My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

The wind sweeping across the upper balcony of the pavilion felt suddenly ice-cold.

Vince stood frozen on the volcanic stone, his dark eyes wide as the words echoed in his ears. For as long as he could remember, he had lived as an anomaly—a magicless outcast discarded on the steps of an unloving family, forced to carve out his own existence through sheer grit and power. He had never once entertained the thought of his lineage.

To hear a dragonkin elder speak of his father as if he were an ancient legend felt entirely surreal.

"You’re lying,"

Vince said quietly, his voice dangerously low.

"The explosion that introduced mana into the world happened centuries ago."

"I speak nothing but the absolute truth, young Vince,"

Chief Ignar replied calmly, turning his full body toward Vince. His weathered face was soft, devoid of any political deceit.

"When that ancient orb exploded along the elven border, it did not merely scatter raw mana across the continents,"

Ignar explained, his voice dipping into a rhythmic, storytelling cadence.

"From the very heart of that blinding burst of primordial energy... a man materialized. He stepped out from the crater completely unblemished, possessing no mana core of his own, yet radiating an undeniable, sovereign presence."

Vince’s brows furrowed as he listened intently, his posture taut.

"The high elves found him amidst the smoldering ruins,"

Ignar continued.

"Though their lands had suffered immense damage, they recognized something extraordinary in him. They clothed him, tended to him, and eventually escorted him to the human settlements. At the time, humans were physically inferior to almost every other species. They possessed neither the raw brute strength of dragonkin nor the natural elemental affinities of elves. Their only true asset was their intellect."

Ignar paused, taking a deep breath of the night air.

"That man changed everything. Despite having no mana core within his own chest, he possessed an uncanny, instinctual understanding of the world’s newly formed energy grid. He taught human scholars how to safely cultivate their cores, how to construct spell matrices, and how to defend themselves against wild magical beasts."

"He gave them power,"

Vince murmured softly.

"Indeed,"

Ignar agreed, nodding his heavy head.

"And for his selflessness, the humans revered him. They crowned him their first King. His reign brought about a brief golden age of absolute peace. Because he had been nurtured by the elves, he forged an unbreakable alliance between the two races. But a crown could not hold a man like him for long. He felt a deep, unyielding calling to wander the earth—believing he could help every race understand and stabilize their newfound power."

Ignar looked out over the glowing magma veins of Mount Ignis, a nostalgic glint in his golden eyes.

"He left the governance of his kingdom in the hands of his most trusted right-hand man and departed for the horizon. He traveled from region to region, continent to continent. He stabilized fluctuating mana cores, solved magical anomalies, and taught techniques to every species... including us, the dragonkin. Almost like it was the purpose of his existence."

Vince leaned back against the stone railing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

"How do you know so much about this? You speak as if you were standing right beside him."

Ignar let out a booming, chest-rattling laugh.

"That is because I was standing beside him, Vince! I met him when I was a mere teenager, over two centuries ago."

Vince blinked, his usual cool composure cracking for a split second.

"How the hell are you still alive?"

"Hahaha! We dragonkin have vastly longer lifespans compared to you humans,"

Ignar chuckled, stroking his thick, braided beard.

"Two hundred years to a dragon is what, a few decades are to a mortal."

Vince stared at the elder leader, his mind working at lightning speed to analyze the story.

"Even if all of that history is true... it doesn’t prove that man is my father. It’s just an old legend."

"As expected,"

Ignar smiled gently, finding Vince’s skepticism completely natural.

"You inherit his stubborn intellect. Let me ask you this then, Vince... what do you remember about the night you were born?"

Vince took a long pause. He searched the absolute depths of his earliest memories—glimpses of a time before his adoptive parents, buried beneath layers of suppressed childhood trauma.

"Nothing much,"

Vince answered slowly, looking up at the cloudy night sky.

"Just... a very strong, howling wind. That’s all."

Ignar let out a soft, warm laugh, his shoulders relaxing.

"It sure was a windy night..."

"Huh?"

"When your father finally returned from his decades-long journey across the world, he came back carrying a newborn child in his arms,"

Ignar said softly.

"A child he proudly declared as his son. I was the young warrior chosen to fly both of you back to the human capital on my back."

Ignar’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a grim, somber expression.

"But the kingdom he left behind was no longer the peaceful paradise he had built. The man he trusted with the throne—his right hand—had usurped complete control during his absence. He had poisoned the minds of the populace, convincing them that a magicless ruler was an absolute disgrace—a weak, unbecoming smear on a race meant to dominate the new magical era."

Vince’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists inside his coat pockets.

"By the time we arrived, the political corruption was absolute,"

Ignar said, his voice laced with old regret.

"It was already too late to peacefully reclaim the throne without causing a civil war that would destroy the kingdom. Before your father went to face his former friend, he gave me a final, binding command."

Ignar looked Vince directly in the eyes.

"I was ordered to take you far away, to a hidden realm known as Forever’s Keep—a sanctuary built atop a mystical, island on a lake that never remains in the same physical location. Its ancient spatial warding kept your body frozen in time, preserving you as a infant for five long decades, waiting for the right era to awaken."

"Five decades..."

Vince whispered, the staggering realization washing over him. He wasn’t just a boy from a remote village; he was a relic from a lost era.

"When the time came, I personally brought you back to the mortal realm and left you on the doorstep of a modest human family,"

Ignar admitted, bowing his head slightly.

"I could not even participate in the great War of Races that followed... because keeping my oath to your father was my sole purpose at the time."

Vince let out a dry, incredulous chuckle, shaking his head.

"Well... you did a pretty terrible job picking my foster parents, old man."

Ignar burst into a hearty laugh, the heavy atmosphere dissolving into the cool night air.

"Hahaha! My deepest apologies for that, Vince. Searching for a truly good human family was never my strong suit."

The old Chief stepped forward, placing a massive, heavy hand onto Vince’s shoulder. His golden eyes shone with absolute reverence.

"The name of that magnificent, magicless king... and your father... was Yates Harlan."

Vince stood in silence, the weight of the name settling deep into his soul. For the first time in his life, the missing pieces of his past weren’t just a void—they were a legacy waiting to be reclaimed.