The healer discharged Arthur on the second day, just as promised.
"Your ribs have knitted," she said, running one final diagnostic spell over his torso. The green glow faded from her hands. "The shoulder is functional, though I'd avoid heavy lifting for another few days. The ankle will be tender, but it'll hold your weight."
Arthur sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, testing his shoulder's range of motion. It pulled slightly when he raised his arm above his head, nothing like the screaming agony from two days ago. His ribs felt solid when he took a deep breath. Even his ankle, which he'd been certain was broken, only throbbed dully when he rotated it.
Healing magic was incredible.
"Thank you," Arthur said.
The healer nodded, already making notes on her clipboard. "You're fortunate. Another hour of blood loss and we wouldn't have been able to save you." She glanced at him over her glasses. "Don't make me see you in here again for something like this."
"I'll do my best."
"See that you do." She gestured toward a neat pile of clothes on the chair beside his bed. "Your original clothes were unsalvageable. These are standard Academy issue. They should fit."
Arthur picked up the clothes. Dark pants, a simple tunic, sturdy boots. All unmarked and practical. He changed quickly, grateful to be out of the thin medical gown he'd been wearing.
The healer watched him stand and test his weight. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"
"No. I feel fine. Better than fine, actually."
"Good." She made a final note. "You're cleared to leave. Take it easy for the next few days. Light activity only. No training, no sparring, no strenuous exercise. Your body needs time to finish healing naturally."
Arthur nodded, though he was already planning to ignore that advice. He had two months until the academy year started. He couldn't afford to waste a week being cautious.
The healer seemed to read his thoughts. Her expression sharpened. "I mean it, Mr. Reinhart. Push yourself too hard too soon, and you'll tear everything we just repaired. Then you'll be back here for another week. Is that what you want?"
'No. Definitely not.'
"I'll take it easy," Arthur lied.
The healer didn't look convinced, but she dismissed him with a wave. "Go. I have other patients."
Arthur left the infirmary, stepping out into the academy proper for the first time since collapsing at the gates.
Morning sun hit him immediately. Bright and warm, filtering through the trees that lined the pathways. He stood there for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, breathing in air that didn't smell like healing herbs and antiseptic.
The campus stretched out before him.
Anastasia Academy was massive. Arthur had seen it from a distance when he'd stumbled to the gates half-dead, but standing here now, inside the walls, the scale was different. The central tower dominated everything, that Gothic spire of dark stone rising so high its peak disappeared into clouds. From here, Arthur could see the intricate carvings that covered its surface. Scenes of battles, heroes and monsters. Two thousand years of history etched into stone.
Floating lanterns drifted in preset patterns above the pathways, their light unnecessary in daylight but still beautiful. Magic made physical. Constructs that would never flicker or die as long as mana flowed through the academy's defensive arrays.
Students moved between buildings. Not many, since most were still home enjoying the last weeks of summer, but the few who'd arrived early walked with purpose. Some in formal uniforms, others in training clothes. A pair of second-years sparred in an open courtyard, their movements quick and precise.
Arthur started walking. His dorm was on the eastern edge of campus, while the medical wing sat closer to the centre. It would take maybe fifteen minutes at a normal pace.
He took his time.
The pathways were smooth stone, maintained by magic that prevented erosion and weeds. Trees provided shade at regular intervals, their placement too deliberate to be natural. Someone had planned this campus with care, balancing beauty with function perfectly.
Arthur passed the library. A tower of white stone wrapped in preservation spells that made the air around it shimmer faintly. Through the windows, he could see rows of books stretching up multiple floors. Knowledge from across the five nations, all gathered in one place.
Further along, the training halls. Reinforced walls scarred from years of combat practice. The sounds of impacts echoed from inside. Someone was training despite it being early morning.
'Dedicated. Or desperate to catch up.'
Like Arthur should be doing.
He kept walking, passing one of the specialised classroom buildings. Through an open window, he heard a professor's voice lecturing to an empty room. Practising, probably. Preparing for when students actually arrived.
The dormitories came into view. Rows of identical buildings with red-tiled roofs, arranged in neat blocks. First-years on the eastern side. Second-years further west. Third- and fourth-years had their own separate complex near the training grounds.
Arthur's dorm was in the first block. Third floor, room fourteen.
He climbed the stairs slowly, mindful of his ankle. The joint held, though it sent a dull ache up his leg with every step. The healer had been right about that, at least.
The hallway was quiet. Most rooms empty. Arthur passed closed doors until he reached his own.
Room fourteen.
He pushed it open.
A single bed against one wall, a desk beneath the window, a wardrobe for clothes. A door led to a small bathroom. Nothing fancy, but it was his space. His room.
Arthur closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
For the first time in days, he was completely alone.
No healers checking on him. No Elara asking questions. No Cecilia yelling at him. Just silence and the sound of his own breathing.
Arthur moved to the window and looked out over the Academy grounds. From here, he could see the central tower, the training halls, and the edge of the forest beyond the walls where he'd nearly died.
Two lives sat in his head. Oscar's seventeen years on Earth and Arthur's seventeen years here. They were blending now, becoming something new that was neither one nor the other but somehow both.
'I'm Arthur Reinhart,' he thought. 'But I'm also Oscar. Two souls in one body. [Dual Soul - 37%]. Whatever that means.'
He didn't know what would happen when it reached one hundred percent. The system wouldn't tell him, just showed the percentage climbing slowly as he adapted to this body and this life.
But he knew one thing for certain.
He was alive. Against all odds, he was still breathing.
Oscar had died on a city street, hit by a truck while reading a web novel. Arthur had died in a forest, torn apart by a corrupted wolf. Both of them should be gone.
But they weren't.
This was a second chance.
Arthur sat on the bed. It creaked slightly under his weight. He stared at his hands, callused from years of sword training and scarred from recent combat. Strong hands that knew how to fight even if the mind controlling them was still learning.
'What do I want? What am I trying to do here?'
The answer came easily.
Survive. First and foremost, survive in a world that was actively trying to kill him. But survival wasn't enough anymore. He had advantages most people would kill for. He'd read this story and knew the major plot beats, the dangerous moments, and some of the hidden opportunities. He had knowledge.
And he had time. Two months until the academy year started. Two months before Lloyd Ashford arrived and everything truly began. Two months to prepare.
Arthur stood and moved to the desk. He found paper and a pencil in one of the drawers, sat down, and started writing.
Goal One: Get stronger.
His current rank was Lower Apprentice, though he could feel himself approaching the breakthrough to Middle Apprentice. His max potential was Lower Master, which wasn't exceptional, but it was achievable. He had two spells, Thunder Blade Style, and knowledge of where certain treasures existed in this world.
He could work with that.
Goal Two: Enjoy this life.
Oscar had died at seventeen without experiencing much of anything. No real friends. No adventures. Just school and books and a quiet loneliness he'd never quite acknowledged.
Arthur wasn't going to waste this second chance. He'd train and fight and survive, but he'd also actually live. Make friends. Experience things. Be present instead of just going through the motions.
Goal Three: Protect Cecilia.
His sister. She was all he had left in terms of family, and the memories of her were becoming his own. The affection was real. She'd enter the academy next year and probably thrive, but this world was dangerous. Corrupted monsters, political conspiracies, the looming threat of whatever was happening in the North.
Arthur would make sure she stayed safe. For the original Arthur who'd loved her, and for himself.
Goal Four: Figure out what Dual Soul means.
Thirty-seven percent and climbing. Something was happening to him: two souls merging into one. He needed to understand it, control it if possible, or at minimum be prepared for whatever transformation came at one hundred percent.
Goal Five: Make sure the world doesn't burn.
That one was ambitious. Probably impossible. But he had to try.
Lloyd Ashford was out there. The protagonist. The hero everyone would love and trust. The chosen one with four affinities who would gather companions and grow stronger.
Arthur had read the chapters where Lloyd's personality degraded. Where he made increasingly questionable choices. Where the humble, driven kid became cocky and then insufferable. Where something fundamental shifted in who Lloyd was.
Oscar had never been a big fan. Always thought something felt off about the protagonist, even in the early chapters when everyone else loved him.
If Lloyd fell the way the novel suggested he would, if the protagonist became something twisted, the world would be in serious trouble.
Arthur couldn't let that happen.
He looked at the five goals written on the paper.
Ambitious. Maybe too ambitious for one person with average talent and two months before school started.
But what else was he going to do? Give up? Coast along and hope everything worked out?
That's what the original Arthur had done. Coasted on his father's legacy, trained half-heartedly, told himself he'd get serious later. And he'd died alone in a forest, killed by a monster he should have been able to handle.
Arthur wouldn't make that mistake.
He folded the paper and tucked it into his desk drawer. The goals were set. Now came the hard part of actually achieving them.
'Two months. Two months to get as strong as possible. To prepare. To figure out my path forward.'
'Then the story begins. Lloyd arrives. The Blessed Generation gathers. The plot I read starts moving.'
'And I'll be ready.'
He stood up from the desk and tested his ankle again. It held. The healer had said light activity only. No training.
Arthur looked out the window at the training halls.
'Sorry, healer. But I can't afford to waste time.'
He grabbed a practice sword from his wardrobe. The original Arthur had brought it when he'd moved in. The wooden blade was well-balanced, the weight familiar in his hands.
Arthur headed for the door.
Time to get to work.