The sharp chime jolted me awake, my sluggish mind struggling to process the sound. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows, painting golden streaks across the room. That didn't make sense. Hadn't I closed my curtains before going to sleep?
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and scanned my surroundings. The room was… luxurious. Spacious. The furniture was sleek, modern, and far grander than anything I knew. The realization settled like a heavy weight in my stomach.
This wasn't my apartment.
A spike of adrenaline shot through me as I threw the blanket off and sprang to my feet—only to misjudge my strength and collide with the opposite wall.
I should have been in pain, sprawled on the floor, questioning my life choices. Instead, I barely felt anything. That wasn't normal. My limbs felt… powerful, responsive in a way I wasn't used to.
I needed a mirror. Now.
Moving carefully, I turned toward what looked like a bathroom door. The metallic sheen and futuristic design reminded me of something straight out of a sci-fi movie. I hesitated before waving a hand in front of it, half-jokingly.
I stiffened. My mind instantly latched onto an unsettling possibility.
This technology… It was eerily similar to what existed in Saga of the Divine Swordsman.
Forcing myself forward, I stepped inside and turned on the sink, splashing cool water onto my face. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I'd just been kidnapped by a billionaire who had a penchant for high-tech architecture. That was somehow preferable to the creeping dread building in my gut.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted my gaze to the mirror.
Black hair. Fair skin. Azure eyes.
My breath caught in my throat. The face staring back at me was younger, sharper. And unmistakably familiar.
I knew this face. I had seen it countless times before, in character illustrations, in fan art, in the countless chapters I had read.
I stumbled back, gripping the sink for support. My mind raced, struggling to reject the obvious. This couldn't be happening. This was fiction. I was supposed to be sitting at my desk, doom-scrolling through the wreckage of my favorite novel's latest arc. Not… this.
Yet, the cold ceramic beneath my fingers, the subtle scent of lavender lingering in the air—it all felt too real.
I swallowed hard. There was only one way to confirm my growing suspicion.
Staggering out of the bathroom, I spotted a sleek study table near the window. A single book lay on top, its title embossed in gold lettering:
[Guide to Mythos Academy]
I reached for it with a trembling hand, but my attention shifted as I noticed something beside it—a student ID.
======================================
Name: Arthur Nightingale
Rank (1st year): 8/100
Mana core rank: Low Silver
Weapon of choice: Longsword
======================================
The photograph on the ID was a perfect match for my new face.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I couldn't deny it anymore.
I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly weak. My breathing quickened, and my fingers dug into the bedsheets. This was impossible. Why this novel? Out of all the books, games, and stories I had consumed, why did I end up in Saga of the Divine Swordsman?
I knew what was coming. Volume 8. The arc where everything fell apart.
Lucifer Windward, the undisputed protagonist, was supposed to be invincible. He was a monster, a warrior who stood above all others. But that didn't stop the world from dragging him through hell. The story had taken a turn for the worse—his allies perished, his enemies multiplied, and the balance of power crumbled under the weight of unforeseen catastrophes.
And now, I was here. As Arthur. A mere extra.
I sucked in a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.
Okay. Think. I had an advantage most people in this world didn't—I knew the future. That alone could change everything. Arthur had already secured a spot in Class A, meaning he wasn't completely powerless. He was ranked eighth in his year, a position most could only dream of.
I turned my wrist, activating the smartwatch strapped to my arm. The date flashed across the screen:
Tomorrow marked the official start of the Academy term. That meant I had one day to assess my abilities before being thrown into the shark-infested waters of Mythos Academy.
I glanced at my hands, flexing my fingers. My body felt different, honed in a way I had never experienced before. Even without mana reinforcement, my physique alone was far beyond what I was used to.
Pushing off the bed, I moved toward the door. Mythos Academy's Class A students had access to a private training center, operational 24/7. That would be the perfect place to get a feel for Arthur's capabilities.
Just as I reached for the door handle, a sharp, piercing pain exploded in my skull.
"Mhmm!" I gasped, gripping my head as agony shot through my nerves.
It felt like someone was driving a hot iron straight through my brain, branding every neuron with fire. I staggered back, knees giving out as I collapsed onto the floor.
Then the memories came.
A flood of images, thoughts, emotions—all foreign yet familiar—poured into my consciousness. I clenched my teeth, body trembling as Arthur Nightingale's life flashed before my eyes in rapid succession.
The rough grip of a wooden practice sword. The relentless drills under his father's watchful gaze. The cold, metallic taste of blood after countless sparring matches. The aching exhaustion of swinging a sword long past the point of collapse.
The laughter of friends—Rowan, the son of a blacksmith, always boasting about his father's latest work. Elias, who had an uncanny ability to predict an opponent's next move. Their voices echoed in my mind, distant yet vivid.
The pride in his father's eyes the first time Arthur had won a duel. The crushing weight of expectation as he trained under Count Chase's patronage. The elation of his first breakthrough, the terror of his first real battle.
The moment he first set foot in Mythos Academy, heart pounding as he stood among the greatest prodigies of his generation.
A scream tore from my throat as my mind struggled to contain the torrent of information. My body convulsed, wracked by sensations that weren't my own.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain receded, leaving me gasping for breath on the floor.
Sweat dripped down my face, my chest rising and falling in erratic motions. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my head as if to steady my thoughts.
"W-What was that...?" My voice came out hoarse, weak.
I pushed myself upright, leaning heavily against the bed. My hands trembled as I pressed them to my temples, trying to make sense of the memories that had been forcefully integrated into my mind.
Arthur Nightingale. A commoner from the Slatemark Empire. A boy whose raw talent had caught the attention of Count Chase, securing him the resources needed to cultivate his abilities. An individual who, while lacking the overwhelming strength of Lucifer, had been skilled enough to hover between Class A and B.
I exhaled slowly. At least now, I had context. My mind still reeled from the sudden influx of memories, but I could think clearly again.
One thing was certain—I couldn't waste this second chance.
I might not be Lucifer Windward. I might not be destined for greatness.
But I refused to be insignificant.