As I made my way home and stepped inside, I was greeted—if you can call it that—by the sight of two freeloaders lounging on my couch like they owned the place. A demon and a vampire, deep in casual conversation. Yep. Just another Tuesday.
"Oh, look who's awake and getting along. Adorable. Also, I got those ingredients you asked for earlier… so—"
"Oh, Viktor, you're back," Syllia interrupted with a too-bright smile. "We have… not-so-great news. Sit. I'll get the food ready."
She stood, grabbed the bag from my hands, and headed toward the kitchen like nothing was on fire. Meanwhile, Arsen wore the expression of someone who'd just realized taxes were due... in hell.
I sat down slowly, suspicion blooming like a rash. "You've been out cold for a while. You good? What's with the tragic opera face?"
Arsen met my eyes, and I knew instantly that something had detonated—metaphorically. (Hopefully.)
"Sir Viktor," he began, with the kind of grave tone that usually precedes either a confession or a funeral, "I may have gotten us involved in... considerably more trouble than one could reasonably foresee."
"Oh come on. How bad could it be?" I said, already regretting asking.
"I fear that if I'm not caught by the Saint Candidate—or worse, the Inquisition—this entire city will be purified."
"'Purified'?" I repeated, alarm bells clanging. "You're going to have to be way more specific. Like, bath-time purified or biblical-plague purified?"
His expression didn't budge. Great.
"They exterminate every living, breathing thing within the lockdown zone. I presume... Luminéce will be sealed within the day."
Ah. So biblical-plague. Fantastic.
First day in a new world, and it's already outpacing your average isekai's entire season arc. Vampires. Demons. Apocalyptic lockdowns. Can't wait for episode two.
Why did I end up here? Was dying really the better option?
I sighed, rubbed my temples, and tried to think. Then it hit me—those guys on the street, the ones gossiping like old grandmas with pitchforks. Something about the city being sealed.
"Oh, right. Lucky us—except not." I glanced between my two oh-so-helpful roommates. "I heard a couple people saying the city went into lockdown today. So… any brilliant ideas? I mean, you two are ancient beings or whatever, right? Archmage-level nonsense? Can't we just, I don't know, fly away and start a cute little tavern in a distant land?"
A pause.
"Too optimistic? Yeah. I figured."
Arsen looked genuinely troubled. "Sir, we have—at most—a month before they initiate the Purification."
"Cool," I said flatly. "Quick question though: if you know this, shouldn't the citizens also be aware that they're about to be flambéed by a bunch of religious fanatics and morally bankrupt government enforcers?"
Because last I checked, people on the street still looked way too chipper for a town about to get biblical.
Arsen's face darkened. "It wouldn't make sense for them to announce it publicly. As for how I know... I wasn't part of the first wave of hunted beings. A few years ago, dark elves were accused of practicing forbidden magic. Entire communities were wiped out. Presumed extinct. It wasn't just them, either—beastkin, rogue mages, even a few humans with the wrong last names. Silenced. Quietly."
Lovely.
So now I live in a world run by racist zealots with state-sponsored murder on speed dial. And somehow, I—a completely normal, recently-isekai'd guy—am smack in the middle of it all.
Note to self: never trust Steven's "Wouldn't it be cool to live in a magical world?" conversations again.
I stared down at the table, brain grinding like an old gear that forgot what oil tastes like, trying to figure out what the hell we should do next.
Then Syllia, ever the multitasking domestic demon, casually chimed in from the kitchen—while dicing onions and peeling potatoes like she wasn't planning our potential demise.
"There is actually a way to escape all of this," she said, as if she were recommending a side dish.
"Oh, really? Do tell, Miss Demon," I replied with peak sarcasm. "Do we sprinkle some magic salt and teleport to Narnia?"
Before she could sass me back, Arsen cut in, serious for once.
"Lady Syllia is correct. We have two options. One: if anyone here knows alchemy, we can create a lookalike—a clone. Fool the Saint Candidate. High risk, high reward. But the effectiveness depends entirely on how convincing the replica is. And judging by the silence in this room, I'm guessing none of us here majored in alchemical forgery."
Ah, fantastic. Nothing like building up false hope just to personally toss it off a cliff.
"Option two," he continued, "we hand me over. Low risk. Very likely zero reward."
Syllia and I stared at him like he'd just offered to donate his liver to a meat grinder. Then she straight-up screamed.
"Are you insane, Arsen!?" Syllia said.
"Yeah," I added. "You just joined us. We're not gonna throw you to the wolves just because some gold-haired psycho and a communist cosplay cult of soldiers want your head."
Neither of us liked that second option. And as much as I didn't want to admit it—I hated it too. But if that was our only card to play...
Arsen looked at us grimly. "What you don't understand is this—do you really think they'll stop with me or a clone? That they'll just nod, smile, and leave town after getting their trophy?"
He shook his head.
"No. What's more likely? The city suddenly 'plagued' by a mystery illness. An overnight quarantine. And then—emptied."
Shit. Classic rock-and-a-hard-place situation—just with more divine judgment and fewer escape routes. Fantastic.
"But… there's a third option," Arsen said.
And just like that, my heart flickered—like a guy hearing the word pardon after serving a life sentence.
He didn't smile. No one does when delivering existential ultimatums.
"We leave—just the three of us—and sacrifice the town."
"…Or," he added, voice lower now, like the words themselves might get us killed, "we become enemies of the World Government. Live as fugitives. Hunted, branded, erased from every registry until we're just shadows with names."
So. The classic hero's choice.
Save ourselves and damn hundreds—or save them, and never sleep without one eye open again.
God, I really should've just died in traffic.
Syllia returned from the kitchen, setting down three bowls of stew and a basket of fresh bread on the table like we weren't all moments away from becoming footnotes in a holy massacre.
"Let's eat first," she said, too casually. "It's been a long afternoon."
Fair enough.
We tore pieces from the bread in silence, dipping them into the thick stew. No one spoke—not because there was nothing to say, but because everything that needed saying felt like it might shatter the fragile peace holding this room together. Each bite was heavy, soaked with more than just broth. It tasted like tension, like dread, like the calm right before a building collapses on top of you.
When we finished and cleaned up, Syllia leaned back in her seat and dropped the match:
"The morally right thing to do is stay. Help the people. Stand against the Saint or whatever flaming sword-wielding psychopath they send next."
I exhaled a laugh—dry and bitter. "Oh, right. Just us three. Against an entire global regime and a glowing messiah with a divine kill count. Perfect odds."
Her eyes narrowed. "So your answer is to run? Let this town die because we're scared?"
"Better scared than skewered on a holy pike. Or hunted like wild dogs for the rest of our lives."
We kept going—her throwing ideals like spears, me blocking them with a shield of cold logic and survivor's instinct. It was going nowhere fast—until Arsen finally stood.
"Enough."
He looked at us both. Stern. Grave. Not angry—just tired. Like a man who'd lived through this song and dance before.
"Lady Syllia, Sir Viktor. Listen closely."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"The Inquisition with her weren't mages. They were martial artists—Adept level. Dangerous, but beatable. The Saint Candidate? A Rank 6 mage. Strong, but not immortal. What they have is numbers. What we have is uncertainty."
He turned to me, steady as stone.
"You're a wildcard, Viktor. I don't know what you're hiding, but I can feel it. People aren't born powerful—they're shaped. Right now, we don't need luck. We need chaos they can't predict. And that's you."
He sat back down.
The room quieted again. No more stew. No more bread. Just choices wrapped in blood and consequence.
And all I could think was:
I didn't just walk into a fantasy world.I walked into its final chapter.
Great. Our first mission is to leave Lumince. Nothing says "welcome to your new life" like dodging divine death squads and packing light.
"So wait—you're actually agreeing with her? Fighting the Saint and those masked freaks?" I asked, genuinely shocked.
He was supposed to be the voice of reason—the guy who'd vote for survival over martyrdom. I thought he was with me.Et tu, Arsen? The betrayal stung more than I expected.
"Yes," he replied, and the tone wasn't up for debate. "Not because I want to play hero—but because I made a binding oath. One day, I will take revenge on those who ruined me... my family... my people."
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It burned.
I couldn't argue with that—not when he spoke like a man still living in the ruins of his past. Even Syllia looked satisfied, like his declaration had shifted something in her.
"I still don't understand why we retreated into that hidden realm, if we originally came from this one," she added softly, a hint of distance in her voice. "But I'll stand against the odds. If it means we uncover the truth... then so be it."
And just like that, it began.The countdown to my inevitable death.Maybe this time, if I die, I won't wake up isekai'd again.No promises, though.
I stood up and said
"Alright, fine. I'll go along with this suicide pact of ours. As for preparations—I might have a way. Give me a week, maybe a little less, and I'll have what I need to make myself actually useful. In the meantime, you two should probably hash out what skills you're bringing to the table. I still haven't seen either of you do anything impressive."
Before I could even blink, Arsen leaned forward, curiosity bubbling behind his usually cold eyes.
"What do you mean you 'have a way'?"
Syllia chimed in too, not even pretending to hide her interest."Victor, elaborate."
I leaned back, laced my fingers behind my head, and exhaled like someone about to tell a campfire ghost story.
"There's this bookstore disguised as a bar—not shady at all, right? Anyway, inside it, I found a book. Not just any book, either. It's clearly made for advanced alchemy students. And the author? Jacob. As in—Jacob the grea—"
Arsen practically exploded from his seat like he got shocked.
"Jacob?! The Jacob? As in the great scholar from the Eastern lands? The same one the government blacklisted for being a walking anomaly and a threat to the entire power structure? You found one of his works?!"
"Yup, that guy," I said, casually. Of course he'd be famous—I wouldn't be surprised if even cats flinched at hearing his name.
"You have to get that book. No matter what—it could be the key to everything!" Arsen was practically glowing. "We could use the clone as bait and still follow through with the original plan!"
He was way too happy. Syllia, on the other hand, just looked confused.
"Don't expect me to know who that is," she said with a shrug. "But if it's useful, it's useful."
Arsen was brimming with hope now, and Syllia looked cautiously optimistic too... right up until I broke the bad news.
"Fifty silver coins."
Silence. Arsen, who had been standing, slowly sat back down like his soul had just walked out the door. Syllia—judging by her expression—clearly understood the weight of what I'd just said. She probably knew the economy here well enough to do the math.
"Fifty silver a month," I continued. "And it's prepaid. That's why I'm a month behind on rent, which is double that—one gold coin. And now I've got to pay for last month and this upcoming one... all by the end of the week. So yeah, that book? Out of reach unless we pull off a miracle."
everybodies mood was down untill i told them the great news which i was thinking of since ryan advertises thoses vilas to me.
"There's something called drop spells—and yeah, they're expensive. But we could possibly make them."
Arsen's face twisted like he'd just swallowed a rotten lemon.
"Every true mage knows those are tools for the weak-minded. Feeble cowards, ignorants, and dumbbones. They have no place in the hands of real scholars."
"Look, I respect your opinion," I said, trying not to roll my eyes. "But not every scholar agrees with that. So let me finish."
He looked genuinely offended. I guess being unorthodox really grinds his gears. But he'll get over it.
"Anyway—at that shop, there was another book. This one wasn't written by Jacobs himself, but by one of his disciples. It breaks down the theory and crafting of drop spells. Long story short, if—and that's a big if—things go right… which they probably won't—not jinxing it, just being real—we could end up filthy rich, enemies of the world government like you guys wanted, and maybe even save thousands of otherwise doomed humans."
Syllia looked pleased and remarked with a sly grin,"Great. Gold coins to splurge on while fighting for justice—just my kind of lifestyle."
A demon talking about justice? Yep. Definitely a cursed fantasy world where the humans are the villains. Why… why was I here?
As for Arsen, he still looked bitter about the drop spells. The guy clearly doesn't get innovation. But hey, I get it. While others study spells the hard way, you just get them handed to you. Like AI—free answers, no real learning. Downsides? Sure. Probably going to dumb down society a few decades from now. But for now? Practical.
"Alright. Since we're all in agreement, we'll draft our plan tomorrow at noon—after I'm back from tutoring those little monsters. Until then, I'll be in the office studying and refining spells. Don't bother me. Just use the time to think about your own contributions."
They nodded without complaint and started chatting amongst themselves. Oddly enough, they were getting along fine. A vampire and a demon, bonding. Weird world.
I made my way to the office, ready for what lay ahead—spells. Time to study—my strong suit—craft, and do what the others can't:
Innovate.