The world smelled of damp stone, stale bread, and something faintly sour. Raion's eyes snapped open.
He froze. His hands—soft, small, and trembling—weren't his own. He raised them to his face, feeling the unfamiliar sharpness of his cheekbones, the slenderness of his wrists.
"No… this isn't real… how?"
The cracked mirror across the room revealed the truth. Large, uncertain eyes stared back. The body of Eiden Vale—the weak, orphan protagonist of the novel he had read countless times.
Raion's mind screamed in disbelief. He had been Raion, feared, cunning, unstoppable. And now… he was trapped in a frail body, in a world he had only ever read about.
"Pathetic… utterly useless…"
He tried to stand. His legs wobbled, barely holding him upright. Even a simple step across the room made his muscles scream in protest. Rage surged like wildfire.
"I… was supposed to be Raion! How the hell did I end up like this?!"
He punched the wall. Pain lanced through his knuckles. Good. It reminded him he was alive. Weak, yes—but alive.
The orphanage was quiet that morning. The distant clatter of carts outside, the shuffle of feet in the halls, the low hum of caretakers' voices—they all echoed around him. Raion cataloged everything with sharp precision: cracks in the walls, patterns in the footsteps, weak spots in the furniture… opportunities.
"I'm not Eiden Vale," he muttered, breathing hard. "I'm Raion. And weakness… weakness is temporary."
Breakfast was worse. Thin gruel, stale bread, and hungry children who fought over the scraps. Raion struggled to lift the spoon, to swallow without choking. His stomach growled, but he refused to give in to despair. Every small action became a test of his endurance, of his will.
Even walking to the training yard was torture. The wooden sword he picked up was heavier than expected, his arms shaking violently with each swing. Every failed strike, every stumble, every awkward step made his blood boil.
"I… I hate this. I hate being weak. I hate being… useless!"
He fell to the ground more than once, coughing, exhausted, and humiliated. But each time he rose, his fury only sharpened.
"Fine," he whispered through gritted teeth. "If this world wants me weak, I'll show it… I'll survive. And then…"
Raion climbed to the orphanage roof at sunset, muscles trembling, lungs burning. He gazed at the distant mountains, the forests, the faint glimmer of the unknown stretching before him.
"If strength comes from artifacts, I'll find them. If power comes from mastery, I'll take it. Every weapon, every artifact, every secret… I'll claim it myself. No one will save me, no one will stand in my way… and I will be the strongest."
The words fell from his lips like a decree. Rage, determination, and brilliance all mingled in his tone.
"Let the world come at me," he muttered. "I'm Raion. And I will surpass everyone… alone."
The wind whipped his hair. The sun dipped below the horizon. Raion smiled—not a friendly smile, not a hero's smile, but the smile of someone who had just found the first spark of a long, unstoppable journey.