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My Dragon King System

Forzy
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Prince Aiden Crowley lives as a constant reminder of his father’s shame, a bastard son with no magic, housed in the palace to contain scandal rather than celebrate bloodline. Despised by all, Aiden endures a life of isolation despite his royal title. Impulsively, Aiden makes a decision that should supposedly end this life, until Destiny decides it isn’t done with the Trash Prince Yet! [New Host Found, System Binding…] [Host has successfully bonded with the Dragon King System] [All Magic Parameters Increased!] Armed with such system, and the sudden increase in magic power, a phenomenon that is nothing such of Divine, will Aiden successfully crumble the world’s unfairness to Trash Mages and Commoners, or will he anchor the very structure that once despised him. Author's Notes: -Daily Updates -Great and consistent Story guaranteed. -Possible #Smut Tag -Vote with Powerstones
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Chapter 1 - Son Of A Whore

"Get out of here, all of you!" King Jarius Crowley barked, his voice echoing through the grand chamber.

The four women, each scantily clad in see-through robes that barely concealed their generous curves, scrambled from Prince Aiden's massive bed. They hurriedly gathered their scattered garments from the floor and various pieces of furniture, their movements desperate as they fled the royal presence.

Prince Aiden stood motionless by the tall windows, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. Dark trousers and leather boots were his only clothing, and his mind was so consumed with troubling thoughts that he hadn't heard his father's approaching footsteps.

Had he been more alert, he might have prepared himself for what was to come. It wasn't until the old man's thunderous voice shattered the silence that Aiden was jolted back to reality. He turned quickly, offering a slight bow of his head, a gesture born of both shame and reverence. "Father…"

The furious King moved further into the room, with each step only intensifying the already suffocating tension. Jarius Crowley was a distinguished man weathered by years of rule, his long silver-white hair slicked back and a full beard of the same color framing his stern face. His presence commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

"What did you score?" he asked straightforwardly. Of course, he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from his son's own lips.

"Father, I'm—" Aiden began, but before he could finish his sentence, Jarius cut him off. That wasn't the beginning of an answer he expected from his supposed heir.

"What did you score, you bloody scum?!" His voice thundered through the prince's chambers so powerfully that servants in the hallways stopped in their tracks, exchanging shocked glances. Some began moving closer to listen, and idle chatter spread among the palace maids like wildfire.

"An E!" Aiden yelled back, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and sadness. "I scored an E, Father." He turned back toward the windows, desperately trying to hide the tears building in his eyes while maintaining some semblance of composure.

"Don't you dare turn your back when your King speaks!" Jarius's voice thundered again. Almost immediately, Aiden spun back to face him, though his head remained downcast.

"How are you supposed to be my heir one day if you can't even muster a simple B-rank magic? How?" Jarius demanded, not waiting for an answer before continuing. "You're an embarrassment to the Crowley name!" He spat on the ground in disgust. "Maybe this was the gods' way of punishing me for my infidelity, they made you take after the whore who mothered you."

That was when Aiden snapped. "Then maybe you should've kept your dick to yourself," he shot back, finally having reached his breaking point.

"How dare you?!" Jarius said in a deep, menacing tone, and at that moment, the entire room began trembling under the force of his voice. The massive crystal chandelier hanging from the soaring ceiling started shaking violently, its magical lights flickering as the crystals clanged together in a chaotic symphony.

Cups fell from tables, and mirrors shattered against the walls. Aiden looked around frantically, his eyes wide with shock and terror. "Father, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" But it was already too late.

His voice became mere background noise as Jarius fixed his gaze on Aiden. Then, an invisible force suddenly seized the prince, lifting his feet off the ground and squeezing him mercilessly. Aiden screamed in pain, tears streaming from his eyes as he felt the bone in his right arm dislocate and crack.

The fury in King Jarius's eyes was so intense that he could have killed his son right then and there. But thankfully, that was when Lysandra burst into the room. She was a young woman with striking silvery-white hair styled in an elegant updo with intricate braiding and loose tendrils framing her delicate face. Her pale, porcelain-like skin and piercing blue-green eyes gave her an ethereal beauty that was emphasized by subtle makeup. She wore a formal garment in pale cream tones that suited her regal bearing.

"Father, you're killing him! Father!" she cried out desperately.

The gravity magic holding Aiden immediately ceased, and his body crashed to the floor from the considerable height. The impact made him groan even more as Jarius turned to leave. "Even if it's the last thing I do, I will abolish this tradition that makes it compulsory for the King's firstborn son to be the heir. You will never sit on the Wyrm seat—never!"

He adjusted his velvet cape that draped over his shoulders and atop his dark ceremonial dress as he strode out of the room.

Lysandra immediately ran to Aiden's aid, running her hand through his dark, scruffy hair while trying to console him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Aiden."

Just as Jarius reached the entrance, his third child, Lucas, appeared in the doorway. "My apolo—" Lucas wasn't even able to finish his apology when the cold stare from his father immediately silenced him, making him quickly step aside as Jarius left in a fury, his footsteps echoing through the palace hallways.

Lucas, with his voluminous, curly blonde hair, was dressed in a crisp white linen shirt with swelling sleeves and a high, ruffled collar. A dark brown leather vest was worn over the shirt, paired with black pants and boots. He surveyed the destroyed room with curiosity. "What the hell happened here?" he asked, his eyes moving toward the ground where he saw his twin sister Lysandra trying to console their crying elder brother, who clutched his broken arm with his good hand.

A smile curved across Lucas's lips as he pieced together what had happened. It seemed their father had personally dealt with Aiden for failing to get into the academy yet again, currently the fifth time in a row. "Lysandra, we have to go. Mother is calling for us," Lucas called out.

"You stupid jerk, can't you see Aiden is hurting?" she said, turning to glare at Lucas with annoyance.

"D-don't worry, j-just go," Aiden said between sobs.

"But you're hurt, let—" Lysandra wanted to protest, but Aiden stopped her. "It's fine, Lysandra. I'm good," he said, trying to turn the groan he held back into a smile.

"You heard him, Lysandra. Let's go. Mother would be even more furious if she heard you were here," Lucas added with a sadistic look on his face.

Lysandra took one sorrowful look at Aiden, who nodded for her to leave. "I'll go get Grandal to come look at you at once, then I'll come back later to check on you," she said.

She turned and walked past Lucas, giving him a cold glare before leaving the room. Lucas laughed as Lysandra walked past him, then turned toward Aiden, who writhed in pain. "Word of advice, brother: If I were you, I'd leave Dragonhold, or better still, go feed yourself to Thyrak. Either way, there'll never be a place for you here." Then he made an audible tsk and left the room.

Aiden stared at the ceiling, his left hand clutching his right arm as he writhed in pain. Tears continued rolling down his cheeks as he wondered why he had been born into this world. "I am done with this life," he whispered to himself.

...

Welcome to Dragonhold, the capital of all nine kingdoms and seat of the Wyrm throne. Like most other kingdoms, your magic rank was the most important thing about you, whether you were royalty, noble, elite, commoner, or even peasant. Nothing mattered more.

People were even careful about the sorts of houses they married into or from, ensuring their inhabitants possessed strong magic and good mana flow. Marriage alliances were built on magical compatibility as much as political advantage.

Once every year, Wyvern Spire, the magic academy of the great kingdom, assessed mages and those with mana for enrollment. All you had to do was ensure that the power behind your magic scored at least an E rank.

For royals and nobles, however, the benchmark was D rank access. The E rank was a way of being considerate to the lower class, but it was also a form of classism. They had to maintain a particular standing even among commoners.

The age for assessment was fourteen years, and until you reached that age, you couldn't attend Wyvern Spire for evaluation. When Aiden was fourteen, he was taken to the academy for assessment, and on his first trial, he received literally no score. This came as a shock even to the magic-assessment supervisor.

To muster up nothing meant that the mana one possessed was so little or negligible that it couldn't fuel magic, or that one had no mana at all. Usually, the only people who came out with no score were commoners who claimed they had mana but only used the assessment period as an opportunity to glimpse what royals looked like.

Certain commoners practically saved all year just to buy gate passes into the assessment halls, only to peek at royals and nobles. Every royal and noble at fourteen, until Aiden's first assessment, would easily score high enough ranks to enter. At some point, it felt like conducting assessments for nobles was merely fulfilling righteousness rather than serving an actual need.

The Royal Family Crowley, in particular, had never had anyone who scored below B rank in magic. In fact, having a C-rank score as a Crowley meant you were as talentless as a peasant. The current King had scored an S rank in magic power as a child, and more recently, his daughter Lysandra, who had just completed her own assessment earlier that day, scored an S on her first try at fourteen.

Lucas also had his assessment done that day and scored an A, which was enough to prove he truly was their father's son. Meanwhile, Aiden was on his fifth attempt and could only make his flame magic or whatever little sparks those were, that he had finally developed over the years, to muster an E rank assessment as a nineteen-year-old royal. Unfortunately, this still disqualified him from entry.

Year after year since he was fourteen, he had attempted the assessments, getting no results at all. After the fourth assessment at eighteen years old yielded the same disappointing result, he had started taking extra lessons from mages who worked in the palace, trying to improve and develop any magic at all.

He would beg any Guild Captain he saw visit the throne room, attempting to get them to teach him. He did the same when the Grand Magus would enter, going to plead for instruction. Aiden tried everything to improve. Of course, each one turned him down, either directly telling him he had no magic potential or letting him off kindly. Whatever the approach, it always ended in rejection.

At the age of eighteen, royals, nobles, and all men within the kingdom were allowed to visit whorehouses and have their fun as men. It was also a rite of passage for men of Dragonhold. But Aiden had decided to abstain for a full year, choosing to remain a virgin until he was accepted into the academy.

It wasn't that Aiden never wanted any of these things, of course he did, he was a man after all, but he never wanted anything that might derail him from his purpose. Only Grandal, one of the palace physicians, took kindly to Aiden's plight and tried to help him muster whatever little he could.

In the last year, he had been able to produce flame magic. The day he realized he could produce some spark of flames, he was filled with joy. At least that was proof that he had some mana inside him, however little. He kept at it, confident that the next assessment would finally get him into the academy.

However, after failing today, the day he had looked forward to for a year, he left the academy in a fit of rage and had his carriage take him to the finest whorehouse in the city. He walked into the pleasure establishment, filled with women of different sizes and curves, each making eye contact with him and beckoning with sultry gestures.

Some even took the risk of brushing their hand across his waistline, rubbing through his loins to gauge his arousal. Then, he eventually chose four women, deciding with his eyes the ones that would be the best thing for him today. Their bodies were plump in the right places, with swaying hips and full chests. One of them grabbed his hand and forced it to feel the fullness of her breasts, whispering something he didn't even hear.

He then paid the establishment's owner in gold and left with them. When they all reached his room and began losing their clothes while helping him lose his, he immediately became disgusted.

"Leave me alone!" he said just once, but in a tone that made them retreat to cluster on his bed. The thoughts of earlier that day filled his head, and he was stuck in a loop of despair as he stared out the window, wondering why his life was such a mess.

This all happened before the King barged in and made it certain that Aiden Crowley truly nothing more than trash.