Kael Arion woke up to silk.
Not metaphorical silk, not poetic softness—actual silk, cool against his skin, sliding between his fingers as his hand twitched awake. The sensation was wrong. Too smooth. Too expensive. Too far removed from the stiff mattress and cotton sheets he remembered falling asleep on.
His breathing hitched before his eyes even opened.
A faint scent lingered in the air—polished wood, mild incense, candle wax. The smell of wealth. Of old money. Of a place where nothing was accidental.
Kael opened his eyes.
Light poured in through towering arched windows, pale gold and gentle, illuminating a ceiling painted with constellations and ancient heraldry. Tapestries lined the walls—battles, coronations, oaths sworn in blood and steel. The room was enormous, elegant, and suffocatingly unfamiliar.
For three seconds, his mind tried to rationalize it.
A dream.A hallucination.A stress-induced fantasy.
Then he sat up.
Silk sheets slid down his torso. His hands came into view—long fingers, pale skin, faint calluses where there should have been none. A ring rested on his index finger, heavy with authority. His body felt lighter, younger, unfamiliar in ways that were impossible to ignore.
"No," he whispered.
His voice wasn't his.
It was smoother. Colder. Refined in a way that spoke of etiquette lessons and noble upbringing.
Kael staggered out of bed and moved toward the tall mirror set between the windows. Each step felt wrong—too balanced, too graceful. When he finally looked up, his thoughts went silent.
A stranger stared back.
Sharp, handsome features. Silver-blond hair falling neatly past his shoulders. Calm gray eyes that held an inherited arrogance he did not recognize. A noble's face—one designed to be admired, envied, and quietly resented.
Not him.
"I'm…" His throat tightened. "…not me."
The realization did not come gently.
It crashed.
Memories—violent, foreign, overwhelming—memories flooded into his mind. Not borrowed dreams, but lived experiences. Banquets. Tutors. Expectations. Love that came with conditions. Pride that was never earned.
A name surfaced, heavy and unmistakable.
Kael Arion.
His knees nearly buckled.
"No. No, no, no—"
That name wasn't random.
That name was a mistake.
Because Kael Arion was not a protagonist.
He was a side character.
Worse.
Kael Arion was a fake heir.
When the real heir—the true protagonist of the story—arrived and proved Kael's identity to be false, Kael was consumed by anger. The truth stripped him of his position and dignity, leaving him desperate to prove that he still deserved the place he had lost.
In a reckless attempt to reclaim his worth, Kael began scheming against the real heir. He trained relentlessly and plotted in secret, targeting not only the protagonist but also his friends and those closest to him, believing that breaking them would weaken the heir himself.
However, everything he planned failed. Every scheme collapsed, every move was anticipated, and none of his efforts brought him closer to victory. In the end, Kael was left with nothing but frustration and the painful realization that he could not replace the rightful heir.
And then—
Death.
Public. Humiliating. Absolute.
The moment burned itself into Kael's consciousness because he knew it intimately.
Because he had Created it
The truth slammed into place with horrifying clarity.
This world wasn't unfamiliar.
It wasn't random.
It was a game.
His game.
An action-fantasy RPG '' Worlds doomsday ''he created with layered politics, bloodlines, academy arcs, knight orders, and branching romance routes that are only activated under very specific emotional conditions. A world designed to feel alive—and ruthless.
The first phase of the 'Great Cataclysm' - Shift in tectonic plates all over Earth, moving countrie from where they were previously, resulting in tsunamis and earthquakes, killing millions in the process. The sudden shift in tectonic plates caused the world map to permanently change, with
there only being one landmass surrounded by water.
The second phase of the 'Great Cataclysm' - Huge portals started appearing where unknown species which were later identified as demons and other races, started emerging. At first, they were docile, but as soon as they deemed humanity weak they started rampaging all over the
place.
But with great disasters come opportunities. As portals appeared, humanity managed to gain access to mana. A special force that lingered throughout the atmosphere and originated from other worlds. It would allow humans to do things they could've only dreamt of doing in the past
like summoning fireballs or cutting through metal.
Lastly, the third phase of the 'Great Cataclysm' - This happens near the ending of the novel, and it was when the Demon world forces started a full-scale invasion of earth.
Ten years after the Second cataclysm, three factions ruled the world. The demon faction, the Human faction, and the Fantasia faction which was compromised of Orcs, elves, and Dwarves.
The Fantasia faction was sort of an alliance between the elves, dwarves, and the orcs. And that was because they were practically forced into one.
Demons were the manifestation of 'greed'. They were created with the sole goal of devouring planets. They would first start by entering a planet, then as time progresses they would reproduce like crazy, and slowly once they gained enough strength they would devour the planet.
The Elves, orcs, and dwarves were all refugees and survivors from the demons, who had already conquered their home planet.
At first, when the elves, orcs, and dwarves arrived on earth, they chose to observe. They wanted to see if the humans were worthy enough to join their alliance to fight against the demons. At
first, they were very excited with the prospect of gaining a potential ally, but as time passed their excitement turned into disappointment, which later became into disgust.
For the prideful elves, the selfish acts and schemes which they witnessed during humanity's dark moments made all thoughts of collaboration vanish, only to be replaced with utter disdain.
For the orcs, humanity's weak and frail body left them utterly disappointed and thus deemed them unnecessary. And for the Dwarves, humanity's primitive technology made them seem like brainless monkeys
who roamed around flaunting their power and intelligence with no substantial backing.
In the end, the demon faction and the Fantasia faction each claimed 3/8 of the earth, while humans only claimed 2/8 of the earth, making them a minority group.
Initially, the story starts with the protagonist enrolling in the ' Silver Spire', a specialized school that was established by the effort of all humanity, to raise warriors to defend the borders against the attacks from both factions.
He was your typical MC with a tragic past
- Parents died due to war at the hands of demons
- Vengeance against Demons
...and so on
It was what you would expect from an MС.
It was my masterpiece. At least that's what I thought, but looking through the comment section I couldn't help but rage.
I mean how would you feel if what you feel is your masterpiece gets insulted?
Terrible right?
He remembered creating it.
Late nights hunched over a keyboard. Arguments with designers. Balance sheets. Player analytics. The decision to make the world unforgiving because "consequences matter."
He remembered the backlash.
"Too hard.""Side characters die for no reason.""This isn't fair."
He had ignored them.
Because realism wasn't fair.
The game had become a phenomenon anyway.
Awards followed. Investors begged. Sales skyrocketed. And him?
He had become the youngest billionaire in the industry before thirty.
A genius.
A visionary.
A monster, if you asked the forums.
Kael pressed a hand against the mirror.
"…I'm inside it."
Not as a player.
Not as an observer.
But as Kael Arion.
One of the most infamous failure routes in the entire game.
This wasn't even the main storyline. This was a high-difficulty branch—an optional narrative path most players avoided because of how brutal it was. A path where power disparity was absolute, and the world corrected "errors" mercilessly.
And Kael Arion?
He was an error.
He remembered every detail because he had cleared the game himself.
Not once.
Multiple times.
He knew exactly when this character was meant to die. Not just how—but why. A combination of pride flags, dialogue triggers, and invisible hostility values that accumulated quietly until the world snapped shut.
His chest tightened.
"This is the worst possible role," he muttered.
In the original design, Kael Arion existed solely to highlight the real heir's brilliance. A false light extinguished so the true one could shine brighter. A narrative sacrifice.
He slid down until his back hit the wall, sitting on the cold marble floor.
His success in his previous life tasted bitter now.
He had laughed when streamers screamed.
He had nodded when critics praised the realism.
He had watched side characters die and called it "narrative weight."
Now he was one of them.
He closed his eyes.
And remembered how he died.
Not dramatically.
Not heroically.
He remembered standing too tall. Speaking one sentence too many. Believing he deserved an explanation.
The world had disagreed.
Execution flags triggered.
Scene over.
Game clear.
Kael exhaled slowly.
"…I deserve this," he whispered.
For every time he treated lives as variables.For every time he said, players should have known better.
But regret wouldn't keep him alive.
Knowledge might.
His eyes opened again, sharper now.
This world operated on systems.
Hidden ones.
Combat proficiency. Bloodline resonance. Social influence. Survival probability.
And then—
Something shifted.
A sensation bloomed in his chest. Not pain. Not fear. Awareness.
Words appeared in his mind—not floating windows, not glowing text, but understanding.
Kael leaned his head back against the wall.
This wasn't mercy.
It was fairness.
He laughed quietly, a dry sound.
"…Of course I'd trap myself in my own rules."
He stood slowly, moving back to the mirror. This time, he studied his reflection carefully.
Kael Arion was handsome—undeniably so. The kind of beauty that came from good bone structure and noble lineage. His posture was refined. His eyes intelligent, though inexperienced. A body trained lightly in etiquette and sword drills, but not hardened by real combat.
Average potential.
No cheat bloodline.
No destiny.
Which was fine.
He became strong in order to survive in this world, because it was no longer the game he once knew. What had once been a world confined to a screen had now become real—alive, dangerous, and unforgiving. This was the same world he had played countless times, the same world he had created through endless sleepless nights, shaping every system, rule, and path with his own hands.
Because of that, he knew everything here. He knew how this world functioned, where danger would emerge, and what choices led to survival or destruction. Yet knowledge alone was no longer enough. In a real world, mistakes had consequences, and death was final. To live, he had no choice but to grow stronger and adapt to the reality he himself had once designed.
Romance routes existed in this world—he remembered them well. Dangerous things, those. Attachments increased survival chances in some paths and guaranteed death in others. For Kael Arion's route, they were mostly traps.
He would avoid them.
Academy Arc loomed ahead. Faction conflicts. The return of the real heir. Power struggles that swallowed side characters whole.
Kael straightened.
"I won't fight fate," he said quietly.
"I'll step around it."
He would observe.
He would plan.
He would survive one narrow escape at a time.
Because every time he did—
The world would have no choice but to acknowledge him.
And slowly, quietly, against every design choice he had ever made—
Kael Arion would continue living.
Not as a hero.
Not as a rival.
But as a man who refused to die just because the story said he should.