Pain...
It was the first thing I felt.
A dull, pounding ache throbbed in my temples as though someone had split my skull with a hammer. My eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead, while my body sank against something... soft. Softer than the cold wooden desk I was certain I had collapsed onto the night before.
My head spun with confusion. I clearly remembered last night — the glowing lamplight, the scratch of my pen against paper as I scribbled my thoughts, and the desperate obsession that drove me to consume an entire seven-volume novel in a single sitting. Every line, every plot twist, every scrap of world-building had been burned into my mind. I remembered sighing in satisfaction as I reached the final page before exhaustion pulled me under.
But this sensation — the softness beneath me, almost like a mattress — didn't fit.
Curiosity gnawed at me. I forced my eyes open, only to be greeted by the warm embrace of sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. Golden rays danced across an unfamiliar ceiling. I blinked, sat up slowly, and found myself surrounded by luxury I had never once known in my life.
My old apartment flashed in my mind: one cramped room with peeling wallpaper, a single squeaky bed, and a tiny fridge containing little more than leftover rice. That was my reality. This... this was a dream.
The room stretched wide, easily the size of a football field. Its marble walls gleamed like polished ivory. The floor shone beneath a velvet carpet threaded with gold. But what seized my attention most was the chandelier — an ornate, crystalline masterpiece dripping with brilliance. Its prisms caught the sunlight and scattered it into rainbows across the chamber.
"...Marble," I whispered to myself, my hand brushing against the cold, smooth wall.
That was when I froze.
The voice that slipped from my mouth wasn't mine. It wasn't the voice of Kim Hanwoo, an ordinary twenty-year-old university dropout, failed writer, and night owl otaku.
This voice was smooth. Elegant. Refined. A graceful tone that carried the weight of nobility.
Before I could unravel the horror clawing at my thoughts, the door creaked open.
An elderly man entered, his back straight, his attire pristine. Black tailcoat, white gloves, polished shoes that clicked against the marble floor — he was the very image of a butler from the pages of the very novels I adored.
"Oh... Young Master, you're awake," he said, surprise flickering in his onyx eyes.
Young Master?
I blinked, dumbfounded. "Oh... You mean me?" I asked, pointing to my chest.
"Of course," he replied with a bow, as though the very idea of addressing anyone else was absurd. "Are you well, Young Master? You seemed... rather drunk last night." His words carried both concern and subtle hesitation, as though gauging how I might react.
Drunk? That's impossible. I don't even drink.
But suspicion clawed at my gut. Drunk or not, I needed answers. I had a thousand questions clawing at my throat, but only one left my lips.
"What's my name?"
The butler stiffened. His hand froze mid-motion while adjusting his tie. For a moment, silence suffocated the room. Then, with composed calm, he finally answered.
"Young Master... your name is Cael Ardent."
My heart skipped a beat. My vision blurred. My mind screamed in disbelief.
Cael Ardent.
That name — I knew it well. Too well. A shiver ran down my spine. It couldn't be. But the chandelier, the marble, the grandeur of the room — it all matched.
Could it be... that I had woken up in the body of Cael Ardent?
The disposable side character from The Blade of Aether?
The worthless third son of Duke Reginald Ardent? The one mocked and reviled, dubbed the Trash of House Ardent?
I swallowed hard. This couldn't be real. And yet, everything around me screamed otherwise.
I needed time to process. My thoughts spun like storm clouds.
"Cael Ardent..." The name echoed in my mind like a curse.
The ornate chandelier. The marble walls. The sheer size of the chamber. Everything made sense now.
I was no longer Kim Hanwoo. I was in the body of Cael Ardent — a character I knew all too well—a character who amounted to nothing in the Blade of Aether.
Huff... This was troublesome.
Not only did I wake up as Cael, but now I also had to act like him. I clenched my fists. The biggest danger wasn't the protagonist, Han Jinho. It was Cedric.
I glanced at the butler, memorizing every detail of his appearance. My memories from the novel resurfaced — I had read those passages countless times.
[Not a moment had passed since Han Jinho entered the Ardent Manor... and soon enough, he made eye contact with the butler of the third young master. The butler wore a simple attire, white hair streaked with black, his face weathered but sharp. He carried himself like a man used to walking the thin line between servitude and authority. His onyx eyes often glowed with a faint murderous intent. A silent predator disguised in formal wear.]
I swallowed. Cedric.
This is bad. The novel described him as someone who could read through lies and intentions like they were open books. If I slipped even once, if I acted out of character, Cedric would notice — and then I could kiss my life goodbye.
I straightened my back and forced composure. First things first... I had to maintain the facade.
"Cedric."
"Yes, Young Master," he answered immediately, bowing his head with a controlled grace.
"I'll get ready. You may take your leave." I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture, mimicking the arrogance of the original Cael. It wasn't difficult; Cael had always treated others like dirt beneath his boots.
"Of course, Young Master." Cedric bowed deeply before stepping out of the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, I released the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Huff... That was close."
I wandered into the bathroom. The place was lavish, its mirror tall enough to reflect my entire body. When I finally stood before it, my reflection nearly stunned me into silence.
White hair — silken, soft, falling like freshly fallen snow. Crimson eyes that glistened like rubies. Skin pale and unblemished, features sculpted with elegance.
Cael Ardent was beautiful. Ethereal, even. A man whose beauty could rival the angels sung about in myths. If not for his vile personality, he would've been adored.
I trailed my fingers along the edges of the mirror, half in awe, half in disbelief.
"...So this is me now."
I turned on the faucet. Hot water gushed into the marble tub, steam rising to cloak the room. I sank into the warmth, letting the heat soothe my pounding headache. But my thoughts refused to quiet.
The novel. The Blade of Aether.
Han Jinho, the protagonist — a Korean high schooler transported into this world, who rose through hardship to become a beacon of hope. A Legendary Hero, blessed by gods and adored by nations. He built bonds, earned respect, fought wars, and turned despair into triumph.
And then there was Cael Ardent.
The third son of Duke Reginald Ardent. A wastrel. A drunkard. A disgrace to his family name. He squandered wealth, tarnished reputation, and left nothing behind but shame.
In seven volumes of brilliance, sacrifice, and character development, Cael existed for only a moment. His humiliation at the hands of Han Jinho in volume one was his first and last appearance. From then on, he was irrelevant. Forgotten. A background character whose existence mattered so little, the author erased him from the narrative.
Huff. Perhaps it was better that way. A short, miserable existence, quickly discarded.
Still, I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Out of all characters... why him?"
But whether I liked it or not, I was Cael Ardent now. His life was mine.
And his fate... was mine to alter.
Wrapped in a robe, I stepped out of the bath and approached the closet. When I opened its polished mahogany doors, my jaw nearly dropped.
Every outfit inside glittered with ostentation. Gold embroidery, velvet fabrics, gemstone buttons — clothes meant to parade one's wealth, not to live in.
"What the actual hell... these look like runway costumes," I muttered.
I had never been one for fashion. Simplicity suited me best. A plain shirt, comfortable trousers — that was enough. But Cael's closet was a shrine to vanity.
I sighed. "I'll need to fix this."
I summoned a servant to fetch the designer. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and a man entered. He clutched a sketchbook to his chest, his steps nervous, his eyes darting like a trapped rabbit.
"You called for me, Young Master," he said with a bow. His name was Orion.
"Yes," I replied casually, drying my hair with a towel.
"What is it that Young Master wishes for?"
I gestured at the closet. "These outfits are too fancy. I want simpler attire. Not something that looks like I'm attending a royal coronation."
I scribbled quickly on a notepad, sketching crude outlines of shirts, trousers, and cloaks I'd prefer. Simple but functional. Clothes I could breathe in. Clothes I could fight in if necessary.
Orion glanced at the paper, his hands trembling slightly. "O-of course, Young Master. It will take some time to prepare your new wardrobe. For now, I'm afraid you'll have to wear what you already have." His voice quivered, betraying fear.
I tilted my head. Right... of course. Cael Ardent was infamous for tantrums. For scolding and berating servants when things didn't go his way. Orion must've been expecting me to lash out.
Instead, I smiled. "That's fine. Take your time."
"...Eh?" Orion froze, eyes widening. For a moment, he simply gawked, stunned by the unexpected softness in my expression. My lips curved upward, not with arrogance, but warmth.
To Orion, it was otherworldly. Ethereal. The trash of House Ardent had never smiled like that.
"Young Master..." he whispered under his breath, "...is truly handsome. The goddess of beauty herself must have blessed you."
I blinked. "Is something wrong?"
"N-no!" Orion flinched, fumbling his words. "Everything is fine!"
I handed him the list. "Good. Then you may take your leave."
Orion bowed so fast I thought he'd snap his back. "Yes, Young Master!" He scurried away, still flustered.
I slipped into one of the flamboyant outfits. The fabric clung uncomfortably, the golden trim flashy beyond reason. I sighed, catching my reflection in the mirror.
"...Well, at least I look handsome."
With that, I left my chambers and began exploring the manor.
The Ardent Manor was a palace of decadence.
Vast wings stretched in opposite directions — the East Wing, home to the elder brothers and the Duke's offices, and the West Wing, where the third young master resided. My footsteps echoed through the empty hallways, where portraits of ancestors stared down from gilded frames.
One painting stopped me in my tracks.
A woman with cascading white hair and crimson eyes, regal and breathtaking. Her beauty rivaled legends. Her gaze, though only captured in paint, seemed to pierce my very soul.
"Cael's mother..." I murmured. The novel had only described her appearance briefly, but seeing it in person — even as a portrait — left me awestruck.
My thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps. A young butler, barely in his twenties, rushed toward me. His breath came in gasps, his chest heaving as though he had sprinted the entire way.
"Young Master!"
"What is it?"
"The Duke... the Duke wishes to see you," the boy panted, bowing slightly.
My heart stilled.
The Duke.
Reginald Ardent. The ruthless warlord. The iron fist of the West. A man feared by enemies and respected by allies.
Why... would he summon me?
In the novel, the Duke had shown little affection for Cael. He favored Gabriel, the eldest, and Raymond, the second-born. Cael was tolerated at best, neglected at worst. Even after his humiliation in the first volume, his father had not so much as raised an eyebrow in pity.
"Where is Father?" I asked without thinking.
The young butler blinked, startled. Perhaps it was because Cael had never referred to the Duke as Father.
"In his study, Young Master."
"Thank you," I said with a faint smile.
The butler's eyes widened slightly before he bowed again, his cheeks faintly red. "Y-you're welcome, Young Master." Then he rushed off, still flustered.
I made my way to the study.
The room was enormous, its walls lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Scrolls and tomes lay neatly arranged, maps rolled and tied with silk. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink.
And there, seated behind a massive oak desk, was Duke Reginald Ardent.
His presence was suffocating. Broad shoulders wrapped in military attire, his expression carved in stone, his gaze cold and sharp as steel. This was a man who had waged wars, conquered lands, and ruled with absolute authority.
I sat opposite him, fighting the tremor in my hands.
"Do you know why I've called you here?" His voice was deep, steady, and commanding.
I shook my head. "I don't know, Father." My voice cracked despite my efforts.
The Duke's eyes narrowed. Silence hung heavy.
Finally, he leaned forward. "I am giving you a second chance. A chance to prove your worth to this family."
My blood ran cold.
Second chance?
Impossible. This never happened in the novel.
Cael Ardent was never given a second chance. He was a disgrace, tolerated until forgotten.
"You will represent House Ardent at the Noble Assembly."
I froze.
"The... Noble Assembly?"
"In two weeks," the Duke continued, voice steady. "The Evernight Court will host it. You will attend in our name."
My thoughts screamed.
The Noble Assembly — a grand gathering of noble families, where alliances were forged, rivalries sparked, and reputations tested. In the novel, Cael was never invited. Gabriel had always been the one chosen to represent the Ardents.
This was wrong. This was new.
"Do you understand?" the Duke asked, his gaze piercing me.
"Yes, Father." My voice came out weak, my head bowing low.
"Good. You may leave."
I stood, bowed, and exited as quickly as I could without appearing disrespectful.
Back in my chambers, I collapsed onto the bed, my mind a storm of panic.
"Hah... Think, Hanwoo. Think rationally."
I forced myself to list my options:
Stay away from the protagonist. At all costs. Gather information about the nobles attending the Assembly. I already knew them from the novel, but pretending not to would look suspicious. Gain the trust of the major noble families. Easier said than done — Cael's reputation was already a lost cause. Avoid unnecessary attention. Simple enough. Let Han Jinho handle the wars. I had no intention of interfering with the main storyline.
I groaned. "This is going to be troublesome."
I needed air. Leaving my room, I spotted Cedric standing nearby.
"Cedric, I'll be going out for a while."
"Of course, Young Master." He straightened. "Shall I accompany you?"
"That won't be necessary." I offered him a warm smile.
For a brief second, I swore I saw something flicker in Cedric's eyes — a crack in his emotionless mask. But he said nothing.
I stepped out of the manor and into the village.
The air outside was fresher, though the weight of gazes quickly pressed down on me. Villagers stole glances, whispered behind cupped hands. When my eyes met theirs, they turned away hurriedly, pretending to be busy themselves.
"...I'm not used to attention," I muttered. "But I suppose I'll survive."
My steps led me to a tavern at the heart of the village — a place known equally for its fine teas and its library of novels and poetry.
The moment I entered, silence fell.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Isn't that Cael Ardent?"
"It is..."
"I hope he doesn't get drunk and break something again."
"Shh! He'll hear you."
"So what if he does? It's the truth."
"Still, you shouldn't gossip about him. Everyone knows he's short-tempered."
I sighed. I heard every single word.
Ignoring them, I approached the counter where the tavern owner — a rotund man with rosy cheeks and a noble-like posture — stood polishing a glass.
"Bloated sausage," I muttered under my breath. His height barely reached my waist, his body round as a pig. Not that I intended to body shame him, but the resemblance was uncanny.
"Hey, you," I called. "I want a room until lunch. Bring me one of your best novels and a cup of chamomile tea." I tossed him a gold coin.
The man — Sebastian — caught it deftly and bowed. "At once, Young Master."
Keys jingled as he unlocked a room upstairs. I accepted them, thanked him curtly, and retreated.
A few minutes later, Sebastian entered with steaming tea and a thick tome.
"Here you go, Young Master."
"Thank you." I sipped the tea, savoring the warm, floral taste. "Refreshing."
"I'm glad it pleases you," Sebastian said, bowing before leaving.
The novel he brought was titled Flames Beneath the Sun. I read up to chapter three before growing restless. Closing the book, I decided to check out.
"The novel was excellent," I told Sebastian, returning the key. "I'll come back to continue it another time."
"You are always welcome here, Young Master. The doors will remain open for you," he replied with a deep bow.
Back in the streets, my hands tucked into my pockets, I wandered. The villagers' stares followed me, though I ignored them.
At the center of the village, I stopped before a massive statue.
A man stood immortalized in marble — tall, proud, his staff raised high as though commanding the skies themselves.
Darius Ardent.
The Legendary Hero. The family's ancestor. A mage-warrior whose battles were immortalized in song, whose name alone inspired awe across the continent. Every generation of Ardents strove to follow in his footsteps.
Every generation... except Cael.
"...Talk about pressure."
The sun hung low in the sky. I sighed and turned back toward the manor. Lunch awaited.
[At the Ardent Manor]
The servants lined the halls, bowing as I entered. Their synchronized movements, the way they lowered their heads in unison, sent shivers down my spine.
I forced a polite nod, though unease coiled in my stomach.
"...This is awkward. I'm not used to people bowing to me."
I headed over to the dining hall, where I saw the Duke along with Gabriel and Raymond Ardent — the older brothers of Cael Ardent. Their presence alone was enough to make the air heavy.
Taking a quiet breath, I moved forward and chose a seat at the long, polished table. The moment I sat down, I could feel it — the sharp, piercing gazes from Gabriel and Raymond. Their eyes were filled with barely concealed disgust, as if my very existence soured the morning meal. I remembered from the novel how much they had despised Cael; it was no surprise they looked at me now as though I were a stain on their perfect little world.
I decided to ignore them. Reaching out with my fork, I speared a sausage and brought it to my mouth. The savory flavor burst across my tongue, warm and seasoned to perfection.
'Mm... this is so juicy,' I thought, savoring it. 'Maybe... living as Cael isn't too bad.'
Unconsciously, the corners of my lips curled into a small smile. But that smile only deepened the thick silence hanging over the table. No one spoke. The scrape of silverware against plates was the only sound.
The longer it dragged on, the more suffocating it became. My nerves twitched, and I finally decided to break it.
"Father," I said carefully, placing down my fork. "What day is it today?"
The Duke looked up from his meal. His stern eyes, cool and unreadable, fixed on me. For a moment, he said nothing, as though weighing the importance of such a trivial question.
Finally, he spoke. "Hm... It is the first of Yule."
"A...Ah, I see. Thank you," I murmured, bowing slightly.
So, today was the first of Yule. No wonder I felt like something was nagging at the back of my mind. If memory served me right, in about two weeks, Cael would provoke a higher-rank knight with his sharp tongue, only to be mercilessly beaten in front of an audience. All because the knight couldn't tolerate a single insult.
Truly befitting of the title 'Trash of House Ardent.'
But this time... this time, if I played my cards right, maybe I could avoid that humiliation. If I managed to build some rapport with that knight beforehand, perhaps he wouldn't see me as easy prey. Which meant, whether I liked it or not, the capital was my best option.
I turned to my father, the Duke, who was calmly slicing into his meal with that same unshakable dignity that never seemed to waver.
"Father," I began, keeping my voice steady, "I've thought about what you said this morning."
The Duke's knife paused briefly over his plate, though his expression betrayed nothing. "Oh? You have?" His tone carried curiosity, but not warmth.
"Yes. And as per your command, I have decided to attend the Noble Assembly as the representative of House Ardent." I straightened in my chair, speaking with just enough conviction to sound credible—yet careful not to appear overly eager.
The effect was immediate.
Gabriel, my elder brother, nearly choked on his sausage. He coughed into his napkin, trying to compose himself before muttering a quick apology to our father. Across the table, Raymond's brow furrowed, his sharp eyes flickering between me and the Duke.
Their father's expression remained calm, though there was a weight in his gaze that made the air feel heavier. Raymond was the first to break the silence.
"Father... are you truly considering sending him to the Noble Assembly?" His tone was restrained, but the finger he raised toward me carried accusation, as though the very idea were absurd.
Gabriel followed, his words laced with frustration. "Father, with all due respect... Cael has no grasp of politics, no sense of tact. All he has ever proven is his talent for dragging our name through the mud. Entrusting him with the reputation of House Ardent may not be wise."
The Duke set down his utensils, folding his hands with deliberate slowness. His gaze, cold and unreadable, shifted from Gabriel to Raymond before settling on me.
"I am not entrusting him with anything," he said evenly. "I am testing him. Whether he can change... or whether he will remain what he has always been."
The words hung in the air like steel.
Gabriel and Raymond exchanged glances, both quickly bowing their heads in acknowledgment. "We understand, Father," they said in unison.
The rest of the meal carried on in silence, but I could feel their stares lingering on me with pure contempt.