The rapier plunged, a cold, sharp agony blossoming in my chest. My lungs seized, unable to draw breath. The world tilted, colors blurring into a chaotic mess. Darkness, thick and suffocating, began to creep in from the edges of my vision. This was it. The end. Just as the novel foretold.
But then, the blue screen, previously glitching and stuck at zero, exploded into blinding, stable clarity. The high-pitched whine that had plagued my ears vanished, replaced by a clear, resonant chime.
My vision, despite the encroaching darkness, snapped into sharp focus on the translucent display hovering before me. It wasn't just a simple percentage counter anymore. It was… an interface.
A bold, stark title appeared at the top:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
NARRATIVE OVERRIDE ENGINE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
My mind, even as my body screamed in protest, tried to process the words. Narrative Override Engine? What in the world was that? It sounded like something out of a meta-fiction story, not a generic fantasy novel.
Then, more text scrolled down, each line appearing with a crisp, digital precision:
[ WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED USER DETECTED ]
[ Host: Kai Lorne
Identity: [Extra / Background Character]
Current Fate: [Scripted Death: Chapter 3] ]
My eyes widened, or at least, I tried to. Unauthorized user? That was me, Alex Miller, the one who wasn't supposed to be here. Scripted Death: Chapter 3. It was all laid out, cold and clinical. My predetermined demise, right on schedule. The rapier was still in my chest, a burning spear of pain, a constant, undeniable reminder of my current fate.
[ STATUS: UNSTABLE INTEGRATION, GLITCH COEFFICIENT INCREASED BY 5 PERCENTAGE POINTS. ]
[
[OVERRIDE POINTS]: 15
[GLITCH COEFFICIENT]: 5%
[REALITY DIVERGENCE]: 0% ]
[ CURRENT CHAPTER: 3
CURRENT EVENT: "Mock Duel: Fatal Outcome"
UPCOMING EVENT: "Death"
PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL: 14% ]
Unstable integration. Glitch coefficient. Reality divergence. This was a lot to take in while bleeding out on a sandy arena floor. Override Points? like a currency And 14% probability of survival? That was… low. But not zero. There was still a chance. A tiny, desperate flicker of hope in the face of overwhelming odds.
The screen shifted, displaying a new section:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
STATS
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[ Strength.... 7
Agility..... 12
Intelligence... 18
Charisma.... 9
Luck..... -5
Narrative Influence... [Locked] ]
I almost laughed, a wet, gurgling sound that probably sounded more like a dying cough. My stats were terrible. Strength 7? No wonder Theodric tossed me around like a rag doll. Agility 12, that was probably the only reason I even managed to move at all. Intelligence 18? Okay, maybe my brain was still working, even if my body wasn't. But Luck -5? That explained everything. Of course, I'd be the one to reincarnate as the cannon fodder. And Narrative Influence was locked. Great. Just when I needed to rewrite my own story, the tool for it was unavailable.
The display changed again:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ACTIVE OVERRIDES
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Scene Override]
→ Modify a small environmental or character variable.
→ Cost: 3 Override Points
[Role Inversion]
→ Swap scripted fate with another character.
→ Cost: 10 Override Points
→ Status: [Cooldown: 48h]
[Edit Dialogue]
→ Rewrite spoken lines during key scenes.
→ Cost: 5 Override Points
→ Risk of Narrative Collapse: +7%
This was it. The actual tools. Scene Override, Edit Dialogue… and Role Inversion. Swap scripted fate with another character. That was the one. That was my only way out. But it cost 10 Override Points, and I only had 15. And it had a cooldown. What if I messed up? What if I chose the wrong character to swap with? The risk of Narrative Collapse for Edit Dialogue was also concerning. This wasn't a game; this was reality, even if it was a fictional one.
Finally, the last section:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
INVENTORY
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
None
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Of course. Empty. Just my luck. No magic sword, no hidden potion, not even a spare coin.
As I stared at the screen, a new message flashed, bold and insistent, overriding everything else:
[ DO YOU WISH TO USE [ROLE INVERSION] TO SWAP YOUR SCRIPTED FATE? ]
[YES] / [NO]
My mind raced, connecting the dots. This system… I knew this system! It wasn't just some generic game interface. This was the legendary Narrative Engine that belonged to Eren Valtor, the actual protagonist of Hero's Vow. The novel had hinted at it, a mysterious power that allowed Eren to alter existence, change scenarios, rewrite the very fabric of the story around him. It was how he always managed to find the perfect artifact, or arrive just in time, or have his enemies suddenly make a crucial mistake.
But Eren Valtor was supposed to be the one with this system. Not me, Kai Lorne, the extra. Why was it here? Why was it bound to me? Had something gone wrong with my reincarnation? Was this a side effect, a glitch in the grand cosmic machinery that brought me here? It didn't matter. Not now. What mattered was survival.
My eyes flickered to Theodric, who stood over me, his rapier still impaled in my chest, a look of bored satisfaction on his face. The crowd was roaring, but their cheers sounded distant, muffled. My life was fading.
I had to take the chance.
With a desperate surge of will, I mentally selected [YES].
The screen shimmered, and the [ROLE INVERSION] option expanded, revealing new choices:
[ SELECT NEW ROLE: ]
[ 1. Become the first son of a noble. (Name and appearances changes, increase story divergence by 18ppt)
2. Become the adopted son of a noble. (Retain name and appearances, increase story divergence by 4ppt)
3. Swap with a bystander. (Retain name and appearances, minimal story divergence) ]
My breath hitched. Options! Real options! Option 1 sounded tempting – a complete fresh start, a new identity, a powerful family. But "name and appearances changes" meant I wouldn't be Kai Lorne anymore, and 18ppt story divergence sounded like a lot. I didn't want to break the story too much, not yet, not until I understood this world better. Plus, I was still attached to the idea of being Kai Lorne, the extra who defied fate.
Option 3, "Swap with a bystander," seemed safe, but it felt like a cop-out. I'd still be a commoner, still vulnerable. Minimal divergence meant I'd probably just end up in another dangerous situation soon enough.
Option 2. "Become the adopted son of a noble. (Retain name and appearances, increase story divergence by 4ppt)." This was it. I could keep my identity as Kai Lorne, but gain the protection and resources of a noble family. It was a middle ground, a chance to survive and still be me, or at least, the me who was Kai Lorne. And 4ppt divergence was manageable. I could work with that.
Without a second thought, I focused all my remaining energy on 2. Become the adopted son of a noble.
The system screen flashed, a blinding white light engulfing my vision. The pain in my chest vanished instantly, replaced by a strange, disorienting lurch, as if I'd been flung through space. The roar of the crowd, the smell of blood and sand, Theodric's sneering face – all of it dissolved into a swirling vortex of light and sound.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
I found myself sitting. Not lying on the dusty arena floor, but sitting comfortably on a plush, velvet cushion. The air was cool, scented with something floral and expensive. The deafening roar of the crowd was still there, but it was distant, below me.
I opened my eyes.
I was in an elevated box, overlooking the arena. Theodric Von Alder was still down there, standing over the spot where I had been. But where I had been, now lay a different commoner, a man with a scraggly beard and a worn tunic, clutching his chest, a rapier plunged into him. His eyes were wide with terror, his life ebbing away.
Beside me, a woman with an elegant coiffure and a man with a stern, aristocratic face turned their heads, their expressions filled with concern. They were dressed in rich, flowing silks.
"Kai, dear," the woman said, her voice soft and worried, "Are you quite alright? You looked a little pale just now."
My gaze darted between the dying commoner on the sand, the confused Theodric, and the noble family looking at me with concern. The Sapphire family. I recognized their crest from the novel. They were a minor noble house, known for their quiet demeanor and scholarly pursuits.
I was sitting in their VIP box. And the commoner on the arena floor, dying in my place, was a complete stranger. The system had worked.