"Huff… huff…"
The sound of my own ragged breath filled the silence. Dry. Hoarse. Like I'd been choking in smoke for hours.
I looked down at my hands.
Slim. Pale. Smooth.
No burns. No blood. No callouses. Nothing.
'This… isn't my body.'
A cold whisper escaped my lips. "Did I… succeed?"
My fingers trembled as I pushed myself up. Sheets of silk—too soft, too expensive—fell off my chest.
I was lying on a king's bed, inside a room that dripped wealth—paintings in golden frames, velvet curtains, polished ornaments glowing under chandelier light. A glass display held a jewel-encrusted sword that hummed faintly with mysterious energy.
A soft ticking sound came from the ornate clock embedded into the wall near a calendar I couldn't yet read.
Every corner sparkled.
And yet—my skin crawled.
"Where the hell… am I?" I muttered, my voice a broken rasp.
I stood on shaky legs, a bedsheet clutched around my waist like armor, and walked—no, staggered—toward the full-length mirror beside the dresser.
The reflection stopped my breath cold.
That wasn't me.
The body staring back was young—maybe fifteen, sixteen at most. Short brown hair, red eyes that flickered with light. Skin pale with slight blemishes, a faint scar below the ribs. A little softness in the stomach. An unfamiliar jawline. No military cuts. No age. No burden.
Just as I reached up, the boy in the mirror did the same.
My voice cracked. "Who the fuck is this?"
I backed away from the mirror, heart thundering in my chest. I looked at the room again—so pristine, so calm—like it belonged to royalty. Like I'd stepped into someone else's life. Someone who'd never fought. Never bled. Never killed a man with his bare hands.
I glanced at the wall.
A calendar hung there, written in elegant, looping script. I shouldn't be able read the cryptic language, but I can read it clear enough.
Year 7546. Month of Aphrakael.
I sucked in a sharp breath. "That… can't be right."
Then I turned to the window.
Two silver moons hung above a blackened sky. No stars. Not a single one. Just endless dark velvet with two cold gods watching from above.
"Is this the future?" I whispered.
And then—like a reflex, or an instinct from a life that felt like it had ended—I said aloud:
"Log."
A low chime rang out.
And a window flickered into reality in front of me—a translucent blue pane of light, hovering mid-air. My blood went cold.
[SYSTEM LOG - SECURE ADMIN ACCESS]
User: Issac Green.
Status: Partially Alive.
Radiation Level: Zero.
[REMOTE OBSERVATION LOG]
Subject: Killian Fritz
Status: Dead
Radiation Signature: Zero
[MEMORY SEQUENCE COMPLETE]
[Conscious Override: 90% — Loading…]
...
"So… it worked?"
My voice came out hoarse, disbelieving—yet threaded with an uncontrollable smirk.
"My memories… my consciousness… not into my past self—but into someone else."
My reflection in the mirror stared back.
A boy's body.
But inside—me.
I let out a low, broken laugh.
Then louder.
"Hahahaha!"
The sound cracked the silence. Sharp. Fractured. Unhinged.
"I aimed for the past… and landed in the damn future."
I clenched my fist. Veins pulsed beneath smooth, youthful skin—too clean to be mine, too new to belong to a man like me.
And yet—
"This Power…"
It buzzed beneath the surface of this flesh. Like something ancient had been waiting in this vessel all along.
I cocked my fist back and drove it forward—
Whoosh.
I stopped just before impact.
And still, the air rippled. A shockwave burst from my knuckles, blasting through the room. Curtains snapped against their rods, papers flew, candle flames trembled.
"Hahahaha!"
Power. Control. A second life with strength I had never imagined.
Then—creak… creak…
The door cracked open.
I turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
A slender figure peeked inside. A maid, no older than twenty. Her eyes widened the second she saw me.
"M-Master?" she whispered, her voice like a trapped breath.
"Do you need something?"
She stepped inside carefully, as if walking into the cage of a sleeping beast. Her uniform was simple—black cloth, silver-trimmed, a soft bonnet resting atop her dark hair.
Her eyes downcast and her body tense.
I glanced at the log still flickering in the air above me. She didn't seem to notice it.
I dropped onto the velvet sofa, legs spread, one arm over the rest. The body wasn't mine, not completely—but it would be.
I waved her forward.
She hesitated, but obeyed.
I grinned. "Praise me."
She blinked. "H-Huh?"
"Praise me," I repeated. "Speak my name. Speak of my greatness. My origin. My… legacy."
She froze, like a deer caught in divine light.
"L-Lord…"
I raised a brow.
Then she swallowed, gathered her breath, and obeyed.
"Lord William… is the most handsome man in all of Cindral…"
I leaned back, eyes half-lidded.
She continued, voice shaking. "After the passing of the previous lord… Lord William assumed control of the Rose Barony. He… he managed the finances, saved villages from ruin… protected the estate."
A pause. Her voice cracked.
"He treats everyone fairly. Even though…" she faltered, "…even though the Lord is a Half-Demon…"
The moment the words left her lips, she gasped.
And then—
She dropped to her knees.
"I'm sorry!" she cried, hands trembling on the floor. "I didn't mean any offense, my Lord! I—I swear I respect you, I—please, forgive me!"
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Her face buried in the plush carpet.
...
William—Issac, reborn—sat still, gaze fixed on the maid as she trembled on the floor.
Her tears hadn't dried and now her face is flushed and raw.
His thoughts coiled quietly beneath his blank expression.
'William… a Baron. This body is noble-born.'
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
'Half-demon… What the hell does that even mean here? And why is she so terrified of me?'
Questions burned like embers in his mind. But he gave nothing away.
Instead, his voice came low, level—emotionless.
"Now…" he said, drawing the word out like a blade, "…tell me what they say behind my back."
The woman's spine went rigid.
"L-Lord…"
She began to cry again.
He didn't flinch. His stare remained locked on her like frost.
No comfort. No kindness. Only silence.
She swallowed, choked on the air, and finally spoke.
"Y-your father, the previous Baron… he fell in love with a human," she said, words thin with fear. "They say she bewitched him."
"From that union… you were born. A Half-Demon."
William's brow lifted slightly.
She hesitated—but the silence demanded obedience.
"When the previous Lord died without other heirs… you—Lord William—were granted the title. Rose Barony fell into your hands."
She clenched her fists on the rug, eyes trembling as she continued.
"B-but they say… you changed. You beat the maids who served you."
"You… gambled with the Barony's fortune. Drowned yourself in alcohol. Sold half the lands to neighboring Barons to cover debts."
Her voice dropped lower.
"…They say you squandered everything the Rose name once stood for."
William remained still. A storm of thoughts churned behind his crimson eyes.
'So that's the legacy I've inherited… A noble bloodline crippled by disgrace. A title clinging to power by reputation alone.'
He tilted his head slightly, face unmoved—but his gaze had sharpened.
The woman lowered her head until it touched the ground.
"I'm sorry, my Lord. I—I didn't mean any disrespect. Please… don't kill me…"
Her voice cracked under the weight of her fear.
William said nothing. His eyes drifted upward, toward the intricate crest carved above the fireplace—a crimson rose impaled by a silver sword.
And suddenly, something clicked.
'Rose…'
The name lingered in his mind like a whisper that refused to fade.
'Did she just say… Rose?'
He let the thought sink in.
'William Rose…?'
His fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.
'No. That can't be right.'
His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as if challenging the universe itself.
'The William Rose?'
That name cracked open something deep in his mind.
A flicker. A blurred image.
A book cover.
'World of Transcendence.'
His lips parted, just slightly.
'No way…'
He sat perfectly still, but his thoughts were racing beneath the surface like thunderclouds rolling in.
'That's a novel. A damn fantasy novel I read years ago.'
'I don't even remember most of it—just that it was strange. Twisted. The kind of world you don't forget easily.'
A pulse of discomfort flared in his chest.
'William Rose was… a Half-Demon, right? One of the side characters who dies early. I think… chapter five?'
He tried to chase the memory further, but it was like grasping smoke.
He remembered tone, tragedy, maybe even a blade through the chest—but the why escaped him.
No clear death scene. No political betrayal. No final words.
Nothing.
Just emptiness where plot should've been.
William's red eyes flicked to the flickering system log.
His voice came low. Measured. Almost amused.
"A minor character…?"
He looked at his open palm. The skin was smooth. The power beneath it buzzed faintly.
His fingers curled, slow and deliberate.
"Is that what I've become?" he muttered.
A long pause.
Then, calmly:
"Get out."
He didn't raise his voice, but the command rang through the chamber like a slap.
The maid—who had still been frozen near the door, unsure if she was dismissed—flinched and bolted out, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she fled down the corridor, her face ghost-white.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence.
William leaned his head back against the sofa and exhaled through his nose, long and slow.
A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips and he scoffed.
"Fiction…"
He closed his eyes briefly.
"If I truly am inside that world—if this is the 'World of Transcendence'…"
"…then someone, somewhere, made a very poor editorial choice."
He opened his eyes again. The glow from the moons made them gleam like coals in the dark.
"Because I don't intend to die in chapter five."