Kneeling slightly, he pressed his palm against the ground, etching his will into it.
A
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, then let the next words roll from his tongue.
"
The air responded at once.
No Aether tugged at his veins, no intricate weaving demanded his focus—this was a skill, not a spell.
One of the few universal tricks, accessible even to those who had never touched arcana. It worked on intent alone.
Lines of pale light began to spread out from under his feet, curling and linking together in delicate patterns. White runes formed in a perfect circle, rotating slowly in a clockwise spiral around him.
Each symbol pulsed with growing intensity, like the heartbeat of something vast and unseen.
Ten seconds stretched like an eternity. And then, with a single flash that swallowed his vision, the circle ignited—and the world folded around him like fabric being twisted through unseen hands.
Space swallowed him whole, churned him about as if chewing, then spat him back out. The sensation left his stomach lurching, and for a moment he staggered forward, boots scraping stone as he fought to steady himself.
"Gods…" he muttered, pressing a palm to his chest.
"That is nothing like the game."
In Hepta Calamitates, teleportation had always been a clean snap—screen fades to black, instant reappearance.
This?
This was messy, visceral.
He had the distinct impression that if he slipped even slightly, the portal wouldn't spit him out at all.
This was no simulation—it was a living world, modeled after the game but not bound by its rules.
When his vision cleared, he realized he was standing in the heart of Eryndor's town square. And at once, the city rushed at him with a tidal wave of sensation.
The morning sun blazed down from a flawless blue sky, so sharp and bright that he had to squint.
'So much for having superhuman stats,' he thought, shading his eyes. Even with all that power, he still blinked like any ordinary man under sunlight.
"Alright," he muttered, glancing around at the bustling square
"It's definitely not a VR anymore."
Golden light spilled over the plaza, washing the pale stone in warmth.
A grand town hall dominated the space, its bell tower stabbing into the heavens, clock face gleaming.
Just as his gaze found it, the great hand shifted, and a deep, resonant clang rolled across the city—Twelve o'clock.
The sound vibrated through his bones.
The square itself was alive with motion. Officials hustled into the town hall, scrolls clutched tight against their chests.
Townsfolk clustered at notice boards, their voices rising and falling in overlapping chatter.
Travelers hunched over maps spread across their laps, arguing about routes.
While most of the crowd was human, his eyes picked out other details: the glint of elven ears, sharp and elegant; the curve of demon horns catching the light.
It was unmistakably Eryndor—human territory first and foremost—but the world bled into it in many shapes.
Festive color adorned the square.
Banners of yellow and pink fluttered overhead, lanterns swayed from strung wires, and workers balanced on ladders as they strung up even more.
Stalls were being built around the plaza's edges.
Soon, the clatter of hammering reached his ears where a couple of kids ran by laughing, chasing each other with wooden swords.
Arthur groaned internally, "Yeah, I'm sure this will end well."
"Some kid's probably about to swing that stick and 'accidentally' summon a mini-boss or something."
"Classic fantasy trope."
He sighed dramatically, shaking his head.
"I'm just waiting for the moment one of these kids 'accidentally' saves the town by defeating a dark lord with a paper airplane." He laughed at the absurdity of the anime he used to watch.
Then, he turned, idly curious what might sit at the center of it all—then froze.
At the far end of the square, raised on an elevated platform, stood five statues.
Larger than life, carved in reverence, they stared down at him with eternal, unblinking eyes.
He took a single step closer, then another, disbelief clawing its way up his throat.
He knew those faces.
His breath caught as recognition struck like a blow.
They weren't strangers, not legends half-remembered from the lore of Hepta Calamitates.
They were familiar—achingly familiar.
"…No way."
His eyes swept from one to the next.
Their stances, their weapons, the pride etched into their stone expressions.
He had fought alongside them. Laughed with them. Cleared dungeon after dungeon with them.
His party. His people. His friends.
The bronze plaque beneath confirmed what his heart already knew, the words gleaming in the sunlight.
"Legendary Heroes."
Arthur's gaze locked on the statue of himself, and his jaw slackened in disbelief.
For a moment he simply stared, then let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.
"…That's supposed to be me?"
He let out a short, sardonic laugh, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Well, isn't this adorable?"
"The first real thing I see in this world is a statue of me. And this... is what they think I look like?"
The figure was absurdly small, nearly four feet tall, while in reality Arthur towered past six.
The proportions were skewed as well, with a far softer, almost skinny build carved into the stone.
His mood curdled.
'Seriously? I can't even be allowed to grow up?'
When he'd first designed his avatar as a kid, he had made it short, thin, a reflection of his real self at the time.
But that was decades ago.
He'd grown, changed, matured—and his avatar had followed suit.
By his late twenties, he had built himself into a figure of height and presence.
Seeing the stone version reduced to some childlike caricature was infuriating.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
Of course, it was inevitable that the so-called Legendary Heroes would be polished into idealized forms. But what stung was that his friends had been rendered faithfully—tall, strong, confident.
Meanwhile, he had been warped into a miniature version, stylized beyond recognition.
Maybe it was because their avatars had always been adult from the start, while he alone had tried to mimic his own growth in-game.
And a child—no matter how skilled—didn't exactly scream legend.
"Ugh," he muttered.
"They really messed this one up."
"I'm barely recognizable here. I mean, come on, at least give me some muscle or... something."
"They got my horns right, but who thought this 'miniature demon mage' was a good idea?"
"Was the sculptor high?"