong. A crowd sneering. A blade cutting through the air. Pain.
“Pathetic,” his father’s voice echoed from the depths of his memory.
Leon shook his head, grounding himself in the present. No, he thought, a smirk creeping onto his lips. I’m not the same Leon anymore.
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The door creaked open, and a maid stepped in hesitantly, a tray balanced in her trembling hands.
“Young Master Leon,” she began, her voice soft yet tinged with worry. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. The healer said—”
“I don’t need rest,” Leon interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. His voice carried a weight that startled her—a confidence that the old Leon Eryndor had never possessed.
The maid blinked, her eyes wide. “But—”
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“Leave the tray and go,” he said, his words final.
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded and retreated, glancing back at him as if trying to reconcile the boy she had served for years with the one standing before her now.
Leon approached the tray and uncovered it, revealing an assortment of finely prepared dishes. He ate mechanically, his assassin instincts unconsciously analyzing every bite for poison.
As he reached for a piece of fruit, a sudden pulse of energy coursed through him.
Ding!
Leon froze, the sound reverberating not in the air but in his mind.
Welcome to the Aetherial System.
Initializing...
A translucent screen materialized before him, its glowing text hovering midair.
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Name: Leon Eryndor
Class: Undetermined
Abilities: None (Awaiting Awakening)
Status: Weak and pitiful (Suggestion: Try not to die.)
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Leon’s lips twitched upward. “Weak and pitiful, huh? Nice to meet you too.”
The screen flickered.
New Quest: Prove Your Worth
Objective: Survive your duel with Victor Varen.
Reward: Awakening of your class.
Penalty: Death.
Leon’s smirk widened. Memories of Victor Varen—an arrogant noble with more pride than skill—surfaced unbidden. The duel was today, mere hours away.
“Well, this just got interesting.”
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The courtyard of the Eryndor estate buzzed with anticipation. Nobles and servants alike had gathered to witness the duel, their whispers a symphony of judgment and expectation. At the center of the arena stood Victor Varen, his blond hair glinting in the sunlight. He wore a smug grin, his rapier spinning lazily in his hand.
Across from him, Leon walked into the arena with an ease that sent ripples of confusion through the crowd. Gone was the nervous, faltering boy they had come to mock. In his place was someone...different.
“Finally decided to show up, Eryndor?” Victor sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “You should’ve stayed in bed. Would’ve saved you the embarrassment.”
Leon tilted his head, studying Victor with the cool detachment of a predator assessing its prey.
Victor faltered slightly under Leon’s gaze, but he recovered quickly. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
“No,” Leon said simply. He rolled his shoulders, testing the unfamiliar body. It was weaker than what he was used to, but muscle memory was a powerful thing.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice calm.
Victor lunged, his rapier aimed for Leon’s chest.
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The duel lasted less than a minute.
Victor’s overconfidence left him exposed, and Leon exploited every flaw with surgical precision. A sidestep here, a feint there—each movement was calculated, efficient.
By the time Victor hit the ground, gasping for air and clutching his bruised ribs, the crowd was silent.
Leon stood over him, his emerald eyes gleaming. “Next time, pick on someone your own skill level.”
As he turned to leave, a familiar pulse of energy surged through him.
Ding!
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Class Unlocked: Arcane Marksman
Abilities: Gun Manifestation, Magic Bullet Creation
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Leon’s smirk returned. “Looks like the real fun is about to begin.”
With the crowd still reeling from what they had just witnessed, Leon walked away, a new determination burning within him.
This was a new world, with new rules—and he intended to master every one of them.