Age 7.
Most seven-year-olds are worried about loose teeth or cooties. I was currently worrying about the geopolitical collapse of the continent and the structural integrity of my family's morality.
House Virgo was hosting a grand dinner party. The occasion? My second brother, Lucifer, had turned ten.
In this world, calendars were apparently designed by someone on a speed-run challenge. Birthdays weren't annual celebrations of survival; they were strategic checkpoints.
* Age 5: The Appraisal (aka The Disappointment Ceremony).
* Age 10: The Engagement (aka The Market Deal).
* Age 15: The Wedding (aka Adulthood).
* Age 20: The Offspring (aka The Next Generation of Spares).
Life here moved at 2x playback speed. People were considered full adults at fifteen. My parents, despite being a Duke and Duchess with three kids, were scandalously young. It was efficient, I suppose. It was also terrifying.
I sat at the kids' table, stabbing a piece of broccoli with a silver fork.
"I hate broccoli," Lucifer announced from the head of the table. He was wearing a velvet suit that cost more than my previous life's annual salary. "When I am a powerful mage, I will burn all the broccoli fields."
"Eat your vegetables, brother," Alastor said, slicing his steak with surgical precision. "You need nutrients to cast spells."
I looked at them. My family. My flesh and blood.
And then, a guest at the main table raised a toast. "To the glory of the Arcana Empire!"
Clink.
The sound of the glass shattered my reality.
Arcana.
My fork dropped. The broccoli rolled onto the tablecloth.
For seven years, I thought the name of this world was just a coincidence. But hearing "Arcana Empire" triggered a PTSD flashback to my gaming days.
This wasn't just a fantasy world. This was "Arcana: Chronicles of Despair."
I choked on air.
That game! The RPG that was universally boycotted by players worldwide! The developers were sadists who didn't believe in happy endings.
You want to save the princess? Too bad, dragon ate her.
You want to defeat the Demon Lord? Too bad, the planet explodes.
You spent $500 on gacha rolls for the Saintess? She turns evil and stabs you.
The game had only one ending: World End.
"Are you choking, Curious?" Alastor asked, not looking up from his steak. "Do try to die quietly. It's Lucifer's big day."
I stared at Alastor.
Oh no.
The memories flooded back. The "Lore" tab I used to skip.
House Virgo wasn't just a noble family. We were the Main Antagonists.
My father? He wasn't just a stern dad. In the game, he collaborates with demons to overthrow the King. He becomes a tyrant Emperor who taxes citizens into starvation and declares war on everyone for fun.
Alastor? My "perfect" brother? He becomes the "Blood Knight." To gain immortality, he slaughters thousands of Elves and drains Mermaids dry.
And Lucifer? The kid currently pouting about broccoli? He wipes out the entire Dwarf Kingdom just because they refuse to give him a specific Legendary Staff. He commits genocide over a loot drop.
I looked at my hands. I was the brother of war criminals.
I have to get out of here, I thought, sweating. I need to move to a farm in the middle of nowhere immediately.
"Curious is sweating," Lucifer noted. "Disgusting."
Suddenly, I heard my parents talking to a fat nobleman near the dessert cart. My 80 Luck must have amplified my hearing, or maybe the wind just carried the words of my doom directly to my ears.
"Yes, Curious is useless with a sword or staff," my Father was saying, swirling his wine. "But look at that face."
He pointed at me. I froze, a piece of bread halfway to my mouth.
"He has the classic Virgo jawline," my Mother added. "He is very... aesthetic."
"Countess Grenda has been looking for a new husband since her third one died under mysterious circumstances," the fat nobleman chuckled. "She is willing to pay a handsome dowry. She is fond of... youthful energy."
"She is thirty-seven, is she not?" Father asked.
"A mature age," the nobleman nodded. "She needs an heir. Your son has excellent genes. He will make a fine... breeding horse."
I stopped breathing.
Breeding horse?
I'm seven! She's thirty-seven! That's a thirty-year gap! By the time I'm twenty, she'll be fifty!
"Excellent," Father said. "We shall announce the engagement at Curious's tenth birthday party."
NOOOOOOOOO!
My inner scream was loud enough to shatter windows, but outwardly, I just turned pale.
Why? Why must my first love life in this new world involve a woman old enough to be my grandmother? Why is my handsome face a curse? I just wanted to grow potatoes! I didn't want to be a trophy husband for a black widow!
I looked at my brothers. One future genocidal maniac. One future mass murderer.
I looked at my parents. Human traffickers.
I looked at the world. Destined to explode in World End.
I can't accept this.
A fire lit up in my tiny, seven-year-old chest.
I wasn't going to the knighthood. I wasn't going to the countryside.
I was going to run for my life.
I made a decision right there, between the roast beef and the strawberry tart. I would run away. Not just from this family—from this entire country.
I had three years. Three years until my tenth birthday. Three years until I was sold off like prize cattle.
I clenched my small fist under the table.
I have two missions now:
* Get Stronger. (Or at least, get rich enough to hire people who are strong).
* Prevent the World End. (Because if the world ends, my farm gets destroyed).
To do that, I needed money. I needed information. And I needed to pack a bag.
Just you wait, Father, I thought, glaring at his back. You won't turn me into a breeding horse. I'm going to be a wild stallion of freedom!
To be continued.