"Mana..." I uttered, my voice barely above a whisper. The word felt heavy on my tongue, laden with the weight of a thousand memories and the promise of untold power.
In the game, I crafted an intricate lore around the concept of mana, weaving together elements of arcane theory, mystical energy, and ancient rituals. Mana, as I envisioned it, was the lifeblood of this realm, an omnipresent force that flowed through the veins of the world, binding together the very fabric of reality. It was a primordial energy, both wild and refined, that could be harnessed by those with the knowledge and skill to manipulate it. Everyone has a diverse talent and capacity to use mana, and the ones capable of manipulating it and using it to perform magic prove to be rather rare.
The manipulation of this energy and the perform of magic was divided into various schools, each representing different aspects of existence—elemental, necromancy, illusion, divination, and more. Each school required a deep understanding of its unique principles and a mastery over its specific magic circles, incantations, and rituals. Mages and wizards were not merely wielders of power but scholars of the arcane, dedicating their lives to the pursuit of magical knowledge and the perfection of their craft.
They drew upon ley lines, ancient conduits of magic that crisscrossed the land, tapping into reservoirs of energy to fuel their spells. Magical artifacts, enchanted items, and runes added further layers of complexity, allowing practitioners to amplify their abilities or achieve feats otherwise impossible. The practice of magic was both an art and a science, requiring intuition, intellect, and an unyielding will to unlock its deepest secrets.
I wondered if this intricate system held true in this reality. Did magic operate under the same principles? Could I access and manipulate it as I had designed in the game?
My curiosity was piqued, and I decided to test my theory. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, focusing my mind on the arcane energy that I imagined must flow through this world. I pictured the ley lines beneath my feet, the ambient magic in the air, and the reservoir of potential within myself.
"Let us see if this world's magic responds to my will," I murmured.
I raised my hand and attempted a simple incantation, one that I had coded into the game for novice mages—a basic light spell. "Lux incanta," I intoned, the familiar words rolling off my tongue.
To my astonishment, a soft glow began to emanate from my palm, illuminating the room with a gentle, warm light. The sensation was surreal, the magic flowing through me as naturally as if I had been born to wield it.
"So, it does work," I whispered, marveling at the sight. The magic here followed the same principles I had laid out in the game's lore. This world was truly a reflection of my creation, a place where my understanding of magic held true. Or is it perhaps my understanding is just a form of enlightenment about this existing world?
I extinguished the light with a thought, my mind racing with possibilities. If the basics of magic worked as I had designed, then perhaps the more advanced and complex spells would too. My heart pounded with excitement and anticipation at the thought of exploring the full extent of my magical abilities in this world.
But then I remember.
Draven Arcanum von Drakhan.
In the game, the character should be dead in most of the route. Just how a villain should be.
Draven is the character that links the progress of the kingdom's arc, an arch-rival to many named characters. A named villain.
He's the enemy of his hometown, the enemy of his parents, the enemy of his peers, and so on.
In addition to this, I'm sure there are lots of people who hold a grudge against him. A villain weaved only to die and experience hardship.
"How should I survive...?"
___
"Don't you think that it's too quiet this morning...? It's making me kind of anxious..."
Today, the atmosphere around the Drakhan mansion feels peaceful and quiet. Silence was considered unusual in this grand mansion that is considered one of the best in the world.
"Hush! Don't say that. Just stay still. Don't get us into trouble."
The unusual quietness is strange and awkward for the maids and servants.
There are no usual shouts, no servants franticly running right and left, and nothing broke.
"Does it mean that it's going well with Lady Icevern?" The young maid asked.
"I don't think so," The other maid shook her head. "The last time they met, the master made quite a ruckus in the mansion. I don't think it's going well,"
"Really? But I couldn't feel the usual tension and anger, maybe-"
At that very moment, the front door was opened wide, and the sound of shoes echoed throughout the halls.
Clack! Clack!
It's a cool and sinister echo.
The maids rushed to make a graceful line as they greeted the person.
"Where is that man?" The figure said sharply. It's a beauty with long jet-black hair that asked the posing question with a sinister gaze.
"L-Lady Tiara. The master is currently...."
The little sister, Tiara, and her twin Clara, were equally well-known for being as sensitive as the master. Her presence made the maids bow.
"Guide me,"
The servants guide her without daring to make eye contact.
Together, they went to the huge dining room.
Knock! Knock!
There's no response.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Tiara attempted another knock, but she ran out of patience as there was still no response, forcing her to burst open the door forcefully.
Frustrated, Tiara burst open the door with a forceful shove. "Hey!!!" she shouted, her voice reverberating through the chamber.
In the dining room, Draven sat at the head of the table, an aura of calm composure enveloping him despite the turmoil that churned within. His handsome visage, framed by waves of dark hair neatly tied back, exuded an effortless elegance that captivated all who beheld it. His sharp, intelligent eyes, the color of stormy skies, surveyed the room with a cool detachment, taking in every detail with a keen awareness. Draven's chiseled features and strong jawline lent him an air of authority that was both commanding and intimidating. His high cheekbones cast subtle shadows on his face, highlighting his striking appearance.
With each delicate bite he took, he seemed to defy the chaos that threatened to engulf him, his movements fluid and unhurried. His chiseled features, sculpted by both time and fate, radiated an air of authority and self-assurance.
It was a spectacle that could melt any woman's heart, a tantalizing blend of power and poise that left those in his presence spellbound.
Draven looked up, his piercing gaze meeting hers. For a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. He placed his utensils down with deliberate care, his expression inscrutable.
"Tiara," he said, his voice smooth and controlled, "what brings you here so early in the morning?"
Tiara's eyes narrowed, her frustration evident. "What the hell are you doing!?"
Draven leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Nothing more than enjoying my breakfast in peace. Is that a crime?"
Tiara's eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of Draven's composed figure. She knew him well enough to sense that something was amiss, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The maids and servants watched the exchange with bated breath, aware that any wrong move could provoke the master's ire.
"I've heard that you left several meetings at the university. If you stay here and do nothing, you'll bring shame to our family. Are you fine with that?" Tiara's voice cut through the room, laced with irritation.
Draven continued eating his meal, seemingly unaffected by Tiara's harsh words. He maintained his composure, methodically finishing each bite, which only served to fuel Tiara's growing frustration.
"Hey! Even if you're down because of that woman, at least attend your lectures and don't bring shame to our family! Do you hear that! You stupid fool!" she snapped, her voice echoing through the dining hall.
The maids and servants shuddered, their eyes darting between Tiara and Draven. They knew the consequences of such disrespect could be severe. Draven was not known for his tolerance, and yet, his uncharacteristic calmness now seemed to heighten the tension in the room.
"The carriage is ready, sir," Alfred announced as he entered the room, cutting through Tiara's tirade.
"Eh? Carriage?" Tiara's anger turned to confusion, her voice losing its edge.
Draven responded with a nod, standing gracefully and adjusting his clothes with a practiced elegance. He moved with a calm, deliberate demeanor, ignoring Tiara's outburst entirely.
"I have important matters to attend to, and lecture to fill," Draven finally spoke, his voice steady and controlled. "I trust you can manage things in my absence, Tiara."
Without waiting for her response, he strode towards the door, leaving a stunned Tiara and a room full of anxious servants in his wake. The tension eased slightly as the heavy door closed behind him, but the air remained charged with the unspoken implications of his departure.
Outside, the carriage awaited, a sleek, imposing vehicle that spoke of wealth and power. Draven climbed inside, his mind already turning to the tasks ahead. Looking out the window, he saw Alfred bidding him farewell with a respectful bow.
Draven replied with a nod, and the carriage set off shortly after.
"H-He went? Where is he going to, Alfred?" Tiara seemed flustered by her brother's strange behavior today.
"The Lord is going towards the Magic Tower University, my lady," Alfred replied respectfully.
"This is strange," Tiara muttered to herself.
First, Draven had just had a problem with his fiancée, an issue that typically led him to make a scene. Second, he neither reprimanded nor commented on her harsh words and rude behavior. Third, he went to the lecture with a composed demeanor without calling any of his assistants to help him prepare the materials for the lecture, as he always did.
"Do you notice something, Alfred?" Tiara asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
"...Nothing, my lady," Alfred replied, though there was a strange pause before he spoke.
'It should be just me,' Alfred thought.
'The one who heard the agonized scream the master let out in his chamber, and saw the stains of blood left on the mirror.'