Morning mist blanketed the northern slopes of the Arcthane mountains as Verchiel stood on the edge of a steep cliff, gazing at the silhouette of a majestic building in the distance: Asgard Academy.
The building towered high, standing proudly among the forest and mountains. Bluestone towers with arched windows, crystal domes, and giant statues of ancient heroes stood guard over the academy's gates. The morning sunlight reflected off the magical barrier, making the entire area seem like an artificial paradise.
"...A place full of illusions," Verchiel muttered, the bone scythe on his back vibrating softly as he descended the cliff, down the path into the valley.
In the original narrative he had written, Asgard Academy was an elite training center—a place where future heroes were trained. This was where the main character was supposed to begin his adventure. However, everything had changed. The author himself had taken a side role that should have died and stepped onto the main stage.
[Verchiel's Status]
Level: 4
HP: 95 / 120
MP: 55
STR: 7
AGI: 9
INT: 10
VIT: 9
Active Skill:
[Awareness D]
[Writer's Instinct E]
---
On his way to the Academy gate, he encountered a group of new students. They wore the typical Asgardian uniform: long, dark blue robes with a silver seven-pointed star emblem. Among them were some laughing, some nervous, some even crying with excitement or joy.
Verchiel walked past them like a dark shadow. He didn't say a word.
"Eh? Who's that...?" whispered one of the students.
"Look at his weapon... a scythe? No ordinary weapon."
"His face... he's so handsome, but he's insanely scary."
The whispers didn't bother Verchiel. He didn't even turn around. There was only one thing on his mind right now:
> "In there, there are the main characters I created. But now... they're not allies. They're threats."
As he approached the academy gate, a magic seal recognized his presence. But... not as a student. A holographic panel floated in front of him.
[Warning: Unregistered Entity]
[System detects anomaly - Manual Verification Activated]
Three academy guards immediately moved. They wore the same light armor and blue robes, with the academy symbol glowing on their chests. One of them raised his hand.
"Wait. You are not part of the new student list. Identify yourself."
Verchiel stared at them. His gaze made one of the three stiffen.
"Name: Verchiel Schwarz. I've come to register." His voice was flat and low, yet piercing like a knife.
"That name doesn't exist on..."
CLANG.
The bone scythe was aimed at the guard's throat in a split second.
"...Your list is corrupted. Update your system."
Cold sweat broke out on the guard's forehead. The others immediately waved their hands frantically, activating the verification system.
[Verifying... Verifying...]
[Identification Updated from Old System Path]
[Verchiel Schwarz - Category: World Summoner - Anomaly Type Level 1]
[Emergency Access Granted]
The magic seal slowly opened. The guards retreated without a word.
Verchiel grinned faintly.
"Good. Even this world's system can't resist me."
---
Asgard Academy was far more magnificent from the inside. The massive hall, the floating garden, the elemental classrooms, and the magical training arena—all functioned with machine-like efficiency.
In the central observatory, a woman in a black robe with a crescent moon symbol on her chest watched the magic screen.
"Anomaly... Verchiel Schwarz... that name should only exist in unopened historical records. Who is he, really?"
---
Verchiel entered the male student dormitory. The room was simple, but clean and spacious. He put down his scythe and stared at the small mirror on the wall.
For a moment, he stared at his reflection. Silver hair fell to the nape of his neck. Sharp gray eyes. Cold and arrogant face. But...
Verchiel entered the boys' dormitory. The room was simple, but clean and spacious. He put down his scythe and stared into the small mirror on the wall.
For a moment, he stared at his reflection. Silver hair fell to the nape of his neck. Sharp gray eyes. A cold, haughty face. But...
> In the mirror, he also saw himself before he died. The image of a tired writer, with eyes red from lack of sleep, cold coffee on the table, and a draft that was never perfect.
"...You're dead. Now it's my turn to rewrite everything."
---
The next day, the announcement of the preliminary battles was made.
[First-Year Practical Evaluation - Strength Selection Battle]
Every student must enter the training arena and fight an opponent selected by the system. Their levels will be analyzed and adjusted to ensure balance.
Verchiel stood in the hallway leading to the arena. Over a hundred students were already waiting their turn. Some were still nervous, others looked confident.
He scanned the crowd, recognizing the faces he had once created. Characters that should have played important roles now felt like puppets. He knew their weaknesses. He knew their future. But... this world was no longer following his script.
Across from him, another student stood. The young man wore a gold-embroidered robe—a sign of nobility.
"You... don't belong to any class," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"And?"
"You will lose. This is no place for wild men from out there."
Verchiel didn't answer. But as he stepped into the arena, the ground around him trembled as if responding to the aura of the system surrounding him.
As the match signal sounded, the young nobleman immediately cast a mid-level fire spell.
[Flame Lance - Rank C]
A direct hit. Heat. Fast. Accurate. But not for Verchiel.
He activated [Awareness D], predicting the trajectory.
He dodged to the left, and in one motion, launched forward, his scythe slicing through the air.
CRAAKK!!
The young man's protective armor shattered. Blood spurted. He fell unconscious instantly.
There was silence.
[Battle Over in 2 Seconds]
[Skill - Awareness D has gained experience.]
[Skill - Fighting Scythe F has been created.]
---
[New Skill Acquired: Scythe Mastery - F]
> Basic understanding of using scythes in combat. Can be improved through combat.
---
From the arena balcony, several instructors watched the scene. One of them, an elderly man with fire-red hair, snorted softly.
"That kid... activated a pure fighting skill in one move? That's not ordinary. That's... killer instinct."
"Or worse," whispered a woman beside him. "...that's the instinct of a story god."
---
Verchiel left the arena without a word. While the other students stared at him in fear and awe, rumors began to spread.
> "There's a new student... who isn't on the roster, but defeated a noble in just two seconds."
> "I heard he even got a new skill right after fighting."
> "That's... not normal, bro."
Verchiel walked past them all. Each step seemed to erase the boundaries between character and author, between puppet and puppeteer.
"Wait until I reach level 10. See what new skills I'll gain."