hovering like a game menu.
Save File (Create or load a world state. Unlimited saves.) glowed under the header.
Elias sat up, eyes narrowing. "Wait a sec," he said, voice low. Back in the alley, he'd ignored it, but now it clicked.
Save file.
Like a checkpoint in a game. Could he save this exact moment—sitting here, alive, in Veyron's room? Load back if he got jumped or made a dumb move? If he died or screwed up chasing Lin, could he just rewind? "That's nuts," he muttered, pulse spiking. This was his world, his rules, and this could be his cheat code.
He tapped Save File, half-braced for it to flop. The screen pulsed, showing: Save 1: Maelor Manor, Lord's Room, Morning.
Elias's jaw dropped. "Holy crap." He tapped again, and a Load File option appeared, listing Save 1.
Just one save so far, but the idea was huge. Save now, and if he got killed by some mage or made a bad call—like running into Lin's slum fights—he could load back here, safe. "My get-out-of-jail-free card," he said, grinning. But it felt too good, like his story was waiting to screw him over.
Elias stared at the save screen a moment longer, the soft glow of Save 1 still hovering in the air. Then he closed it with a flick of his fingers, the interface dissolving like mist.
He stood and walked to the desk, the wood old but sturdy, ink stains darkening the corners. A thin layer of dust clung to the papers. He flipped through them—ledgers, sealed notes, crumpled bills.
The more he read, the worse it got.
Final Warning. Repayment due within 30 days.
Outstanding debt: 10,000 gold marks.
Failure to respond will result in repossession of assets under Arcanis Council Law, Section 47b.
Elias stared at the debt notice, mind whirring. Ten thousand marks. Thirty days. That wasn't just a number—that was a death sentence in noble society. If the manor was seized, he'd lose the one
safe place he had. No base. No resources. No identity.
He dropped the notice, rubbing his temples. "Alright, think," he muttered. "You're not Veyron. You're the guy who made Veyron. You built this damn world."
He exhaled slowly, staring out the window at the courtyard. Alright. What would a noble actually do in this world? One facing ruin?
His fingers tapped the desk rhythmically.
Land Deals. That was the first, obvious play. Lease out farmland or fishing rights, especially along the river bend south of Blackridge. It'd bring in consistent income, sure—but slow. A few hundred marks a month, if that. Not fast enough.
Marriage politics. He grimaced. Classic move—tie the family name to a wealthier house, merge resources, and avoid scandal.
The problem was, he didn't know who was available, and it would take weeks just to arrange a meeting. Not to mention, with his current situation, even a commoner wouldn't consider marrying him.
Pawn Ancestral Relics. House Maelor wasn't rich, but they had prestige. Old heirlooms. Veyron's ceremonial spellblade. The banner with the scaled embroidery from the first Mana War.
Sell to a collector or desperate noble. Risky though—if people caught wind he was selling off family treasures, it'd scream desperation.
Fake Promises. Some lords took loans backed by lands they didn't technically own yet—future conquests, potential mine claims, new trade routes.
Risky as hell, but if he played it right… he could sell hope. Paper dreams. Maybe even offer shares in some "planned expedition" to Blackridge or a "secret mana bloom" location.
He smirked. "Snake oil," he muttered. "But noble edition."
Exploit Old Laws. Arcanis had layers—old blood pacts, loopholes in council decrees, dusty inheritance laws. He remembered a line from Chapter 8: House Maelor had an unclaimed stake in the Sapphire Canals trade route from a century-old war pact.
If he dug up the paperwork and made noise in the right legal channels, he might strong-arm the Council into buying him out. Not a guarantee—but it was buried leverage.
Then there was the darkest option.
War Profiteering.
If a border conflict sparked off—even a minor one—nobles and merchants would beg for arms, potions, enchanted gear. Elias knew two places where enchanted steel could be harvested en masse. If he sold to both sides discreetly, kept his name off the ledger…
"Dirty coin," he whispered. "But coin."
He stared at the paper, now split between:
Legit Noble Routes (land leases, marriage, relic sales)
Shady but Plausible (legal loopholes, debt juggling, fake ventures)
Flat-out Immoral (smuggling, profiteering, war manipulation)
And the thing was—he knew where every piece fit. Which noble had blackmail skeletons. Which merchant guild was hurting. Where the gold was buried. Literally.
Because he wrote it all.
But one idea kept poking at the back of his head.
Blackmail.
Not the risky kind that got you tossed in a river by dawn. But he can make it work out since he has this reload thing.
There were Four Great Houses in the empire of Nymeria—the real giants. Right under the royal family. Everyone else bent the knee.
House Drayven – military power. Old blood. They ran the border legions and the War College. Iron and discipline.
House Veyra – mages, the Arcane Guild. They lit half the empire's lanterns and controlled most of its mana flow.
House Carden – trade lords. Silk roads, ports, guild banks. If it involved gold, it passed through them.
House Thorne – alchemists and healers. Officially, anyway. Unofficially? Poisons, serums, and black labs.
House Maelor used to sit with them. A fifth pillar, once. Back when they still held sway over the central provinces and supplied magic steel to the capital. But those days were ash. Now, they were barely a footnote. A "former great house." Which was worse than being a minor one. Everyone loved a rising star—nobody respected a fallen one.
Still… Elias had something the rest didn't.
Secrets.
He remembered writing about Lady Salar Thorne—wife to the current Lord of House Thorne, Edric.
He leaned back, well well he knows something perfect which can be used to blackmail?
And was a nuclear.
Illegal Potion Trafficking Through Orphanages.
Not just rumors. He had details. Routes. Names. Salar's "healing shelters" in the outer districts? Fronts. The children? Drug mules. The potions were hidden in magically sealed stomach pouches—an alchemical design meant to bypass detection wards. And when one child managed to escape and smuggle out a prototype serum—an invisibility draft that melted the user's insides—the entire orphanage had mysteriously gone up in flames.
He still had the kid's testimony. Scrawled in shaking, broken handwriting.
And a few bones from the site that still hummed with the failed enchantment.
He exhaled slowly.
"Should I go now or later?" he muttered. Didn't really matter. He could just reload if things went sideways.
Stretching, he stood up from the bed.
"Well, well…" He flexed his fingers. "How do I get strong enough to survive all this?"
One idea lingered. Steal some of the protagonist's opportunities.
He stepped out of his room.
The family butler, ever proper, bowed. "My lord, if I may suggest again—perhaps it's time to think of marriage. A strong lady by your side—"
Elias walked right past him without a word.
The butler sighed but followed. "As your loyal servant, I must advise—"
"I'm taking the cart," Elias cut in. "Ready it."
One hour later, they were at the outskirts of the capital. Trees thickened, buildings thinned. He stared out the window as memories clicked together.
He'd written about a hidden cave—tucked behind a waterfall in the forest just outside the city. A place he never fully fleshed out. Something he planned to turn into an opportunity for the protagonist later.
But now?
He climbed down and started walking.
He pushed through brush, mud soaking into his boots. The sound of rushing water grew louder. Then he saw it—the waterfall, just like in his notes. And behind it?
The cave. Real. Present. Not something he'd written yet.
His eyes widened.
"…No way," he whispered.
It was really here. Something he hadn't even put into words yet. Just a rough idea.
So… this world didn't just react to what he wrote. It had already filled in the blanks.
The cave was quiet. Damp. The kind of silence that felt older than the city itself.
Elias stood at the entrance, eyes adjusting to the dark.
"My lord," the butler called behind him, hesitant. "Shall I come with you?"
"No," Elias said without looking back. "Stay with the cart."
He stepped inside.
The cave was shallow. Just stone and dust. A few broken bones scattered near the walls. Looked like nothing.
But he knew better.
The real thing was buried far below this spot.
A prehistoric parasite. Roughly 400 to 500 million years old—give or take a few mass extinctions. Most people would laugh at the idea. He might've too, if he hadn't written this place himself. A throwaway line in a future volume, buried in exposition. But if the cave existed, then the creature should still be here.
Dormant. Preserved. Waiting.
Somewhere between a hundred to three hundred meters below was a stabilizer zone—natural water flow, geothermal warmth. Perfect environment for something parasite to hibernate in.
Why would anyone want a parasite that's older than dragons?
Because this wasn't just some leech or brain slug. If his memory was right, this thing was meant to bond. A symbiotic creature from before mana existed maybe—capable of adapting to whatever it infected.
He squinted at the floor.
No dig site. No markers. Not even a hint of how deep to go.
"…Great," Elias muttered. "Just eyeball it and hope I don't die. Classic."
His [Load Save] button flickered faintly at the edge of his vision. He only had to think it.
Load back.
He'd tested it twice. Both times worked. Which was good… because what he was about to do next might be a one-way trip.
He glanced at the floor again, then looked up at the rocky ceiling.
"How the hell am I even supposed to dig 300 meters down?"
He didn't have gear. No picks. No scrolls. Just the tunic on his back, a half-decent dagger, and the knowledge that this thing was right beneath his feet.
Okay, think. You wrote this place. There's gotta be a shortcut.
He paced the cave slowly, tapping along the walls with the hilt of his dagger.
Come on… if I were a lazy author—and I was—I wouldn't make the protagonist dig for five chapters. I'd drop a hint. A trap. A stupid animal that fell in.
He paused near a bone pile. Squatted down.
Some of the bones were clean. Bleached white. But one looked wet. Recent.
Something had been down here.
A rat? A fox? A scavenger?
He leaned closer—and saw it. A thin line in the stone. A crack, barely the width of a finger, leading toward the back wall.
He slid a hand over it.
He stepped back from the crack, about to try wedging it open—
And the ground collapsed.
Stone gave way beneath his boots with a thunderous crack, and before he could react, Elias was falling.
"Shit—!"
He tumbled through the darkness, walls rushing past in flashes—roots, jagged stone Then suddenly—
After Like Seven Second Of non stop falling down Suddenly
Splash.
The water swallowed him whole.
The fall had knocked the breath from his lungs, and the hit—
Sharp. Blunt. Somewhere near the side of his head—
Dragged him into unconsciousness.
Everything slowed.
No thoughts. No movement. Just sinking.
Deeper.
Then—
A flicker.
Faint at first. Almost like a trick of the eye. But it grew. Pale. Iridescent.
It shimmered beneath him, shifting like molten glass—its light warping through the murky depths, casting twisted shadows on the cave walls.
Something was rising from the trench below. Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… curious.
Long, drifting tendrils trailed behind it like seaweed in a current. Its form was almost elegant—part jellyfish, part nerve cluster. Semi-transparent. Veins glowing a soft, electric blue. At its center pulsed a core, dark and golden, beating with slow, steady rhythm.
It circled his body once… then again.
And then it struck.
Thin, silken limbs uncoiled and pressed gently against his back. No slicing. No blood. Just a smooth,
practiced motion—as if it was always meant to find him.
A dozen hair-thin filaments traced along his spine…
And sank in.
His body jerked—just once. A golden shimmer spread through his skin, tracing his veins like fire through dry brush.
And then—
The thing was gone.
The cave's depths faded, and in the moment of stillness, the water around him shifted. Slowly at first, but then a sudden tug—like an invisible hand lifting him upward.
For a moment, everything in the cave felt wrong, as though gravity had turned sideways. The rocks that had been anchored to the earth gently rose, and the water—so thick with the pressure of the depth—became sluggish, like molasses.
Elias' body was weightless, moving up toward the surface like he was floating in reverse, an unexplainable force pulling him.
He rose. The blackness of the water turned to faint light.