Three days later, tired of being locked inside, Lusian decided to explore the castle.
Umber walked so close he could feel the warmth of the wolf's breath—protection… or surveillance—while behind him trailed Miss Monica, Albert's daughter and Sophia's personal assistant. She observed Lusian's every movement with careful, patient attention.
"Are you following me too now, Monica?" Lusian asked with a half-smile.
Monica adjusted her glasses—a subtle, precise motion—before replying with her usual trained calm.
"It is not following, my lord. It is supervision," she said, impeccable in courtesy. "The duchess ordered me to ensure you do not get into trouble again."
"Again?" Lusian feigned indignation. "I only died once. I don't think that counts as 'trouble.'"
Monica blinked, momentarily confused. Lusian smiled and continued walking, examining the castle for traces of the original Lusian's life: trophies, weapons, and books etched with glowing runes.
This world feels… too real, he thought.
Days passed, and Lusian soon faced a problem that pushed him to the brink of despair. Despite recalling every technique from the game, there was an insurmountable gap: he could not feel mana.
He tried again and again, searching within himself for the current, the vibration, the pulse that everyone described. But he found nothing. Only silence.
Each failed attempt gnawed at his confidence. In that kingdom, the inability to perceive mana was not a mere inconvenience. It was a condemnation. The void in his chest was not just the absence of power—it was a death sentence.
A few days later, Sophia decided a trip outside the duchy would benefit both mind and body. They traveled to Thruin, a small, welcoming city where markets bustled with life. Merchants shouted their wares in rough voices, while the aromas of fresh bread, healing herbs, and roasted meat mingled in the air. Cobblestone streets were lined with wooden houses with slanted roofs, balconies overflowing with flowers, and children running between the legs of horses and wagons stacked high with goods.
The city, devoted to trade and hospitality, carried an air of history: low walls and watchtowers that had resisted ancient invasions, wrought-iron lanterns flickering at dusk, casting dancing shadows across the stones. Its proximity to the ruins of the same name stirred conflicting memories in Lusian: nostalgia for the thrill of exploring the unknown… and fear that the land might harbor real dangers.
A strange, unsettling memory surfaced. In the game, Thruin had been ruins: collapsed buildings, broken barricades, claw marks from enormous monsters. The reality before him clashed violently with that vision: a safe, bustling city with clean streets and no visible threats. Lusian remembered maps, quests, and challenges from the game. That memory of the future froze his blood. The Thruin he remembered did not exist yet; it was a devastated place he would need to prevent from ever coming to pass.
The contrast between present safety and future catastrophe unsettled him. Every street, every corner now felt like a puzzle: how could someone who already knew the ending act within an intact present without accelerating the tragedy he had already seen?