The scent of metal, sweat, and arrogance lingered thick in the morning air.
Sunlight poured down on the Varnhold Academy's dueling arena, a massive stone circle surrounded by marble bleachers that housed dozens of noble students and instructors. Silk uniforms and polished boots sparkled in the light, accompanied by murmured voices and judgmental gazes. The semester had only just begun, but today was already marked as the first spectacle of the year.
And at the center of it all stood a boy who shouldn't have been there.
Adam Vortigern.
Seventeen. Unacknowledged son of Duke Vortigern. Born from a maid no one remembered, and ignored ever since. In the novel Adam had once read—Rise of the Hero—this boy was little more than a footnote. A stepping stone, crushed beneath the boots of fate.
But I'm not him, Adam thought. Not anymore.
Because Adam had lived another life before this one.
The buzz of the crowd grew louder as the opponent stepped into the ring—tall, golden-haired, proud.
Cedric Delacroix. The Hero Candidate. Son of House Delacroix, one of the great houses that stood at the very peak of the kingdom's power. His sword gleamed as he stepped into the arena, his expression calm and righteous, like he already knew the outcome.
Because in the original story, this duel was a turning point. Cedric was supposed to awaken a piece of his legendary power here—Hero's Aura—by defeating a "minor noble" who challenged him. That stepping stone had been Adam.
But something had changed.
Adam stood in that exact spot now—except he wasn't the same.
He had died. In a subway station, late at night. Pushed in front of a train. Not a hero, not a villain. Just… tired. Just forgotten. All he remembered was the screeching of wheels and the emptiness of the people around him as his vision turned black.
And then, he had opened his eyes to this world.
The world of a novel he had once read. A story with defined heroes, chosen bloodlines, and divine destinies.
He had laughed the moment he understood.
What kind of fool accepts the role they're given?
The sound of a sword sliding from its sheath snapped Adam's attention forward.
Cedric stepped forward, sword raised in the traditional dueling salute. His voice carried across the arena with ease.
"House Delacroix accepts the challenge," Cedric announced. "This duel is to submission. May honor be preserved."
He turned to Adam, eyes calm but dismissive. "If you yield now, I'll show mercy. You don't belong on this stage."
Adam tilted his head slightly, studying him.
Tall. Athletic. Perfect technique. Practically dripping with protagonist energy. Everything about Cedric screamed "chosen one."
Adam's response was quiet, but it silenced the air like thunder.
"That's funny," he said. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."
Gasps spread through the crowd like fire on dry parchment. A few even laughed—nervously.
"Begin!" shouted the instructor.
Cedric moved first, just as he was supposed to. Fast, clean, and calculated. A graceful lunge for the shoulder—a strike meant to wound pride, not flesh. A flashy move that would make the crowd cheer.
But Adam had already seen this duel a hundred times. He knew Cedric's stance. Knew the next three steps he'd take. Knew how the original Adam would lose.
Not today.
He stepped to the side—not with panic, but precision—and drove his fist directly into Cedric's jaw.
The sound of knuckle meeting bone echoed sharply. Cedric staggered, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Adam didn't give him time to think.
He struck again, faster this time. His knee met Cedric's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Cedric tried to regain distance, but Adam followed—grabbing his wrist, twisting it, forcing the sword free. The blade hit the floor with a metallic clang.
Then Adam slammed Cedric down to his knees.
It had taken less than five seconds.
Everyone stared. Even the instructor looked frozen, unsure whether to intervene.
Adam leaned down, his voice low.
"I read your story," he whispered in Cedric's ear. "And I got bored by chapter three."
Then he struck him across the temple with the flat of the sword.
Cedric crumpled.
The arena went silent.
No applause. No cheers. Just stunned disbelief.
A bastard had defeated the protagonist before the story could even start.
[System Notification]
✦ You have altered a fixed fate.
✦ "Fated Awakening" has been stolen from Cedric Delacroix.
✦ Acquired Trait: [Hero's Aura – Fragmented]
✦ New Title Earned: Plot Reaper
Adam straightened his back slowly.
The system had appeared on his first night in this world. It wasn't generous. It didn't give quests or guidance. But it gave one thing—power through disruption. If he could break the world's predetermined fate… he could take what belonged to others.
Power. Skills. Titles. Even destinies.
He turned toward the crowd. Faces filled with confusion. Suspicion. Fear.
"Who is he?"
"I thought he was just a bastard?"
"Did he just... defeat Cedric?"
"I'm not a candidate," Adam said loud enough for all to hear, eyes scanning the elites seated in the noble section for a moment.
He then walked off the dueling stage with the world watching.
And the story, which once belonged to a hero, now rested in the hands of a villain who refused to follow the script.