I Acquire Overpowered Traits Just By Taking Damage Chapter 1: Magicless

In a world where might made right, it was a cri to be born weak and sickly.

I ca into this world a thin, frail baby—just skin and bones. The physicians thought I would not last a day. But I did. I clung to life until days bled into weeks, and weeks into years. My weakness, however, never faded.

And for this cri, I was punished—relentlessly bullied by my siblings, neglected by my parents. Perhaps it was only nature’s law at work. I was the runt of the litter, and nature kept trying to weed out.

Still, I held on. Clinging to hope.

I was born a noble, the seventh offspring of a Duke. And as all nobles, magic was my birthright.

On my sixteenth birthday, I prayed for a chance—that I would awaken, and with whatever magic I gained, carve out a place for myself. My parents had low expectations. Only a modest feast was prepared, and no one outside the family was invited to witness the ritual. They expected to have poor, at best average, ability.

Then the orb turned grey.

My heart sank. All my hope shattered.

In a world where might was magic, it was a cri to be noble and magicless. And for this cri, the punishnt was death.

My parents thought cursed. Both were highborn, and in their eyes, it was impossible they could produce sothing so pathetic.

"I’m... I am so sorry, young master."

Sir Roland, one of my father’s knights, whispered as he held in place in the middle of the bridge. His voice was almost lost in the pattering rain.

I wanted to smile at him. To tell him it was fine—that I was glad it was him. One of the few genuine friends I had in my life. His laughter, deep yet light, had so often been a balm to my bruises.

But when I looked up at him, I saw a man who looked as if I had wounded him instead. My tears fell silently as I trembled in the downpour. Yet the coldness inside was worse than the rain: a winter in my chest. I had never felt so sad, so utterly alone.

Why was I punished for what I could not control? Was my true cri simply enduring—refusing to die when I should have?

"Sir Roland, what are you waiting for? It’s getting cold out here. This rain won’t stop any ti soon."

My father’s voice carried over the storm. He stood on the other side of the bridge, with my mother beneath the large umbrella held by the servants, near the carriage.

Other children, in desperation, might have called out—Papa, Mama—hoping for rcy. But those words never left my tongue. When I looked their way, I was only t with cold, blank stares. No love. No warmth.

I had never truly been their son—only a liability they had long wanted to be rid of. Now, at last, they had found their excuse.

"My lord, I can’t. He is your son. Can you not find rcy in your heart? Exile him, if you must—I’ll take care of it! I’ll make sure you never see him again!" Roland’s voice cracked with anguish.

"You’ve gone soft, Roland," my father replied instantly, as if it required no thought. "That boy is no son of mine. He is accursed—a sha to this family. And if you claim to be my loyal servant, then prove it here."

"But my lord—"

"If you can’t do it, walk away. I’ll have soone else."

"Sir Roland, please."

My voice cut through their argunt. "If there is soone I want beside before I..."

I couldn’t say the word. I had just turned sixteen. Barely an hour ago, I was in the warm halls of the castle. Now, in what should have been my happiest day, death had cornered .

"I want it to be with a friend."

Sir Roland—brave Roland, whose tales of valor had so often filled the lonely nights by the fire—openly wept. He kissed the back of my head, his hands gripping my thin shoulders.

"Sir Francis, why don’t you—"

"No need, Father!" I shouted before he could order another knight forward.

I stepped toward the railing of the bridge. The roar of the swollen river rose up to et . It had been raining since morning; the water was brown and angry, rushing toward the open sea.

"Would you help up, Sir Roland?"

At first, there was only silence. I could barely hear it, but I knew he was sobbing. Bittersweet as it was, it comforted —proof that soone cared.

Then I felt his arms lift , just as he had so many tis before. But instead of settling onto his shoulders, my boots landed on the slick wooden railing. His hand steadied as I wavered.

"I am so sorry, Stephen," he whispered hoarsely. "I couldn’t protect you. I have... a wife. I can’t—"

"Hannah... was it? Her na?"

"Yes."

"She makes a beautiful wife, Roland. I always enjoyed her visits. She makes the best pork pies." I smiled faintly, letting the mory distract from the furious river below.

"I am sorry," Roland said again.

"I forgive you, my friend," I replied softly. "Now... let go."

It was my choice to step away from his grasp. Yet I was still startled when the world suddenly fell beneath . I thought the fall would feel slow, grant ti for one last lancholy thought.

But death was rude. Unforgiving.

The river struck like a giant’s hand. For a heartbeat there was pain, then darkness. My consciousness was cut away—like a sound shut off behind a door.

Nothing remained. And I expected it to stay that way.

Until my eyes snapped open.

A blue rectangle hovered before :

[Base Trait: Deathless Acquired]

[Condition t: You have experienced death.]

[You can sustain injury, drowning, burning, poisoning, and all forms of bodily destruction—but you will not die. Pain and damage will persist until fully healed.]