The first thing Arthur noticed was the smell.
Blood.
Not a little of it, either.
The carriage reeked of it.
Arthur kept his eyes closed.
Wood creaked beneath him.
Wheels rattled over an uneven road.
Somewhere ahead, a horse snorted nervously.
There was another sound.
Breathing.
Close.
Arthur didn’t move.
His mind worked through the possibilities.
Kidnapping was unlikely.
The carriage was too poorly guarded.
Hospital was possible, but the smell was wrong.
An accident—
No.
There was a metallic taste in the air, and something wet had dried against his cheek.
He opened his eyes.
A boy was sitting opposite him.
At least, he had been sitting.
His head leaned against the wall, chin pressed against his chest.
A dark stain spread from his throat down the front of his black uniform.
Arthur stared at him.
Then he looked down at himself.
Blood covered his shirt.
For a few seconds, he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
His hands were unfamiliar.
Slim fingers.
Smooth knuckles.
No scar across his right thumb.
Arthur turned his palm over.
He knew those scars.
He had spent years looking at his own hands while signing contracts, shaking hands with investors and typing reports at three in the morning.
These weren’t his.
His breathing changed.
He touched his face.
Younger skin.
No stubble.
No familiar roughness around the jaw.
He sat upright too quickly.
Pain shot through his ribs.
Arthur sucked in a breath and pressed a hand against his side.
“Easy.”
The voice was young.
He froze.
That voice had come from him.
Arthur looked toward the carriage window.
His reflection stared back.
A stranger.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
Sharp features.
Nineteen, perhaps.
He didn’t know the face.
But somewhere inside his mind, something recognized the name that followed.
Arthur Vale.
The memory came like a photograph dropped into water.
A name.
A ruined noble family.
A school.
Gallows Edge.
Then nothing.
Arthur closed his eyes.
His last clear memory was different.
Rain had been hammering against the windows of a forty-second-floor office.
A man across the table had been shouting.
Arthur had been smiling.
There had been a contract between them.
Three pages.
The man had read the first two carefully.
He hadn’t noticed the fourth paragraph on the third.
Arthur remembered watching his expression change when he finally understood.
Then he’d left the building.
A horn.
Headlights.
A violent impact.
Glass.
Darkness.
Arthur opened his eyes again.
The carriage was still moving.
He stared at his unfamiliar hands.
He didn’t cry.
He wasn’t sure whether that was because he was calm or because his mind hadn’t caught up yet.
His phone.
He reached into his pocket without thinking.
Nothing.
He checked again.
Nothing.
A ridiculous disappointment settled in his chest.
He almost laughed.
Then he remembered his apartment.
The coffee mug beside his desk.
The half-finished report.
The old coat hanging behind the door.
Things that had been completely ordinary yesterday.
They were suddenly impossible.
Arthur lowered his hand.
He had no idea if his old body had survived.
Probably not.
The thought sat heavily inside him.
He looked at the dead boy.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know why he said it.
Maybe because there was nobody else to say it to.
The carriage hit a pothole.
The corpse slid sideways.
Arthur caught it before the head struck the floor.
His fingers brushed the boy’s cold cheek.
Definitely dead.
Arthur pushed the body back against the wall.
Then he noticed something.
A black arrow was sticking through the carriage wall.
He stared at it.
Another arrow struck.
Thunk.
The wooden panel beside his head splintered.
Arthur dropped to the floor.
A third arrow tore through the ceiling.
Someone shouted outside.
“Stop the carriage!”
Arthur’s stomach tightened.
The driver shouted back.
He couldn’t hear the words.
The horses suddenly sped up.
The carriage lurched.
Arthur grabbed the edge of the seat.
His first instinct was to panic.
His second was to count.
One voice behind them.
Two on the left.
Someone farther ahead.
He couldn’t be certain, but the attackers weren’t random bandits.
They were positioned too well.
Arthur looked around the carriage.
No firearm.
No useful armor.
One dead boy.
One unfamiliar body.
A dagger.
He found the dagger inside the corpse’s coat.
It was small, but sharp.
Arthur tested the grip.
His hand trembled.
He hated that.
Not because he was frightened.
Because his body was frightened before his mind had decided whether fear was appropriate.
He took a slow breath.
The shaking eased.
The carriage door opened.
A masked man climbed inside.
He carried a sword.
The two men looked at each other.
The assassin’s eyes widened.
“You’re alive?”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately.
Interesting.
The man knew this body.
Arthur raised the dagger.
“Who are you?”
The assassin’s expression hardened.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The assassin swung.
Arthur raised the dagger.
The impact nearly tore it from his hand.
Pain shot through his wrist.
He stumbled.
The second strike came faster.
Arthur ducked.
The sword cut through his hair.
He felt the blade graze his scalp.
Too slow.
The thought was immediate.
His old body had been stronger.
This one wasn’t.
The assassin kicked him.
Arthur slammed against the carriage wall.
His vision blurred.
The man approached.
“Your family won’t save you this time.”
Arthur’s eyes moved.
The man’s sword.
His feet.
The lantern hanging overhead.
The curtain rope.
The corpse.
The door.
He didn’t need to beat him.
He only needed to change the situation.
The assassin raised his sword.
Arthur grabbed the corpse.
He shoved it forward.
The assassin recoiled instinctively.
Arthur kicked the hanging lantern.
It swung hard and struck the man’s temple.
The assassin staggered.
Arthur grabbed the curtain rope and pulled.
The heavy curtain dropped across the man’s face.
For half a second, the man disappeared behind it.
Arthur drove his shoulder into him.
The carriage door was open.
The assassin went through it.
Arthur grabbed the doorframe before following him.
He heard a scream beneath the wheels.
Then nothing.
Arthur stayed there, breathing hard.
His arm hurt.
His ribs hurt.
His wrist hurt.
He looked down.
Blood was running from a cut along his upper arm.
He hadn’t noticed it happening.
Arthur climbed back inside.
The carriage continued forward.
He waited.
No one else entered.
He wasn’t sure whether that was good news.
He searched the dead boy’s clothes.
A silver badge.
Several coins.
A sealed vial.
And a folded letter.
Arthur opened it.
There was only one sentence.
Arthur Vale will not reach Gallows Edge.
He read it twice.
Then a third time.
Someone had planned this.
The dead boy.
The assassin.
The carriage.
All of it.
Arthur folded the letter carefully.
His mind was already moving ahead.
He needed information.
Food.
Money.
A safe place.
And answers about whoever this body belonged to.
A faint blue light appeared in front of him.
Arthur stopped.
Words formed in the air.
[Host Stabilization Complete.]
[Identity Confirmed.]
Name: Arthur Vale
Age: 19
Status: Disgraced Noble
Destination: Gallows Edge Academy
Arthur stared.
He waved a hand through the display.
His fingers passed through it.
“Hologram?”
No response.
Another line appeared.
[Unique Archetype Detected.]
[THE PEERLESS GENTLEMAN]
Resonance: 3%
Arthur waited.
Nothing happened.
“That’s all?”
The display vanished.
Arthur frowned.
Of all the impossible things that had happened today, the least helpful was apparently the magical interface.
Something struck the roof.
Arthur’s head snapped upward.
Another impact.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
He picked up the sword the assassin had dropped.
The weight nearly pulled his arm down.
Then the roof split open.
A black limb punched through.
Arthur jumped from the carriage.
He landed on the road and immediately stumbled.
Pain shot through his ankle.
He looked back.
Something crawled through the hole in the carriage.
It was shaped vaguely like a person.
That was the only reassuring thing about it.
Its arms were too long.
Its skin looked like wet ash.
Three pale eyes opened across its face.
Arthur took a step backward.
The creature climbed down.
It sniffed the air.
Then it looked directly at him.
Arthur tightened his grip on the sword.
The creature didn’t attack.
Instead, it tilted its head.
Its eyes moved over Arthur’s face.
For one strange moment, Arthur thought he saw recognition.
The creature lowered its head.
A bow.
Very slight.
Almost respectful.
Arthur blinked.
The creature straightened.
Its mouth opened.
Rows of teeth unfolded.
“Right,” Arthur whispered.
It lunged.
Arthur ran.
He didn’t feel ashamed of it.
Not yet.
The creature was faster.
Its claws struck the ground behind him.
Arthur glanced back and nearly tripped over a root.
He caught himself.
The creature closed the distance.
Arthur saw the road ahead.
The damaged carriage.
The horses.
The broken wheel.
He remembered how the creature had landed.
Its right leg dragged when it turned.
Arthur changed direction sharply.
The creature followed.
Its injured leg slipped.
Not enough.
But enough to give Arthur an idea.
He sprinted toward the carriage.
The creature chased him.
Arthur grabbed the loose wheel.
It was heavier than he expected.
He pulled anyway.
The wheel rolled across the road.
The creature stepped around it.
Arthur had expected that.
He moved closer.
The creature swung.
Arthur ducked.
The claw passed over his head.
He stepped behind it.
The damaged leg dragged.
Arthur kicked it.
The creature stumbled.
Arthur raised the sword.
He hesitated.
One heartbeat.
That was enough.
The creature turned.
Its claw caught his shoulder.
Arthur screamed.
The sword nearly fell from his hand.
He forced himself forward instead of retreating.
The creature opened its mouth.
Arthur drove the sword upward.
The blade disappeared beneath its jaw.
The creature screamed.
Black fluid sprayed across Arthur’s chest.
He fell backward.
The creature collapsed.
Arthur remained on the ground.
For several seconds, he couldn’t move.
He stared at the sky.
Clouds passed slowly overhead.
His chest rose and fell.
He laughed once.
It wasn’t amusement.
It was exhaustion.
“First day.”
He covered his eyes with one hand.
“What a terrible first day.”
A blue panel appeared.
[Threat Eliminated.]
[Conduct Evaluation.]
Composure: 71%
Dignity: 76%
Restraint: 82%
Current Conduct: 77%
[Optimization unavailable.]
Arthur read it carefully.
“Conduct.”
He remembered the archetype.
The Peerless Gentleman.
He looked down at his blood-covered clothes.
Something about the numbers bothered him.
Not the score.
The fact that the system was judging him.
Arthur had spent his entire previous life judging other people’s decisions.
Now something else was doing the same to him.
He wasn’t sure he liked the arrangement.
The panel vanished.
Then the bell rang.
Arthur looked up.
Beyond the forest, an enormous black fortress rose above the clouds.
Its towers were connected by bridges that seemed to hang in empty space.
Gallows Edge Academy.
A school.
Apparently.
Arthur couldn’t imagine what kind of school needed walls that large.
The bell rang again.
This time, the sound was deeper.
The forest went quiet.
Arthur looked toward the fortress.
For a moment, every instinct in his body told him to turn around.
He ignored it.
He picked up the fallen sword.
Then he stopped.
His eyes returned to the dead creature.
The strange bow.
The recognition.
The golden flicker he had almost imagined—
Arthur frowned.
Something appeared in front of him.
Not blue.
Gold.
The letters were unfamiliar.
Ancient.
Only one line remained long enough for him to read it.
[THE COURT REMEMBERS.]
Then it disappeared.
Arthur stood completely still.
The normal blue interface returned.
No explanation.
No warning.
Nothing.
He looked toward the fortress again.
Someone wanted Arthur Vale dead.
He had inherited a ruined reputation, an unfamiliar body and a magical ability he didn’t understand.
And apparently, something ancient knew his name.
Arthur tightened his grip on the sword.
He started walking.
He wasn’t brave.
Not particularly.
He was simply out of alternatives.
After a few steps, he stopped and looked down at his bloodstained clothes.
A tired breath escaped him.
“I really should have packed a spare.”
Then he continued toward Gallows Edge.
Far beneath the floating fortress, behind doors that had not opened for hundreds of years, a bell moved by itself.
It struck once.
Then stopped.
Something in the darkness whispered a name.
Not Arthur Vale.
A much older one.