Especially Zian Herga.
The so-called protagonist of this world. Bearer of all the destiny-related baggage that came with it.
"I need to strengthen him… and I need to accompany him in his journey when he gets kicked out of the academy."
But Ruvian wasn't naive enough to rely on just that. After all, certain stories didn't always follow the narrative, especially when someone like him had already torn the margins apart.
"Aside from that, for a backup plan, I also need to strengthen them…"
The side characters from Velthia Academy.
He knew their potential, down to the last stat window, who would shatter under pressure, and who could become something far greater if given the right push.
He will sharpen them, whether they like it or not. Hone them like blades forgotten in a dusty forge. If he could guide even a handful, then perhaps, he could shape a future where the dead weren't just footnotes in someone else's story.
He had proofread this world after all. Not just skimmed it or just read it for fun. He had combed through every line, every chapter, and every throwaway scene.
And now, with all that knowledge branded into the back of his mind, he had the chance to change everything.
But, of course, changing things has its own price.
With every push, every shift in trajectory, he was altering the story, piece by piece and the danger will be real.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm to slow the swirl of thoughts running through his head.
"I couldn't afford to misstep..."
Changing too much or too quickly could unravel everything. But sticking to the original?
Oh, that just meant death!
For him, for Zian, and also for every single nameless extra in this world. He'd seen their ends. So, he wasn't planning to just sit back. The solution was as clear as it was dangerous and arduous.
He would need to reinforce the foundation before the storm arrived. And if that meant the story he knew started to become something else entirely, then so be it.
After all, rewriting the future was just a small price compared to facing the end of the world!
He rose from his chair, the decision settling into his spine. Ruvian's gaze swept toward the blue sky through the window.
The winter wind continued to blow softly against the world beyond.
"Alright then… if I want to survive, better to start now."
*****
Ruvian knelt by the doorway, fingers deftly slipping his feet into the plain boots by the mat.
Up until now, he was more bewildered than panicked. Transmigrating into a novel was a circumstance he never expected to be in.
However, handling it with a calm mind was always the right approach; that was why he decided to get some fresh air and confirm a few things first.
"I'm going out to the plaza for a bit," he called over his shoulder, voice just loud enough to reach the kitchen.
From the other room, the rhythmic sound of a knife against the cutting board didn't stutter.
"Don't go picking fights… or girls—or both! Anyway, just be back before sunset. And be careful, it's cold out there!"
The voice came from his mother, Avina Castelor.
Ruvian blinked repeatedly.
'Huh? Picking girls? I've got no time for that, and not that I'm going to, of course.'
The very idea sounded exhausting. Pointlessly chaotic and probably expensive. Why would he want to smooch some lady on his first day of transmigration? That's some weird and awfully wrong method to begin with.
Who the hell did that?
'Whatever.'
He finished slipping into his boots and walked out, ignoring the absurdity of it all. Without further comment, he adjusted his dark, winter coat and stepped outside.
The moment he crossed out of the door, the cold, winter breeze greeted him, carrying the scent of freshness. Afternoon light stretched lazily across the stone path, covered by some thin snow.
"This world really doesn't feel like it's on the verge of collapse."
'How many years do I have again? Three or four?'
"Well, it should be between those numbers…"
This peaceful feeling was a beautiful, almost believable lie. A pleasant, convincing one, but a lie nonetheless. He knew better; sooner or later, everything would break.
He turned around and saw his house.
His home wasn't extravagant by any measure. A modest house nestled at the edge of Natoris Town. It was evidence of a home, not a fancy building.
The Natoris Town was the outermost ring of Averenthia's Southeastern Region, comfortably far from the polished political games of the inner city, yet still close enough that ambition could drift on the wind.
It is just a peaceful neighbourhood of tradesmen, retired adventurers, and a few gossiping aunties to form a shadow intelligence network.
But Ruvian wasn't planning on testing the aunties' reach, though. Today's goal was deceptively simple. He was leaving and on his way to his first destination in this damnable world.
The Evermere Plaza.
He'd proofread about it countless times.
Descriptions scattered across a dozen chapters, each one painting it as the bustling, beating heart of Natoris.
Ruvian's footsteps echoed against the cobbled path as the road began to widen.
*****
Ahead, at the corner of a road, a bard's fingers swept over the strings of a lute, weaving a gentle tune that tangled itself with the overlapping conversation.
As Ruvian turned the final corner, the space before him opened, and he stopped without meaning to. The sight that greeted him was something out of a fever dream. As if a painting comes to life with too many stories moving all at once.
He saw the stalls stretched across the square, tucked so closely together. Cloth canopies flapped gently in the cold breeze, and merchants called out in a few different accents, selling everything from spice-dusted fruits to tiny bottled storms sealed with wax and thread.
It was chaotic. Ruvian calmly reacted; he let his gaze move slowly, capturing detail without committing any emotion.
'So this was it. Her worldbuilding…'
He'd known about the plaza, memorised its map, and annotated the footnotes. He knew where each key location was and where the narrative-relevant people would gather.
But knowledge on paper had nothing on this.
This wasn't a page but a world in motion now. Overflowing with detail, the author might not even bother to describe. It was overwhelming in the best, most exhausting way.
Still, he didn't let it keep him. The pause was brief, and the awe filed neatly into a back corner of his mind for later analysis.
"Get it together. You're not here for sightseeing."
There were three things—three very specific flags from the early chapters that had brought him here. The plaza, a person, and a modest shop between two larger stalls were mentioned so briefly in the novel.
His objective today was straightforward.
Verify those three elements: confirm their existence, determine their placement, and test their alignment with the original narrative.
If they lined up with the novel, he could start preparing better.
If it's not…
Well, he'd cross that narrative disaster bridge when he got to it.
'Hopefully not.'
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[Chapter 7: Going Out]