Lucius lay sprawled on his bed, the dim glow of the vial in his hand painting ghostly streaks of light across the ceiling. The liquid shimmered faintly, as though alive.
So this is the so-called elixir of the goddess's grace… I wonder why it's called like that... Do I just… drink it? he wondered, eyes narrowing.
The memory of his frail limbs and sluggish body surfaced. The former owner of this body clearly hated exercise. I get winded just walking a few steps… Maybe if I apply it to my skin, it'll toughen me up somehow.
Gripping the vial tighter, Lucius rose and staggered into the bathroom. His reflection stared back at him, pale and uncertain, but his resolve did not waver. Without further hesitation, he tilted the vial—half he gulped down, the other half he poured over his head and the other half he poured over his head, the liquid tracing slow rivulets down his shoulders before streaming across his body, letting it seep into his skin like molten light.
"All done. Now, time to find the diary and—"
The words caught in his throat. A sudden lance of pain tore through his body, violent and merciless. His breath hitched as his veins bulged grotesquely, dark lines writhing beneath his skin. It was as if boiling liquid surged through his blood, bubbling and roiling with unnatural force.
Lucius collapsed, a strangled cry escaping his lips. His body convulsed against the cold tiles, teeth grinding together as the unbearable agony clawed at every nerve. His vision blurred, but he could still see the lumps crawling under his flesh, racing up and down like some vile creatures trapped inside him.
It was pain beyond description, as if every fiber of him, inside and out, were being ripped apart, and something within him wanted to break free.
Lucius had no idea what was happening to him—only the searing torrent that wracked his body. Time lost all meaning; minutes, hours, perhaps days could have passed, and he would never have known.
He forced his eyes open again and again, refusing to surrender to the darkness that beckoned. A single, gnawing fear gripped him: if he allowed himself to pass out, he might never wake again.
At last, the torment receded, leaving only silence and the echo of his ragged breaths. Lucius let out a trembling laugh, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips.
"Finally… it's over," he whispered.
And with that fragile triumph, his body gave in. He slumped onto the cold bathroom floor, consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers.
Lucius slowly stirred awake, his body protesting with aches from the awkward position he had dozed off in on the cold bathroom floor.
"How long… have I been out?" he muttered groggily, his voice hoarse. Before he could gather his thoughts, a foul stench invaded his nose. "…What's that smell?"
As he pushed himself up, he froze. Something sticky clung to his skin, slimy and suffocatingly uncomfortable. His gaze fell, and his stomach lurched. His body was smeared with a grotesque mix of dried, darkened blood and some strange green substance he couldn't identify.
"This is disgusting! I can't deal with this—just look at it!" Sammy's voice cried out in his mind, her prim and proper sensibilities nearly in tears at the sight. She had always taken pride in cleanliness and refinement in her original body, and now, trapped in Lucius's, she found herself drowning in filth.
Without another word, he stumbled toward the shower, furiously scrubbing his skin until every trace of the muck was gone. He even cleaned the foul residue off the bathroom floor, muttering to himself the entire time.
Only after the water finally washed away the last hints of slime did he breathe in relief.
But when he lifted his head and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror—
He froze.
The person staring back at him looked nothing like the Lucius he remembered. His bloated, heavyset frame had slimmed down to a strikingly lean figure. His skin, once pale and oily, now gleamed faintly, as though polished jade had taken its place. His lashes were longer, his eyes brighter, and his hair shimmered under the light with an almost otherworldly sheen.
Sammy blinked through his eyes, speechless for once. "…Is this really me?"
Tentatively, Lucius touched his face, tracing the sharpness of his new features. His body felt stronger, sharper, refined—not through muscle, but as if something inside had been reforged.
"…Could it be?" he thought, breath catching in his throat. "Did the Elixir expel the impurities from my body?"
Lucius swallowed hard, his usual haughtiness giving way to stunned silence. His gaze lingered on the mirror, drinking in every detail of the transformed reflection.
"…Well… I'll admit," he muttered, his pride slipping just enough for honesty to peek through, "this is… actually an improvement."
A faint, almost embarrassed laugh escaped his mouth. "Ugh, I could barely stomach looking at my previous appearance—but this? This I can tolerate. No, more than that…" His lips curled into a sly grin. "If I add a little muscle here and there, I might even turn into a proper hottie."
A sudden spark lit up in Lucius's mind, an idea forming with striking clarity.
"With this new appearance, I doubt anyone in the Deveraux family would even recognize me. If I dyed my hair, I could just disappear from this drama… and from that ridiculous forced marriage arrangement," Lucius mused, a fleeting smirk tugging at his lips.
But then his thoughts halted. A memory surfaced—the last conversation he'd had with his brother, back when he was still Sammy.
"Filial piety."
The words were carved deep into his mind, echoing louder than he wanted to admit.
Lucius exhaled a long sigh. "…I suppose I can't just run. I owe this family… no, I owe the owner of this body at least that much. Maybe… maybe this is the reason I was brought here. In my old life, I did whatever I pleased, without care for anyone else. Perhaps now… it's different."
Slowly, a smile spread across his face—no longer the timid smile of the old Lucius, but one laced with quiet resolve.
Stepping out of the bathroom, his reflection still fresh in his mind, Lucius straightened his back and lifted his chin. His eyes burned with determination.
"Deveraux family," he declared under his breath, "prepare yourselves for the new and improved Lucius. And to the true owner of this body… don't worry. Those who once looked down on you will soon have no choice but to raise their heads—and see nothing but your back. I'll make them regret ever sneering at you."
Upon exiting the bathroom, Lucius quickly rummaged through his wardrobe. His hand brushed against something odd, and with a faint click, a hidden mechanism sprang to life. The false panel slid aside, revealing a small compartment.
Inside lay a necklace, its white gemstone faintly gleaming, and beside it, an old leather-bound book.
Lucius's gaze lingered on the necklace, but he left it where it was. In a world like this, I can't just wear some random trinket… he thought. Who knows what kind of magic might be imbued in it?
Instead, he reached for the book—the weight of it unmistakably personal, its worn edges whispering of secrets within.
Carrying it to the study table, he sat down, the chair creaking beneath him. With a steadying breath, Lucius opened the diary and began to flip through its pages, eager to uncover the story it held.
Background Story of Lucius von Deveraux
Lucius von Deveraux, the only son and heir of Duke Dominic von Deveraux, was born on December 4th, CMVIII (908). Though he had a younger sister, the weight of succession, pride, and responsibility rested entirely on him.
His diary, written from the age of seven until twelve, revealed the struggle of a boy drowning beneath expectations.
From the earliest pages, Lucius lamented his frailty. His body was weak, too fragile to train with the knights. While others honed their strength, he was confined to his chambers, coughing and cursing his own limits.
At eight, he met his fiancée, Aurelia de Velcourne. To Lucius, it was love at first sight. The childish entries brimmed with dreams of marriage, children, and a life of happiness together. He promised himself he would grow strong, if only to win her heart.
With the sword denied to him, he turned to magic.
Day after day, he studied until exhaustion, holding on to the promise whispered by his family: "Once the coming-of-age ceremony arrives, the blessing of our bloodline will awaken your true power."
But on his twelfth birthday, that promise shattered. The ceremony ended in silence—no powerful magic manifested, only disappointment. In that instant, the heir of House Deveraux was exposed before the nobles as powerless. Whispers of pity followed him wherever he went. Soon enough, pity curdled into open scorn.
His parents' silence weighed heavier than words. His sister, already distant, drifted even further away. And his fiancée, who once tried to get along with him, now looked at him with disdain.
The final pages of the diary were drenched in despair. Lucius confessed to masking his shame with arrogance, acting the spoiled young master for appearances. Yet behind that mask, his sorrow festered. Seeking comfort where he could, he indulged in food. His once frail figure swelled, leaving him soft and bloated—an easy target for ridicule, a shame to his noble name.
And there, at the age of twelve, the diary ended.
When Sammy closed the book, he let out a low whistle.
"Wow… the heir of House Deveraux. No skills in swordsmanship, no gift for magic, and not even the charisma a noble should have… In the end, he just let himself grow fat and rot away. Looks like every path you took led straight to failure, huh?
He paused, then smirked.
"But that's all in the past. From here on, I'm steering this ship. First order of business—no more lazy, depressed young master. We're turning this body into steel. Muscles, posture, discipline—the works. By the time I'm done, people won't laugh when they see Lucius von Deveraux. They'll bow."
Sammy tapped his chin with mock seriousness.
"As for the fiancée… well, I'm not exactly into girls. Winning her over isn't on my list—yet. But don't worry, Lucius. When the time comes, I'll figure it out. One crisis at a time."
He placed the diary back where he had found it, as if sealing away the past.