The rain fell in icy sheets over the glass dome of the Pentacrest Tower, the tallest building in the heart of Neo-Valeria City.
Leonard Graves stood at the top floor, his black suit immaculate, his sharp grey eyes surveying the city that he had built with his own two hands. A titan among men. The youngest CEO in history to control a multinational empire.
Tonight was supposed to be a celebration.
Tonight was supposed to be the reward for a lifetime of sacrifice.
Instead, it was a funeral. His own.
Leonard glanced at the faces gathered around the marble conference table — men and women he had raised, mentored, trusted. His Board of Directors.
He had suspected their betrayal for months. Whispers in the corridors. Missing reports. Secret meetings. But suspicion wasn't proof. Proof came too late.
"Leonard," said Patrick Vance, his COO, smoothing back his silver hair, "you're relieved of your duties. Effective immediately."
Behind Patrick, a small army of private security guards filed in. Guns drawn.
Leonard chuckled, the sound low and bitter. "So this is how it ends. Not a war. Not a fall in the markets. A dagger in the back, like common thieves."
"You made too many enemies," said Melanie Drew, his former CFO, her smile cold. "And you forgot, genius or not — no king rules forever."
The guards approached. Leonard raised his hands slowly, but the fire in his eyes did not dim. His mind raced, calculating, planning.
There had to be a way out. There was always a way out.
But as the barrel of a pistol pressed against his temple, Leonard realized something horrifying:
This time, he had no moves left.
A single gunshot echoed through the tower.
The king was dead.
Darkness.
Silence.
Cold beyond anything Leonard had ever known.
He floated in an endless void, stripped of sensation, thought, even identity.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…]
A voice — mechanical, emotionless — whispered directly into his mind.
[NEW HOST DETECTED.]
[SCANNING SOUL INTEGRITY: 87% — STABLE.]
[BINDING HOST TO SYSTEM: THE CROWN.]
[PREPARING FOR REBIRTH…]
Panic flared in Leonard's chest, but before he could even form the thought to scream, a blinding light consumed him.
Leonard gasped awake, his chest heaving as he bolted upright.
The air smelled of damp stone and burning wood.
He was lying on a narrow bed, the mattress thin and rough beneath him. The walls around him were of cracked stone, covered in soot and moss.
He wasn't in Pentacrest Tower anymore. He wasn't even on Earth.
"Where..." he croaked. His voice was higher. Younger. Weaker.
A flash of pain struck his skull, and suddenly, memories not his own surged forward — blurred images of a teenage boy, a forgotten third prince of a collapsing kingdom, despised by his royal family, ridiculed by the court.
Prince Leon.
I'm not Leonard Graves anymore, he realized grimly. I'm... him.
[Welcome, Host.]
[You have been chosen by The Crown System.]
[Objectives: Rise, Rule, Reign.]
A translucent blue window floated before his eyes, filled with strange glyphs and stats.
---
Name: Leon Virdalia
Title: Third Prince (Disgraced)
Age: 16
Strength: F
Agility: F
Intelligence: A+
Charisma: C
Authority: E
---
Leonard — Leon now — frowned. His body was weak, but his mind… his mind was still sharp, sharper than anyone else's in this world.
He could work with this.
He would work with this.
First, survival.
Then, conquest.
One step at a time.
Leon swung his legs off the side of the rough bed and staggered to his feet. His body protested — muscles sore, stomach gnawing with hunger, limbs feeling frail.
He clenched his fists.
"Weak to strong," he reminded himself. One step at a time.
A small, cracked mirror hung crookedly above a battered washbasin.
Leon stumbled toward it and stared.
The reflection showed a boy with messy black hair, cold blue eyes, and sharp features that were still soft with youth. His body was thin, almost malnourished. His skin bore faint bruises and scars — signs of beatings long endured.
This body... it carried more than just a name. It carried history. Pain. Humiliation.
And now, it carried him. Leonard Graves.
The door to his chamber creaked open without warning.
A figure slipped inside — a girl no older than fourteen, clad in a plain servant's tunic. Straw-blonde hair, nervous brown eyes.
"Your Highness," she whispered, bowing so low her forehead nearly touched the filthy floor. "You must hurry! If you're late again, the King... the King will..."
Leon's sharp mind immediately caught on the hesitation. Fear. Not of him — of what would be done to him.
So even the servants pitied this Third Prince. How far he had fallen.
"What happens if I'm late?" he asked, voice cold but controlled.
The girl flinched, surprised by the change in tone. "P-punishment, Your Highness. Whipping. Last time, you... you couldn't walk for a week."
Leon's jaw tightened.
Not for long.
"Lead the way," he ordered calmly.
The girl blinked, then nodded and hurried toward the hallway.
Leon followed, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side with every step.
The Royal Palace of Virdalia was nothing like the glittering skyscrapers Leonard once knew. It was a crumbling fortress — a relic of past glories. The once-proud banners were torn and faded. The soldiers guarding the corridors looked underfed and bored.
And yet, power still resided here — if only in title.
Leon was led into a vast, gloomy hall lined with rotting tapestries and crumbling statues.
At the far end, on a tarnished throne of iron and oak, sat King Armand Virdalia — Leon's father.
The King was a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and eyes like polished stones: hard, lifeless, unyielding. Beside him sat Queen Morganna, draped in black silk, her sharp gaze dripping with disdain.
Around them stood dozens of nobles — ministers, generals, highborn sons and daughters.
Each face wore the same expression: contempt.
Leon approached and knelt stiffly, every movement a reminder of his body's weakness.
"You are late," the King said, voice deep and rumbling.
No warmth. No affection.
Leon raised his head, locking eyes with the man who was technically his father. "I was delayed. It will not happen again."
A ripple of murmured surprise passed through the court.
The Third Prince never spoke back. He cowered. He whimpered.
Not anymore.
The King's brow furrowed. For a moment, the iron mask cracked, revealing something that might have been curiosity.
Then he waved a hand.
"Your excuses matter little. Today is the Festival of Blades. All my sons must prove their strength before the court."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Even the worthless ones."
Laughter echoed across the hall.
Leon's mind raced. Festival of Blades. A tournament, probably. Testing martial skill. Strength. Combat.
This body — his body — was weak. He couldn't possibly win through raw force.
But maybe he didn't have to.
---
Part 6: The Crown System
As the King gestured for the knights to prepare the arena, a soft chime rang in Leon's mind.
[Quest Alert!]
Title: Festival of Blades
Objective: Survive the Tournament
Reward: 500 Crown Points, Unlock First Skill Tier
Failure: Severe Punishment or Death
[Accept? Y/N]
Leon didn't hesitate.
Accept.
Another window appeared:
---
[Host Abilities Available for Use:]
Crown Insight (Passive): +30% Increased Tactical Thinking
Crown Strategist (Active Skill): Temporarily analyze enemy weaknesses (Cooldown: 24 hours)
Crown's Gambit (Passive): +10% Luck in critical situations
A slow grin tugged at Leon's lips.
They wanted a show? He would give them one they would never forget.
The Royal Courtyard had been transformed into an arena.
Spectators — nobles, merchants, visiting dignitaries — crowded the stone terraces surrounding the battleground. Crimson banners fluttered in the chill breeze, each bearing the royal sigil: a crowned lion clutching a broken sword.
The air buzzed with excitement.
For the people of Virdalia, the Festival of Blades was more than tradition. It was bloodsport. Entertainment. A chance to see princes — potential heirs — humiliated or glorified.
Leon was handed a training sword — heavy, unbalanced, battered from years of use.
Another insult. His elder brothers, all older and stronger, wore polished armor and wielded gleaming blades.
The Master of Arms, a scar-faced veteran named Sir Aldred, barked out the rules.
"Victory by disarmament, surrender, or incapacitation. Killing blows forbidden — but accidents happen."
A low chuckle rippled through the assembled crowd.
Leon gripped the hilt tighter. His palms were sweaty, but his mind was sharp.
No killing. Good. I don't have to win... just survive.
A tournament bracket was displayed.
Leon's first opponent: Prince Roland Virdalia. His second eldest brother.
Roland swaggered into the arena, golden hair gleaming, his armor embossed with a roaring lion. His sword, master-forged steel, shimmered wickedly.
Leon's system chimed again.
---
[Crown Strategist Activated]
Analyzing Opponent: Prince Roland
Strength: 78/100
Speed: 52/100
Endurance: 66/100
Temperament: Arrogant, Overconfident
Weaknesses: Underestimates weaker opponents; prone to showboating.
Cooldown: 24 Hours
---
Leon smiled faintly.
"Good. He's cocky. I can use that."
The trumpet blared.
Roland lunged immediately, sword flashing in a brutal overhead slash designed to end the match in a single blow.
No finesse. No caution.
Leon rolled to the side — barely — feeling the rush of air from the descending blade.
Gasps and jeers rose from the crowd.
Roland sneered. "Coward! Stand and fight, little rat!"
Leon circled carefully. His body protested, lungs burning, muscles weak — but his mind was crystal-clear.
Don't meet strength with strength. Make him angry. Make him sloppy.
He feinted left, then darted right, tapping Roland's shin with the flat of his sword. A tiny, almost insulting hit.
The crowd laughed. Not with Roland — at him.
The Prince's face turned crimson.
He roared and charged blindly.
Leon sidestepped neatly, slashing at the back of Roland's knee.
Not enough to injure — just enough to sting, to unbalance.
Roland stumbled. Fell to one knee.
The crowd gasped.
Leon pressed the advantage. He darted forward, sword aimed not for the throat or chest — but for the wrist holding Roland's blade.
CLANG!
With surgical precision, Leon struck. Roland's sword went flying into the dust.
Silence.
For one heartbeat, the entire courtyard froze.
Then the Master of Arms raised his hand.
"Victory: Prince Leonard."
The nobles erupted into chaotic whispers.
The Third Prince — the forgotten, broken boy — had just humiliated one of the Kingdom's prized heirs.
Without even breaking a sweat.
King Armand's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Queen Morganna's lips thinned into a line of pure fury.
Leon, still breathing heavily, bowed low.
"Your Majesty. Your Grace. Lords and Ladies," he said, voice carrying across the stunned courtyard. "I thank you for this opportunity."
Modest. Respectful. But unmistakably triumphant.
The King rose from his throne.
"This tournament is far from over," he growled. "Face your next opponent."
Leon hid his grimace. He was already exhausted.
His second match would be even harder.
Still — he had proven something crucial.
He was not weak.
He was not broken.
And from this day forward, Leonard Graves Virdalia would carve his name into the world's bones.
As Leon retreated to the sidelines, another system message popped up.
---
[Quest Complete!]
Objective: Survive First Duel
Reward: +500 Crown Points
[Crown Points Store Unlocked]
Available Purchases:
Minor Strength Enhancement: 400 CP
Minor Speed Enhancement: 400 CP
Basic Swordsmanship Memory: 500 CP
Beginner Healing (Passive): 300 CP
Crown's Favor (Luck Boost): 500 CP
---
Leon's eyes gleamed.
Power.
Choice.
Freedom.
For the first time since his rebirth, he was not a puppet at fate's mercy.
He was the puppeteer.