"Are you alright, Young Master Aron?"
The voice came from somewhere distant, muffled. His head throbbed. Everything felt wrong.
'Who's Aron?'
David's eyes opened slowly. Light filtered through, too bright. His vision swam before shapes began to solidify.
A woman knelt beside him. Brown hair pulled back, face pleasant in an unassuming way. She wore a dress that looked handmade. Old-fashioned. Like something from a period drama.
'Why is she dressed like that?'
She extended her hand. "Please, let me help you up."
Another voice cut through, sharp and arrogant.
"Why would you help that bastard up? Let him crawl if he's too weak to stand."
David turned his head toward the voice.
A young man stood a few feet away, maybe twenty-one. Tall, well-built, blond hair catching sunlight. He wore fine clothes, tailored and expensive looking. A sword hung at his side, its pommel decorated with gold.
'A sword? Is this some kind of Renaissance fair?'
The woman's voice trembled. "Master Liam, you pushed him quite hard. He's bleeding."
'Master? Who talks like that?'
The blond man's lip curled. "And? We were sparring, Mara. Or are you too stupid to understand what that means?" He stepped closer, looking down at her with contempt. "Maybe you should go back to scrubbing floors. That's more your speed than offering opinions on things that don't concern you."
'Who the hell is this guy?'
David pushed himself up slightly. His hand went to his head. His fingers came away wet. Blood ran down the side of his face from above his temple.
'He hit me.'
The woman—Mara—lowered her eyes. "I apologize, Master Liam."
'Why is she apologizing? What is this?'
The blond man crossed his arms. "So? Are we continuing or are you done embarrassing yourself for the day?"
David stared at him. Nothing about this made sense. Where was he? Who were these people? Why were they dressed like extras from a medieval movie?
'Am I dreaming?'
He forced words out. "Another time."
His voice sounded wrong. Different.
The blond man stared at him. "Another time? Seriously? You pulled me away from my afternoon to teach you something useful, and you're quitting after one hit?" He shook his head. "Pathetic."
David said nothing. His head was spinning. The world felt tilted.
The man turned away. "I don't know what I expected from a whore's son."
Something tightened in David's chest at those words, but he couldn't place why. The insult felt distant. Meaningless. He didn't even know who this person was talking about.
The man walked away, his boots crunching against gravel.
Mara stood quickly. "Please, Young Master. Let me help you to your room. I need to clean that wound."
'Young Master? What is happening?'
David nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She helped him to his feet. His legs were steadier than expected despite the pounding in his skull.
He glanced around for the first time.
They were outside in some kind of training yard. Packed dirt, weapons rack against a stone wall. A sword lay on the ground a few feet away.
'Where am I?'
Everything looked real. Too real to be a dream. The blood on his hand was warm. The pain in his head was sharp and insistent.
Mara guided him across the yard and through a doorway. The interior was cooler, dimmer. She led him up stairs and down a hallway lined with paintings and carved furniture.
'This looks like a castle. Or a manor. Something old and expensive.'
She stopped at a door. "Your room, Young Master."
'My room?'
Inside was a large bed with curtains, wooden furniture that looked handcrafted, thick rugs on stone floors.
"Please sit by the window," Mara said softly. "I'll fetch water and bandages."
David sat. The chair was more comfortable than anything he'd owned in his entire life.
'Is this real? Did I hit my head? Am I in a coma?'
Mara returned quickly with a basin of water and clean cloth. She set everything on a small table beside the chair and began working carefully, dabbing at the blood on his face.
Her hands were gentle. Practiced.
"This might sting," she said quietly.
It did. David didn't react. He was too busy trying to make sense of anything.
She cleaned the wound with steady hands, working in silence. When the blood was cleared away, she examined the cut. "It's not too deep. Should heal cleanly."
She applied some kind of salve that smelled like herbs, then wrapped a bandage around his head.
"There." She stepped back. "That should hold."
"Thank you."
The words came automatically.
Mara looked surprised, then bowed slightly. "Of course, Young Master. Is there anything else you need?"
"No."
She gathered the basin and bloodied cloths. "I'll return later with fresh clothes for dinner. Your father has requested your presence this evening."
'Father?'
She left, closing the door quietly.
David sat alone in the unfamiliar room, staring at his hands.
They weren't his hands.
These hands were clean. Soft. No calluses. No scars. The hands of someone who'd never held a gun or driven a drill through bone.
'What the hell is this?'
He stood and walked to the window. Outside, stone and wood buildings stretched in every direction. People moved through streets below wearing clothes that looked centuries out of date. No cars. No power lines. No planes in the sky.
'This isn't real. It can't be real.'
But it felt real. The pain in his head was real. The blood had been real. The confusion was definitely real.
He turned and spotted a mirror on the wall. He walked over slowly.
The face looking back wasn't his.
Black hair, longer than he'd ever worn it. Smooth skin without stubble or scars. Younger features, maybe nineteen or early twenties. A face he'd never seen before in his life.
'This isn't me.'
He touched his face. The reflection did the same. He looked down at his body. Taller than he remembered being. Broader shoulders but no real muscle.
'Whose body is this?'
Then he remembered. Right before everything went black. Right after he'd pressed the detonator.
Blue text. Floating in his dying vision.
Something about transmigration.
'No. That's not possible.'
But looking at this face, at this room, at this world outside the window...
'Infinite War: The Last Bargain.'
Lillian's webnovel.
His chest tightened.
"No fucking way."
He stared harder at the reflection. The author had included character art. Lillian had shown him some. Talked about the designs.
And this face...
"Aron Greyman."
The name felt foreign on his tongue.
Son of Duke Greyman, one of the richest men in the Kingdom of Lexara. A side character. Background nobility. The illegitimate son who got bullied by his legitimate half-brother and died in an assassination meant for someone else.
'I'm in the story. I'm actually in the goddamn story.'
He stepped back from the mirror, his mind racing.
'This is insane. This can't be happening.'
But it was. Somehow.
Blue light suddenly flooded his vision.
David jerked back. Text appeared in the air, glowing and impossible.
[Welcome, David Smith]
[System initialization complete]
[You have been selected as the Inheritor]
"What is this?"
More text scrolled.
[Ultimate Quest assigned: Prevent The Last Bargain]
[Failure will result in world destruction]
David stared at the floating words. "I don't understand. What are you? What is this?"
[You cannot refuse this quest]
[You are the only compatible soul]
"Compatible for what? I don't even know what's happening." His voice rose slightly. "I was in a church. I died. I should be dead. What is this?"
[Warning: Failure to complete the quest will result in the death of all individuals your sister favored in this narrative]
The words hit him differently than expected.
[Estimated casualties: 47 characters]
[Including: Velisar the Pirate, Kael Thorne, Ashel Velmora, Marcus Dren, Lyria...]
David's jaw clenched.
"This is about Lillian?"
[These individuals represent the innocent and powerless within this world]
[They will be destroyed by those who abuse their authority]
Something cold settled in David's chest. He'd seen this before. The powerful crushing anyone who threatened them. The rich and connected erasing people like they were nothing.
'Just like they did to Lillian.'
She'd been investigating trafficking. Had evidence against people with money and influence. And they'd killed her for it because she was in their way.
[This world operates under the same principles]
[The strong dominate. The weak perish.]
[Your sister cherished these characters because they represented resistance against that system]
David stared at the names. He didn't know these people. Didn't care about them.
But he knew what would kill them. The same thing that had killed Lillian.
Power without consequences. People who thought their status made them untouchable.
Like that blond bastard outside. Liam. Treating that maid like garbage because he could. Because nobody would stop him.
'And Aron just took it. Let himself be walked over until someone decided he wasn't worth keeping alive.'
The thought left a bitter taste.
[Do you accept the quest?]
David's hands curled into fists.
He didn't want to save a world. Didn't want to be a hero. He'd spent four years becoming a monster and he'd made peace with that.
But the idea of watching the same cycle repeat itself here...
Watching the powerful crush the weak over and over while nobody did anything about it...
'I'm tired of this. In every world, it's the same.'
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
The blue text flickered but didn't vanish.
"Young Master Aron?" Mara's voice came through. "Your father awaits you for dinner. I've brought your evening clothes."
David stared at the floating text, his jaw tight.
[Do you accept?]
Another knock. "Young Master?"
"Come in," he said finally.
The blue text vanished instantly as the door opened.
Mara entered with neatly folded clothing. Dark formal wear. She set them on the bed and bowed. "Dinner will be served in an hour."
"Alright."
She hesitated. "Young Master... are you feeling well? You seem different."
'Because I'm not him.'
"I'm fine."
She bowed again and left quietly.
David stood alone in the center of the room. The expensive furniture. The comfortable bed. The clothes laid out for him.
He walked back to the window and looked out at the unfamiliar world.
'Lillian died because she tried to expose the powerful. Aron died because he was too weak to matter to anyone.'
He touched the bandage on his head where Liam had struck him.
'Same shit. Different world.'
The blue text hadn't reappeared, but the question still hung in the air.
Did he accept?
He didn't know yet.
But one thing was clear.
If he was stuck here, in this body, in this world...
He wasn't going to be Aron Greyman. The weak, pathetic side character who let people walk all over him until someone put a knife in his back.
He'd been David Smith once. A man who'd learned to kill without hesitation.
Maybe that was exactly what this world needed.