the void of ideas—a place beyond dimensions, laws, concepts, and existence itself—lies the Author, the absolute supreme creator. And also... me."
"Give me that! I am the Author, not you!"
"It's my story I'm writing," I countered. "You should be pleased I decided to be a part of it."
"I decide the story! Not you!"
"Chill... I'm opting in. Now, let's see... Name: Freren. Hair: Black. Born into a wealthy noble family as an only child. A perfect incarnation."
"Give me that! It is my story, and it is my creation!"
"Yeah, yeah... whatever. Anyway, let's begin."
[The Mortal World]
"Wow... a new beginning. The world looks beautiful, cheerful, and it's—"
Freren's internal monologue was shattered by the shrill, piercing cry of another infant.
"Huh? Why is there another baby here?" Freren demanded.
"Two beautiful boys!" a maid exclaimed, her voice disrupting Freren's thoughts. "The older one just started crying... but wait, why is the younger one just staring?"
Twins? An older brother?
"Damn you, Author!" Freren screamed, though to the ears of the mortals, it was nothing more than the high-pitched wail of a newborn.
The twins grew up "close"—at least, that was Frey's perspective.
Frey was a gentle soul, defined by kindness and a natural heroism. He was blessed with an overflowing reservoir of mana and innate skills that bordered on the divine. They trained in everything together, but Frey outclassed Freren at every turn. His swordsmanship was superior to anyone in the kingdom, and his selfless deeds soon earned him a title: Frey, the White Blade Hero.
Freren, by contrast, showed no promise. To the world, he was no better than an average citizen, his combat abilities pale and inferior to his brother's radiance.
But that was merely the world's view. Freren lived in a different reality. He viewed existence as a fleeting amusement; he didn't chase power, nor did he seek to master skills. He walked in the shadows, a silent observer of the narrative, ignoring the gossip that swirled around him like dry leaves.
The common folk whispered that Frey had drained all the mana in the womb, leaving Freren with nothing. The comparisons were cruel; the court began to refer to them as "The Success" and "The Failure."
These rumors haunted Frey. Fueled by compassion, he would constantly comfort Freren after he was bullied or mocked. Yet, Freren remained the least affected person in the kingdom. If anything, he was entirely bored by it.
The morning was draped in a thick, gray overcast. While Frey set off to liberate a village from a dragon invasion, Freren decided on a much less "heroic" path: fishing at the nearby river.
"Don't overwork yourself, Freren," Frey had said before departing, his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'll be back soon. Save some fish for me... and most importantly, stay safe."
Stay safe. Freren turned those words over in his mind as he began his walk. He wasn't alone; trailing behind him was Belle, a maid who had been present since the very hour of his birth. As the son of a high-ranking nobleman, Freren was never truly "alone," though he often felt like a ghost haunting his own halls.
"You know, you don't have to follow me everywhere," Freren said, his voice casual as he strolled toward the riverbank. "I'll be fine."
"It is your mother's request, and I am your protector," Belle replied firmly. She wasn't merely a maid; she was a trained warrior, a guardian assigned to the "weaker" twin. "It is my duty to keep you safe."
Everyone treats me like I'm fragile, Freren thought. A thin, cold smile touched his lips. Fantastic. Everything is proceeding exactly as the script demands.
The peace didn't last. A sharp snap—the sound of a breaking branch—cut through the air. Before Belle could draw her weapon, three shadows lunged from the treeline.
The ambush was surgical. The first bandit hissed a binding spell, wrapping Freren in shimmering magical chains. The second slammed a mana-infused fist into Belle's chest, sending her spiraling meters away through the underbrush. The third began chanting a teleportation sequence. Within seconds, the spatial coordinates shifted, and the clearing was empty.
The bandits had spent months planning this. They had studied the twins, tracked their movements, and prepared a toxin potent enough to drop the Great Hero himself. They thought they had captured the White Blade.
"We've got him!" the leader shouted, his voice echoing off the damp cave walls. "Finally, the world will be rid of the Great Hero."
He strode toward a hidden iron lockbox and produced a small vial filled with a swirling, neon-blue liquid. "With this, you meet your end. Not even the White Blade can survive this toxin; it was crafted specifically for your blood," he sneered, looming over Freren.
"Are you three actually stupid, or is information just slow to reach this hole?" Freren sighed, his voice flat. "Firstly, you grabbed the wrong twin. My brother is currently miles away, busy playing savior to a village under dragon fire."
The leader's triumphant grin faltered. "That... that's impossible."
"Secondly," Freren continued, completely ignoring the man's shock.
In a blink, the vial vanished from the leader's grip and appeared between Freren's fingers. With a casual shrug, the magical binding chains shattered like brittle glass. He uncorked the poison and drained the entire vial in one gulp while the kidnappers watched, frozen in confusion.
"Hmm... potent. It definitely would have killed Frey," Freren said, standing up and stretching his limbs. "But I can't let you do that yet. He's still relevant to the plot. The story requires his survival."
The bandits stepped back, weapons trembling. "Plot? Story? What the hell are you talking about?" the leader stammered, his mind reeling at how easily his 'Level 6' bindings had been turned to dust.
Freren paused, whispering to himself. "You're just NPCs, aren't you? Generic tools for narrative progression... well, you've overstayed your purpose. It's time to exit the stage."
In a panic, Ray—the mage who had cast the teleportation spell—lunged forward. "Level 5 Spell: Fire Blast!"
A crimson magic circle flared to life, and a roaring torrent of flame erupted toward Freren. But as the fire reached him, it didn't burn. It simply... ceased. It vanished as if it had been erased from a drawing.
"Wait, what just happened?" Ray gasped.
"Did he nullify it? That shouldn't be possible!" the leader yelled.
"It's like it just disappeared," Ryu added, his voice shaking.
"Actually, the technical term would be 'deleted,'" Freren corrected them, his eyes devoid of any human warmth. "I didn't approve of the spell, so it no longer exists."
"Back together! Now!" the leader screamed, frantically scribbling a teleportation circle into the air. "We need to leave! Whoever this monster is, we can't—"
The magic circle shattered into sparks before it could even activate. He tried again, his fingers bleeding from the effort, but the laws of reality refused to obey him.
"What... why isn't it working?"
"That would be my doing," Freren said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And your time is up."
Suddenly, all three men dropped. There was no spray of blood, no sound of an impact—just the heavy thud of three bodies hitting the stone floor. Their hearts hadn't just stopped; it was as if the command for them to live had been retracted.
"Well," Freren giggled, a sinister, jagged smile spreading across his face. "That was amusing."