"This can't be happening." A young man with jet-black hair and piercing sky-blue eyes muttered to himself, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling overhead. Lucien Drevarn. That was the name he had now, in this strange, cruel new life. But in his past life, he had been someone else entirely—a modern man, college-educated, reasonably well-off, with no shortage of luxuries or comforts. A nobody in the grand scheme of things, but content.
And yet, here he was. Reincarnated into the novel's setting so mysterious it barely cracked the fantasy rankings—but was infamous in horror circles. 'I had a good life back there... So why this? Why this cursed story of all things? What sin did I commit to deserve this fate?' he thought bitterly, wiping his face and stopping midway. Even shedding a tear felt dangerous here. 'Fuck. Can't even cry without risking death.'
He sat up in bed, the silk sheets slipping off his body like water. The room around him was lavish. Gilded edges on the walls, silk curtains, and a chandelier above that looked like it cost more than his apartment back on Earth.
"Okay, let's recap. Yesterday, I finished that obscure novel—the one with the ridiculously long title... What was it? I hate the world, so I made a novel about suffering with Shakespeare's writing and H.P. Lovecraft's story. I wrote that eight-page essay online tearing apart every bit of its bullshit. Then boom—next thing I know, I woke up here."
He groaned. "And of all the characters, I get Sekai'd into the one who gets executed in his first scene." Lucien clenched his fists. He was now the illegitimate son of one of the Seven Duke Houses of the Empire of Gia. His father had only recently acknowledged him on his deathbed—because there were no other heirs left. Just like that, Lucien had become a Duke overnight. And for good measure, he was immediately betrothed to the First Princess.
The very same princess who murders him the moment they meet. She'd said nothing. No remorse, no anger, no false justification. Just a sword through his chest and a soft-spoken, "I love someone else." And nobody had questioned her. Not the court. Not the Emperor. No one. Why? Because this wasn't a fantasy story. It was a horror story. Wrapped in fantasy dressing.
Lucien let out a humorless laugh. "G–, what a joke. I can't even pray." But he had something the original Lucien didn't. He knew. The whole plot. The events. The mechanics, maybe that is enough for his survival? Well, there is no risk in trying. He rose from his bed, walking toward the balcony. The skies of Gia were always unnaturally red at dawn, like the world itself bled light. As the wind brushed his hair, he muttered to himself:
"There are four main power paths in this world..." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Knights: they train in aura, strengthening their bodies. It's the most stable path but also the most limited. Even at its peak, you're still human."
"Magicians: They hunt for 'Concepts' across the world—flames, storms, darkness, time. Whoever owns a Concept can control it. Some are common, and some are rare. But there's no in-between. And magicians can kill each other to steal Concepts, making it like a World wide battle royal."
"Third, Divine Magic: power borrowed from supernatural beings. The G's, ghosts, The D's. Ok, that sounds wrong. It is the most dangerous, corrupting, and unpredictable."
"And finally, the Soul Path. The rarest of them all. All you need to do is sit still and connect yourself to the origin and just walk the path that appears; the deeper you walk, the more mental sanity is lost." He paused. A strange calm settled in him.
'Why am I so okay with this...?' he wondered.
Then the answer hit him: it was the old Lucien. The one who lived in this body before. His memories had fully integrated. His calm, his indifference, his melancholy. And something else, too. Serenity. Lucien looked at his hands. So I'm a magician. And my Concept is Serenity. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't powerful. But it was fitting.
That was likely why he hadn't been killed yet. He was weak. Too weak to bother with. But weakness had its uses. Especially in a world where the strong painted targets on their backs. He looked around his room again. It was massive—a gilded palace masquerading as a bedroom. And yet, strangely empty. The only furniture was a massive bed and a solitary desk by the window. Everything else was space. Space and silence.
Lucien headed into the adjoining bathhouse, where golden lion heads spat warm water into a marble pool. He splashed his face and studied his reflection. This world... It looks like a medieval fantasy, but it's mixed with odd bits of modernity. Faucets. Heated water. Steam power. Wind turbines. Even paper currency... but no oil. No cars.
The economy, he remembered, ran on land and gold. And nobles were no longer warriors. The emperor had stripped them of military rights, forcing them into a new currency: wealth. Now, nobles were landowners, landlords, and tycoons. Everything found on your land—minerals, crops, people—belonged to you. And that gave Lucien a sudden spark of inspiration.
"Wait... The south... The Marquess who sells the land... That land has a gold mine!" he gasped. He remembered the plot. A small subplot is barely mentioned. That land becomes the new trade center once transportation fees to Vaurent rise too high. And right now... It's dirt cheap. Lucien grinned.
The Drevarn family wasn't a military house, but it was old money. It held 50% of the shares in the Golden House—The central bank of the empire, on top of which it acted like a holding company. It had close ties to the royal family. In every generation, either a prince married a Drevarn daughter or a Drevarn son married a princess.
Lucien tightened the cuffs of his black coat. It was a subtle outfit—one meant for movement, not ceremony. But it radiated quiet power. "Not bad," he murmured. It was time to start scam–I mean, do business.