After transmigrating into the body of a prince confined to the Cold Palace, I bound myself to the strongest Imperial System.
I was about to defy fate with its help when, on the day before my coronation, the System left me with one line: “Host, your talent is too poor. This System is running away.” Then it vanished for good.
Facing the assembled court officials and an empty treasury, I looked at the bill for selling myself to pay off my debts, then at the hostile envoys from enemy states glaring up at me. Is it too late to pretend I'm dead?
