Seven Heroes… Seven Deadly Sins.
The Feather Knight was a story about the rise of the Seven Deadly Sins—terrifying individuals with monstrous abilities—set against the Seven Heroic Legacies, reborn through the new generation after a thousand years.
I still remembered how the novel painted its world.
This world had many great kingdoms, yet the heart of the story was always the Flarelion Empire.
The Flarelion Empire stood tall not only because of its imperial fire, but because of the four Heroic Houses that upheld the entire civilization:
Luprax, lightning and freedom.
Nivarak, ice and discipline.
Ebonwraith, spirits and shadow.
Flarelion, sacred fire itself.
They weren't nobles in the ordinary sense—
they were living legacies of ancient heroes.
But that legacy was never just a blessing.
Heroic power came at a cost. When a successor reached Magic Circle 7, the limits of their soul began to fracture, and that was when Corruption crept in—turning divine gifts into country-shattering disasters.
The novel showed a world that looked peaceful—far too peaceful.
Races lived side by side without major conflict, the Dukes ruled their lands with stability, and the Church shone as the calm heart of society.
Everything seemed harmonious, as if the world had finally entered a golden age.
But peace like that… is never a blessing.
It's a balance held together by threads that can snap at any moment.
And in the middle of that long history of blessings and curses, there was one small catalyst—
an orphan boy named Sera.
A regressor, returning from a future where everything had already fallen apart, carrying the memory of failure on his shoulders.
In the novel, Sera's journey as a regressor was anything but graceful.
His first three regressions were simply tragedies on repeat.
His first cycle ended quickly—pathetically.
Disoriented and overwhelmed, Sera died before he could do anything.
The world marched toward ruin regardless.
His second cycle lasted longer… but spiraled into deeper despair.
Instead of staying in the empire, he fled across the world to the Eastern Continent—the region that mirrored "Asia" from my past life.
He trained, studied, searched for the strength to save the world.
All of it amounted to nothing.
The end still came.
Not from the Seven Sins.
Not from the Dark Sorcerers.
But from Rosmeri Flarelion, the imperial heir—who failed to synchronize with her Heroic power and fell into Corruption.
She became the Blazing Emperor, a being who burned continent after continent until nothing remained.
Sera—who happened to be in the East—was incinerated along with the entire region.
His third cycle brought him back to the Academy.
This time, he realized that running would never change fate.
But he carried one blind spot:
He focused solely on Rosmeri.
He never realized that one Heroic successor was missing…
a successor who didn't exist in the original manuscript of his story.
Because of that blind spot, tragedy repeated every time.
And now I stood in this same world—inside the body of someone who was never meant to exist:
Charles Luprax.
Scion of lightning.
A name that never appeared in any draft of the story.
The weight of that realization settled on my shoulders.
If this world truly followed the plot I remembered, then every step I took could become the spark that triggered events far too soon.
"This is the story I know…" I whispered.
A story about Sera, the orphan who carried the world's final secret.
About an empire built on the blood of heroes.
About war, sins, and the four families that held everything together.
"And about Charles Luprax…"
My voice faltered.
The name sounded foreign on my own tongue—
as if I had spoken someone else's identity.
Wait.
I knew all this—
I knew how the plot unfolded—
but who was I before this?
A dull throb pulsed behind my eyes.
Fragments of memory shimmered faintly:
a cramped apartment room, the smell of coffee, rain tapping against a window, and the glow of a screen displaying The Feather Knight.
"That room…" I muttered. "Where I used to read this novel."
But the harder I tried to grasp those memories, the more they slipped away.
My old name—something I used to speak every day—vanished into fog.
Only emptiness remained.
"Who was I before becoming Charles Luprax?"
I stared at my palm.
These fingers weren't mine—at least, not the mine I remembered.
"And why can I recall Charles's memories… but not my own past?"
For the first time, something unsettling dawned on me:
in this world, only one thing felt undeniably real—
not my past, not my old self…
but the story I once read.
The thought echoed in my skull, leaving a faint ringing inside my ears.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my breath, yet the hollowness clung to the back of my mind like a stubborn shadow.
Then—
Knock, knock…
A gentle tapping on the door, followed by a soft voice:
"Young Master, may I come in?"
I flinched slightly.
My heartbeat spiked, then gradually settled as my body slipped into the natural rhythm familiar to Charles.
The door opened, and a maid stepped in with a silver tray.
Her movements were delicate, precise—
the kind of precision born not from fear, but understanding.
On the tray were steamed potatoes, carrots, and white chicken breast.
A faint, clean steam rose from the dish—
subtle aroma, no strong seasoning, no heavy oils.
"Your evening meal, as requested," she said in an even tone.
"Without coarse salt, and double-steamed for a softer texture."
Her actions were deliberate, careful.
As if she already knew that Charles Luprax disliked the scrape of plates, bright lights, or strong scents.
As if she understood how easily my senses could be overwhelmed.
I gave a small nod. "Thank you."
She set the tray on the small table near the window, then stepped back politely.
"I'll wait outside if you need anything, Young Master," she said, then left, closing the door without a sound.
I tapped the fork lightly—barely—and the soft metallic ring still made me wince.
"This body's so sensitive…"
A sigh escaped me, but the corner of my lips curved upward—
a quiet acknowledgment that this body perceived the world in its own sharp, intricate way.
The meal felt more real than any memory of my past life.
More grounded than the world I supposedly came from.
After a moment of stillness, a thought surfaced from the haze:
If this world truly followed The Feather Knight—
if everything I remembered was the future already written—
then I knew exactly how it would collapse.
The fall of the Heroes.
The rise of the Sins.
The world sinking into ruin.
But this time, I had no intention of watching it happen again.
I straightened in my seat.
If I had been nothing more than a powerless reader before, then here—as Charles Luprax—I had something no one else in this world possessed:
Knowledge of what was to come.
And with that knowledge… I could change everything.
"I know how the story ends," I whispered.
"But that doesn't mean I have to follow it."
The sky outside had turned violet-blue, the last hints of daylight clinging to the clouds.
In the reflection of the window, I saw Charles's young face—bright blue eyes, slightly messy silver hair, and a gaze that still felt unfamiliar.
But behind that reflection, something new was forming—
a quiet, growing resolve.
"If that's the case… I won't be just a forgotten name."
A faint smile tugged my lips.
"I'll be the one to rewrite the ending."
A breeze slipped through the window, carrying the scent of the Luprax gardens—
a faint floral fragrance that felt strangely warm.
For the first time since waking in this body, the world didn't feel suffocating.
The air felt open.
Wide.
Full of possibility.
I rose to my feet, shoulders lighter than before.
This wasn't courage.
This wasn't arrogance.
This was simply who I was—
someone who moved forward without waiting for permission.
"Well then," I exhaled, a spark of excitement running through me.
"Let the show begin."