Eldoria - This is a world where kingdoms rise and fall under the weight of ambition, where betrayal is as common as the changing seasons. A land where heroes are forged in blood, only to be discarded when their purpose is served. In this cruel, unforgiving world, fate plays its own games—twisting lives, breaking dreams, and rewriting destinies. Zoom in on the vast continent of Eldoria, a land teeming with warring nations, ancient secrets, and ruthless rulers. To the north lies the great Vareldis Empire, a kingdom built upon conquest and bloodshed, ruled by an unyielding royal lineage that crushes any who dare oppose it. At the heart of Vareldis stands its magnificent capital, Drakensholm, a city of towering spires, dark intrigue, and a throne stained with centuries of betrayal. It is here, within the cold, gilded walls of the Imperial Palace of Blackthorn, that the fate of nations is decided—and where our protagonist awakens to his doomed fate. In a chamber deep within the palace, where the golden banners of the empire flutter against the chilling northern wind, Prince Fenric Eldrath Vareldis stirs from his slumber. A name that history barely remembers, for he is a mere extra in the grand scheme of the empire. The third prince—overlooked, ignored, and destined for a tragic end at the hands of his younger brother, the fourth prince, who will soon become the most feared villain in the empire's history. But this time, Fenric is different. Because the soul inside his body does not belong to this forgotten prince. This time, fate has made a mistake. And he will not be its puppet. *** "What is this place?" Fenric—no, the foreign soul—muttered as he found himself in an unfamiliar body. "What the heck is this? A cosplay setting?" Fenric groaned, sitting up. His thoughts were a mess, his vision blurred, but as he moved, a sharp pain shot through his body. "Fuck, what is this?!" He winced in shock as he took in his own reflection. "Wait... was I kidnapped? Drugged? And now dumped into some bizarre experiment?" He clenched his fists, gripping the soft bedsheets. "No... what kind of cheap isekai fever dream is this?" He scoffed, rubbing his temple. "But this... is to real to be a dream." His fingers trembled as he pinched himself, the sting confirming his fears. "No, maybe you can feel pain in dreams. Who knows? No one has ever proved it anyway," he mumbled, hesitantly swinging his legs over the bed. But just as he was about to stand—someone pushed him back down. "No, young prince! What are you doing?!" A voice snapped at him. Before he could react, he was forced back onto the bed. "Eh?" It was so sudden that he didn't even process it. A soft, warm sensation pressed against him, and his mind momentarily blanked. 'What the fuck was that?' he thought, his breath hitching. Then, his dazed eyes landed on the person in front of him. " Beautiful.... " he unconsciously said. The silver-haired maid before him flushed slightly, averting her gaze. "Young prince, what are you saying?" she asked, eyeing him with mild suspicion. Fenric rolled his eyes in response. "My head hurts?" he muttered. "Don't worry, it'll go back to normal," she added, picking up a small, unfamiliar medicine bottle. "Now, take this. It's time for your daily medicine." She leaned forward, preparing to feed him. Fenric, now ashamed from everything happening, instinctively opened his mouth—but the moment the medicine touched his tongue, he spat it out immediately. "What the hell is this?!" he exclaimed. The taste was so vile that even comparing it to garbage felt like an insult to garbage itself. "Young prince, you must drink it," the maid insisted, pushing the bottle toward him again. He groaned but hesitated. Then, just as he was about to protest, she reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. "You feel oddly hot. It seems your illness is acting up again," she murmured, concern flickering in her eyes. "The healer said this should help, so please don't resist." Fenric stared at her, his thoughts racing. 'This dream is too realistic.' He clenched his teeth, trying to rid his mouth of the horrible aftertaste. Then, as he forced himself to swallow, his eyes landed on something beside him. Embroidered onto the sheets was a royal crest. A symbol he instinctively recognized. The emblem of the Vareldis Empire. His body stiffened. "Why is this here?..No... wait." His voice was barely a whisper. He looked down at himself—through the mirro-his pale white hair, his dull blue eyes, and his fragile, sickly body and the face he recognized instantly. This wasn't just some Dream! 'Have I really... reincarnated?' His breath hitched. And then he panicked heavily, as he saw himself in the body of most Tragic Extra. Fenric Vareldis. The third prince. The child destined to die. The stepping stone for the fourth—the ultimate weapon of the fourth prince, the villain of this world. This body wasn't born weak by accident. It was a result of years of careful poisoning. Fourth Prince mother, Empress Balina, had been feeding him poison from the moment he was born. A slow-acting venom, designed to drain his life force little by little, making it look like a natural illness. It left no trace, no evidence of foul play. Seventeen years had passed, and the poison had seeped into every part of him, and now soon on his Eighteenth birthday, he will die, which is just three months from now on. A silent death sentence. And all of it—all of it—was just to make him the perfect sacrifice. A disposable pawn for the true villain of this world. The reason was simple—why he was chosen. The Third Prince was born with silvery white hair, a rare and revered trait in the Vareldis royal bloodline. It was a symbol of pure inheritance, a sign that he had perfectly inherited the strength of their ancestors-The Blessing of Moon Goddess passed down in Royal Family of Vareldis. Those born with it were destined to become powerful warriors, natural leaders who could wield the empire's might with ease.