Arden sat down behind a jagged boulder, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His body was a grotesque mess — a gaping, bloody hole where his heart used to be. His arms bore deep bite marks, the unmistakable work of wolves. His legs? Gone. There was nothing left of them but stumps wrapped in what remained of his tattered trousers. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the dirt. He had no way to stop the bleeding, no energy left to scream or even cry.
Hah, getting betrayed like that. What a waste of effort. The thought came bitterly, swirling in his fading mind like a dark, venomous cloud. Arden had been betrayed — not by a stranger or an enemy — but by the one person he had trusted more than anyone else. His best friend. His so-called "trusted companion."
Cough! He doubled over, a sharp burst of blood spraying from his lips. His chest, or what remained of it, burned with unrelenting pain. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass. His hands trembled as they tried — and failed — to press against the massive hole in his torso.
How... am I still alive? He wasn't even sure if he could call this "living" anymore. Two days. That's how long he'd managed to survive after his fall. Two days without food, without water, without treating the gaping wounds that turned his body into a battlefield.
[Health below 2%]
[Warning: Drink health potion]
The bright, glowing message flickered in his vision, its presence almost mocking.
"You idiot..." Arden muttered weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I had one... I would've already drank it..." His dry, cracked lips curled into a bitter smile. The system had a way of stating the obvious, didn't it?
He leaned his head back against the boulder, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. Stars began to dot the heavens, their cold light indifferent to his suffering. But... all I ever did in my life was think about saving the world...
He had fought for them. All of them. Every single ungrateful soul in this damned world. He had given everything — his strength, his time, his dreams. And for what?
For this? His eyes stung, though he doubted it was tears. He didn't have enough water left in his body to cry.
His mind wandered back to that moment — the final blow, not from an enemy, but from the one person he thought he could trust. It had been right after the battle, right after the Demon Lord's defeat. Arden had stood there, exhausted but victorious, his body battered but his spirit unbroken.
And then his best friend, the man who had fought alongside him, had smiled. A warm, familiar smile. A smile that turned into something cold and cruel as the dagger sank into Arden's back.
He hadn't even seen it coming. The betrayal. The shove. The long, endless fall off the cliff. And now here he was, bleeding out in the wilderness, the wolves having already taken their share of him.
[Health below 1%]
The notification blinked again, brighter this time. He let out a strained laugh, the sound hollow in the empty night.
So this is it, huh? He stared up at the stars, his vision starting to blur. His limbs felt heavy, like they weren't even his anymore.
One last thought flickered in his mind. A wish, desperate and quiet. Lord... God... a second chance would do.
The world around him dimmed. The pain in his chest began to fade, replaced by a strange, numb cold. It was almost peaceful, in a way.
[Skill added — £uc|<]
The words hung in his fading vision, glowing faintly before his consciousness slipped away entirely.
His head lolled to the side, his body going still.
And then there was silence.
...
...
Jolt! Arden shot upright, his breath coming in short gasps, chest heaving like he'd just surfaced from drowning. His head whipped left, then right, his surroundings slowly bleeding into focus.
A house. A stone one.
The faint crackle of a fire filled the otherwise silent space. Shadows danced along the cobbled walls, each flicker painting a new, shifting picture. A wave of warmth enveloped him, chasing away the lingering chill in his bones.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered under his breath, voice rasping like sandpaper. He pressed a hand to his chest, expecting pain—hell, anything—but instead felt only smooth, intact skin beneath his palm.
He froze.
The last thing he remembered was blood. His own. A lot of it. His chest had been torn open, his legs shredded beyond recognition. There had been no way to survive that.
No way. he thought, heart pounding as realization clawed at him. I shouldn't be alive.
His gaze darted around the room. The house was quaint but well-lived in. To his left, a rectangular table stood littered with quills, a half-empty ink bottle, and stacks of paper, some yellowed with age.
To his right, bookshelves crammed with tomes lined the walls, their spines worn and cracked. Whoever lived here had a thing for reading—or writing.
Arden swung his legs over the edge of the bed cautiously, his bare feet meeting the cool wooden floor. He stood slowly, testing his weight.
No pain. No weakness.
"Sigh…" A breath of relief escaped him as he stretched his arms overhead, the satisfying crack of his joints echoing in the stillness. His body felt… whole.
But it shouldn't be.
"Wait." He stiffened, a thought stabbing through his mind like an icy dagger. His hands flew to his chest again, pressing harder this time, almost as if trying to find the wounds that should've been there.
My legs… my chest… how—? He staggered a step back, his heart racing. No one should've been able to heal this. Not even me.
Back in his time, he had been the exception, the strongest Hero alive. But even he couldn't have fixed something this catastrophic.
Something wasn't right.
Arden turned toward the table, desperate for answers. He rifled through the papers, scattering a few to the floor in his haste, until his eyes landed on a single sheet in the center.
The handwriting was neat, each letter deliberate.
"Dear diary,
I have been bullied again. For the 356th time this year. Every day, their harassment just gets worse and worse, each one more painful and unbearable. All because I am an E-rank Wayfinder.
Arpheus"
Arden blinked, rereading the words to make sure he hadn't imagined them.
"Bullied 356 times? This year?" he said aloud, his voice tinged with disbelief. He set the page down, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
What kind of life is that?
The name at the bottom caught his eye.
"Arpheus…" He said the name slowly, testing it on his tongue. The more he said it, the stranger it felt. Like it should mean something to him, but it didn't.
Arden glanced around the room again, searching for more clues. Who was Arpheus? The owner of this cabin, obviously. But why was Arden here? And more importantly—how?
A glint of light caught his attention, pulling his gaze toward the far corner of the room. A mirror.
It stood tall and narrow, its surface slightly warped with age. Arden hesitated, his gut twisting with unease. Something about it felt… wrong.
He approached slowly, his reflection growing clearer with each step.
Then he froze.
Jolt! He stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat.
"That's not…" His voice faltered as he stared at the face staring back at him.
It wasn't his.
The man in the mirror had Arden's piercing eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. His face was younger, softer, without the harsh lines etched by years of battle.
His hair was darker, messier, falling over his forehead in loose strands. And his scar—the one that had run across his cheek for as long as he could remember—was gone.
"Who the hell…?" Arden whispered, his fingers brushing over his unfamiliar features. The reflection moved with him, mocking his every gesture.
He leaned closer, his breath fogging up the glass.
"This isn't me," he muttered, his voice trembling. He stepped back, shaking his head as if to clear the fog in his mind. This can't be real.
But the mirror didn't lie.
Arden's chest tightened as the pieces started falling into place. The healed wounds. The unfamiliar body. The name on the diary entry.
"Arpheus…" he said again, this time with a sinking feeling in his gut.
Did I reincarnate? The thought slammed into him like a freight train. But no, that didn't make sense. If he'd been reincarnated, he'd be a kid again, not… whatever this was.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The fire popped behind him, its warmth suddenly feeling suffocating.
"This isn't reincarnation," he said aloud, trying to convince himself. "It's something else."
But what?
Arden glanced back at the table, at the diary entry. Arpheus. The name felt foreign yet oddly intimate, like it belonged to him now.
Because maybe it did.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.
This wasn't his body.
It was Arpheus's.
And somehow, Arden was in it.
His thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. What had happened to Arpheus? Was he gone? Dead? And why had Arden taken his place?
He didn't know.