Chapter 1 – A Mask, A Forest, and Not Much Else
When Cyrus opened his eyes, he wasn't greeted by the soft ceiling of his dorm room or the buzzing light of his desk lamp. Instead, there was a canopy of deep green, speckled with sunlight that filtered through the dense leaves above.
"…This is not my ceiling," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "And this is definitely not my bed."
He sat up slowly, blinking at the earthy ground, damp moss, and uncomfortably real smell of forest. His back hurt. His mouth was dry. He felt a bug crawl near his neck and immediately slapped it away.
"Okay," he exhaled, brushing dirt off his shirt. "Not a dream. I never dream this detailed. Unless I somehow developed a fetish for wilderness discomfort overnight."
As he rose to his feet, a shimmer blinked before his eyes—digital, faintly translucent, and unmistakably unreal.
[Welcome, Cyrus.]
[You have entered the world of "Knight's Oath."]
[Mission System: Activated.]
[Main Objective: Form a Secret Organization.] [Secondary Objective: Survive.]
He stared. Long and hard.
"…Wow, this really isn't my room," he asked the interface sarcastically, as if it would answer.
It didn't.
Instead, a soft blue glow shimmered in the air and deposited something at his feet: a sleek black robe stitched with red thorns along the sleeves, a silver-edged dagger, and a plain white with swirls on it with a whole for the eyes—nothing more, nothing less.
Cyrus crouched, inspecting the items. "Ooh, gifts from the mysterious system. What is this? Villain starter pack? And damn, that mask looks like Obito's."
He picked up the robe first, feeling the quality in the fabric. Surprisingly light, smooth, and clearly enchanted. He draped it over himself with a dramatic spin that made the bottom flap swirl in the wind. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in a puddle.
"…Huh. Okay, low-key badass," he muttered. "I look like I'm about to monologue in a thunderstorm."
He slid the mask over his face, keeping it tilted to the side for dramatic effect, then strapped the dagger to his waist. The weapon was light, well-balanced, and razor-sharp.
For the briefest moment, he stood proud.
And then his stomach growled like a dying bear.
"…So, cool outfit, zero food. Classic RPG bullshit."
He spent the next few hours wandering through the trees, navigating uneven terrain and swatting away branches that slapped him like they held grudges. The sun was already starting to dip when he stumbled across the remnants of what looked like a long-abandoned campsite.
A torn tent, a burnt-out firepit, and—miraculously—a small stash of half-moldy bread in a cloth bundle left behind in a log crevice.
"I'd kill for some instant ramen right now, but this'll do," he muttered, tearing a piece of dry crust off. It tasted like cardboard and regret. "Mmm. Gourmet."
The system stayed silent throughout it all, only giving him vague messages.
[Observation Skill: Locked.]
[You are being watched.]
[Probability of survival: 68%.]
"Thanks for the positivity, Siri," he said to the air. "You're really easing my anxiety here."
Night fell with eerie speed. He found shelter under a low-hanging tree whose roots made a small hollow. With his robe pulled around him for warmth, the dagger at his side, and his mask lying beside him, Cyrus stared up at the stars.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
"…If I die because I got isekai'd into a bad ending story with no tutorial," he mumbled, "I swear I'll haunt the author."
Somewhere, deeper in the forest, a twig snapped.
Cyrus tensed.
More rustling followed—then the flicker of torchlight.
Three figures. Humanoid, moving together. Laughing. Armed.
He dropped flat, pressed into the leaves, barely breathing. They hadn't seen him. Not yet.
"Leave nothin' behind, boys!" one of the men growled. "That brat had to run this way. We find 'im, we skin 'im!"
Bandits?
Cyrus swallowed thickly. He reached for his dagger, only to realize his hands were trembling.
This wasn't a game. If they saw him, it was over.
He stayed perfectly still, heart pounding.
The men moved past him… But one paused. Staring into the trees. He sniffed.
"Huh. Somethin's off…"
The other two laughed and kept walking. The third hesitated… then turned to follow them.
Cyrus waited. And waited. Minutes passed like hours.
Only when the torchlight was gone did he dare move. Slowly, he rose from the dirt.
"…Okay. Change of plans," he whispered. "Step one: don't die. Step two: don't die."
He took one last look at the clearing—and didn't notice that he left behind something small and subtle.
A part of his robe had snagged on a branch. A jagged edge of red thread fluttered in the breeze.
By the time he vanished into the trees, a new figure was crouching by that very spot—silent, watching. A glint of interest shimmered in her eyes as she reached down to pick up the thread.
"…Interesting," the girl whispered.