The company NewGames had finally announced the grand prize winner for its flagship JRPG: Arcane World War. On the official website, a single name blazed across Erwin's screen:
hine_pro
His username. His victory.
Erwin Lenox could hardly believe it. His palms were slick with sweat, his eyes burned red from sleepless nights, and a dull exhaustion crawled along his spine, tingling and heavy all at once. Still, he meticulously filled out every form—verification codes, registration proofs, screenshots of total playtime—like an obsessive ritual.
He had spent days locked indoors, surviving on cheap coffee and fast food, battling impossible bosses and magical affinities that in-game were poetry… but in real life were just fantasy. Every spell, every duel, every quest etched itself into his mind as if the digital world had begun brushing against reality, as if something greater were watching—something beyond the game, beyond time.
When he finally hit Submit, his heart hammered violently.
Half a million dollars.
His life… was about to change.
Though he didn't know it yet, it already had.
The next morning, the doorbell rang while Erwin was still peeling himself off the couch. He dragged his feet toward the door, mind still trapped in the glow of the screen and the clatter of the keyboard.
A man stood there, clad in an impeccable black suit. His expression was neutral, his smile too polite to reach his eyes.
"Sir…?" Erwin stammered. "Can I help you?"
The man said nothing. He simply raised his hand.
A metallic flash illuminated the room.
Cold ripped the air from Erwin's lungs. A blade pierced flesh and bone with the precision of a professional assassin.
"Ah…" he gasped, unable to process.
The world collapsed in a blink—lights exploding across his vision, muffled sounds reaching him as if underwater, warm liquid spreading across his shirt. The man watched him fall, a twisted smile curving across a face that no longer seemed human.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his apartment. It wasn't even night.
A damp wind ruffled his hair. The scent of moss and wet earth filled his lungs. The sounds of the forest—crunching leaves, branches snapping under unseen footsteps—made him struggle to sit up. His limbs felt sluggish, as if they belonged to someone else.
And then he saw him.
The man in the black suit—but no longer in a suit. A dark robe swayed in the wind, hair falling messily over his face. His eyes—once human—now glowed a fierce, almost unnatural red.
He was no man.
He was something else.
"I regret the way I brought you here," he said.
His voice carried no apology. No warmth. It resonated like a verdict spoken by something that had already made its decision long ago.
Erwin stepped back instinctively, knees trembling.
"What… what did you do to me?"
"I gave you an opportunity your world could never grant," the figure said calmly. "A way out. A chance to become greater than you ever were. Because you passed my test."
"What test?! You killed me!"
"It was necessary," he replied without hesitation. "Your body would not have survived the transition. Your soul would."
Erwin stared, stunned. Every word sounded absurd, impossible… yet the strange weight in his body, the damp air, the forest floor beneath his hands forced him to accept the unthinkable.
Arcane World War, the man continued, "was never just a game. It was a filter. Training. A method to find someone capable of surviving Kuria."
Kuria.
The name vibrated like an ancient bell in the air.
"Who… who are you?" Erwin whispered.
The red eyes flared brighter.
"I am Kheris."
The name lodged itself in his mind like a forbidden echo.
"This world," Kheris said, "is real. Magic rules here. Gods shape history. Every soul follows a written destiny… except yours."
Erwin swallowed, breath uneven as terror coiled around his throat.
"I brought you here because you do not exist in the Book of Fate," Kheris continued. "No one can predict you. No one can trace your path. And that… is exactly what I need."
"For what…?" Erwin asked, almost pleading.
"To change the history you saw in the game," the god replied, a shadow of sadness in his voice. "And to survive."
Kheris stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming—but not hostile. Not yet.
"You have taken the body of Lusian Douglas of Mondring," he explained. "In the story, he was a villain. Destined to die young. Within a week, your soul and that body will fully fuse. Use it wisely."
Erwin felt the ground disappear beneath him.
Everything. Absolutely everything was too much.
"I'm… screwed," he muttered.
Kheris smiled coldly.
"Survive," he whispered, "and I will send you back."
His figure dissolved like black smoke.
"If you die here… you will die forever."
Then he was gone.
Silence fell over the forest. Heavy. Immense. Every snapping branch, every whispering leaf, seemed to watch him from the shadows.
Erwin gasped, trying to control the panic as he stared at his hands. They weren't his. His fingers twitched instinctively.
A shadow slid across the ground like living ink. He yanked his hand back, heart hammering.
"No… I didn't do anything," he whispered, but the trembling air betrayed him.
His breathing was ragged. His muscles, unfamiliar and uncooperative, threatened to collapse. He did not belong to this body. He did not belong in this world. And no one knew he was alive.
A crack among the trees shattered the tense silence.
Erwin tensed. A black wolf emerged from the shadows.
It was massive—nearly the size of a horse—and its fur seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its golden eyes held no hunger… only intelligence. And something else: recognition.
Erwin should have panicked. Should have screamed.
But something inside him calmed, as if an invisible tether anchored him. A soft silver mark glowed beneath his skin.
His memory—or Lusian's—reacted before he did.
The three magical beasts inherited from Lady Douglas.
The mark blinked. The wolf lowered its head, moving with reverence, like a subject before his lord.
Erwin swallowed hard.
This was not normal. This was not his. This was his.
But there was no time to process it.
Thunder echoed through the trees. The wolf stepped back, alert.
From the underbrush, a white horse with blue veins in its coat emerged, ridden by a woman with hair black as night. Her clothes were mud-stained, soaked, her breathing ragged… but tears welled in her eyes the moment she saw him.
"Lusian!" she cried as she dismounted, nearly collapsing. "My son!"
Before Erwin could react, she threw herself at him in a desperate embrace.
He froze, unsure where to place his hands, unsure how to breathe.
The woman trembled against him.
Sophia Douglas of Mondring. Duchess. Legendary mage. Most feared and respected in Caparthia.
And in that moment… only a mother who believed she had lost her child.
Sophia held him gently, exhausted, but smiling.
"At last, you're awake, Lusian…" she whispered. "You had me so worried."
Erwin swallowed. His throat dry.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
And it was true… just not for the reasons she thought.
The duchess kissed his forehead, holding him tight.
"Don't ever run away like that again, do you hear me? I thought I'd lost my little boy."
No one had called him that since he could remember. The embrace disarmed him. Left him vulnerable in a way that hurt more than death.
How am I supposed to deceive someone like this…? he thought, heart racing.