In the shadowed heart of his new quarters. Aiden stood like a thief in his own legend.
Every isekai hero—tumbling from manga panels, anime screens, or game glitches—clutched one edge: foreknowledge. His? A ragged scrap, skimmed to chapter 152 before his ex girlfriend's knife swerve hurled him here.
The author's lazy outline left gaps he could exploit. Plot holes to carve into thrones.
'Why me?' The doubt slithered cold in his gut. 'No hero's halo. Just scraps. Building on borrowed bones.'
He exhaled. The church's incense clung thick—myrrh and charred oak, heavy as unspoken sins. Stone floors chilled his sandals. Each step echoed like a trapped heartbeat.
He'd claimed the Prophet's role. Not from faith. From hunger. A vacant spot in the tale, meant for the Messiah later.
'Let the mc save the world from the All out war,' Aiden thought, fingers tracing his journal. 'I'll whisper the warnings. Feed on the flock's fear to reach where I need to reach....'
