I woke up the rude way—by cracking my head on the wooden wall of a violently shaking carriage. My scalp stung, but the pain barely registered before the memories returned like a busted dam: Cultists. Blood. Knights. System prompt. The sword hilt.
Panic surged.
I tried to sit up, but chains clinked and pulled. Restraints—thick, iron, and locked around my wrists and ankles with the possessive grip of an obsessed ex.
I looked down. A threadbare, rough-spun tunic hung loosely on my borrowed body. One more head tilt, one more fish-eyed stare, and I'd look like a slave fresh off the auction block.
"Quit your useless struggling, witch."
The voice came from my left—sharp, female, and utterly done with my existence.
I froze.
Right. I wasn't alone.
Blinking through the blur of movement, I turned to see my fellow passenger: a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She wore dark mage robes, the fabric stitched with silver thread that shimmered faintly under the slivers of light streaming through the carriage slats. Her black hair seemed to drink in the sun, and her eyes—a striking, intense amethyst—were locked on me like I'd tracked mud across her prayer rug.
She didn't look like the knights who'd knocked me out. She looked like someone who gave orders to those knights.
"Where… where are we?" I managed, my voice cracking like a dried leaf. "Where are we headed?"
I expected silence. Or more disdain. Surprisingly, she answered.
"To the Church. The captain said you're to be questioned. You don't match the heretics found at the ritual site."
That… wasn't comforting. Being questioned by the "Church" after being called a devil didn't exactly fill me with hope for a fair trial.
Still, I managed to sit up despite the chains, bracing myself against the carriage wall. Outside, I caught glimpses of armored horsemen flanking us—riding in tight formation as if we were part of some noble parade.
And me? I was the cursed prize on display.
"Be quiet," she snapped, her voice low and cutting, as if my mere voice offended the heavens. "Speak again and I'll burn your tongue out myself."
Dramatic much? I stifled the sarcastic reply.
I turned away from her glare, the sheer venom in her eyes practically a physical weight, and stared out through a crack in the wood.
Still, something kept gnawing at me.
That voice from before… the one that called itself a System. Where is it now? Can I call it up?
I took a breath and whispered, "Status."
Chime.
A soft, translucent screen shimmered into existence before me, floating in the air like a ghostly tablet.
[Welcome, Host.]
User Status:
Name: ???
Age: 16
Class: ???
Attributes
Strength: 8
Intelligence: 15
Agility: 7
Endurance: 18
Health: 90 / 100
Level: 5
EXP: 0 / 1500
Alignment: Random
Protocol: Scholar's Mate – Active
I blinked.
"…Why do I look like a masochist on paper?" I muttered, half to myself.
Most of my stats were trash-tier. I couldn't see the others' numbers, but judging from the sheer, raw aura of the knights outside, I'd bet 20 was probably average for a regular, un-magical person. I was running on literal half-power in most areas… except for Endurance. That was weirdly, unsettlingly high.
And what the hell is Random?
"You're observant for someone with a subpar brain-to-mouth filter," said the synthetic female voice from the void, sounding oddly amused.
I jumped, nearly banging my head again. "You again?!"
"The Status reflects your natural abilities. Though…" the voice paused, a hint of something unreadable in its tone, "your Intelligence stat seems unusually high for someone like you."
"Hey! Maybe open with a name and a proper intro before you start roasting me! Who even are you? Where am I? And what does Random mean?!"
No answer.
Of course not.