The heavy oak door didn't just open. It exploded inward.
The Duke of the North stood in the threshold, his black fur coat billowing like the wings of a crow.
His grey eyes swept the room, taking in the shattered porcelain, the unconscious maid, and the blood soaking through my bandages.
The Duke snapped his fingers.
Instantly, four shadows materialized from the corners of the room.
They wore skin-tight black cloth and masks that blurred their features, moving with a silence that made my skin crawl.
These were the "Night-Walkers,"
the Duke's private executioners. In the game, they only appeared when a major character was about to be erased from the script.
"Explain," the Duke rumbled.
The pressure in the room was so thick I could barely keep my knees from locking.
Beside me, Alisa was trembling. Her eyes were still flicking red, her mana swirling like a localized hurricane.
"Assassin," I gasped out, my head spinning from the blood loss. "The tea... she had the Brand."
The Duke didn't look at me. He looked at the maid. He gave a slight nod.
One of the black-clad guards blurred across the floor, ripping the collar of the unconscious woman in a single, fluid motion.
The black, jagged mark was clear against her pale skin.
"Inquisition," the shadow whispered. The voice was distorted, sounding like wind through a hollow cave.
"They are inside the walls, Your Grace."
The Duke's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room dropped even further.
He walked over to the shattered tea cup, dipping a gloved finger into the spilled liquid. He brought it to his nose, then flicked the moisture away.
"Mana-Rot," the Duke said. His voice was quiet, which was somehow scarier than if he had screamed.
"They intended to turn my daughter into a mindless beast in her own bedroom."
He finally turned his gaze toward me. It was like being stared at by a mountain.
"You," he said. "How did a boy from the borderlands recognize a Brand that even my Night-Walkers missed?"
Think fast. I couldn't say I recognized the texture from a 3D model in a video game.
"In my village... an old man had a book," I lied, my voice shaking.
"He showed me the marks of the 'God-Killers.' I recognized the pattern the moment she reached for the tray."
"Indeed," the Duke murmured. "A very convenient old man. Very well. Perhaps your presence is more than mere coincidence."
He gestured to the shadows. "Take the woman to the 'Cold Room.' Keep her alive until she speaks. If she dies before I get there, you will take her place."
The black-clad guards vanished as quickly as they had appeared, dragging the maid into the darkness with them.
Alisa suddenly grabbed my arm, her small hands digging into my skin. "Leo is bleeding! Father, Do something!"
The Duke looked at my chest, where the red stain was growing. "He did his job. A guard bleeds so the Master does not. That is the nature of the contract."
"He is not a tool!" Alisa screamed. Her voice echoed with that strange, double-layered sound again. "He is Leo!"
The Duke stopped. He looked at his daughter, then back at me.
A strange, fleeting shadow passed over his face—something that looked almost like pity, or perhaps just cold calculation.
"Butler," the Duke called out.
The elderly man appeared in the doorway instantly. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Move the boy to the room adjacent to Alisa's. Bring the High Healer. I cannot have my daughter's 'Shield' breaking on the first day."
The Duke started to leave, but stopped at the door. He didn't turn around.
"Leo," he said. "The Inquisition now knows you exist. You are no longer just a villager. You are a target. If you value your life, you will learn to use a sword faster than you learn to use your tongue."
He disappeared into the hallway, leaving the room in a heavy, ringing silence.
I slumped against the bedpost, the adrenaline finally leaving my system. My vision was blurring at the edges.
"Leo? Leo, stay awake!" Alisa's face was right in front of mine. She looked terrified.
"I'm fine," I muttered, though I felt like I was floating. "Just... a really long day."
"You are such an idiot," she sobbed, clutching my hand. "A big, stupid, village idiot."
Yeah, I thought as the darkness finally pulled me under. But at least the Villainess is crying for me instead of beheading me. That's a win in my book.
The next thing I felt was not the cold floor, but the sensation of sinking into a cloud.
My eyes snapped open. I was no longer in Alisa's room.
I was lying in a bed that felt suspiciously like it was stuffed with swan feathers.
The ceiling above me was painted with a mural of a starry night—a classic "High-Tier Rest Area" for players in the Capital.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp, localized heat in my chest pinned me back down.
"Do not move, boy. The weave is still setting."
I turned my head. An old man with a beard so long it nearly touched his belt stood by the bed. His hands were bathed in a soft,
A High Healer. In the game, a single cast from a guy like this cost 5,000 gold.
"The Duke said you were a 'Shield,'" the healer murmured, his eyes squinting behind thick spectacles.
"I expected a knight. Instead, I find a child with the constitution of a malnourished field mouse. How you survived a Mana-Rot exposure and a punctured lung is... statistically improbable."
It is called 'Plot Armor,' old man, I thought, though I just grunted in response.
The golden light faded, and the burning in my chest settled into a dull, manageable ache. I looked down. The burlap tunic was gone, replaced by a shirt of fine, breathable silk.
"The wound is closed, though your soul is still a mess," the healer said, wiping his brow.
"I shall take my leave. Try not to get stabbed before lunch. It is bad for my reputation."
The old man shuffled out, his glowing hands fading into the dim light of the hallway.
"Where is Alisa?" I managed to croak out.
"The Young Lady is being 'cleansed' by the Duke's mages," a new voice answered.
The butler stepped out from the shadows near the door. He was holding a bundle of black fabric.
"His Grace has been thorough. The maid was indeed an agent of the Holy Inquisition. She had been in this house for three years, waiting for the girl to show a sign of the 'Rose.' If not for your... interference, the Duke would have lost his only heir to the pyre today."
The butler walked over and laid the black fabric on the end of my bed.
"Because of this, your status has been elevated. You are no longer a guest, nor a mere servant. You are the 'First Shadow' of the Rose."
I stared at the clothes. It was a uniform.
Black leather bracers, a reinforced dark vest, and a cloak that seemed to swallow the light around it.
"The Duke expects you in the training courtyard in one hour," the butler continued, his voice dropping an octave.
"He said that if you are going to be a target for the Church, you should at least learn how to die with a sword in your hand rather than a headbutt."
The butler turned to leave, but stopped at the door.
"Oh, and Leo? A word of advice. The Young Lady has refused to eat until she sees you. I suggest you dress quickly. A hungry Calamity is a dangerous thing."
He vanished, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I was a Level 1 Extra with zero combat stats, and I had just been promoted to the personal guard of a girl the entire world wanted dead.
I reached out and touched the black leather of the uniform.
No system. No blue screens. No level-up sounds.
I was truly on my own, but as I ran my fingers over the gear, my mind began to categorize the items based on the thousands of hours I'd spent staring at the game's wiki.
The boots had thick, muffled soles—Silent Tread enchantments, meant for high-dexterity builds to avoid triggering "Sound Traps." The bracers weren't just leather; they were reinforced with Wyvern Scale strips, specifically designed to parry stiletto blades without snapping. This wasn't just a uniform.
It was a high-level "Survivalist Set" usually reserved for late-game NPCs.
In the original script, Alisa's guards were always the first to die to show how powerful the villains were.
I was literally wearing the gear of a man destined to be a corpse in a cutscene.
The Duke did not kill me because I'm a variable he doesn't understand yet, I realized, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.
He's keeping me close because I'm a bug in his perfect plan.
I looked at the window. The sun was rising over the Capital, casting long, golden shadows over the spires of the Cathedral in the distance. The
Church was coming. The Duke was watching. And Alisa was waiting.
I swung my legs out of bed.
"Very well," I whispered to the empty room. "If I am a bug in this world's code, I might as well crash the whole game."