Three days later, tired of being confined, Lusian decided to explore the castle.
Umber walked so close he could feel the warmth of its breath—protection… or surveillance. Behind them followed Miss Monica, Albert's daughter and Sophia's personal assistant. She observed Lusian's every movement with patient precision.
"Are you following me now too, Monica?" Lusian asked with a half-smile.
Monica adjusted her glasses—a subtle, precise motion—before replying with her usual trained calm.
"It is not following, my lord. It is supervision," she answered, impeccable in her courtesy. "The duchess ordered me to make sure you don't get into trouble again."
"Again?" Lusian replied, feigning indignation. "I only died once. I don't think that counts as a 'problem.'"
Monica blinked, confused. Lusian smiled and continued his walk, searching the majestic castle for traces of the original Lusian's life: trophies, weapons, and books etched with glowing runes.
This world feels so real… too real, he thought.
Days passed, and Lusian soon faced a problem that pushed him to the edge of despair. Despite the repertoire of techniques he remembered from the game, there was an insurmountable gap: he couldn't feel mana.
He tried again and again, searching within himself for what everyone described as a current, a vibration, a pulse. But he found nothing. Only silence.
Each failed attempt chipped away at his confidence. Because in that kingdom, being unable to perceive mana wasn't just a disadvantage. It was a condemnation. And the emptiness in his chest wasn't just the absence of power—it was a death sentence.
Days later, Sophia decided that a trip outside the duchy would be beneficial, both for the mind and the body. They traveled to Thruin, a small and welcoming city where markets bustled with life and merchants called out their goods in rough voices, while the scents of freshly baked bread, healing herbs, and roasted meat filled the air.
Cobblestone streets were lined with wooden houses with slanted roofs and flower-filled balconies, and children ran between the legs of horses and carts loaded with goods.
The city, devoted to trade and hospitality, carried an air of history: low walls and watchtowers that had withstood ancient invasions, and wrought-iron lanterns that flickered at dusk, casting dancing shadows across the stones. Its proximity to the ruins of the same name stirred conflicting feelings in Lusian—nostalgia for the challenge of exploring the unknown, and fear that the land might harbor real dangers.
A strange and unsettling memory surfaced in Lusian's mind. In the game, Thruin had been ruins—collapsed buildings, broken barricades, and claw marks left by enormous monsters. It contrasted sharply with the reality before him: a safe place, with clean streets, bustling markets, and no visible danger.
Lusian remembered maps, quests, and challenges from the game. That image of the future sent a chill down his spine. What he saw in his memory did not match the city before him—it was as if time had shown him a Thruin that did not yet exist, a devastated place he had to prevent at all costs.
The contrast between the present safety and the catastrophe he remembered left him unsettled. Every street, every corner of the city now felt like a riddle:
How can someone who knows the ending act in an untouched present… without accelerating the tragedy they have already seen?