We finally arrived at what I could only describe as a castle town—massive stone walls climbing up into the horizon, gates banded with black iron that looked as though they'd been hammered into shape to keep out gods rather than men. The architecture screamed European medieval fantasy, the kind of setting any nerd would salivate over and any shut-in would recognize instantly. Honestly, even the most genre-clueless normie dropped into this scene would've gotten the memo: Congratulations, you're in a fantasy world. Population: knights, castles, and all the clichés.
The journey there had been quiet for the most part, if you ignored the goblin ambush.
One moment, the road was nothing but crunching hooves and the occasional clink of chainmail. The next, ragged shapes erupted from the treeline with guttural shrieks that sounded like toddlers gargling gravel. Goblins. Small, green, scrawny things with jagged knives that looked like they'd been scavenged out of a garbage heap.
They died fast.
The knights barely even slowed down. Their swords cut through goblin flesh like scythes through wet grass. One knight crushed a skull beneath his horse's hooves, leaving behind a sickening pop that splattered the dirt with red. My ever-charming mage escort didn't even bother with theatrics—her fire magic was precise, cruel, and clinical. One flick of her fingers, and a goblin was impaled on a spear of flame, its shrieks cut short as it curled up like burning paper. Another gesture, and a trio of them went up at once, thrashing in a bonfire that stank of singed hair and cooking meat.
I tried not to breathe too deeply.
The whole thing lasted maybe a minute. Not a battle—just an extermination. The mage barely blinked, and the knights cleaned their blades on scraps of goblin leather before returning to formation. The silence that followed was somehow worse than the noise; it pressed down on me like a weight, as if even the air was reminding me how little I mattered here.
And judging from the way the knights deferred to the mage—bowing their heads, waiting for her signal before moving—I realized she wasn't just a tag-along. No, she had authority. Power. The kind of power that turns heads and silences rooms. The kind that made me wonder why someone like her was wasting time babysitting a chained nobody like me.
Before we passed through the town gates, one of the knights spurred his horse ahead, no doubt to carry word of our arrival. A warning. Or maybe an announcement. Either way, it didn't bode well for me.
When we finally entered, I didn't get a tour of the quaint little town streets or a chance to admire the local bakeries and flower stalls. No, I was dragged through the cobblestones, still shackled, until I was tossed into a holding cell like a sack of garbage. The iron door slammed behind me with a clang that rattled my teeth.
The cell was bare stone, cold enough that my breath fogged in the corners. A single torch burned outside the bars, its light flickering in a way that made the shadows crawl.
The System was still silent. No pings. No glowing screens. Just emptiness. And in the absence of that voice, the thought returned—the one that had been gnawing at me since I woke up here. Maybe I was insane. Maybe all of this was a fever dream stitched together from too much anime and sleep deprivation.
Probably both.
Time blurred in the dark. Eventually, rough hands hauled me out and marched me through twisting stone corridors. I expected a church. Some grim cathedral with stained glass and incense, priests ready to exorcise whatever they thought I was. Instead, I was led through iron-banded doors into the castle itself.
That raised questions. Lots of them. None I could ask.
They dropped me in a stone room. Four walls, no windows, the air damp and sharp like it hadn't been touched by sunlight in years. A single table. Two chairs. Stains on the floor that had been scrubbed but not erased—stains that told their own stories if you stared too long. One was dark, reddish-brown, and shaped disturbingly like a face, mouth open in a scream. Charming.
I sat there, the shackles biting into my wrists, and tried to call the System again.
"Hey… voice thing? Status? Anything?"
Nothing. Just my own voice bouncing off stone walls. I sounded like a lunatic, whispering to the silence.
The door creaked open.
A man entered. Robes of simple grey, no symbols or ornaments, his expression unreadable. His eyes were the worst part—calm, detached, the kind of look you give a puzzle piece that doesn't fit the picture. He crossed the room without a word, took my hand, and pressed a glass orb against my palm.
It hummed faintly. No glow.
The man frowned, barely—a tiny crease, here and gone again. Then, without warning, he pried open my mouth.
"Hey—what the hell—"
I froze.
Fangs. Small, sharp, unmistakable fangs.
I hadn't seen a mirror since waking up. Hadn't thought to check. But there they were, little daggers in my mouth. A shiver ran through me, the cold kind that settles in your bones.
The robed man didn't explain. He simply nodded once, as if confirming some quiet hypothesis, then turned and left without a single word.
The door clicked shut.
And then—
[System Online.]
[Welcome back, Host.]
The voice echoed in my skull like a divine whisper—or a psychotic break. Hard to tell the difference anymore.
I groaned. "Oh, now you show up. I've been screaming into the void for hours and you choose this moment to grace me with your smug little interface?"
[You are Level 5. Stats increase as experience is earned. 'Experience' is based on context. Translation: fight. Survive. Learn. Your interpretation shapes your progress.]
I blinked. "…That's the most half-assed fortune cookie explanation I've ever heard."
Then a thought hit me. A cold one.
"You mean I leveled up just by being in that summoning? That caused those cultists to die? You're saying I was weaker than them?"
[Incorrect. Your existence caused systemic friction. They ruptured from the inside. You simply… existed louder.]
I felt my stomach twist. My skin crawl. "So the owner of this body died, and the ritual made it possible for me to hijack it? If I didn't know better, I'd think they all just committed ritual suicide to make room for me."
That didn't feel like a win. It felt like standing in a grave that wasn't mine.
Before I could snap at the System again, the door opened.
She entered.
The mage. My handler. Her violet eyes were colder than ice this time, stripped of even the disdain she'd shown earlier. Flanked by two guards, she stood with the stillness of someone who had already judged and sentenced me.
"The Count demands your presence," she said. Flat. Professional. Like she was reading off a script.
I raised my shackled wrists and gave her a look that screamed, Seriously? Still with the cuffs?
She said nothing. Just flicked her hand. The guards moved in, one seizing my arm like I weighed nothing, dragging me upright.
I looked down at my feet. Then up at her again. My thoughts practically shouted: Could you not just take off the damn restraints?
No reply. No flicker of emotion.
And that's when I realized something unpleasant. Compared to them—compared to all of them—I was small. Short. Weak. A stranger in a body I hadn't even had time to understand. And the System?
Silent again. Of course.
Because when I needed it most, it always was.