The first thing she registered was the smell. It was a cloying, suffocating mix of damp straw, mildew, and the sharp, copper tang of old blood. It was the scent of neglect, thick enough to taste.
The second thing was the pain. It radiated from the back of her skull, a throbbing, sickening rhythm that felt like a sledgehammer striking an anvil over and over again. It wasn't just a headache. It was a structural calamity.
Valeria groaned. The sound scraped against her dry throat like sandpaper. She tried to lift a hand to her temple, but her limbs felt heavy as lead, weighed down by an exhaustion that went deeper than bone. She blinked, her vision swimming in the gloom, trying to piece together reality.
She wasn't in her small, tidy apartment near the university library anymore. There was no hum of the refrigerator, no streetlights filtering through the blinds. She was lying on a lumpy mattress stuffed with prickly hay, covered by a thin, scratchy blanket that offered absolutely no warmth against the biting draft cutting through the cracks in the mud walls.
Where is this?
She forced her eyes to focus, fighting the nausea rolling in her gut. The room was small, filthy, and dark, save for a sliver of pale, sickly moonlight leaking through a warped window frame.
This wasn't a house. It was a shed. The kind used for storing grain or gardening tools, not people.
And she wasn't alone.
In the deepest shadows of the far corner, five pairs of eyes were watching her.
They weren't the concerned eyes of doctors or paramedics. They were cold, assessing, and calculating. They were the eyes of predators waiting for prey to finally stop twitching.
A figure detached itself from the gloom. He was huge, broad-shouldered even in the dim light, but he moved with a jarring, painful limp, dragging his left leg stiffly across the packed dirt floor. As he stepped into the sliver of moonlight, Valeria saw shaggy, unkempt blonde hair and burning golden eyes set in a face rigid with ingrained hatred.
He stopped a few feet from her bed, towering over her. He held a cracked clay bowl in a massive hand that trembled slightly. It wasn't from fear. It was from restrained violence. His knuckles were white.
"You're awake," he rasped. His voice was a low growl, utterly devoid of warmth. It sounded unused, rough like gravel tumbling in a mixer. "Unfortunately."
Valeria tried to speak, but her tongue felt like a piece of dried leather. She only managed a dry, hacking cough that made her head scream in protest.
The man thrust the bowl toward her face. The water inside was murky, with unidentifiable specks floating on the surface.
"Drink," he ordered, his tone flat. "The Garnetts said if you die of thirst before the broker gets here, they'll skin us alive. Drink."
Garnetts? Broker? Skin alive?
The unfamiliar words acted as a catalyst. As she stared into the dirty water, a massive, violent deluge of alien memories crashed into her mind. It was worse than the headache. It was a total invasion of self.
Twenty years of a life she hadn't lived overwrote her own history.
Her name wasn't Valeria anymore. Here, she was Elise.
And Elise was a monster.
The memories didn't come as a list. They came as sensations. She remembered the layout of this place. This was the Oakhaven Estate, or what was left of it.
The Garnetts were her adoptive parents, greedy caretakers paid by a noble family to raise Elise in secret. For years, they had lived in the main farmhouse, a comfortable stone building, while Elise was spoiled rotten.
But three days ago, the money stopped.
The memory was vivid. A letter had arrived from the capital stating the stipend was terminated. The Garnetts had turned on her instantly. They had kicked Elise out of her velvet-draped bedroom and thrown her into this drafty servant's annex behind the stables, claiming the main house was now theirs as "compensation" for unpaid debts.
Elise, a brat who had never been told no, had thrown a catastrophic tantrum. She had screamed, smashed the few items she had brought with her, and finally, in a blind rage, she had rammed her head into the support beam of the shed, trying to prove a point or perhaps hurt herself to make them feel guilty.
She had collapsed. The Garnetts had left her there, assuming she was just unconscious or sleeping it off.
But Elise hadn't just been knocked out. She had died.
And Valeria, the overworked head librarian of the city archive who had died of a heart attack at her desk at age thirty-two, had taken her place.
Valeria looked at the man standing before her. Kael. The Tiger.
The memories flashed by like a horror reel, vivid and sickening. It wasn't just the abuse she remembered. It was how she had acquired them. To Elise, they weren't people. They were impulse buys.
She saw the underground fighting pit where she found Kael six months ago. He had been the champion, but the ringmasters had shattered his leg when he refused to throw a match. He was lying in the mud, destined for the slaughterhouse. Elise had pointed a manicured finger at him, not out of pity, but out of vanity.
"I want that one," she had demanded. "He's big. He'll scare Mara away."
Ma Garnett had haggled the price down to copper coins. "He's crippled, Elise. He's useless."
"I don't care! I want the big one!"
And when she got him home and realized he limped too slowly to keep up with her, she punished him. She made him sleep outside in the freezing rain, ensuring the bone never set right.
The scene shifted to a back-alley auction in the city. Ignis, the Dragon. The auctioneer had whispered that he was a fallen noble from the capital, stripped of his horns and poisoned.
"He's defective, Miss," the seller had said. "But his blood fever makes him radiate intense heat. He's a living stove."
Elise had shivered in her silk coat. "Good. My feet get cold at night. Wrap him up."
So the proud Dragon became a living footstool, forced to crawl on his elbows because his poisoned blood made standing agony.
Then came Silas. A hunter had dragged a caged, snarling Wolf beastman into the village square.
"It's a rabid stray," the hunter warned. "Gonna skin him."
"No! He's fluffy!" Elise had screamed, seeing a pet where others saw a predator. She forced the Garnetts to buy him. But when Silas, terrified and starving, snapped at her hand, the "cute pet" fantasy vanished. She muzzled him and chained him to the wall like a yard dog, withholding food until he lost his mind to Mana Rabies.
And Caspian. She had been walking by the river docks when fishermen hauled in a net containing a massive, gasping Shark beastman. They were going to club him.
"I'm bored," Elise had declared, tossing a coin at the fishermen. "Bring it to the house. I want to see if fish can walk."
They dragged him miles inland. When his skin cracked and bled from the dry air, Elise laughed at the way he wheezed. She made him haul heavy water buckets, reasoning that if he liked water so much, he could carry it.
Finally, the memory of Lucian, the Phoenix. The only one she bought fully aware of the torture being inflicted. She stood in the slave market, eating a candied apple, watching the traders pluck his tail feathers to sell as jewelry. She didn't buy him to save him. She bought him because, after the plucking, he was on the clearance rack.
Valeria, no, Elise now, squeezed her eyes shut, nausea rolling in her gut.
They hated her. And they had every right to.
According to the novel's plot, which had also downloaded into her brain alongside the memories, the Garnetts didn't know she had died. They thought she was just recovering from her concussion. They were currently negotiating with a "Broker" to sell her to a brothel in the next town over. Once she was sold, the beastmen would finally snap. They would slaughter everyone in the village, succumb to their dark instincts, and escape to become the five Tyrant Kings who would eventually burn the world down in their quest for revenge.
A series of translucent blue boxes suddenly flickered in her peripheral vision, hovering over the heads of the men in the room.
[Mission Initiated: Rewrite the Tragic Ending.]
[Target 1: Kael (Tiger). Status: Crippled/Malnourished. Hatred Level: 98%.]
Defect: Shattered Beast Core. Improperly healed femur.
Current State: Hostile.
[Target 2: Silas (Wolf). Status: Feral/Mana Rabies. Hatred Level: N/A.]
Defect: Corrupted Mana Channels due to starvation.
Current State: Unconscious/Volatile.
[Target 3: Ignis (Dragon). Status: Poisoned/Maimed. Hatred Level: 100%.]
Defect: Severed Horns. Ruptured Poison Sac leaking into bloodstream.
Current State: Critical. Unable to stand.
[Target 4: Caspian (Shark). Status: Desiccated. Hatred Level: 90%.]
Defect: Atrophied Gills. Severe dehydration. Vocal cord damage.
Current State: Weakened.
[Target 5: Lucian (Phoenix). Status: Traumatized/Molting. Hatred Level: 95%.]
Defect: Plucked plumage. Stunted rebirth cycle.
Current State: Panicked.
[Objective: Prevent the death of the five husbands. Restore their glory. Survive.]
Great, Valeria thought, her librarian brain instantly categorizing the situation from 'catastrophic' to 'manageable with extreme effort.' I'm in the body of the prologue villain, my victims are standing right there, and I have maybe twenty-four hours before the Garnetts finalize the sale.
She looked at Kael again. He was waiting for the Elise he knew. He was waiting for her to scream, to throw the bowl, to demand sweet wine instead of water. He was bracing for the usual abuse.
Valeria slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, fighting the dizziness that threatened to topple her. She looked at the murky water in the bowl. Then, she looked directly into Kael's predatory golden eyes.
"No," she said. Her voice was hoarse, damaged by the original owner's screaming fit three days ago, but it didn't waver.
Kael blinked. His ears twitched, a beastly reflex he couldn't control. "What?"
"I said no. I'm not drinking that swill."
A low growl started in Kael's chest, a vibration she could feel in the floorboards. "You think you're too good for it? It's the same water we drink. It's all there is."
"Exactly," Valeria said coldly. She didn't cower. She summoned every ounce of authority she used to use on unruly university students and incompetent interns. "It's filthy. And I won't die of thirst just yet."
She saw the confusion war with the hatred on his face. This wasn't the script. Elise never turned down something she needed. She just complained while taking it.
Valeria needed space. She needed to process the sheer volume of information in her head, and she needed to access the strange, thrumming energy she felt just behind her eyes. It was a sensation separate from the memories, something that felt clean in this dirty world.
"Get out," she commanded, keeping her voice low and level.
Kael bristled, his claws instinctively lengthening, scratching the baked clay of the bowl. "You don't order me..."
"I said, get out," she repeated, meeting his gaze with an intensity that made him pause. "Take the others. All of you. Get out of this room. Now."
The sheer difference in her demeanor, the lack of hysteria, the cold precision, threw him off balance. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking for the trick. Finding none, he sneered, turning on his heel.
"Fine. Rot in here. See if we care."
He jerked his head at the shadows. "Move."
The shadows obediently shuffled out the door. As they left, Valeria saw them clearly for the first time. Silas was dragged out by a chain held by Caspian. Ignis had to crawl, using his elbows, his eyes burning with humiliation. Lucian scuttled out last, shaking violently as he passed her bed.
The heavy wooden door slammed shut, plunging the room back into near darkness.
Valeria didn't collapse. She didn't cry. She sat perfectly still in the mildewy silence, listening to the wind howl outside. She closed her eyes and focused on that strange thrumming energy in her mind.
Library, she thought, projecting the concept inward with desperate intent. Open.
The sensation was instantaneous. The smell of mold vanished, replaced by the scent of old paper, vanilla, and ozone. The darkness behind her eyelids dissolved into blinding white light.
When she opened her eyes, she was no longer on the hay mattress.
She stood in the center of a breathtaking atrium. The floor was polished white marble, cool beneath her bare feet. Above, the sky was a twilight indigo, filled with stars she didn't recognize, but the air was warm and still.
In the center of the atrium sat a modest, elegant fountain carved from white stone. Crystal clear water bubbled gently from the top, cascading down into a lower basin. The air around it hummed with palpable energy. Mana.
The Spirit Spring.
Valeria stumbled toward it. Her throat was burning. She cupped her hands under the small trickle of the fountain's spout. The water was ice cold. She drank greedily.
The moment the liquid touched her tongue, a shockwave of vitality exploded through her. It wasn't just hydration. It was life. The throbbing in her skull vanished instantly. The heaviness in her limbs melted away, replaced by a buzzing strength. Her vision sharpened to crystal clarity.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with clean air. She felt... powerful.
She turned away from the fountain. Behind it stood a set of massive, double oak doors that would have looked at home in a cathedral. She pushed them open.
Inside was her sanctuary.
Rows upon rows of towering wooden shelves stretched into infinity. It was the Grand Archive, her old workplace, but expanded and perfected. She ran her hand along the nearest shelf. "Principles of Agronomy." "Basic Civil Engineering." "Herbal Medicine of the Eastern Continent."
It was all here. Every book she had ever read, every book the library had owned, and some she didn't recognize.
On a pedestal in the center of the entrance hall lay a single, leather-bound book. It was glowing faintly. The cover read: "The Fall of the Beast World."
This was the novel. The script she was trapped in.
Valeria walked over to a large, ornate mirror hanging on the wall near the entrance. For the first time, she saw her new face.
Elise was beautiful. There was no denying it. Pale, porcelain skin, raven-black hair that fell in tangled waves to her waist, and eyes of a startling, vibrant violet. But the face was gaunt, the lips chapped, and there were dark circles under the eyes from malnutrition and stress.
"You wasted this," Valeria whispered to the reflection. "You had nobility, beauty, and power, and you wasted it all on being a brat."
She touched the glass. The reflection didn't scowl back. It looked determined.
She couldn't stay here. Time might move differently in this space, she hoped it did, but she had problems in the real world that magic water alone couldn't fix. She needed a plan.
First, Survival. Second, Money. Third, The Husbands.
She couldn't just apologize to them. They would think it was a trap. Trust broken by torture couldn't be fixed with words. It had to be fixed with consistency. She had to be the leader they needed, even if they hated her for it.
"System," she said aloud, testing the boundaries of the space. "Can I take items out?"
No voice answered, but knowledge bloomed in her mind. One item per day. Non-complex. Non-electronic.
She walked to the shelf labeled "Home Economics & Basic Hygiene." She pulled a book out, flipping to a page illustrating a bar of simple, antiseptic soap.
She concentrated. Extract.
The book shimmered, and a heavy, rough-cut bar of soap fell into her hand. It smelled of lye and lavender.
"Better than nothing," she muttered.
She closed her eyes again. Exit.
The transition was jarring. The smell of the hut hit her like a physical blow. She was back on the mattress. The soap was still in her hand, solid and real.
Valeria swung her legs off the bed. She stood up. Her legs held. The Spirit Spring had done its work; the concussion was gone, and her energy reserves were topped up.
She walked to the door and pushed it open.
The bright sunlight of the morning blinded her for a moment. She stepped out into the "yard." It was a desolate patch of dry dirt enclosed by a rotting wooden fence. Weeds choked the corners.
To her left was a small, collapsing shed with no door. Inside, she could see the huddled forms of the five men. They were piled together for warmth, a tangle of limbs and fur.
Kael was sitting awake near the entrance of the shed, guarding them. When he saw her, he stiffened, his hand going to the makeshift knife, a sharpened stone, he kept hidden in his rags.
Valeria ignored him. She walked to the rusted bucket sitting near the well. It was filled with the same brown sludge they had offered her earlier.
With a grunt of effort, she lifted the bucket and hurled the contents onto the dry earth. The sludge splashed over the weeds.
Kael stood up, confusion wrinkling his brow. "That was the last of the water."
"It was poison," Valeria said, her voice carrying clearly across the yard. She turned to face him, the bar of soap hidden in the pocket of her ragged dress. "Draw fresh water from the well. Boil it. I want everyone washed and presentable in an hour."
"Washed?" Kael looked at her as if she had grown a second head. "We're starving, and you want us to wash?"
"Infections kill faster than hunger," she lied smoothly, though in their state, it wasn't much of a lie. "And I won't have my household looking like beggars when I deal with the Garnetts."
She didn't wait for his answer. She turned and walked back into the annex, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had to find something to feed them, and fast. The "Villainess" facade would only hold up as long as she produced results.
But for the first time in this wretched world, she had a plan.