The silence that followed Malphas's departure was thick, almost suffocating. Kaelen sat back down on the edge of the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm that felt far too real for a digital world.
He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched the obsidian mirror. The glass was ice-cold. This wasn't a dream, and it certainly wasn't the "haptic feedback" promised by the VR rigs of 2026. This was life—fragile, singular, and currently scheduled for a violent end in six weeks.
"Forty-two days," he whispered, the words tasting like copper.
In Aethelgard, the 'Siege of Ravenhold' wasn't just a battle; it was a scripted slaughter. The Hero, Lucius, would storm the gates fueled by righteous fury and a convenient power-up from the Goddess of Dawn. Kaelen von Astora, playing the part of the arrogant fool, would wait in his throne room, sipping wine and overestimating his own invincibility until a holy blade was buried in his chest.
Kaelen stood up and began to pace. The silk robe hissed against the stone floor.
The problem with being a "Boss" in this world was the Aggro. The System literally forced NPCs to hate him. His [Villain's Presence] passive was a beacon for every 'justice-oriented' knight in the kingdom. To survive, he couldn't just be "nice." The world wouldn't allow it. He had to be necessary.
"System," he called out, his voice regaining that unnatural, commanding resonance. "Open the Skill Tree."
A holographic web of shimmering violet lines erupted in front of him. It was a mess. The original Kaelen had poured every point into [Soul Devouring] and [Terror Inducement]. High-damage, high-flash, but zero utility. It was a build designed for a spectacle, not a long-term war.
"Total skill reset is impossible," Kaelen muttered, scanning the nodes. "But the 'Hidden Archive' reward... that's the wildcard."
He focused on the new notification blinking at the edge of his vision.
[REWARD: Knowledge of the Hidden Archive]
Location: Beneath the Grand Library of Astora. Requirement: Blood of the Sovereign.
Kaelen knew the Grand Library. In the game, it was a background asset—a place you'd visit for a five-minute lore dump before heading back to the combat zones. No player had ever found a secret basement there because the "Blood of the Sovereign" requirement was a literal lock. You had to be a royal of Astora to open it, and since players only ever controlled Lucius (a commoner), the area remained a mystery.
Until now.
He moved to a heavy wardrobe, pulling out a set of charcoal-grey traveling leathers. No gold filigree, no heavy capes. If he was going to navigate the rat-infested underbelly of his own capital, he needed to look less like a target and more like a shadow.
As he strapped on a pair of boots, he caught sight of a small, ornate dagger on his bedside table. Its blade was forged from "Void-Iron," a metal that seemed to drink the light in the room. He tucked it into his belt.
"Time to see if the lore holds up," he said.
The hallways of the Palace of Shadows were a labyrinth of cold marble and echoing whispers. Servants and guards scrambled to clear a path as Kaelen approached, their heads bowed so low they were almost doubled over. The fear was palpable—a sour, metallic scent that followed him like a physical wake.
He hated it.
As a gamer, he'd played the "Evil Route" dozens of times, but feeling the genuine terror of a sixteen-year-old maid as she nearly tripped over her own feet to avoid eye contact was different. It made his stomach churn.
"Keep walking," he told himself. "You can't fix the kingdom if you're dead."
He exited the main palace through a side servant's gate, ignoring the confused look on the sentry's face. The city of Astora stretched out below him, a sprawling metropolis of dark stone and glowing blue ley-lines. It was beautiful, in a grim, oppressive sort of way.
The Grand Library sat on the eastern edge of the noble district, a massive circular structure that looked more like a fortress than a house of learning.
Kaelen kept his hood up, weaving through the morning crowds. His [Villain's Presence] made people instinctively move out of his way, though they didn't know why. It was like he was a predator walking among sheep; even without seeing his face, their instincts told them to run.
Inside, the library smelled of old parchment and ozone. High-up windows let in shafts of pale light that illuminated dust motes dancing in the air.
"Your... Your Highness?"
An elderly librarian, his robes stained with ink, approached Kaelen with trembling hands.
"I require the restricted annals of the First Era," Kaelen said, his voice cold and flat. It was easier to play the part than to explain himself. "Leave me. I will find what I need."
"Of course, Highness! At once! I shall clear the floor—"
"No," Kaelen snapped. "Do not clear the floor. Do not speak of my presence here. If I hear a single whisper that I was in this library today, I'll have your tongue for a bookmark. Understood?"
The librarian turned pale and nodded frantically before scurrying away.
Kaelen made his way to the very back of the library, past rows of crumbling scrolls and forbidden grimoires. In the furthest corner, behind a moth-eaten tapestry depicting the Fall of the Gods, stood a plain, windowless stone wall.
To anyone else, it was a dead end. To a speedrunner who had spent three thousand hours analyzing the world-building of Aethelgard, it was a puzzle.
Kaelen drew the Void-Iron dagger and pressed the tip against his thumb. A bead of dark, almost black blood welled up. He pressed his thumb against a specific, unassuming brick in the wall—the one with a faint, carved indentation of a crown.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, the floor groaned. The brick absorbed the blood, glowing with a dull, crimson light. Slowly, without a sound, the wall slid backward and to the side, revealing a narrow, spiral staircase that descended into pitch-blackness.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: You have entered a 'Null-Zone'.]
[The eyes of the Gods cannot reach here.]
Kaelen felt a chill run down his spine. In the game, "The Gods" were the developers' way of explaining why certain events were scripted. If the Gods couldn't see him here, it meant the System's influence was weak.
He descended the stairs, the air becoming colder and drier with every step. At the bottom, he found himself in a small, circular chamber. There were no books here. Instead, the walls were covered in glowing, etched glass cylinders, each containing a swirling vortex of silver mist.
In the center of the room sat a single, obsidian pedestal. On it lay a book that didn't look like a book at all. It looked like a slab of frozen smoke.
[ITEM FOUND: The Primordial Shadow Script (Rank: ???)]
Description: The original blueprint of the Shadow Arts. Contains the techniques erased from history by the Church of Light.
Kaelen reached out, his hand hovering over the 'smoke.'
"Lucius has the 'Holy Sword' and the 'Goddess's Blessing,'" Kaelen murmured. "But those are just tools given by the System. This... this is a glitch in the Matrix."
As his fingers touched the Script, the silver mist in the cylinders turned violent. Information began to flood his mind—not in the form of System pop-ups, but as raw, visceral memory. He saw the world before the "Heroes" and "Villains" were assigned roles. He saw the "Shadow" not as evil, but as a fundamental force of equilibrium.
[NEW SKILL LEARNED: Shadow Weaver (Passive/Active)]
Effect: You no longer consume Mana to use Shadow Spells. You consume the 'Conceptual Darkness' of the surrounding environment. Note: This skill is unrecognized by the World Logic. Use with caution.
Kaelen gasped, falling to his knees as the sheer volume of data settled into his brain. His violet eyes flickered, the pupils briefly turning into vertical slits.
He felt a new kind of power humming under his skin. It wasn't the "S-Grade Mana" he had before. It was something deeper. Something that didn't belong to the "Kaelen" of the game.
"Highness?"
Kaelen froze.
The sound of footsteps came from the staircase. Rapid, light, and far too rhythmic to be the elderly librarian.
He turned, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger.
Emerging from the darkness of the stairs was a young woman in the white-and-gold habit of a Priestess. Her hair was the color of spun gold, and her eyes—clear, bright blue—widened in shock as she saw him.
[NPC IDENTIFIED: Elara Vance]
[Role: The Holy Saintess / Love Interest of the Hero (Lucius)]
Kaelen's heart sank. She wasn't supposed to be here for another three weeks.
"Prince Kaelen?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Her hand went to the holy relic hanging around her neck. "What... what have you done? What is this place?"
Kaelen looked at the 'Shadow Script' in his hand, then back at the girl who was destined to help Lucius kill him.
The script was already diverging. He hadn't even been in this world for four hours, and he had already broken the timeline.
"Saintess," Kaelen said, standing up and letting the shadows of the room coil around his boots like hungry vipers. "You're early. And unfortunately for both of us, you're in a place where the Gods aren't watching."