I didn't move right away.
That might sound cowardly, but the truth was, I wasn't a knight. I had no armor, no training, and two days ago I was still living in a world where my biggest problems were piled-up assignments and slow internet.
A second explosion echoed—closer this time. The barracks walls trembled. Dust sifted down from the gaps in the roof.
Alright. Even waiting has its limits.
I slipped the short sword into a belt that was slightly too loose and stepped outside.
The training yard that had been full of cheers earlier was now empty. Weapon racks stood open, a few spears scattered on the ground as if abandoned in haste. From the outer gate came the sharp clash of metal striking metal.
I ran toward the sound, trying not to look like someone who had absolutely no idea where he was going.
At a stone corridor leading toward the outer wall, I nearly collided with Arven.
His face was pale. His breathing heavy.
"Why are you here?" he demanded.
"You said this world isn't safe."
He didn't have time to argue. "The eastern gate is under attack. Not a normal force. Something… appeared."
"Appeared how?"
"Like a tear," he answered quickly. "The air split open. And from it came things that shouldn't exist."
I fell silent for a moment.
A tear.
The memory of the summoning circle in the grand hall surfaced instantly. Light splitting like fabric forced apart. The same sensation?
"You saw it yourself?" I asked.
"I saw a guard dragged into it." His voice lowered. "No blood. He just… disappeared."
That wasn't a heroic way to die.
Another shout rang out—this time clearly from atop the wall.
Arven tightened his grip on his spear. "The four heroes have already been deployed."
"That was fast."
"That's what they were summoned for."
We ran together up the stairs leading to the city wall. The closer we got, the stranger the air felt. Colder. Like standing in front of a refrigerator left open too long.
When we reached the top, I saw it.
The air before the eastern gate looked like cracked glass. Thin black lines spread across empty sky, forming an irregular fissure. Something moved within it.
Not soldiers.
Not monsters you could easily name.
Its body looked like a shadow forced into shape. Too long in some places, too short in others. When one of its limbs touched the ground, the stone beneath it blackened.
Several soldiers thrust their spears at it. The weapons pierced through, but the creature didn't react like something alive. It only shuddered—and one of the soldiers suddenly jerked and collapsed. His body was unharmed, but his eyes were empty.
"Don't get too close!" someone shouted.
I searched for the source.
The tall man with sharp eyes—one of the four heroes—stood at the front of the knights' line. His greatsword glowed, not like fire, but like light compressed too densely.
He stepped forward and struck.
The blade cleaved the shadow creature in two. This time, there was a reaction. A sound like wet cloth being wrung. Its form shriveled, then burst into black fragments that evaporated before touching the ground.
A brief cheer rose—then died when the crack in the sky widened.
Not one creature now.
Three.
The silver-haired girl lifted her staff. Wind spiraled around the fissure, trying to hold it shut. Her hair lifted, her expression tense. This was no longer training.
The athletic young man stood before the gate, his translucent shield blocking two creatures at once. The barrier trembled with every impact.
The last hero—the one with the unnatural shadow—remained slightly behind. His shadow crawled across the ground, swallowing the lingering black fragments like sealing a wound.
They were strong.
But the crack wasn't shrinking.
"This isn't a normal attack," Arven muttered.
I didn't reply. My eyes were fixed on the pattern of the fissure.
The lines weren't random.
There was rhythm to them. Certain points glowed faintly—like nodes.
For some reason, the pattern felt… familiar.
I had seen something like it before. Not literally—but conceptually.
A network forced to bear too much load.
A contract held together with temporary patches.
I reached into my pocket and felt something that made my stomach twist.
The worn notebook was still with me.
Why had I brought it? Reflex, maybe.
I flipped to the page about the summoning ritual. There was a diagram of the magic circle—interwoven lines with five primary nodes.
Four bright.
One dim.
Beneath it, in hurried handwriting:
Stabilization requires five anchors. If one is inactive, the pressure will seek another outlet.
I slowly lifted my head.
The crack in the sky had five glowing nodes.
Four burned brightly—aligned with the positions of the four heroes battling below.
The fifth… dim.
Directly beneath where I stood.
My blood went cold.
"Arven," I said quietly.
"What?"
"Why do you think I'm still alive?"
He looked at me like I was joking at the worst possible time. "This isn't the moment—"
"Just answer."
He hesitated. "Because they haven't died yet."
That wasn't it.
I stared at the dim node again. Each time a creature emerged, it flickered weakly, like it was straining to hold something too heavy.
The four heroes were attacking from the outside.
If the theory in this notebook was correct, what was missing wasn't power to destroy the creatures.
What was missing was the fifth anchor.
The reserve.
Not to replace them after they fell.
But to hold something they didn't even realize was there.
One of the creatures broke past the shield and leapt onto the wall.
It landed a few meters from me.
Arven charged immediately, thrusting his spear straight ahead. The tip pierced the shadow's form—but the creature didn't stop. Its elongated arm swept Arven aside, slamming him into the stone wall.
I didn't have time to think.
The short sword was already in my hand.
The creature turned toward me. It had no eyes, but I knew it saw.
Each step felt heavy, like walking against a current.
The fifth anchor.
If I was wrong, I would die in a very unheroic way.
If I was right—
The creature lunged.
I didn't strike it.
I stepped past it.
And drove my sword into the stone directly beneath the dim node.
There was no dramatic light.
No thunderous sound.
Only a sensation like invisible lightning coursing through me.
The air tightened. The crack in the sky shuddered violently. The creature before me froze, its form distorting.
From below, one of the heroes shouted, "What are you doing?!"
I wasn't entirely sure myself.
But I could feel something flowing through the blade. Not immense power—more like a small current rediscovering its proper path.
The dim node flared slightly brighter.
The crack in the sky narrowed. Not completely closed—but enough to stop new creatures from emerging.
The four heroes seized the moment. Their attacks synchronized, destroying the remaining creatures.
Seconds later, nothing remained above the gate but empty air.
The fissure slowly sealed, leaving behind a sky that looked almost too ordinary.
The sword in my hand cracked along its blade.
Then shattered into fragments of steel.
I dropped to my knees, breathing hard. There was no cheering.
Only confused silence.
Arven slowly pushed himself up, staring at me like someone who had just heard a stranger speak an unknown language.
The four heroes turned toward me.
Not with forgetfulness this time.
Not with admiration, either.
More like someone who had just realized there was a part of the plan they had never been told about.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, I felt one clear certainty.
I might not be the main character.
But I was definitely not an accidental addition.