Pain was the first thing Aric felt.
Not the sharp kind. The deep kind. The kind that made you question whether you were still alive or just trapped in some cruel echo of existence.
He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above him was made of patched wood and straw, sagging slightly in the center. The air smelled of smoke, boiled roots, and something faintly metallic—blood, maybe. His body ached in places he didn't recognize. His chest felt tight, his limbs heavy. He tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest.
This wasn't his body.
He knew it instantly. The proportions were wrong. His hands were calloused, scarred, and far stronger than they should've been. A faint tattoo curled around his wrist—something tribal, etched in faded ink. His skin was darker, his hair longer. He reached up and touched his face, tracing unfamiliar features.
A cracked mirror leaned against the wall nearby. He crawled toward it, dragging himself across the creaky floorboards.
The face staring back was young, maybe twenty. Sharp jawline. Silver hair. Eyes like molten gold.
Not his.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
A voice answered—not from the room, but from inside him.
**"You are awake. Finally."**
Aric froze. "Who are you?"
**"I am your system. Not your guide. Not your friend. Just… necessary."**
He blinked. "System?"
**"You are not him. But you wear him well."**
Before Aric could respond, the door creaked open.
"Aric? You're awake?"
A girl rushed in—maybe fifteen, with soot-streaked cheeks and wide brown eyes. She dropped a basket of herbs and ran to his side, clutching his hand like it was the last thing keeping her grounded.
"You scared us," she whispered. "You collapsed in the woods. Father thought you wouldn't wake up."
Aric stared at her. "Who are you?"
She blinked. "It's me. Lira. Your sister."
His breath caught. Sister?
She didn't seem to notice his confusion. She was too busy fussing over him, checking his forehead, adjusting the blanket. Her hands were rough, her movements practiced. She'd done this before.
Before he could speak, the system stirred again.
**"You are not the original. He died. You are the replacement. The world needed a vessel. You fit."**
Aric's mind spun. He remembered dying. Betrayal. Cold steel. Silence. And now… this. A new world. A borrowed life.
The door opened again. A man entered, broad-shouldered and weary-eyed. His face was lined with years of labor, and his hands were stained with soil.
"You're awake," he said, voice gruff but relieved. "Good. You've got work to catch up on. The fields won't till themselves."
Aric nodded slowly. "Right. The fields."
He didn't know how to farm. He didn't know how to live this life. But he had to pretend. At least for now.
**"You are a commoner now," the system murmured. "No power. No privilege. But that will change."**
Aric clenched his fists. "How?"
**"Kill. Grow. Survive. The world is ruled by demons. Including him."**
"Who?"
**"Daniel. The Demon Goddess reborn. Your opposite. Your rival. Your end."**
Aric felt a chill crawl down his spine. He didn't know this Daniel. But he knew what rivalry meant. What war meant. And if this system was telling the truth, he'd been dragged into something far bigger than a village life.
That night, he lay on a straw mattress, staring at the ceiling. Lira slept nearby, curled under a threadbare blanket. The man—his new father—snored softly in the next room.
Aric whispered into the dark. "Why me?"
**"Because you were broken. And broken things make sharp weapons."**
He closed his eyes.
"I'm not a hero."
**"Good. Heroes die. Monsters survive."**
He didn't sleep. Not really. His mind was too loud. The system didn't speak again, but its presence lingered—like a shadow behind his thoughts. He could feel it watching, waiting, calculating.
In the morning, he helped in the fields. His body moved with muscle memory that wasn't his. He knew how to swing the hoe, how to check the soil, how to carry the water. The villagers greeted him with nods and smiles. They didn't know he wasn't their Aric.
He played the part.
But inside, he was sharpening.
That evening, he wandered to the edge of the forest. The trees were tall and gnarled, their branches like claws. Something moved in the shadows—low to the ground, snarling softly.
A demon.
Small. Horned. Hungry.
Aric didn't run.
He picked up a broken branch and stepped forward.
The creature lunged.
He dodged, barely, and drove the branch into its throat. It shrieked, blood spraying across the leaves. Aric staggered back, panting.
**"You learn quickly."**
"I didn't learn. I remembered."
**"Not your memories. Hers."**
He froze. "Hers?"
**"The Goddess of Order. Seraphine. You are her final vessel."**
The demon twitched once, then stilled.
Aric stared at the corpse.
He didn't feel guilt.
He felt… stronger.