Chapter 3: TRASH CHARACTER

The bombshell had detonated, leaving Mark in a daze. He, a regular dude named Mark, was now David? David, the frail, Trash mob character from the shitty novel "Trials of Valor"? His head spun like a top, struggling to grasp this bizarre reality shift.

Before he could even stammer a question, Mage Marvel cleared his throat. "Young Master," he began, his voice a comforting rumble, "kindly excuse me. I must take my leave."There was a flicker of concern in the old man's eyes, a stark contrast to the chilling pronouncements of Lord Hilton.

"It is a blessing to have you among the living," Mage Marvel continued, placing a gentle hand on Mark's (now David's?) shoulder. "Fear not, Young Master. Rest and regain your strength. I will return in the late hours of the morning to check on you." He shot a pointed look at the still-pale Vivian.

"Get the Young Master something to eat. He must be famished."With a swift nod, Mage Marvel vanished through the oak doors as silently as he had appeared. Vivian, finally breaking free from her silent paralysis, scurried behind the mage, her movements jerky and nervous. The weight of the situation, the implication of David's "revival," pressed heavily upon her.

Mark, or should he say David, sank back into the luxurious bed. His mind, still grappling with his fantastical predicament, clung to the last shred of normalcy – hunger. The grumbling of his stomach, a familiar feeling from his old life, provided a much-needed anchor. Maybe, just maybe, a decent meal in this topsy-turvy world wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps, with a full stomach and a clear head, he could unravel the mystery of his transformation.

David, a sigh heavy with disbelief, rubbed his temples. "This is just... too much." His mind, overwhelmed, slowly started to settle. "Damit, why...?" he cursed under his breath.Don't get him wrong, any self-respecting weeb would jump at the chance to be reincarnated into a world of swords and sorcery.

But of course, fate had a cruel sense of humor. He just had to become David. Not some valiant knight or powerful mage, but David – the town drunk. The guy whose mere presence made women clutch their pearls and men tighten their purses. A walking, breathing nuisance who spent his days pickled in ale and his nights terrorizing the good citizens of Aethelwarin.

A reputation so tarnished it could rival a week-old fish.The worst part? David, the original David, was supposed to be dead. Assassinated in a drunken stupor, a knife in his heart – a fitting end for a life so misspent. Except here he was, blinking in a luxurious bed, somehow inhabiting the same body.

It made a twisted kind of sense. Mark, the original him, had died, and his consciousness had latched onto this vacant shell. But hold on... Mage Marvel confirmed it wasn't possession. They were all so certain this was David, the real David, miraculously back from the brink.A dizzying swirl of confusion churned in David's head.

Perhaps, just perhaps, their magic wasn't sophisticated enough to differentiate between souls. It was a chilling thought, but the only explanation that fit. He was alive, sure, but at what cost? Living as David left a bitter taste in his mouth, a constant reminder of the wasted life he'd inherited.A flicker of memory sparked in the chaos.

"The voice... earlier," he muttered, trying to grasp the fleeting thought. "Something about an Ascendant..."

This couldn't be real, could it? David swallowed hard, a strange certainty blooming in his chest. He spoke the word, a silent command into the unknown: "Status."

David's breath hitched. In front of him, shimmering like a mirage in the desert heat, a window materialized. It wasn't made of glass, but of swirling blue energy, its edges crackling with a faint electrical hum. Inside the window, lines of text scrolled, numbers blinked, and bars filled and depleted. It was the character menu – the holy grail of any gamer, and David recognized it all too well.

"Hell yeah!" he yelped, a genuine grin splitting his face for the first time since waking up in this bizarre situation.

This wasn't just some elaborate dream.

Name: David De Gror

Race: Human

class: Ascendant

Skills: Eternal Gluttoney, Celestial wheel

HP: 30/30

MP: 5/5

Stamina: 5/5

 Strength: 2

Agility: 4

Intelligence: 10

charm: 70

He scanned the bars – health, mana, stamina. They were all worryingly low, reflecting David's frail physical condition. But there were other stats too – Strength, Agility, Intelligence. They were pathetically low, just as he'd expect from the notorious town drunk.

David's mind boggled at the "Charm" stat. "Seriously? This guy's charm was that freaking high?" He scoffed, shaking his head. But before he could delve deeper into the character menu's mysteries, the oak doors creaked open. Vivian, a nervous flutter in her eyes, entered the room with a silver tray held carefully in her trembling hands.She set the tray on the round table nestled opposite the imposing doors. "Young Master," she squeaked, her voice barely a whisper. The fear of David's legendary harassment tactics seemed to cling to her like a second skin. "May I assist you in rising?"With a sigh, David closed the menu."Yeah, I think so," he mumbled, offering a hesitant smile. Vivian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. This wasn't the belligerent drunkard she knew. This was... different. Seizing the unexpected opportunity, Vivian scurried over to his side. Gently, she placed his arm on her shoulder. "Here, allow me to help," she offered, her voice regaining some of its confidence but still alert.Blearily rising from the tangled sheets, he sought purchase to avoid falling, anything. But his grasp landed somewhere unexpected. He squeezed down, a choked moan escaping Vivian's lips. A jolt shot through him as he realized, with a gasp, his hand was cupped firmly around her breast. He recoiled instantly, the lingering warmth and softness sending a phantom shock through his palm like a rogue electrical current.