---
I woke up gasping, the kind of gasp that tears through your chest as if you've just resurfaced from drowning. My hands clawed at silk sheets, damp with sweat, and my heart pounded as though it was trying to break free from my ribcage. For a disorienting moment, I thought I was back in my cramped studio apartment, late for an exam, or waking from a bad dream. But the unfamiliar opulence of my surroundings crushed that fleeting hope.
The bed was massive—far larger than anything I could have afforded in my past life. Pillows embroidered with golden thread surrounded me, and the ceiling above was painted with elaborate patterns of angels and dragons in a style that screamed wealth and extravagance. Even the air smelled different, carrying a faint floral perfume.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and nearly stumbled. My body felt wrong. Lighter, smaller, younger. I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror on the far side of the room and froze.
The boy staring back at me couldn't have been older than sixteen. Blond hair, blue eyes, aristocratic features sharpened with a hint of arrogance—it was a face I recognized, not because it was mine, but because it belonged to a character in a book I had read.
The realization hit me like a sledgehammer.
I was Liam Arden.
The spoiled, cowardly noble destined to die in Chapter Four of Swords of Destiny.
I slumped back onto the bed, my mind racing. This couldn't be happening. Reincarnation? Into this world, of all places? Swords of Destiny was a generic fantasy novel, the kind of book you skimmed through because you'd already guessed the ending. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either. Its biggest flaw, in my opinion, was how everything revolved around its protagonist, Cale Draymore, the golden boy chosen by destiny.
Cale's story was one of meteoric rise. He started as a humble orphan, discovered he had a powerful bloodline, and went on to gather allies, slay monsters, and save the kingdom from a looming darkness. But before all that, he needed motivation. Something to ignite his journey.
That "something" was my death.
---
Liam Arden wasn't just a footnote in the story—he was a stepping stone. An arrogant noble who humiliated Cale during a banquet, only to die shortly afterward during a hunting trip. His death was pivotal, framing Cale for a crime he didn't commit and forcing the protagonist into exile. From there, Cale's journey to heroism truly began.
Which meant my days were numbered.
I raked a hand through my hair, panic tightening my chest. The hunting trip wasn't far off—if I remembered correctly, it was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. The original Liam had walked into the ambush with all the arrogance of someone who believed themselves untouchable. But I wasn't Liam, and I wasn't about to play along with the script.
"Think," I muttered to myself, pacing the length of the room. My voice sounded strange—higher, smoother, and tinged with an aristocratic accent. "You know the story. You know how this ends. Use that knowledge."
I needed a plan. In the original novel, Liam's party was ambushed by bandits hired by the rival noble house of Gavarn. The bandits had been tipped off by one of the Arden knights, a traitor who ensured Liam's death. The rest of the hunting party had been wiped out as collateral damage.
Surviving the ambush was my first priority. Exposing the traitor was the second.
---
A sharp knock at the door interrupted my frantic pacing. "Master Liam," a voice called. It was soft and hesitant, belonging to one of the household servants. "Your father requests your presence in the study."
I stiffened. Lord Arden, the head of the family, was not a man to keep waiting. In the novel, he was depicted as cold and pragmatic, a ruthless player in the game of politics. He barely acknowledged Liam's existence, seeing him more as an asset than a son. When Liam died, Lord Arden's only reaction had been to lament the loss of his heir, not because he cared, but because it weakened his position.
"I'll be there shortly," I called, keeping my tone even.
I dressed quickly, donning a tailored jacket and trousers that felt uncomfortably tight. My reflection in the mirror looked impeccable—every inch the privileged noble—but the fear in my eyes betrayed me. I forced myself to take a deep breath. Panic wouldn't help me now.
---
The study was a cavernous room filled with shelves of books, ledgers, and maps. A massive desk dominated the space, behind which sat Lord Arden. His graying hair and sharp features gave him an air of authority that was only reinforced by the cold, calculating gaze he fixed on me as I entered.
"You're late," he said, not bothering to look up from the document he was reviewing.
"My apologies, Father," I replied, keeping my tone respectful. The original Liam would have bristled at the rebuke, but I couldn't afford to antagonize him. Not yet.
Lord Arden finally looked up, his eyes narrowing as they studied me. "The hunting trip is tomorrow," he said. "I trust you're prepared?"
"Yes," I lied. "I've been reviewing the route and ensuring my equipment is in order."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Good. The Gavarns will be watching closely, and I won't have you embarrassing this family."
The mention of the Gavarns sent a chill down my spine. They were the ones orchestrating the ambush, hoping to eliminate me and weaken the Arden family. Their plan would succeed—unless I found a way to change the script.
"I understand," I said. "If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
"Wait." His voice stopped me in my tracks. "One more thing."
I turned back to face him, keeping my expression neutral. "Yes, Father?"
"You've been... different lately," he said, his tone unreadable. "Less impulsive. More thoughtful. That's good. But don't let it go to your head. This world doesn't tolerate weakness, Liam. Remember that."
I nodded, swallowing the retort that rose in my throat. "I'll keep that in mind."
---
Back in my room, I began drafting a plan. The hunting trip was a death sentence, but avoiding it wasn't an option. My father would see any attempt to back out as cowardice, and that would only paint a bigger target on my back. I had to play along—at least until I could figure out how to survive.
The first step was identifying the traitor among the knights. In the novel, the betrayal wasn't revealed until much later, but I remembered enough details to narrow it down. The traitor was young, ambitious, and bitter about his position in the Arden household. That fit Sir Roland, one of the younger knights in my father's retinue.
But suspicion wasn't enough. I needed proof.
I summoned one of the servants and instructed them to bring Sir Roland to me under the pretense of inspecting his equipment for tomorrow's hunt. When he arrived, I watched him carefully, noting the way he carried himself. His polite smile didn't reach his eyes, and there was a tension in his posture that he couldn't quite hide.
"Your equipment looks fine," I said after a cursory inspection. "You're dismissed."
He bowed and left, but the unease in his expression lingered. I couldn't be certain he was the traitor, but my gut told me I was on the right track.
Now all I had to do was survive long enough to prove it.
---
The Arden estate was a fortress disguised as a palace. Its towering stone walls, adorned with ivy and climbing roses, enclosed sprawling gardens, stables, and barracks. Every path was paved with smooth cobblestones, and every corner whispered of wealth and power.
As I walked through the halls on my way back to my room, I couldn't help but feel like an imposter. The servants bowed as I passed, their expressions carefully neutral, but I caught the occasional flicker of disdain in their eyes. Liam Arden had been a terror to the staff—a spoiled, arrogant brat who delighted in making their lives miserable. I couldn't blame them for hating me, but their silent judgment still sent a pang of guilt through my chest.
I paused by a window, looking out at the courtyard below. Servants bustled about, loading supplies onto carts and preparing the horses for tomorrow's hunt. The knights stood off to one side, polishing their weapons and joking amongst themselves. Sir Roland was among them, his laughter too loud, too forced. My suspicion deepened.
---
Back in my room, I found a tray of food waiting for me. The maid who had delivered it must have been unusually quiet, because I hadn't heard her come in. I sat down at the table, picking at the roasted chicken and bread as I tried to piece together a plan.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," I said, expecting another servant. Instead, it was Sir Garret, the grizzled veteran who had served the Arden family for decades. His stern expression softened slightly as he bowed.
"Master Liam," he said, his voice gravelly but kind. "May I speak with you?"
I gestured for him to sit. "Of course, Sir Garret. What's on your mind?"
He hesitated, his gaze searching my face. "You've changed," he said finally. "You used to be... different."
"I'm trying to be better," I replied carefully. "Why do you ask?"
Garret leaned forward, lowering his voice. "There are whispers among the knights. Some are saying you've lost your nerve. Others think you've grown wiser." He paused. "Which is it?"
I met his gaze, my mind racing. Garret was one of the few people I could trust, but I couldn't afford to reveal too much. "I've realized how much is at stake," I said. "That's all."
He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Good. Because tomorrow will test you. The woods are dangerous, and not just because of wild animals. Keep your wits about you."
"I will," I said, my heart sinking. Garret didn't know about the ambush, but his warning only reinforced my fears.
---
Before I went to bed, I decided to take a closer look at the weapons I'd be bringing on the hunt. The original Liam hadn't been much of a fighter, and I wasn't any better. My new body was lean but undertrained, and the idea of swinging a sword against an armed opponent made my stomach churn.
In the corner of my room, a practice dummy stood gathering dust. I unsheathed the decorative dagger hanging from my belt, its blade gleaming in the candlelight. It was more ceremonial than practical, but it was better than nothing.
I took a few tentative swings, the movements awkward and clumsy. My arm ached after just a few minutes, and my grip was slippery with sweat. If tomorrow's ambush came down to a fight, I wouldn't last ten seconds.
Frustrated, I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Think, Liam," I muttered. "You can't fight your way out of this. What's your other option?"
The answer was simple: I had to use my mind. Strategy, not strength, would be my weapon. If I could outmaneuver the bandits and expose the traitor, I might just make it out alive.
---
The night before the hunt, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw arrows raining down, heard the screams of men and horses, felt the cold steel of a blade against my throat.
I got up and lit a candle, the flickering flame casting shadows across the room. Sitting at the desk, I pulled out a map of the forest, studying the route we'd be taking tomorrow. The clearing where the ambush would occur was circled in red, its position burned into my memory from the novel. If I could steer the group away from it, I might avoid the worst of the attack.
But how? The knights wouldn't listen to me without a good reason, and any attempt to change the route would only draw suspicion. I needed an excuse—something plausible.
A knock at the door startled me. It was the same maid from before, her expression nervous as she entered. "Master Liam," she said, wringing her hands. "The knights are saying strange things about tomorrow's hunt."
"What kind of things?" I asked, sitting up straighter.
She hesitated. "They say the Gavarns have been unusually quiet lately. Too quiet."
My stomach twisted. It was just as I feared. The Gavarns were already laying the groundwork for their plan, spreading rumors to sow confusion and paranoia. If I wasn't careful, I'd be walking into their trap blind.
"Thank you," I said, dismissing her with a nod. As she left, I turned back to the map, my mind racing. If I couldn't avoid the ambush, I'd have to face it head-on. But this time, I'd be ready.
---
By the time the first rays of dawn peeked through the window, I had barely slept a wink. Every minute of the night was spent poring over the map, replaying the events of the novel in my head, and trying to prepare for every possible outcome. But no matter how many scenarios I ran through, the conclusion was always the same: I couldn't avoid the ambush.
The Gavarns were too meticulous, their plan too perfectly timed. Trying to change the route would only play into their hands, making me look suspicious or, worse, paranoid. If I wanted to survive, I had to act like Liam Arden would—confident, oblivious, and completely unprepared.
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all I had.
I dressed quickly, donning the hunting attire that had been laid out for me the night before. The leather boots and reinforced jacket fit well, but they felt heavier than they should have, as if the weight of the day's events was already pressing down on me. I strapped the ceremonial dagger to my belt, its ornate hilt gleaming in the morning light.
A soft knock at the door broke my reverie. "Master Liam," the maid's voice called. "The horses are ready."
I took one last look at myself in the mirror. The boy staring back at me looked every bit the noble heir—polished, composed, and utterly clueless. But behind the mask of arrogance was a trembling resolve. I wasn't Liam Arden. I wasn't going to die here.
"Coming," I said, my voice steady.
---
The courtyard was bustling with activity as the hunting party prepared to depart. Horses pawed at the ground, their breath misting in the cool morning air, while servants loaded supplies onto a nearby cart. The knights were gathered in a loose circle, laughing and swapping stories, their armor catching the sunlight.
Sir Garret noticed me first, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he approached. "Master Liam," he said, inclining his head. "You're on time. That's... unusual."
I forced a smirk, falling into the role of the arrogant noble. "I didn't want to keep you waiting, Garret. This hunt is important, after all."
He didn't reply, but there was a flicker of approval in his expression. "Your horse is ready. Stay close to me during the hunt. The woods can be... unpredictable."
I nodded, grateful for his concern. "I'll keep that in mind."
As I mounted my horse, I caught sight of Sir Roland on the other side of the courtyard. He was speaking with another knight, his expression calm and composed. But there was something in his body language—something too relaxed, too calculated—that set my nerves on edge.
He's the one, I thought. He has to be.
---
The hunting party set out just as the sun began to rise, the gates of the Arden estate creaking open to reveal the dense forest beyond. The air was crisp and filled with the sounds of birdsong, but beneath the natural beauty lay an undercurrent of tension. Every step the horses took brought us closer to the clearing, closer to the ambush.
I forced myself to focus, taking in every detail of our surroundings. The path wound through towering trees and thick undergrowth, the morning light filtering through the canopy above. Sir Garret rode beside me, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, while Sir Roland hung back, keeping a careful distance.
The nobles were chatting amongst themselves, their laughter echoing through the woods. They were blissfully unaware of the danger we were riding into, their confidence a stark contrast to the dread twisting in my gut.
As the morning wore on, the group began to spread out, some of the younger nobles breaking off to chase after deer or wild boar. Sir Garret frowned but said nothing, his attention focused on the path ahead.
"Master Liam," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "Stay close. These woods are not as safe as they seem."
I nodded, gripping the reins tightly. "I will."
But even as I spoke, I could feel the weight of inevitability pressing down on me. The ambush was coming. The only question was when.
---
The rustling started just as we reached the heart of the forest. It was faint at first, barely noticeable over the sound of hooves and chatter. But as we pressed deeper into the woods, the noises grew louder—branches snapping, leaves crunching, the occasional whisper of movement.
Sir Garret's hand tightened on his sword. "Do you hear that?"
I nodded, my throat dry. "Animals?"
"No." His voice was grim. "Something else."
Ahead of us, Sir Roland turned in his saddle, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. "Perhaps we should stop and regroup," he suggested. "The others have wandered off. We wouldn't want anyone to get lost."
It was a reasonable suggestion—too reasonable. My heart pounded as I forced myself to speak. "No need," I said, keeping my tone light. "They'll catch up soon enough. Let's press on."
Sir Garret shot me a questioning look, but I ignored it. Stopping here would only give the bandits more time to prepare. If we kept moving, we might have a chance to reach the clearing before the attack.
But deep down, I knew it wouldn't matter. The trap was already set.