All fish in the sea. Yet, you come across another typical isekai novel. So yeah, no biggie. Enjoy reading :)

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'Damn hell, where am I?'

It was what Clay wanted to say but couldn't do so as he squinted his tired eyes.

Clay struggled to lift his body, realizing he was on a comfortable bed. He felt strange. He remembers sleeping on his desk last night. Someone must have moved him.

"Lights...," he murmured, but upon regaining his eyes, he knew something was wrong. "What the—"

It was dim, but his once-calloused hands were now slender, fair as his limbs appeared way too skinny as the rest of his now youthful body. What covered him were fabrics of linen and silk embroidered with delicate patterns.

And his surroundings—the hazy, lightless room, the array of ashwood furniture around, the paintings with curving borders and candelabras around the patterned walls, and the windows on thick, intricate drapery—all remind him of the past, back to old times when feudalism, crusades, and decapitation were a thing—the Medieval Period.

'Just... no way...'

Clay tried to pinch himself, confused if he was having a crazy dream or a delusion. But to call it a fantasy or not, it was way too vivid, and the sensations were, too. Clay could only think of one conclusion.

'I... transmigrated?'

A sense of disorientation washed over Clay. But before he could think of anything, a glint of light passed on his sight.

Clay noticed it came from a cheval mirror a few steps from his bed. He did not hesitate to stand and hobble to face it, hoping he could get a clue or two by looking at his new self.

Clay sighed as he reluctantly braced himself. Despite the dark surrounding, an unmistakable and familiar figure emerged in the reflection.

"Ho," he uttered, flabbergasted. "Holy son of a... this is—"

Clay held himself from swearing more as he focused on the details of the figure that appeared.

A young man with glaring crimson eyes—akin to a snake's when upon a prey—that paired well with the faintly chiseled jaws and the neck-long black hair seemingly endowed with utmost care.

'Ha, just no way...' Furiously surprised, Clay held himself from laughing at the sight. 'Is this Horus Durkton? The rotten minor villain in the fantasy novel I read last night?'

Clay couldn't be mistaken. The details given were spot on, defining the damn character clear as day.

Clay next focused on the faint, vertical scar on his right eye—a mark left by the novel's hero after a duel the villain utterly lost. This detail indicates one thing: the novel's timeframe has already started.

These realizations had left Clay bothered, putting him in an awkward position on how he would plan to live, at least from now. After all, he had no idea if he would live as Horus for a short time—or god knows—for the rest of his life. Clay instead recollected Horus as a novel's character.

[ Horus Durkton ]

Known as a young, elitist aristocrat, Horus was the second son of the respected Count Glennard Durkton, the head of the second-largest territory in the kingdom.

Horus' upbringing was characterized by indulgence and caprice, with his every whim catered to at a moment's notice.

Showing off his nobility and wealth, throwing tantrums at the slightest inconveniences, and beating people he didn't like—he did all such tyranny in an endless routine, and the main character was one of its victims.

Clay couldn't even recall anything about Horus without frowning in dismay. Given the suspected timeframe of the novel, he wouldn't be surprised if the hero had already set his sights on taking Horus' head down.

'I can't let that happen now... can I?'

Sweat dribbled on his face as Clay remembered the novel's premise for such evil characters is ruthless—they either die from the hero's grasp or face judgment akin to torture.

The novel, after all, was the kind of heroic fantasy story that kept readers hooked on the premise of the hero's eventual revenge against the villains.

'Well, in the meantime, I'll just sort out things on my own—but, ha... this is too bothersome. I want to go back...'

As he let out a long sigh, a knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Young master Hok, a pleasant morning," a man voiced, mild and respectful, making Clay think this man was probably the butler or staff of this fancy place.

'Ah, hell.'

The butler continues, "The Count sends his regards to the young master. And I would like to ask if you would care to join the family for breakfast. You asked yesterday to say bye to your older brother Luther since he will be out for a while."

Several names rang familiar to Clay.

First was Count Glennard Durkton—Horus' father and the current head of the Durkton territory. Luther was Horus' older brother, the Count's respected eldest son, and a wise prodigal knight recognized by the kingdom. And if his memory serves Clay right, the butler's name should be Gil, the head butler of the Durkton estate.

Thinking of a plausible, Horus-like response, he utters, "I don't feel well. Leave me be."

"But, dear sire"—the butler clears his throat awkwardly—"was it been a week or so? Are you feeling unwell? Shall I summon the alchemist? You knew the ceremony is by 'morrow, are you not?"

'Hmm? The ceremony tomorrow?' pondered Clay, and by that instant, his mind raced. 'Wait, the Sword Ceremony? Don't tell me—'

The Sword Ceremony was the highlight of the novel's third chapter. It was the day the hero finally lashed his full strength after years of restraint—and the first to witness that was Horus, the first villain in line.

'Just what a damn good time to be here. Transmigrating right in the middle of the plot—right before the day of my death? This has to be a stupid joke.''

This realization had hit him like a truck, enough to make his heart skip hundreds of beats.

"I d-don't want any," replies Clay, trying to sound nonchalant as he tries to calm himself. "I am fine."

It took a moment before Butler Gil replied.

"I understand... but please consider talking to your father soon. The Count himself has been dead-worried of you. Do rest well."

The butler's footsteps shortly faded into silence, and not even a wink of a moment to breathe, another knock came.

"Young master, s-something for you," came from a lady timidly.

"Enter."

A maid came in, head lowered, her arm full of fine linen clothes. Her other hand held a mana-powered lamp, gleaming faint blue light in the dim room. She then gently places them on a table by the bed.

Clay, still perturbed by the fact that the next day was the day of his judgment, crosses his arms, noticing the maid nervously looking at him.

"Young m-master, is there a problem?"

Ignoring the maid's concern, Clay utters, "Open the windows... too dark."

The maid tensed but soon heeded and started to unfurl the curtains. With the now nicely lit room, she bowed, her pale-blonde hair coiling down the floor.

Clay stood, his tired eyes roaming around the opulent room.

It was indeed what he had imagined. From the marble floor and patterned carpets to the high ceiling, all lavish and seemingly expensive.

'Their wealth must be no joke.'

Clay paced and stopped at a tall, ash wood bookshelf that caught his attention. He did not hesitate to take and flip open a book.

"Any more, s-sir?" the maid queried, observing her tired-looking young master giving attention to the bookshelves that seemed rather unusual.

"Cold water, please."

"A-absolutely," quickly replied the maid as she exited.

Upon reading a few pages of some books, Clay's face scrunched up as it was apparent that he could not read—maybe because he was now in a different world.

'Just how great. My luck is full-time testing me, huh?'

Clay did not expect this. He was thinking of reading to gather clues to help him plot his moves. But it was futile.

'How bothersome. I will have to learn it soon—if I manage to survive tomorrow, that is.'

Clay closed the book and flopped on the bed, letting his eyes close for the moment. For now, he had to think of something for the ceremony tomorrow. He knew damn well he had to.

[ The Sword Ceremony ]

Held annually by the Durktons, the Sword Ceremony intends to rally talents in the sword from all households across the kingdom. Organized duels, the knighthood examination, and the display of sword magic and artistry—all attract men and youth into participation, hoping to earn prestige and honor to put into their family names.

Ultimately, this event was, after all, the first appearance of the youngest swordmaster to exist—Axel Hillkind—the novel's main character.

The hero intended to partake in the event for a reason. Certainly not to gain a title nor to flaunt his newfound power, but to shed blood as a warning to all existences that made him and his family suffer.

Clay's hair stood on end while recalling how it had happened in a single day.

'Ha... just fuck me.'