I felt as if my soul were floating above clouds — no pain, no weight, no sound.
For a moment, I thought I was gone for good. That the Warden's final blow had finally erased me from existence.
But then—
A thud.
I slammed into something, as if my body had been thrown back into reality.
My lungs convulsed. I jolted upright with a gasp, drenched in sweat, fingers gripping fine silk sheets like a lifeline. My heart thundered in my chest, and every breath felt like dragging air through broken glass.
"What… is this?" I whispered, voice hoarse. "Where… am I?"
The room around me was unfamiliar. Tall ceilings. Ornate wallpaper. Velvet curtains drawn back to reveal early morning sun. Mahogany furniture, too expensive to feel real. A vanity. A crystal lamp. Carved moldings. The kind of room you'd find in a Victorian-era novel.
Except this wasn't a novel.
Was it?
I pressed a hand to my chest. No blood. No broken ribs. No Warden's chains.
The mattress beneath me was soft — too soft. Luxurious. Alien. Something I hadn't experienced since…
Since before the tutorial.
I steadied my breathing, forcing my thoughts into order. I'd stepped through the gate. That much I remembered. The final trial. The desperate kill. My blood boiling with instinct.
Then… this.
Did I really finish it?
Am I in the world of The Crowned King and His Seven Vows?
Or did my mind finally shatter, and this is some comforting hallucination before death?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No. It was real. The pain. The deaths. The endless monsters. The Warden. The system. That had to be real.
And if this was what I thought it was…
Then I wasn't just in the world of that story — I'd become someone inside it.
I sat still for a moment, too tense to move. Everything felt wrong — not just the room. Me.
My limbs weren't mine. My balance was different. My center of gravity felt off. This body… wasn't the one I'd forged in the tutorial.
And there were no cables. No wires. No VR harness or simulation matrix. This wasn't some sci-fi dive system. It was just reality.
The ornate door creaked open.
I flinched.
A girl entered, wearing a crisp black-and-white maid uniform, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain teacup. She was tall, poised, and ethereally beautiful — but there was a razor's edge beneath the polished facade. Her eyes, a cool shade of gray, held not a trace of warmth.
"Young master," she said with measured indifference. "I've brought your morning tea."
She set the tray down on the side table, barely glancing my way. Her tone was clipped, professional — and unmistakably cold.
She looked like someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
Someone who hated me.
"You look… confused," she added. "Though I suppose that's not unusual for you."
I blinked at her. "Where… am I?"
Her gaze flicked up. "Still playing that game? I thought you would've grown out of that after the last duel."
She straightened the tea napkin with deliberate precision. "Keep in mind, young master Arman, that you have a meeting with your fiancée this morning."
I froze.
Fiancée?
Don't tell me—
"She sent a letter last week. Said she wanted to 'discuss something.'" She emphasized it like it was a threat. "You'd do well not to embarrass the family further."
She pushed the tray closer.
"Your tea."
I stared at the cup.
"Arman…?" I repeated under my breath. "Is that… my name?"
She sighed. "Honestly, young master. How much longer are you going to pretend you've lost your memory? If this is another attempt to avoid the meeting, I assure you it won't work."
She didn't wait for a reply. With a graceful turn, she left the room and shut the door behind her with a soft click.
Silence.
I sat alone, the name echoing in my head.
Arman.
It hit me like a punch.
Arman Valcreth. Third-rate noble. Minor antagonist. A side character from the early arc of The Crowned King and His Seven Vows. Known for being arrogant, incompetent… and quickly irrelevant.
And now…
I looked down at my hands.
These were his.
I stood, legs shaking slightly, and crossed the room to the gilded mirror.
The reflection that stared back was striking. Black hair. Pale skin. Sharp noble features. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. A face that could've been charming, if not for the permanent curl of arrogance etched into the brow.
It wasn't my face.
But it was now.
I was in his body.
No. I was him.
I needed to think. To breathe.
To confirm what I was feeling wasn't madness.
"Okay," I whispered to the quiet room.
"Status."