“No. This is no time to be resting.”
The moment Anne left, Ewan threw off the covers and swung his legs out of bed. Ignoring the lingering weakness in his body, he strode to the ornate desk in the corner of the room. Following a half-forgotten memory, he fumbled in a drawer for a blank sheet of parchment, picked up a fine quill, and dipped it in ink.
“The plot has gone completely off the rails. From now on, everything is a blind spot.”
“The novel is useless as a guide. I’m on my own.”
“First, I need a plan. Goals.”
Ewan stroked his chin, his expression deadly serious. Then, in a reasonably neat script, he began to write.
Objective 1: Survive.
Objective 2: Avoid the ‘Death by a Thousand Cuts’ ending.
Objective 3: Get Stronger.
“Right. These are my three immediate goals.”
Surviving was, of course, priority number one. He was, for all intents and purposes, a man who had already died twice, and he was still deeply, profoundly terrified of a third time. Even if this world was openly hostile to a disposable blond villain like him, he was determined to live, to truly live.
“Second, that prophetic dream…” Now that the original “Ruin” ending had been so thoroughly annihilated, he feared the world’s timeline was inevitably steering him toward the “Thousand Cuts” ending.
But…
He paused, then added a few notes.
→ Did not apologize to the protagonist. This might prevent that ending from triggering.
→ The ‘apology’ was just a guess based on the dream figure’s ramblings. It might not be a required flag. The timeline could still be heading for the “Thousand Cuts” ending regardless.
→ The black book cannot be trusted.
“…” Ewan stared at the last line for a moment, then viciously scratched it out. He didn’t have the guts to take that gamble.
“So, my current existential state is ‘Schrödinger’s Dismemberment’?” The more he thought, the more his head ached. “Ah, this is pointless. I have way too little information. I’m just fumbling in the dark.” The root of the problem was that the dream had been infuriatingly vague, and he had no other leads. He didn’t even know if it was a fixed premonition that would happen no matter what, or one that could be changed by his actions.
“Forget it. I need to focus on what I can control. The most important objective.”
His gaze settled on the third item on his list.
Get Stronger.
This was the key. No matter how unfair this world was, it was still a fantasy world where strength was king. Power was the only true foundation for survival. Without it, he would be just as helpless as he was in that room, facing death with no other option but to trade his life for a few precious seconds for someone else.
“And most importantly…” Ewan gritted his teeth, a look of pure, burning indignation on his face. “I am never, ever going to be humiliatingly pinned down and ravaged by a woman again!”
The traumatic memory of being overpowered by Celicia flashed through his mind. While it had been, from a purely physical standpoint, undeniably thrilling, his pride as a man absolutely, fundamentally would not allow it! Not even if his assailant was Celicia herself!
…
“As for how to get stronger… as a duke’s son, I have a mountain of resources. Unfortunately, they’re all conventional, ‘by-the-book’ methods. They won’t be enough to close the god-like gap between me and the protagonist’s party.”
The original Ewan had squandered so much time. A full year at the prestigious Saint Marika Magic Academy, and the only spell he’d managed to learn was a useless “Light” cantrip!
“That’s just pathetic. Did that idiot sleep through every single class?” How could you sleep at a time like this?! Ewan desperately wished he could go back in time and give his past self a good, hard slap, a little preview of the beatings society had in store for him.
“Thankfully,” he conceded, “my base physical condition is decent. I’m at the late stage of the first rank.”
…
In this world, the power system was a little… complicated. But it could be broadly divided into a few main paths:
Aside from the innately determined God-Chosen, the first three were the most basic paths. There were, of course, many other side paths, but those were not options for Ewan. For example, the assassin who used a prayer to offer a sacrifice to a dark god in exchange for temporary power was known as a Dark Priestess. This was one of the side paths. It allowed one to gain power quickly, but since it involved making a deal with a dark god, the fate of a Dark Priestess was… often not very pleasant. In essence, Dark Priests were just a branch of Clerics; they just happened to worship dark gods.
At first glance, the power system didn’t seem too complicated. For the sake of convenience, before reaching the “Crowned” level of power, almost all systems were divided into five ranks. Each system had its own unique names for these ranks; for example, the first rank for the martial path was called “Body Forging,” while the first rank for the magical path was called “Quicksilver.” But the difference was mostly just a name.
The real complexity came from two terrifying factors:
First, this world was a paradise for multi-classing. There was no rule that said a cute and cuddly Cleric girl who spent her days casting holy light and saving lives couldn’t also be a secret muscle-freak who had maxed out her physical strength, and could beat a dragon to death with her holy scripture. There was also no rule that said a frail-looking mage who’d been pelting you with fireballs couldn’t, once you finally got close, pull out a war maul bigger than your torso and smash you into a fine paste.
That’s right. There wasn’t just one path. And the number of paths one could walk at the same time… was more than one.
The assassin from the other night was a perfect example. She’d shown at least third-rank martial arts, used gravity magic, and then pulled out her “Dark Priestess” trump card. In this world, a person’s rank in a single discipline meant nothing, because you never, ever knew how far they’d walked down another, completely different path.
The second, and far more terrifying reason, was an external factor.
In this world, the gods were real. Good gods, evil gods, demon gods—a whole chaotic pantheon of them. And besides granting power through worship, their favorite pastime seemed to be handing out blessings to mortals they found entertaining.
These were the God-Chosen.
In other words, they were official, author-sanctioned, mass-produced cheat codes.
Celicia had the blessing of the Ice Goddess. The protagonist, Ariel, by the end of the novel, had a terrifying, double-digit number of blessings from pretty much every god on the roster. She was basically a gender-bent Heracles, able to call upon any number of divine patrons for help at a moment’s notice.
The number of gods wasn’t the real problem; for some reason, they themselves couldn’t directly interfere in the mortal world, but they could project their power through their chosen champions. The real problem was that you never knew who these champions were. There was no outward sign of a blessing until it was used. Which meant that the random beggar you accidentally kicked on the street could suddenly turn around, conjure a miniature sun, and send you and everything in a five-mile radius straight to the afterlife.
If You Notice any translation issues or inconsistency in names, genders, or POV etc? Let us know here in the comments or on our Discord server, and we’ll fix it in current and future chapters. Thanks for helping us to improve! 🙂