Chapter 6- Conflicted
The story, at its deepest level, was the tale of a hero's journey—his struggles across a vast and mystical world, the bonds he formed, the friendships and alliances he built along the way. But friendship was not the only thing the hero would stumble upon. Inevitably, he would also draw the eyes of women.
"Three to be exact," Jack muttered under his breath. His tone was dry, almost bitter, as he stared at the words on the screen. "Their encounters vary, but in the end, all three will fall in love with him. And the interesting detail? Each one of them belongs to an extremely powerful Arcane clan. And one of them…" He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"One of them is Jack's sister. His full-blooded sister."
The words hung in the air like a cruel joke. To anyone else, it might have sounded comical, like the twisted punchline of some author with a dark sense of humor. But to Jack, it was different—because it wasn't fiction. This was his reality.
It almost felt as though the author of this world harbored a personal grudge against him, determined to twist the knife in every possible way. As if orchestrating every scenario solely to torment him, even after his supposed death.
"Maybe it's better that my sister fell for my arch nemesis after I died," Jack muttered with a hollow chuckle. "Otherwise, I might've completely lost my mind."
But jokes aside, the situation was far from funny. It was a problem—a massive one. If he became an enemy of the hero, then by extension, he would also become an enemy of the hero's allies. And those allies weren't just anyone. They included the offspring of gods themselves.
That meant the Ashenblood family.
And making enemies out of the Ashenbloods was the last thing Jack would ever want. He was still too weak, too ignorant of this world's deepest truths, to even think about stepping into conflict with them.
"No…" he whispered to himself. "The smartest move is to avoid them altogether. Not even catch their attention in the first place."
He tapped his finger against the desk thoughtfully. Revealing his true identity—his abandonment by the Ashenbloods—would be nothing short of a scandal. A scandal that even a family of deities would not want to touch. If that truth came to light, they might very well silence him before it spread.
Jack's lips curved into a faint smile.
The danger, as suffocating as it was, filled him with a strange exhilaration. A thrill he hadn't felt in a long time. Once upon a time, he had lived for that thrill—walking the line between life and death as an assassin. Each mission was a game with impossible odds, every step another dance with danger. He had only retired because he loathed working under the filth who ran the organization. Otherwise… he might never have left that line of work as it fit him like a glove.
Thrill was in his blood.
And this world, with all its schemes and dangers, was the perfect hunting ground.
"This leaves me with three options," he murmured, closing his eyes as he laid them out in his mind. "First, I can kill the hero before he grows too dangerous. Second, I can try to befriend him. Third, I can ignore him entirely."
The first option was immediately discarded. Killing the hero might solve the immediate threat, but the consequences… Jack shuddered just thinking about it.
The butterfly effect would be catastrophic. A disaster so bad, it can't even be contained.
'I cannot begin to imagine how the death of the protagonist would ripple across this world. Every event tied to him, every future alliance, every victory—gone. And I am not here simply to avoid death. I am here to survive, to find out why I was brought here in the first place… and whether I can return. Killing him would ruin all of that.'
So no matter how much he disliked this so-called fate-protected fool, killing him was not an option. For now, that is.
The second choice wasn't much better. Befriending the hero? Impossible. Jack had done too much already—wronged him too deeply, too consistently, over the years. The hatred the hero carried for him wasn't a simple wound. It was a scar burned into his very being. No apology, no gesture, no effort could undo it.
That left only one option.
"To ignore him," Jack muttered under his breath. "To avoid him and his companions as much as possible. It's far from ideal, but it's the only path that makes sense. Until I'm strong enough to protect myself… I must disappear from their story."
Of course, ignoring the protagonist wouldn't be as simple as pretending nothing happened. Jack would need to take deliberate steps—removing himself from certain events, cutting ties with future developments before they even began.
"Fortunately," he whispered with a small smirk, "I already know what's coming."
The advantage of foresight was priceless. He knew the arcs, the encounters, the people that would eventually surround the protagonist. And the best part? Many of those events didn't involve Jack at all. That lessened the burden of the butterfly effect and kept many of the original plotlines intact.
At least in theory. Putting that into practice was naturally... Way easier said than done.
With that thought, Jack turned back to the keyboard. His fingers moved with sharp precision as he documented everything he remembered: names, abilities, bloodlines, weaknesses. Every character that would eventually gravitate toward the hero, every ally and enemy who would appear.
Piece by piece, he was mapping the board.
When he was finished, he leaned back and exhaled. "It's far from perfect," he admitted. "There are still holes. Missing information and many details I can't recall perfectly. But… for now, it's enough."
His eyes flickered toward the window, where the dim light of the setting sun painted the city in orange hues. "For today, nothing happens. I can more or less relax. But tomorrow…" His expression hardened. "Tomorrow is when it all begins."
The true story.
There had been no clear marker for when the tale would truly start, so he had pieced it together from fragments of memory, estimating, guessing. And his guess told him the first domino would fall tomorrow.
"We'll see if I'm right."
Satisfied, Jack saved the document, then pulled out the old map he had found. With a pen in hand, he began marking it. Locations of key characters. Movements of the plot. Routes the story would take them through. Unfortunately, many later events unfolded in uncharted regions, places hidden to all but the chosen few. For those, he had no answers.
Running his hand through his hair, he sighed. "Good enough."
It was then that he heard it—the soft click of the apartment door unlocking. Footsteps. A familiar presence.
Lidia.
She peeked her head through the doorway, her eyes immediately softening when they landed on him. "Are you working, Young Master?" she asked gently.
"No," Jack replied as he stretched, standing up from the chair. "I'm done."
Her smile brightened as she stepped forward. She placed a hand against his chest, leaning close. "Are you ready to break a sweat?"
"Yeah," he answered with a smile of his own. "I plan to work harder than ever. I don't have much time left."
Her eyes sparkled at his words, filled with warmth and pride. Seeing him like this—determined, resolute—made her heart flutter. Her face flushed, her lips trembling slightly with restrained emotion.
And then, unable to resist, she seized his collar and pulled him down into a deep kiss.
Her lips were soft, hungry, insistent. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, drawing a surprised noise from Jack before his arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her close. Their embrace tightened, their kiss deepened, their breaths tangled as they lost themselves in each other.
When at last she pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected them, glistening in the dim light. Her smile was tender, radiant.
"Then you'd better try your best for me," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. "Everything will be okay. We've overcome so much already… and we always will."
Jack's expression softened. "…How are you so sure?"
"Because my Young Master is special." Her tone was firm, absolute. Not a compliment, not flattery, but a fact. "You're truly special."
To her, he was everything—her anchor, her light. She had seen in him what no one else had, long before he had grown into the man standing before her now. She had starved, worked herself to exhaustion, sacrificed without hesitation, all for the sake of following him.
And she had never once regretted it.
He was brilliant. Strong. Sharp. Handsome beyond belief. And above all, he loved her just as much as she loved him.
Her heart swelled with pride as she gazed at him.
'You've grown so much, Jack,' she thought, her eyes shimmering with love. 'And I'm honored to stand by your side as you keep growing.'