Chapter 3: (Reincarnation and the system Liam)
I slowly opened my eyes. The surrounding was still dark. I rolled onto my side with a small sigh. "Its still dark. Good. I can still sleep a little longer. There is no Class tomorrow."
But then the first thing I felt was softness. My back sank into an old bed, the kind with worn-out foam that gave way too easily, like it had been slept in for years by someone else. My lower half was covered by a thin old white blanket. It smelled faintly of dust and something sour, as though it hadn't been washed in ages.
"…? That's strange." My brow furrowed as I shifted against the mattress. "Why does the foam feel… off?" The surface pressed against my skin in an odd way, too soft in some places, lumpy in others, as if it had been soaked and left to dry unevenly. I inhaled, and a faint, musty odor clung to the fabric, and something sour. "It even smells weird... like metallic" I whispered to myself, unsettled.
Lying on my side, I shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable spot. My body rolled slightly.
As I shifted my body to a more comfortable position, my hand brushed against something hard and cold. "It's cold…" I muttered softly. It wasn't water—no, it felt solid, like metal, but coated with something sticky that clung to my skin. My brows furrowed in confusion as I tried to think what it could be. I raised my hand, meaning to scratch my temple, but then I froze—the moment my fingers touched my head, i felt sharp sting ran through my temple.
"Ouch…" I hissed. My fingertips felt a warm, sticky liquid… and beneath it, a small open wound—like a puncture or a hole. My pulse quickened as I blinked slowly, trying to focus my hazy vision. When I finally looked down at my trembling hand, I saw the dark smear of black and red across my palm.
"What is this…? B-blood?" The words stumbled out as panic began to rise from deep inside my chest, my breathing turning shallow. My eyes darted down, and beneath the white blanket that covered me, I saw splashes of red stain.
There, half-hidden in the folds of the blanket, was a dagger. Its golden handle gleamed faintly under the dim light, but the silver blade was soaked with blood, still wet, still dripping. My whole body stiffened. The strange metallic smell that had lingered around me—the one I thought was nothing—suddenly made sense. It was blood. My blood.
Above me, the ceiling looks old and low, riddled with cracks that looked like veins. From one of them, water dripped steadily. *Drip… drip… drip.* The sound echoed through the quiet room.
I turned my head, and my eyes fell on the window set just beside the bed, its wood puffed up from the moisture. The shutters hung open, swaying gently on rusted hinges that creaked whenever the night wind pushed through. A thin draft slipped inside, The night breeze slithered in, carrying the faint rustling of leaves outside. The black curtains, frayed at the edges, fluttering weakly against the rod.
My eyes swept the room. I noticed something dark streaks smeared across the surface. I squinted, trying to convince myself it was nothing, maybe water damage. But the color was different. It was too dark to be a water. Too dry and dark to be a paint. But it wasn't paint. It was blood. Old blood that dried into the wall.
Several antique paintings hung crooked on the walls, their frames cracked and worn. The faces within were faded, blurred, yet their eyes remained disturbingly dark so dark it felt as if they were watching me from the canvas.
I whispered to myself. "Who is those people in the paintings. And what is this place? I'm not in my room... or in the tent... then where am I?" The silent room swallowed my question.
My gaze shifted to the left side corner of the room, where a massive wooden table took up most of the space in the room. Its shape was rectangular, built with thick slabs of timber, the kind of furniture meant to last for generations. Yet dark blotches and streaks clung to the grain. At first, they looked like nothing more than oil stains, but the uneven spread, the way they seeped through the wood, Oil didn't stain like that, It's blood.
Beside the table slouched a single chair. One of its back legs was missing, and it leaned awkwardly on three points, tilting forward as though any people that will sit in it would send them crashing to the floor. The imbalance gave it a very fragile and broken appearance.
Two pairs of black leather shoes were lined neatly beside the chair. They looked well-kept, the leather polished smooth, as if someone had taken good care of them.
"Who owned this place? Did anyone live here?"
I licked my dry lips, whispering again, this time louder. "Hello?… Is anyone here?"
No answer. Just the steady dripping of water.
My throat tightened. I pushed myself upright, the wooden bed creaking under my weight. My voice cracked when I tried again. "this isn't funny."
The paintings seemed to tilt, as though their blurred faces had turned just a little more in my direction.
"…Damn it," I muttered, clutching the blanket tighter around my shoulders. My voice trembled slightly. "Is this… a dream?"
Beside the bed rested an old sword, its blade chipped and dull, Next to it lay a crude bow, and a fishing rod fashioned from a crooked branch, its thin string tied to a rusted hook.
In front of the large bed is a cracked mirror, its surface webbed with lines that distorted my hazy reflection. Above it, a wooden rack had been nailed into the wall, holding four sets of uniforms, both inner and outer layers neatly folded, alongside plain black trousers. Pinned upon one of the coats was a badge, the letters etched clearly: **William Vixxon.**
I stared at the badge for a long moment before blurting out, "Wait… why is that character name from my favorite novel, printed on the uniform tag?"
I frowned, rubbing the old fabric of the blanket between my fingers as if that would change the letters in the tag. "Seriously… of all names, the*ass man's* name what kind of joke is this?"
My eyes dropped and saw myself wearing a faded tan shirt. Its thin, worn, and it looks dull from long use. The fabric clung loosely to my body, its surface rough where the threads had rubbed against my skin. The collar sagged unevenly, the edge torn and stitched back by hand. The sleeves hung low, wrinkled, their ends brushing the side of my arms.
Below, I wore dark brown shorts made from old cloth, rough and coarse to the touch. The seams were uneven, some already tearing near the thighs. A short rope wrapped around my waist served as a belt, its knot tight and stiff. The clothes fabrics carried a faint smell of smoke and damp earth, the scent of long days spent walking and sleeping near the fire. Suddenly a chill ran through me. "Wait …Don't tell me… these clothes...!?"
A hundred questions rushed through my head as my heart pounded hard against my chest. I tried to speak again and heard how strange my voice sounded, rough, deeper, not my own voice that I used to hear. At first, I thought it was because I had just woken up at night, sometimes my voice changed when I was tired. I raised my hand and touched my face. My nose felt larger and higher than before, the bridge sharper. My jawline was hard and defined, not rounder like it used to be. My skin felt different, colder.
To be certain, I stepped closer to the broken glass with the gold frame leaning against the wall. The cracks ran across mirror, splitting my reflection into uneven pieces. In the dim light of the room, I saw a man staring back at me, a face I did not know. His eyes were really coal black, the darkest shade possible, without any shine or reflection, dark circles rested under his tired, sleepless eyes. His eyebrows thick and dark, and his hair was pure black, falling over his forehead. I stared at the reflection.
Then words finally came out of my mouth. "William… Vixxon?! What the hell—why am I inside that bastard's body!? And where exactly am I? I thought he was a rich noble… so why is he living in a place this dark and nearly falling apart house!?" As I scan the surrounding once more.
Suddenly a chill ran down my spine. "Wait… if I'm inside William Vixxon's body, does that mean I'm inside the game… or the novel?" My voice trembled as the thought sank in. "If it's the novel, then I'm 100% percent dead..." My knees weakened, and I fell to the floor dramatically, kneeling as the weight of my situation pressed down on me.
Then, without warning, a light appeared right in front of me, floating in the air like a glowing window screen. At first, I thought I was imagining things, it looked exactly like the system screens I used to read about in popular novels. I rubbed my eyes once, stared, then rubbed them again to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.
The light grew stronger, until everything turned white. My vision burned as if someone had thrown a flashbang straight into my face. "Ahhh~ my eyes!" I shouted, shutting them tight and raising my hand to block the brightness.
After a few seconds, I slowly opened my eyelids and peeked through the gaps between my fingers. The light dimmed, and a blue, transparent window floated before me.
It read:
> [hello owner I'm liam your system here is your current status]
Name: William Vixxon/john Niagobert
Age: 19/22
Level: 1
Race: human
Class: none
Title: "Problem child of the west"
"Last Descendant of Vixxon"
"Crazy Little Pup"
"Prince/duke of plains"
Stats:
STR 5 AGI 6 VIT 6
INT 10 WIS 9 LUK 2
HP 30 / 35
MP 50 / 50
Stamina 8 / 8
Skills:
- Pain tolerance (Basic) Lv 1
- Tracking (Basic) Lv 1
- Beast Sense (Basic) Lv 1
- Multilingual translation (Basic) unlimited
Experience: 4 / 6
Quest: None availabe
Mission: The System is initializing...
[Market] <=====●
Current balance points: 250
"A system… and it actually has a name… Liam, the system… ha…?" I muttered, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper. My chest felt tight, but a small spark of hope began to bloom inside me. Maybe… maybe I can still survive… maybe I haven't completely late…
I stared at the screen, my eyes scanning my only four skills. Only three. That was it. My stomach sank. Just four skills. Is this really enough? I wondered, feeling the weight of desperation pressing against my ribs.
Then something caught my attention. "Wait… there's a market in my system?" I whispered to myself, my fingers hovering over the icon. "Maybe I can buy something… anything… weapons, armor, potions… something that can save me or give me a chance…"
I tapped the market. My breath caught. Expecting swords, shields, or at least some kind of battle gear… I froze. Nothing like that appeared. Instead… seeds. Seeds from my world. Every type of vegetable I could imagine, beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, chilies. there are also potato/sweet potatoes/taro/yams tubers. spring onions/garlic/green onions/scallions bulb segments etc... all types of Seeds,Sprouts /Seedlings, Cuttings, Tubers, Bulbs, Rhizomes, Runners/Stolons, Suckers/Offshoots. were arranged neatly waiting for me to choose.
And then in the side of the market there was a box. A simple, dark wooden box labeled Permaharvest Box. An illustration showed the box holding vegetables, perfectly preserved inside, that could keep them fresh forever. I stared at it, dumbfounded, unable to process what I was seeing.
"You can't be serious!" I shouted, my hands trembling. "This… this has to be some kind of joke! "Not only do I have three almost useless skills, but I also have a system. That has a market full of… seeds! SEEDS!!" My voice cracked. "I didn't come here to plant vegetables! I didn't sign up for this! I wanted weapons! I wanted armor! I wanted potion! I wanted something to survive, not… not farming! Get me back to my world! NOW! You can't just show up and do this to me!"
My heart hammered in my chest, with frustration, as a faint whisper slipped through my quivering lips. "Please… please tell me this isn't real," I whispered, my hands shaking. "There has to be more… this system can't be this useless. Yeah… yeah, it's just a dream… just a dream…" I slapped my face, the sharp sting cutting through my denial, reminding me I'm not dreaming.
Then I stared at the system window, my hand trembled as it began scratching my scalp until it itched and throbbed, as panic started to take over. My lips trembled as they parted. "Wait… where am I? In the game? Or in the novel?"
The screen flickered and showed: [The Nov-] finally I lost it.
"Argggh!!! Fuck!!! Get me back!!! You imbeciles!!! You're trying to get me killed!!!" I screamed, breath ragged.
[Calm down, owner — let me expl—] the system replied in a flat, patient words.
"Calm down!? CALM DOWN?!" I snapped, cutting it off. "How the hell am I supposed to calm down when the only thing I can buy from you is seeds? SEEDS?!"
[There is also a meat section, condiments/seasonings, cooking tools, and farming gears. No machines that cheat.]
"A meat shop? Condiments/seasonings? Cooking tools? Farming gear? Really? Fine. I'll buy a rake — and I'll use that rake to rake your faces!!! You. The one who sent me here, and that bastard who shoved me in that boat — I'll rake every last one of your faces!!! and make you all regret the day you born!!!!"
[First, listen to me, owner.]
"You drag me into this world without my consent, and now you want me to listen to you?!" I shouted, throwing my hands up like I was arguing with a very annoying roommate.
[…] The system paused for a moment, like it was calculating how badly I had freaked out, then finally said, [If you earn 10 million points, you can return to your world… and get one wish.]
I blinked. Slowly. Then leaned forward, calculating like I'd just found a cheat code. "Ohhh… suddenly you're speaking my language."
[Wow… that was fast. One second you're panicking, the next you're smiling like a starving tired man who found a free buffet. What a double face. Shameless. Greedy. Truly… your a really weird one, owner.]
I slowly sit down on the dirty floor like I was about to negotiate a business deal. "I'm all ears."
[(coughing) So, as I was saying… listen carefully, owner. You can return to your world and receive one wish, anything you want, once you earn it. How? By completing the quests or missions I assign. Even if it's not a formal quest, you can still earn points by killing monsters. You can also exchange money, treasures, or valuable items for points. And yes, even farming will earn you points, because my system market is entirely focused on agriculture. Every effort, big or small, contributes to your progress.]
[But owner… a warning: do not interact with the main character or any other lead characters in the novels. Every second you touch them or you let them touch you, five points will be deducted. Simply being nearby or observing does not count, only contact triggers a penalty.]
"What are the other uses for points?" I asked curiously.
[You can use points as a substitute for mana, since points are equivalent to it. Of course, you can't buy skills here, you have to earn and learn them yourself. However, once you've learned a skill, you can use points to activate it even when your mana runs out. But keep in mind, using points this way will trigger a cooldown. The stronger the skill, the longer the cooldown. And before you even think about it, yes, I know what's going through your mind right now, you were planning to use points to spam your skills, weren't you?]
"...Fair enough," I muttered, realizing I'd been caught before even trying it.
[My only job here is to give you missions and quests. I don't provide clues or hints to the novel, so don't bother asking.]
I faced the system window, my expression serious and asked. "You brought me into this world, so you must also know who William Vixxon is, the first villain in Act 1 of the novel P.E.W. His whole character is almost a mystery. The only things the story ever tells us about him are that he's a fallen noble, a second-year student of the *Parrenia Royal Academy,* and that his clan, the Vixxons, were known as the *Heartless Children of Endless Warfare.* That's all i ever knew"
"He was the villain of the first act. We, the players and readers, used to laugh at him because the way he died in the game was so pathetic. But the truth is… I don't know anything about who he really was, not his past, not even where he lived. The author never gave him much of an introduction, not even a glimpse of his life before the Act 1 *Tournament* began."
"And the way he died… it wasn't like a villain's death at all. It was the death of a third-rate NPC someone fated to always die, whether in the novel… or in the game."
"And why did william kill himself? One thing is certain: the dagger on the bed was used in a suicide—he stabbed himself in the head with it. But… why would he do that?"
[...] the system didn't replied this time.
I sighed and muttered, "If you won't answer me, then at least tell me, when does the academy's term begin?"
[The academy has sent you a letter. It's on the table]
My eyes fell on the folded letter lying on the table, sealed with a dark red wax crest that bore the academy's insignia, two crossing swords with an infinity symbol/endless loop at their center. The parchment itself was thick, slightly yellowed, with faint gold linings along the edges, the kind of letter only a royal institution would send.
I carefully broke the seal and unfolded it. The ink shimmered faintly as if written with glowing ink, the unfamiliar characters slowly rearranging themselves into words I could understand.
It read: "The Second Year classes will commence on the 4th day of Thrilmilce."
I frowned and glanced at the old calendar hanging on the wall. The months were written in strange names, elegant and foreign — Thrilmilce for May, Litha for June. A small golden needle marked today's date: Litha 3.
My breath hitched as I realized what it meant. "I was already in my fourth year, almost finished with college and ready to claim my inheritance! And now… they're putting me back to start as a second-year again!"