People call it a miracle to be born with a unique skill. For me, it's more of a curse.
My skill is called Soul Reincarnation — the ability to transfer my soul into a new body and live again from birth. Sounds convenient, right? In the beginning, it was.
In my first lives, I used it as a way to chase strength and knowledge. When I mastered something, I would reincarnate, start again, and learn something new. I decided which body I'd be reborn into, and what kind of class I'd pursue next. It was a system that worked perfectly for me.
I lived as a blacksmith, shaping weapons that legends were built around.
As a herbalist, I created potions that cured what people thought was impossible.
As a mage, I tore apart the very limits of magic itself.
And as a swordsman, I proved that pure skill can cut through any spell.
I even merged both paths and mastered the art of the magic swordsman. Every life, every class — mastered, completed, and then abandoned once there was nothing left to learn.
That cycle continued for years... maybe centuries. I stopped counting long ago.
But somewhere along the way, the skill changed. It stopped asking for my permission.
Now, whenever I die, Soul Reincarnation activates on its own. I don't get to choose my next body or where I'll end up. Even if I wanted to rest, the skill won't let me. I don't know if it's protecting me or imprisoning me. All I know is that I can't escape it anymore.
And so, this marks my thirtieth reincarnation.
This time, I woke up as Adrian Arclayne, the only son of Duke Arclayne, head of one of the most prestigious noble families in this kingdom. The Arclayne household has built its name on its mastery of three sacred weapons:
The Sword, which symbolizes conquest.
The Staff, which represents mastery.
The Hammer, which stands for refinement.
The family's doctrine is simple but absolute: Conquer your opponent's strength, master their skill, and refine it until it becomes uniquely your own. That's the Arclayne way.
Unfortunately, my new body doesn't quite fit that proud tradition. I was born weak — sickly, pale, and easily exhausted. Just holding a wooden sword makes my arms ache, and training leaves me coughing blood. For a family like ours, that's considered shameful.
Still, being weak isn't new to me. I've been poor, crippled, blind — even hunted — in some of my past lives. This is just another starting point.
And as always, the System came with me. It's part of my soul now. It's been there since my first life, carrying over everything I've achieved. It doesn't belong to this world, or any of the ones I've reincarnated into.
When I checked the interface this time, I noticed something different. My class had already been assigned.
[Unique Class: Card Master]
At first, I thought it was a joke. "Card Master?" What was I supposed to do — throw playing cards at enemies and shout poker hands? But the System explained it to me. This class is something new, created as a result of my repeated reincarnations. In other words, the System itself generated it because no such class had ever existed in this world before.
It even came with a unique feature — something called the Deck Shop. Through it, I can buy cards using a currency labeled CP. I still don't know what CP stands for, but it's the only way I can obtain anything related to this class.
Creating my own cards? Not possible. Not yet, at least. The only thing I can do right now is buy them.
Still, it's a start.
A weak body, a new world, and a class I don't fully understand.
That's fine. I've rebuilt entire lives from less.
For three straight days I watched the Deck Shop and did nothing useful. I read every help tab, flipped through every system note, toggled every setting I could find — nothing unlocked. No way to craft. No tutorial. Just that one window with cards behind a paywall.
I was starting to burn out. So on the third morning I pushed myself to do something simple: help around the manor. The servants were short-handed — more laundry piled than usual, a cart of provisions dumped in the yard, two maids arguing over linen that needed sorting. I didn't have to think about system mechanics for that; it was just a concrete thing I could do. I carried boxes, folded linens, and quieted the argument by taking the worst of the work myself.
While I was stacking sacks by the pantry, the System pinged.
A small blue box floated into my vision, clean and mechanical.
[Achievement Unlocked — Noble Oblige]
[Description: Assisted household staff with urgent duties while they were overwhelmed. Action recognized as fitting for your current social role.]
[CP Obtained: +18]
I blinked. "Seriously?" I wiped dust from a sack and read the message again. The System had not only noticed; it had labeled the action and handed me CP for it.
It made sense in a way I hadn't considered. The System keeps records of my state: class, social status, recent actions. If it wanted to nudge this life in a particular direction or simply reward behavior that fit my current identity, awarding an achievement for helping the household did exactly that. I didn't get a how-to manual on farming CP, but the message implied the System registers context and grants points for actions that match my role.
Eighteen points wasn't much, but it was concrete—my first real gain since waking as Adrian Arclayne. I felt a weird little thrill: not from the points themselves, but from finally understanding one practical way the System would interact with this life.
"First farm," I muttered, pocketing the notification. "Small, but it's a start."
I finished the chores with a different sort of attention after that. It wasn't altruism — I was still me, thirty lives of pragmatism and calculation — but I took note of what counted. Where I could help the household, I could earn CP. Where I could produce small, repeatable outcomes, I could build a steady income of points. That realization turned a meaningless morning into a plan.
After that little discovery, I didn't waste time.
For the rest of the day, I worked like a proper servant — no, even harder than one. I helped the maids carry heavy laundry baskets, cleaned storage rooms that hadn't seen sunlight in months, and even organized the kitchen supplies. The maids looked at me as if I'd gone insane.
Of course, they tried to stop me. I'm the duke's son, after all — the youngest, weakest, and apparently most fragile member of the family. A noble child isn't supposed to do menial labor. But who could actually stop me? I wasn't doing it out of kindness anyway. I was farming CP.
It's for my future, so why should I care about appearances?
By the time night came, I was completely drained. My arms felt like they were made of lead, and every breath burned a little. I dragged myself back to my room, collapsed on the chair near the window, and exhaled heavily.
"Gahh... that's more tiring than I thought," I muttered. "Being a noble son with a sickly body... really is both a blessing and a curse."
Still, the exhaustion wasn't without reward. When I opened my system window, the total CP count made me grin.
[Total CP: 113]
"Not bad for my first real day of farming," I said, half-smiling. "If this keeps up, I'll—"
Before I could finish the thought, a new notification popped up. A small present icon hovered beside the message window.
[Special Reward Available]
[Open? Yes / No]
"Who in their right mind says no to free stuff?" I muttered and tapped Yes.
The moment I did, the gift box icon burst open in a flash of blue light. The System's voice echoed in my head, crisp and monotone as always.
[System Notice]
Because of your helpful deeds throughout the day — assisting household staff despite your noble status and frail body — your actions have been recognized as exemplary. Such initiative and diligence have unlocked a hidden reward.]
[Reward Type: Rare Card Acquisition]
My eyes widened as the card materialized in front of me. A thin black rectangle shimmered in midair, etched with glowing silver lines that pulsed faintly like veins of light. The System displayed its details one by one.
[Card Name: Blitz]
[Proficiency: F-]
[Rarity: S]
[Effect: Temporarily embodies the concept of speed itself. For 3 seconds, user's physical movement and reaction speed exceed natural limitations.]
[Mana Cost: 50 per activation.]
[Cooldown: 3 hours per use.]
[Proficiency increases through consistent usage. Efficiency, duration, and mana cost will improve with mastery.]
I couldn't help but grin. "An S-rank card on my first day? Guess being helpful really pays off."
Then a thought hit me — a practical one.
"Wait... how much mana do I even have in this body?"
I asked the System directly, expecting a decent number. In my past lives, especially the ones where I was a mage, my mana capacity was enormous — one of my greatest strengths. Surely, some of that carried over, right?
[Mana: 15]
I froze.
"...Fifteen?" I read it again just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Nope. Fifteen.
I stared blankly at the glowing text for a good few seconds.
All those lifetimes as a powerful mage, all that mastery and experience — and I get reborn in a body with the mana pool of a half-trained farmer's son?
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. "Great. Just great. A legendary card I can't even use yet. What a perfect start, Adrian."
Still, I couldn't help but smirk. "Alright then… guess I'll just have to fix that too."