He picked it up and opened the first page.
The book described the continent where the empire is located.
He wasn't curious. He was searching for one name only.
The Forest of Death.
That name made his headache pulse more painfully, and the wound on his forehead throbbed whenever he thought about it.
He needed an explanation.
He needed to understand this world, which was no longer just a novel Old Alexander had once read.
He began reading without enthusiasm, his fingers gliding slowly across the pages.
The continent was divided into several major regions.
The Valdrin Empire—the superpower that ruled the continent under a strong monarchy. It stretched from the northern mountains to the central plains. Its capital was the holy city of Solaris, where the towering imperial palace stood—and where he now sat.
The Three Kingdoms, operating under the empire's protection:
· Kingdom of Aziron — the center of trade and industry. Merchant ships sailed from its ports to the farthest corners of the world, and its markets never slept.
· Kingdom of Valthera — the heart of military power and combat prowess. Knights trained there from childhood, and swords were valued more than gold.
· Kingdom of Lucreven — the land of sorcerers and seers. A closed kingdom that few could enter because of its harsh geography and the legends surrounding it.
The Holy Land — a small region neighboring the empire, home to the oldest temples.
The Grand Academy — located within the empire, where nobles and the most talented individuals trained to develop their abilities. Built a thousand years ago, its towers seemed to touch the clouds.
There were also many heroic tales and legends about the empire—ancient wars and mythical kings.
But Niklaus didn't care.
He skimmed through them quickly, searching only for what interested him.
What caught his attention most was a chapter about the Sorcerers' Tower.
It was said that this tower had once been the center of magical power on the continent—greater than anything imaginable. But it had disappeared three hundred years ago, and its location had remained unknown ever since.
Yet an ancient legend still remained:
"Whoever possesses the power of removal will be chosen by the tower itself."
Power of removal?
Niklaus paused at the phrase.
He turned the page but found no further details about this power. As if it had been forgotten over time—or perhaps written and later erased.
But the most intriguing section concerned the Forest of Death.
This forest lay on the border between the empire and the Kingdom of Lucreven.
A vast expanse of dark trees and perpetual fog.
It was said that no one could emerge from it with their sanity intact.
Those who entered never returned.
Those who did return came back as shadows of themselves—muttering incomprehensible words or dying within days.
No one had dared to enter it for decades.
As he continued flipping through the pages, he noticed something strange.
The most mysterious places mentioned in the book were the Kingdom of Lucreven, the Forest of Death, and the Sorcerers' Tower.
Despite all the text about them, they remained vague.
No real information existed about any of them.
As if the world itself knew nothing about these three places.
And even more notably—there was nothing about demons.
The book never mentioned them at all.
As if the world itself was unaware that a darker realm existed beyond it.
Niklaus closed the book for a moment, letting his fingers rest on its leather cover.
This novel...
This world...
This continent...
It held far more than what appeared on the surface.
But did that matter to him?
Of course not.
It was merely information stored in his mind to pass the time in this cliché story that irritated him so much.
Yet the irritation stirred unwanted questions in his mind.
What was the connection between the Kingdom of Lucreven and all of this?
What was the true origin of the Forest of Death?
Why had none of these secrets been revealed in the novel Alexander once read?
And how had he ended up inside this story in the first place?
He tried to connect these mysteries with the system that kept giving him quests.
If going to the forest meant removing the restraint, then there had to be a connection between that place and his sealed magic.
And if he managed to keep both his body and mind intact there, he would receive an unknown reward.
One thought settled firmly in his mind:
Who benefits from all this?
The question echoed in his head like a distant bell, growing louder each time he tried to ignore it.
The pain in his head, the dried blood on his forehead, and the reality surrounding him all confirmed that what was happening was real.
Not a nightmare.
Not a hallucination.
Reality.
He approached the window.
It was sealed tightly with iron from the outside.
His reflection appeared faintly in the glass.
His crimson eyes looked like mysterious sparks, carrying an unfamiliar reflection.
As if they no longer recognized their owner.
He didn't see himself as he once was.
Instead, he saw a distorted image—half shadow, half fire.
As if the mirror reflected what he hid inside more than it reflected his actual face.
For the first time since entering this world, a strange feeling passed through him.
A feeling that something greater existed beyond the story he was living in.
Something not written on pages.
Something not told in legends.
As if the threads of fate guiding him were not held solely by the writer—
but by another force.
A deeper, more mysterious force.
A force that knew he was here.
A force that watched him.
A force that gave him quests.
A force that threatened punishment.
The realization awakened a deep anger within him.
Not a fleeting emotion.
But a fire burning inside his chest.
A fire reminding him that he was not merely a character in a novel.
He was Arthur.
And he refused to be controlled like a puppet.
He left the room.
What disgusted him most now was this weak, nauseating body. Even his steps were unsteady—he possessed no real physical strength.
He walked through the long corridors while servants lowered their heads as he passed. No one stopped him. Everyone avoided approaching him, as if they could read the message written clearly in his eyes: Don't come near.
He eventually reached the palace's back garden, where magical lamps illuminated the surroundings.
The garden looked like a paradise carved from dreams.
Fountains whispered with flowing water. Flowers bloomed in colors that did not belong to this world. White stone paths wound between the trees like pale rivers beneath the night.
Niklaus sat on a bench beneath an ancient tree.
A cold breeze brushed against his face, carrying the scent of jasmine and damp soil.
As he stared into the distance, he heard a faint rustling among the nearby trees.
Without even turning his head, he spoke coldly.
"Come out."
The rustling stopped.
For a moment, the branches remained still.
Then they moved again.
A few seconds later, a young man stepped out from the shadows. He appeared to be in his early twenties, with messy dark-brown hair and wary gray eyes. His black cloak was covered with mud and dry leaves.
The young man scratched the back of his head awkwardly before bowing quickly.
"Forgive me, my lord."
Niklaus looked at him carefully.
Then something surfaced in his memory.
A name.
A fragment from the novel.
Ethan Fariston.
Niklaus's loyal servant.
His posture was humble, but his eyes were observant, quietly studying everything around him.
There was something about him that suggested silent loyalty—the kind that asked for nothing in return.
Ethan spoke softly.
"My lord... I was certain you would awaken. Thank the heavens for your safety."
He hesitated briefly before continuing.
"I didn't find what you asked me to search for three months ago... about the organization."
Niklaus looked at him with quiet indifference.
But inside his mind, a thought flickered.
The organization.
That mysterious organization from the novel.
The same one responsible for the demon outbreak that would later shake the entire continent.
Why had the original Niklaus been searching for it?
The thought stirred a slight curiosity.
But it was not enough to truly interest him.
Only one thing occupied his mind now.
The Forest of Death.
After a short silence, he spoke calmly.
"Forget the organization. Find me maps and secret routes leading to the Forest of Death."
For a brief moment, Ethan froze.
Shock flashed across his face—but he quickly concealed it.
He knew exactly what that forest was.
It was not merely dangerous.
It was forbidden.
Only the emperor, the headmaster of the academy, or one of the three kings had the authority to enter it.
Even then, entry required complex procedures and official approval.
The empire guarded that forest more strictly than almost anything else.
An ancient law even stated that anyone who entered it without permission would be executed.
Ethan was not foolish.
He sensed that something about his master had changed.
Before the coma, Niklaus's gaze had been sharp and cold.
But now...
Now there was something else.
An emptiness so deep it was unsettling.
And the request itself made little sense.
First the mysterious organization.
Now the Forest of Death.
But even though he noticed all this, Ethan asked no questions.
Loyalty did not require explanations.
After a brief pause, he said quietly,
"I will search for information, my lord... but..."
Niklaus's eyes shifted toward him.
"But...?"
Ethan scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"I've run out of money during these past three months. Searching for the forest will cost a great deal. I spent everything investigating the organization, and unfortunately... I found nothing."
Niklaus studied him for a moment.
Then he understood immediately.
This servant's livelihood had depended entirely on his master waking up.
And judging from his appearance, he likely hadn't eaten properly in days.
Niklaus sighed faintly.
Money?
Where exactly would I get money from?
Certainly not from the emperor.
His gaze shifted to the armrest of the bench he was sitting on.
The wooden surface was decorated with thin golden ornaments along its edges.
He touched it lightly.
Yes.
Real gold.
His eyes moved toward the wooden frame beneath it.
Then he spoke coldly.
"Give me a dagger."
Ethan raised an eyebrow in surprise.
But he obeyed immediately.
He pulled the dagger from his belt and handed it over.
Niklaus took it.
Then, in a swift motion—despite the weakness of his body—his instincts and combat knowledge moved naturally.
He struck the wooden armrest.
The wood cracked violently.
Pain shot through his arm as if the joint might tear apart from the effort.
But he didn't care.
He pulled the golden piece free and extended it toward Ethan.
"I believe this will be enough. Take it."
Ethan stared at the piece of gold in his master's hand.
His eyes widened.
Countless thoughts raced through his mind.
Would he be accused of stealing from the palace garden?
Would the guards arrest him?
Or worse...
Had Niklaus lost his sanity after hitting his head?
Niklaus had never been poor.
Before the coma, he used to give Ethan plenty of gold whenever he needed it.
But this...
Breaking the palace furniture to obtain gold?
That was completely different.
Still, under Niklaus's cold gaze—which clearly said take it and leave—Ethan quickly accepted it.
Yet confusion and worry remained written across his face.
Meanwhile, Niklaus had already turned around and begun walking back toward the palace.
Completely ignoring him.
The hand he had used throbbed painfully.
He was naturally left-handed, but he had used his right hand to spare the other.
Even so, the pain stabbed through his arm like a needle buried deep in bone.
This body...
It had to improve.
As long as he remained trapped inside it, enduring such weakness was worse than spending another day inside this cliché story.
And when it came to finding a path to the forest—
He would rely on no one.
Even if he ordered Ethan to search for information, that did not mean he trusted him.
If two paths existed that could lead him to the forest, he would take both.
Three months passed, and Niklaus's body began to change in ways that felt almost unnatural.
His physical strength increased rapidly, as if the weak body he had inherited was slowly adapting to something unknown.
The change became especially noticeable during his training sessions in the palace's empty courtyards.
His strikes became sharper.
His steps grew steadier.
His breathing more controlled.
But he knew these improvements were not entirely natural.
Whenever he trained, he constantly felt something holding him back.
It was as if an invisible barrier prevented him from fully accessing the powers of this world.
The physical combat skills from his previous life were the only things he could still rely on. Those instincts were inseparable from him.
But everything else—magic, energy, the supernatural forces of this world—remained out of reach.
As though some unseen power was deliberately preventing him from reaching his full potential.
By now, he understood the reason.
The restraint placed upon Niklaus's body.
Yet many questions continued to circle inside his mind.
What exactly was this restraint?
What purpose did it serve?
Who had placed it there?
And why?
None of it had ever been mentioned in the novel.
Old Alexander had never read anything like this.
And that fact irritated him more than anything else.
Because of that irritation, he spent most of his time in the palace library after training.
He wanted to understand what mana truly was.
What magic really meant.
And most importantly—
What the system actually was.
Learning about mana and magic turned out to be strangely easy.
The information felt almost familiar, as if it had already existed somewhere within his mind.
Mana was the magical energy that flowed through every living being.
It was the fundamental source of all magical power.
Magic itself was the art of shaping that energy to influence the world.
But the system was something entirely different.
He found no mention of it in any book.
Not a single reference.
It was as though the system existed completely outside the laws of this world.
And that realization made him recall something else.
The death of the late empress.
She had died while giving birth to Niklaus due to an overwhelming surge of mana.
If Niklaus had possessed such an enormous amount of mana from birth—
Then why had he never displayed any magical ability?
Why had someone with such immense potential remained completely powerless?
But even more troubling than these questions were the dreams.
Strange dreams.
Memories that did not belong to him.
Moments from Niklaus's childhood.
Voices.
Faces.
Fragments of forgotten events.
Whenever he woke up, the details slipped away from his mind like mist.
Yet the lingering emotions remained.
As if those memories were close to him.
Yet not truly his.
As though he were still connected to someone who no longer existed.
Gradually, he began to understand this world more easily.
Not through research.
Not through adaptation.
But because Niklaus's body itself seemed to remember things.
Fragments of knowledge surfaced naturally.
Places.
Rooms.
Corridors.
He knew every corner of the palace without consciously learning it.
At first, he rejected the idea completely.
He told himself it was simply the effect of living inside a different body.
Just a natural interaction between mind and new environment.
But deep inside, he knew the truth.
The memories of this body were slowly intertwining with his own.
And the more this happened, the more certain he became of something disturbing.
Someone wanted him to play a role.
Someone wanted him to forget the identity of Arthur...
and become Niklaus.
To accept the role written for him in this story.
But he refused.
Completely.
Never.
How ridiculous.
Even if he eventually went to the forest, it would not be because the system ordered him to.
He would go only to understand why the quest demanded it.
To see what truly existed within that cursed forest.
But even that motivation had begun to fade.
Whoever had dragged him into this world clearly intended to control him.
To move him like a puppet.
And if that was the case—
He would strangle them with the very strings they believed they were using to control him.
Unfortunately for him, there were still many irritations in his daily life.
The greatest of them was Adrian.
Adrian visited him every single day.
He would enter the room.
Sit down quietly.
And wait.
Wait to hear even a single word from his brother.
But every time, he received the same response.
Nothing.
At first, Adrian tried to speak.
He attempted to start simple conversations.
He asked about Niklaus's health.
About his training.
About anything he could think of.
He searched desperately for even the smallest opening through which he might rebuild something resembling a relationship between them.
But Niklaus never responded.
He did not openly refuse to answer.
But he showed no interest at all.
It was as if Adrian's words never reached him.
As if the world itself no longer contained anything worth paying attention to.
Niklaus would read.
Or train.
Or sit silently lost in his thoughts.
Meanwhile, Adrian remained nothing more than a silent presence at the edge of the room.
Weeks passed like this.
Eventually, Adrian began to realize how pointless his efforts were.
Yet he still came every day.
He would sit quietly and watch his brother read, train, or stare into the distance.
And still—
He refused to stop coming.
It was as if he were trying to make up for something.
As if he were forcing himself to stay close, even though the distance between them never truly shrank.
During this time, letters also began to pile up.
Letters from nobles.
Formal greetings.
Polite inquiries about his health.
Everyone seemed eager to confirm that the second prince was still alive enough to remain part of their political world.
But none of that mattered to him.
More unusual were the letters from Selene Vandimir.
Niklaus's fiancée.
The woman the emperor had chosen for him when they were still children.
Her letters were different.
They were not filled with empty politeness or artificial courtesy.
They carried genuine concern.
Real emotion.
Her first letter began formally:
"Dear Prince Niklaus von Valdrin Theodore Oblivion Azura, thank the heavens for your safety. I hope you remain in good health so that your presence may continue to illuminate our empire."
But the ending of the letter was completely different.
"Why don't you reply? Answer me. How do you feel now? At least tell me that you are alright."
Niklaus never replied.
He had no interest in doing so.
Then one letter arrived that he had not expected at all.
A letter from Raine Carselius.
The hero himself.
Raine—the person the original Niklaus had once hated more than anyone.
The man who would eventually take everything from him.
And now...
He had sent a letter?
Niklaus opened it slowly.
His eyes passed across the first lines written inside.
"I heard you were in a coma. I don't know if you care, but it would feel strange if we entered the academy without speaking first."
It was a simple letter.
Ordinary.
Yet to Niklaus, it felt strangely illogical.
What exactly did this clumsy hero want to talk about?
The original Niklaus had treated him as an enemy.
But now...
Niklaus himself didn't even care enough to hate him.
This novel was already deviating from its original events.
And that irritated him.
He didn't bother reading the rest of the letter.
He simply placed it on the table with the other unread papers.
He had no desire to read any of them.
Even the ones he had already opened meant nothing to him.
Because he was not part of this cliché story.
And he never would be.
As he thought about all this, he stood before his window—now free of iron bars. He gazed at the night sky, veiled in stillness, stars twinkling like forgotten jewels in infinite darkness.
Now, after three months, his body had improved. It had become more solid, his skills sharper. But he needed much more training to return to his physical abilities as Arthur. Though for this body, this improvement was already considered rapid.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
He said coldly without turning, "Enter."
A young servant entered, bowed, and said, "Your Highness, His Majesty the Emperor awaits you for dinner."