Chapter 1: Spilled Fates part 1

Amidst the tumultuous battleground, two formidable figures loomed large. One was a man with striking blonde hair and piercing green eyes, clad in resplendent gray and blue armor. He brandished a sword that gleamed with ethereal light. His name was Arthur. The air around him crackled with holy energy, its vibrant yellow aura clashing with the dark, purple demonic miasma that shrouded his adversary.

Facing Arthur stood the Demon King, a behemoth of grotesque proportions, a living testament to malevolent power. Its obsidian skin seemed to absorb all light, while its eyes burned with otherworldly flames. With each swing of its colossal blade, the earth quaked, and the very sky darkened in response.

This clash between Arthur and the Demon King was nothing short of titanic. It was a battle foretold since time immemorial, one that held the fate of the world precariously balanced on its edge, with an outcome that remained shrouded in uncertainty.

The clash resounded with a deafening clang as Arthur deftly deflected the dark projectiles launched by the Demon King. Amidst the chaos, the Demon King's mocking laughter echoed through the battlefield, taunting Arthur with sinister glee, "That's it, Arthur! I revel in the look of desperation in your eyes."

Arthur, undeterred, replied with a resolute voice, "Is it because of your own foolishness that your comrades met their untimely end?"

The Demon King sneered, "No, it's because of their sacrifice that I am here today."

Suddenly, Arthur's aura surged with intensity as he began to charge an unknown power. The very air seemed to vibrate with the raw energy around him. Time itself froze, leaving the Demon King suspended in a moment of paralysis, and Excalibur shone brilliantly.

Excalibur's form shifted, transforming from a sword into a young girl of no more than thirteen. She had white ash hair, crimson eyes, and a petite, ethereal body. Excalibur was no ordinary sword; she possessed a consciousness, an ego, and her own sense of self.

With a worried expression, she gazed at Arthur, her voice tinged with concern, "Are you sure you want to do this? Do you realize the consequences that come with using 'that'?"

Arthur, unwavering, reassured her, "It's a risk I must take. If I don't, this will never end."

Excalibur reluctantly conceded, "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." She transformed back into a sword, and time resumed its relentless march.

Their clash sent ripples of magic through the air, creating a palpable tension that engulfed the battlefield. The ground pulsated with an eerie energy as the Demon King's demonic claw clashed with Excalibur. In an explosive climax, a cataclysmic explosion rocked the battlefield, sending shockwaves in all directions.

Amidst the smoke and debris, a new entity emerged, one of unimaginable power and significance. It materialized from the fallen Demon King, and as Arthur swung Excalibur toward it, the entity effortlessly dodged, leaving Arthur bewildered.

The very ground quivered in the presence of this enigmatic being, and the air resonated with otherworldly vibrations. In blazing letters that filled the darkened sky, a message materialized: "The End."

However, this proclamation was incomplete, the final chapter conspicuously missing.

My heart sank as I stared at the missing conclusion, a maelstrom of disbelief and anger churning within me. I had dedicated countless hours to this tale, navigating every twist, experiencing every emotion it had to offer. Now, the story I cherished hung in limbo, unfinished.

"Why?" I muttered to myself, my words laced with frustration. This was not just any novel; it was the one that had been my companion through the trials of middle school and high school, the story that had transported me to a realm where heroes and villains dueled with swords and sorcery. Its abrupt and premature end was an unbearable betrayal.

Glancing at the clock, I realized how late it had become. But I couldn't let this injustice stand. I needed to voice my anger and disappointment. So, I navigated to the author's page and began typing a message.

"Hey there," I wrote, my fingers trembling with the intensity of my emotions. "I've been with your novel since its very first chapter. Despite its premature ending, I cherished every moment. Your story means the world to me."

I hesitated before finally hitting the send button. I didn't anticipate a quick response, but within seconds, a notification startled me, sending a shiver down my spine.

The author had replied.

"Thank you for your unwavering support," the message read. "I'm planning to remake the novel. Would you like to help?"

It was a question I couldn't refuse. I agreed without a second thought, my excitement surging. Little did I know that my fate was about to take a breathtaking turn, one more extraordinary than any story I had ever read.

And just before I lost consciousness, a message from the author echoed in my mind, "Good Luck!"

When I finally awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar place—a dimly lit tavern, filled with mercenaries bearing the physical scars and tales of countless battles. Some were cheerful, others wore the weary expressions of veterans.

To my astonishment, I sat at a table with a cup of beer before me. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me, like I inhabited a different body. It became all too real when I noticed a bandit bursting in, wounded and terrified.

"He's here! The chosen hero, Arthur!"

The entire tavern fell into an eerie silence, and everyone around me drew their weapons, their intent clear. It was then that I made a chilling realization—this was the prologue, the very beginning of the novel. But why was I here, and how could this be anything but reality? It felt all too vivid and tangible.

I glanced over at the beer and couldn't help but catch a glimpse of my own reflection. The surface of the beer in the mug before me acted like a makeshift mirror. I stared at the image that stared back at me.

With purple eyes that seemed almost unnatural in this world, my own gaze met mine. I noted the subtle worry lines on my forehead, a testament to the confusion and fear that had become my constant companions since this surreal ordeal began. My hair, once a mundane shade of brown, had taken on an otherworldly purple hue, matching the color of my eyes.

My attire, far from the resplendent armor of Arthur or the demonic majesty of the Demon King, was a simple ensemble. Faded pants and a tattered shirt, more fitting for an ordinary traveler than a participant in this epic confrontation. I couldn't help but feel out of place, like an incongruous note in an otherwise harmonious melody of knights and monsters.

With a sigh, I returned my gaze to the chaos unfolding around me. The mercenaries prepared for the inevitable clash, their eyes filled with anticipation and their weapons drawn.

The leader of Black Myst, a hulking figure with a scarred face and a cruel grin, barked orders to his comrades. They were battle-hardened and

ruthless, their loyalty bought with gold and their souls tarnished by countless atrocities.

My heart pounded in my chest, the fear and helplessness nearly suffocating me. I had no illusions about my chances in this brutal world. Even with my newfound status and skills, the overwhelming power of Arthur and his knights dwarfed my existence. They were the heroes of this tale, and I was but a nameless extra in the backdrop.

The tavern's walls seemed to shake with an eerie energy as the battle began, and the ceiling beams groaned under the stress of battle. Arthur moved with grace and precision, his strikes guided by a divine purpose. He was the embodiment of heroism, an unwavering force of justice.

In his wake, Black Myst mercenaries fell, their fates sealed by the cruel hand of destiny. Amidst the chaos, I spotted a wounded comrade from Black Myst, a man clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers. He looked at me with pleading eyes, a silent plea for mercy in the midst of this merciless battle.

My heart ached with empathy, but I knew that interfering would be futile. This was the world of the novel, and I was but an observer, a powerless entity caught in the gears of an unyielding narrative.

The battle raged on, and the outcome grew increasingly clear. Black Myst mercenaries, once a fearsome band, now lay defeated and broken. The leader, his scarred face contorted in rage and despair, made a desperate final stand, but even he could not defy the inexorable march of fate.

As the last echoes of battle subsided, a solemn hush settled over the tavern. The wounded moaned in pain, and the victors took stock of their losses. I, too, remained untouched, a silent witness to the tragedy that had unfolded.

The prologue had come to an end, and the stage was set for the next chapter. I couldn't help but wonder what role I would play in this intricate tale, and whether I could defy the cruel whims of destiny that had brought me here. One thing was certain—my journey had only just begun, and the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty and danger.

To confirm my suspicions, I quietly uttered a single word, "Status."

A blue window materialized before me, displaying vital information.

Name: Cole Maverick

Role: Background Character #3807

Level: 1-star (12/50)

Stats:

- Strength (lvl. 2)

- Agility (lvl. 1)

- Stamina (lvl. 2)

- Vitality (lvl. 3)

Skills:

- Basic Swordsmanship (lvl. 2)

Character Traits:

Bluff (lvl. 1) – slightly increases the believability of your deceptions

The status was a bit different from the novel with the only things being new was the character traits and the role. And my stats were decent but nowhere near arthur was a two star at the moment.

Confusion and fear gripped my very soul as I desperately tried to make sense of my surroundings. But then, the distant sounds of battle reached my ears—clashing swords, shouts of valor, and the thundering hooves of horses from outside the tavern. It was undeniable; this was no dream; it was now my reality. I had been inexplicably transmigrated into the heart of the novel.

And what's more, I was part of the prologue, where Arthur and his companions mercilessly laid waste to a group of mercenaries. Though I bore the label of a background character, I was irrevocably entangled in this brutal tale.

The mercenary group in question was Black Myst—a small, notorious band infamous for their ruthless raids on villages, the slaughter of innocent lives, and a litany of other heinous acts, all driven by their insatiable greed for wealth.

My predicament was dire, the odds overwhelmingly stacked against me. Even with my decent stats, I knew I wouldn't be able to so much as scratch Arthur, who would soon wield the formidable Excalibur. Currently, he wielded his grandfather's sword, but this prologue was the genesis of his journey, leading him to the coveted Excalibur.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the turmoil that gripped me.

[Prologue 'Idealistic Fool' is now in progress]

[Narration will now begin]