Marcus Chen—no, Arden Valekrest—spent two full days staring at the ceiling of his childhood room.
The shock of his situation had paralyzed him initially. Every time he tried to rationalize it, his mind looped back to the same impossible truth: he was inside his own novel. The VR game's "Game Over" screen. The regression to age twelve. The perfect fusion of Marcus Chen's memories with Arden Valekrest's childhood.
It was only when Anna brought him his third meal, her concern deepening into genuine worry, that he finally forced himself to sit up and eat.
The food helped. Something about the simple act of eating—tasting real food, feeling it settle in his stomach—grounded him. This wasn't a game. This wasn't a dream. This was his new reality.
And he had eight years before everything went to hell.
"Okay," Marc muttered around a mouthful of bread. "Okay. Think tactically. Assess the situation."
Current Status:
Age 12, just awakened to 2nd Stage Mana Heart three days ago
Heir to the Northern Grand Duchy, one of the Empire's four great houses
Possesses complete knowledge of future events (next 8+ years)
Has modern military tactical knowledge from Earth life
Has natural talent (2nd Stage at 12 = prodigy tier)
The Problem: In his novel, the Northern Frontier fell. The Valekrest family was destroyed. The Empire collapsed under monster waves. Continental annihilation followed within a decade.
He'd written it as inevitable. The Northern Front's collapse was the domino that triggered everything else—once the North fell, the monsters swept south, overwhelming the unprepared Empire. The political rot, the military incompetence, the internal conflicts all culminated in catastrophic failure.
But now he was living it.
The Original Plan (Canon Timeline):
Attend Imperial Academy (where all heirs go)
Graduate Rank 8 (talented but not exceptional)
Return to serve as heir and future Grand Duke
Die at age 20 at Crimson Valley (Chapter 147)
Northern Front collapses shortly after
Empire falls within two years
Near Continental extinction
"Yeah, fuck that," Marc said aloud.
Anna, who was collecting his dishes, startled. "Young master?"
"Nothing. Just... thinking about my future."
She smiled warmly. "The Grand Duke has great expectations for you. 2nd Stage at your age is remarkable."
Marc nodded absently, his mind already racing through the implications.
Imperial Academy is where the protagonist goes. Kael Thorne—the commoner genius who rises to Rank 1 through sheer determination and hidden potential. The one who eventually becomes the Empire's greatest hope.
In my novel, Arden was just another obstacle for Kael to overcome. A talented but ultimately doomed noble who graduated Rank 8, served honorably, and died before the real story began.
Marc leaned back, considering.
Kael's story is at Imperial Academy. The political intrigue, the conspiracies, the hidden powers. That's where the protagonist shines, where he gathers his companions and uncovers the Empire's secrets.
But Northern Military Academy?
A slow smile spread across Marc's face.
I barely detailed it in the novel. Just background worldbuilding—a brutal meritocracy on the frontier that produces soldiers instead of politicians. I mentioned it exists, described the basic structure, maybe used it for a few minor characters.
But the specifics? The day-to-day events? The opportunities hidden in the Northern Frontier?
He'd left it vague. Intentionally underdeveloped because it wasn't relevant to Kael's story.
Which meant it was a goldmine.
I know the MAJOR events. The catastrophes that trigger the Northern Front's collapse. The monster surges, the political betrayals, the critical battles. Those are fixed points—I wrote them as the dominoes that lead to the fall.
But everything else? The academy itself, the frontier rotations, the specific monsters that appear, the Integration cores scattered throughout the North?
Marc's grin widened.
That's all background detail I can exploit. I know the general timeline of the collapse, but the specific opportunities? Those are mine for the taking.
He remembered his worldbuilding notes. Not the detailed plot outline he'd created for Kael's journey through Imperial Academy, but the loose, atmospheric notes for the Northern Frontier:
Monster waves increasing in frequency and strengthRare beasts appearing in unusual locations due to Void Gate instabilityAncient ruins and sealed sites becoming activeIntegration cores from creatures that shouldn't exist yetFrontier commanders discovering caches of pre-Empire artifacts
He'd written those notes as flavor text. Background radiation for the world's impending doom. Never detailed them because they weren't part of Kael's story.
Now they were opportunities.
The Northern Front doesn't fully collapse until I'm twenty. That means there are eight years of escalating chaos—years where rare monsters appear, where ancient sites unseal themselves, where powerful cores become available.
Kael won't be there. He's at Imperial Academy, dealing with noble politics and academic conspiracies. The Northern Front is just background news to his story until it's too late.
Which means every treasure, every beast, every opportunity in the North? It's mine.
Marc stood and began pacing, excitement building.
I don't need to know every specific event. That would be too constraining anyway—the world is REAL now, not a script. Things will diverge. Butterfly effects will happen.
But I know the major catastrophes. I know when the Northern Front starts its decline. I know which areas become hotspots for monster activity. I know the general progression of the collapse.
That's enough. More than enough.
He thought about the Integration cores he'd mentioned in his novel. Most went to Kael and the main cast—the protagonist needed legendary abilities, after all. But Marc had scattered others throughout his world, creating a sense of depth and history.
The Phase Hound packs that migrate through the northern wastes. The Tempest Falcons that nest in the frontier mountains. The Voidshade beasts that appear near unstable Void Gates.
I know these species exist. I know they're in the North. I even know roughly where and when they might appear based on monster wave patterns.
But the EXACT timing? The specific locations? Those I left vague because it wasn't important to the plot.
Now it's important. And I can hunt for them.
The same applied to other opportunities:
Ancient battlefields where powerful warriors died fighting monsters—their equipment might still be there.
Sealed cultivation sites from the Empire's founding era—mentioned in passing but never explored in my novel.
Monster nests that contain rare materials—worldbuilding detail that never made it into the actual story.
All of it exists. All of it is out there. And nobody else knows to look for it.
Marc's smile turned predatory.
The Northern Military Academy is perfect. Not because I detailed it extensively, but because I DIDN'T. It's a blank canvas where I can operate freely, claiming opportunities without disrupting the main plot.
Kael's story doesn't intersect with the Northern Front until much later. By then, I'll be powerful enough to matter.
After Anna left, Marc stood and began a systematic assessment of his body. Squats, stretches, testing range of motion and muscle response.
He frowned almost immediately.
"This body is undertrained," he muttered.
It made sense. Arden was twelve, from a warrior family but still a child. He'd started sword training at age six, but the original Arden had been... comfortable. Privileged. The heir who knew he'd inherit regardless of effort.
Marc had written him that way intentionally—talented enough to matter, but lacking the drive that separated good from great. It made his eventual death more tragic.
Now it was his problem.
"If you don't have overwhelming talent, you work harder," Marc said, echoing his old drill sergeant. "And if working hard isn't enough, you work even fucking harder."
He'd proven that in the Rangers. He wasn't the fastest runner, the best shot, or the strongest guy in his unit. But he'd been the most persistent. The one who never quit. The one who turned "good enough" into "exceptional" through sheer stubborn effort.
Ten years of that effort had made him a Ranger. Another five had made him a Captain.
He could do it again.
Marc dropped and started doing push-ups. His twelve-year-old arms trembled after a while. He forced out ten more, then collapsed.
"Pathetic," he gasped. Then smiled grimly. "But it's a baseline."
He'd build from here.
But physical conditioning wasn't his biggest concern. He sat cross-legged on the floor and turned his attention inward, feeling for his Mana Heart.
There it was—a warm presence in his chest, pulsing with energy. 2nd Stage, recently awakened. The mana circulated through his meridians in the pattern the Valekrest family had refined over generations.
Marc observed it with both Arden's instinctive understanding and his own analytical mind.
The circulation pattern is efficient but not optimal, he noted. There's wasted energy in the third meridian. The breathing rhythm could be refined. And the—
He stopped. Blinked.
How did he know that?
The knowledge felt... familiar. Not from Arden's training. Not from his novel's magic system. It was something deeper. Instinctive.
Like I've done this before. Perfected it over—
He shook his head, pushing away the uncomfortable thought. Didn't matter. What mattered was that he could feel the inefficiencies in his cultivation method and somehow knew how to fix them.
Marc adjusted his breathing. Four counts in, hold, six counts out. The mana responded, flowing smoother through his meridians. He refined the pattern, making micro-adjustments that his body seemed to recognize.
When he opened his eyes an hour later, he felt... better. Clearer. The mana circulated with noticeably less resistance.
"That shouldn't have worked that fast," he muttered.
But it had. Which meant—
I'm better at this than Arden should be. The combination of his talent and my... something... is creating optimization he never achieved alone.
Good. He'd need every advantage.
Marc stood and moved to his desk, pulling out parchment and ink. Time to plan.
PRIORITY ONE: CHANGE THE ACADEMY TRACK
He wrote it in bold english letters at the top, then started a second list:
NORTHERN MILITARY ACADEMY - STRATEGIC ADVANTAGES
Access to frontier monster populations
Phase Hounds, Tempest Falcons, Voidshade beasts, and othersIntegration cores unavailable anywhere elseFirst pick of rare specimens during academy hunts
Proximity to unstable zones
Areas where Void Gates are weakeningAncient sites becoming activeRuins and battlefields unexplored since Empire's founding
Real combat experience
Live monster waves during training rotationsPractical deployment to active frontlinesOpportunity to distinguish myself in actual battles
Meritocratic advancement
Pure ranking system, no politics
Rapid promotion based on results
Direct pipeline to command positions
Minimal main plot interference
Protagonist stays at Imperial Academy
Different story tracks until much later
Freedom to operate without disrupting canon events
Most importantly: I know what's coming
The major disasters that trigger the Northern Front's collapseThe general progression of monster wave escalationCritical points where intervention can save lives and gain opportunitiesNobody else has this knowledge
Marc reviewed his notes with satisfaction.
The beauty of it is that I DON'T know every specific detail. I left the Northern Military Academy vague in my novel because it wasn't important to Kael's story. Which means I have room to maneuver, to adapt, to seize opportunities as they appear.
I know the shape of things—the broad strokes of the Northern Front's decline. But the specific events? Those I can influence. Change. Exploit.
And the Integration cores... God, the cores.
He thought about his planned build. The mobility-focused set he'd envisioned: Phase Hound for short-range teleportation, Tempest Falcon for trajectory prediction, Voidshade Panther for stealth, something defensive for the final layer.
I know these monster types exist in the North. I know they'll appear with increasing frequency as the Void Gates destabilize. But WHERE exactly? WHEN exactly?
I'll have to hunt for them. Use my general knowledge of monster patterns and frontier geography to predict their locations. It won't be handed to me—I'll have to earn it.
A thrill ran through him. This wasn't just meta-knowledge cheese. This was using strategic information to create opportunities, then having the skill to capitalize on them.
Perfect.
He made another note:
The Inter-Academy Competition
Only confirmed intersection with main plot
Northern Military vs Imperial Academy showcase
Kael will be there, along with other main characters
Need to participate without overshadowing the protagonist
Opportunity to observe main cast without interfering
That's years away. By then, I'll have built enough power that a brief interaction won't derail anything. I can even help set up Kael's heroic moments if needed.
Let him have his spotlight. I'll be too busy claiming cores and preventing catastrophes to care about a tournament.
With his strategic vision clear, Marc turned to the immediate problem.
PRIORITY TWO: CONVINCE FATHER
He needed arguments. Good ones.
ARGUMENT ONE: The North is our responsibility
The Valekrest family exists to defend the Northern FrontierHow can I lead if I don't understand the real enemy?Imperial Academy teaches politics and dueling
Military Academy teaches monster warfare and frontier survivalI need to earn the respect of the soldiers I'll command
ARGUMENT TWO: Strategic positioning
Northern Front will face escalating threats (I can't say I KNOW this, but I can frame it as prudent preparation)
Being trained on-site means understanding terrain, tactics, and enemy patterns Building relationships with frontier commanders early
Demonstrating commitment to the family's core duty
ARGUMENT THREE: Personal development
I'm talented, but talent means nothing without tempering
Military Academy will forge me into a true warrior
No politics, no shortcuts—pure merit
Prove I'm worthy of the heir title through action, not birthright
Marc reviewed his arguments, refining the language. Father was traditional but practical. He'd respect the reasoning if presented correctly.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young master?" Anna's voice. "The Grand Duke requests your presence in his study. He says it's urgent."
Marc's heart skipped. He hadn't sent word yet. Why would—
"Tell him I'll be there immediately."
He stood, smoothing his clothes and centering himself.
Time to face Grand Duke Vareth Valekrest.
His father. Both in this life and the character he'd created.
Here goes nothing.
The walk to Father's study felt longer than Marc remembered from Arden's memories. The manor's halls were exactly as he'd described them—stone walls decorated with hunting trophies and family banners, the white lion of House Valekrest prominent on every surface.
Servants bowed as he passed. Guards saluted. Everyone knew the heir.
They're real, Marc kept reminding himself. Not NPCs. Not characters. Real people with lives and families and futures that depend on the choices I make.
It made everything feel heavier somehow.
The study doors were massive oak reinforced with steel—because even the Grand Duke's private room needed to double as a panic room during monster attacks. Very Northern Frontier.
The guards opened them at his approach.
Grand Duke Vareth Valekrest sat behind a desk carved from a single massive tree, reviewing documents. He looked up as Marc entered.
Fifty-two years old. Silver-white hair like Arden's, but with streaks of pure white at the temples. Ice-blue eyes that had seen decades of combat. A scar across his jaw from a Calamity beast that had nearly killed him twenty years ago. 6th Stage Mana Heart—one of the strongest cultivators in the Empire.
In Marc's novel, Vareth had been a stern but honorable man. Traditional, duty-bound, ultimately doomed by his refusal to adapt to changing circumstances. He died defending the family fortress in a battle he should have retreated from, one of the dominoes in the Northern Front's collapse.
Now he was Marc's father.
"Arden." Vareth's voice was deep, commanding. "Sit."
Marc sat in the chair across from the desk, back straight, hands folded. Military bearing unconsciously asserting itself.
Vareth's eyes narrowed slightly. "You seem... different. Since the awakening."
Shit. Of course he notices.
"The awakening was intense," Marc said carefully. "Reaching 2nd Stage at my age... it changed my perspective. Made me think about my future differently."
"Mm." Vareth set down his documents. "Anna mentioned you've been in your room for two days. Refused to see anyone. That's unlike you."
"I needed time to process. To think about what it means to be the heir."
Vareth's expression softened slightly. "Mana Heart awakenings can be overwhelming. Especially one as powerful as yours. I'm told the examiner was quite impressed."
"I want to attend Northern Military Academy."
The words came out before Marc could stop them. Not the plan. He'd meant to build up to it, use his arguments, ease Father into—
Vareth froze. "What?"
"Northern Military Academy," Marc repeated, committing now. "Instead of Imperial Academy. I want to change my enrollment."
The silence stretched. Vareth's expression went from surprised to confused to... angry?
"Have you lost your mind?" Father's voice was dangerously quiet. "You're the heir to House Valekrest. The future Grand Duke. Heirs attend Imperial Academy. That's how it's always been."
"The North is our responsibility," Marc said, leaning forward. "How can I lead if I don't understand the real enemy? Imperial Academy teaches politics and dueling. Military Academy teaches monster warfare—the actual threat we face."
"You'll learn tactics at Imperial—"
"Theory," Marc interrupted. "Parade ground tactics. But the frontiers don't follow neat battle plans. The monsters don't care about proper formations. I need real training, not theory."
Vareth's jaw clenched. "You think I haven't considered this? Imperial Academy produces leaders. Commanders. The men who guide the Empire."
"And Military Academy produces survivors," Marc countered. "The men who actually fight the wars those commanders plan. Father, I'm going to inherit the Northern Frontier's defense. Shouldn't I know how to actually defend it?"
"You're twelve years old. You don't know—"
"I know that monster waves are getting worse." Marc took a calculated risk, using his meta-knowledge carefully. "Every year, the reports show increased frequency and strength. The Northern Front is under more pressure than ever. How can I lead its defense if I've never stood on those walls? If I've never faced what our soldiers face daily?"
Vareth's expression flickered. Marc had hit a nerve—the Grand Duke knew the frontier situation was deteriorating.
"You'll have time to learn that after graduation—"
"Will I?" Marc pressed. "Or will I be thrown into command with theoretical knowledge and no practical experience, expected to make life-or-death decisions for men who've bled while I studied politics?"
"That's what commanders do!"
"That's what bad commanders do." Marc's voice dropped. "The good ones lead from the front. You do. Every Valekrest before you did. Why should I be different?"
The words hung in the air.
Vareth stared at him, something shifting behind his eyes. "You sound like your grandfather."
Marc blinked. "What?"
"He said the same thing. When he was young." Father sat slowly. "He wanted to join the frontier garrison instead of attending academy at all. His father forbade it. Said heirs had responsibilities beyond personal glory."
"I'm not seeking glory," Marc said quietly. "I'm seeking to be worthy of the title I'll inherit. There's a difference."
Vareth was silent for a long moment. Then: "The Northern Military Academy is brutal. Commoners and fallen nobles fighting for survival. No privilege. No special treatment. You'd be just another recruit."
"Good."
"You'd serve twenty years after graduation. Minimum."
"The North is worth twenty years."
"You'd give up the prestige of Imperial Academy. The connections, the political advantages, the—"
"I'd trade them for the ability to actually protect our people," Marc interrupted. "Father, what good are political connections if the frontier falls? If the monsters overrun the North because I was too busy playing court games to learn how to fight them?"
Because the frontier WILL fall if things don't change. I know it. I wrote it. And maybe—just maybe—I can delay that. Buy time. Save lives.
Vareth's expression was unreadable. Finally: "You've thought about this."
"For two days. Yes."
"And you're certain?"
Marc met his father's eyes. "I'm certain that I want to be the heir the North needs, not the heir tradition expects. If that means Military Academy instead of Imperial, so be it."
Another long silence.
Then Vareth nodded slowly. "I'll allow it. On one condition."
Marc's heart leaped. "Name it."
"You will rank top five at the academy. Minimum." Father's voice was steel. "If you're going to reject tradition and take the harder path, you will excel at it. You will prove that the Valekrest heir can dominate even among the frontier's best."
Top five. Father doesn't know I'm aiming for Rank 1.
"I'll do better than top five," Marc said. "I'll be Rank 1."
Vareth's eyebrows rose. "Confident."
"Determined."
Father studied him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. Just slightly. "You remind me of your grandfather more and more. He was arrogant too."
"Not arrogance if I can back it up."
"Then back it up." Vareth pulled out fresh parchment. "I'll send word to the Military Academy. Your enrollment will transfer. But Arden—" He looked up. "This path is harder. Much harder. Imperial Academy would have been challenging but manageable. Military Academy will break you if you're not strong enough."
"Then I'll get stronger."
"The other heirs will mock you. Call it cowardice. Say you couldn't handle the political pressure."
"Let them." Let Kael Thorne have Imperial Academy. Let him gather his companions and shine in the protagonist's spotlight. I'll be in the North, claiming treasures and preventing disasters. "I'll be too busy learning to survive to care about court gossip."
Vareth nodded slowly. "So be it. You leave in six weeks. Use that time to prepare. Your body is undertrained for what's coming."
"I know. I'm already addressing it."
"Good." Father returned to his documents, then paused. "Arden?"
"Yes?"
"Your mother would have been proud. She always said the North needed warriors, not politicians." His voice softened. "I think you're making the right choice."
Marc felt something tighten in his chest. Arden's memories supplied the warmth of his mother—dead five years now, killed by political poison meant for Father.
"Thank you, Father."
As Marc left the study, his mind raced with possibilities.
Six weeks. Six weeks to prepare my body and refine my cultivation. Then four years at Northern Military Academy.
Four years on the frontier, where rare beasts appear and ancient sites awaken. Where Integration cores from creatures that shouldn't exist yet begin manifesting. Where the early signs of the Northern Front's collapse create both danger and opportunity.
I know the shape of what's coming, even if I don't know every detail. That's enough.
Enough to hunt for the cores I need. Enough to position myself for the opportunities that will appear. Enough to make a difference.
Marc clenched his fist, feeling mana respond with unusual efficiency.
Rank 1. Perfect Integration build. Real combat experience.
Let the protagonist save the Empire through politics and heroism.
I'll save the North through preparation and force.
Different paths. Different methods. Both necessary.
He returned to his room and immediately dropped into push-ups. This time he forced out thirty before his arms gave out.
Better.
As he lay on the floor, catching his breath, anticipation burned in his chest.
The Northern Front is a treasure trove nobody else knows to exploit. Ancient battlefields, awakening ruins, rare monster populations.
Time crunch to claim what I can before the real catastrophes begin.
And when they do? I'll be ready.