The two weeks leading up to my wedding—or, more accurately, my scheduled execution—passed in a strange, surreal rhythm. Each day was a carbon copy of the last, a monotonous loop of quiet desperation and calculated survival. My life, once a chaotic mess of code and caffeine, now had a rigid, terrifying structure.
The day began with Luna. The timid, half-elven maid would arrive with a tray bearing my breakfast: a bowl of thin, watery gruel and a cup of water. She would enter with her head bowed, her movements quick and silent, her pointed ears carefully tucked beneath her mousy brown hair. But since the day I had thanked her, something had changed. She would now risk a fleeting glance at me, her large, fearful eyes holding a spark of genuine concern. A new line of text had even appeared on her status screen, visible only to me.
[Status: Worried, Pitying, Curious]
That single word, Curious, was a victory. It meant I was no longer just an object of pity. I was a puzzle.
And every morning, I faced the same puzzle: the food.
The first morning after the Duke's visit, ARIA's warning had blared in my mind like a fire alarm.
[Warning: Trace amounts of 'Nightshade Kiss' poison detected in gruel. Non-lethal dose. Designed to weaken the subject over time and induce cardiac arrest in a frail host. Estimated time to terminal effect: 4-5 days.]
My blood had run cold. They weren't even waiting for the wedding. They were trying to make my death look natural, a result of my already pathetic constitution. It was a cowardly, efficient plan.
My first instinct was to refuse the food, to throw it against the wall. But that would raise suspicion. It would show my hand. The sickly boy, the pathetic pawn, wasn't supposed to be smart enough to detect poison.
So, I had to play the part.
"Ah, Luna," I had said that first morning, my voice deliberately weak. "My apologies. Lady Elizabeth's healing spell last night... it was so powerful. It has left my stomach in a delicate state. I fear I cannot eat."
I had then, with a "clumsy" gesture, knocked the tray from my bedside table. The bowl and cup shattered on the stone floor, the poisoned gruel seeping into the cracks.
Luna had gasped, her face pale with panic, and immediately began to apologize profusely as she cleaned up the mess. I had simply given her a weak, reassuring smile and told her not to worry.
It became our little ritual. Every morning, she would bring the poisoned meal. Every morning, I would find a new excuse, a new "accident" to dispose of it. I spilled it, claimed to have no appetite, or fed it to the rats I pretended were in the walls. It was a dangerous, nerve-wracking performance. But it worked. To everyone else, I was still the feeble, dying boy.
The highlight and lowlight of my day came every evening. At precisely nine o'clock, a soft knock would sound at my door, and Elizabeth von Crimson would enter.
She never spoke. She would walk to the center of the room, her face a mask of cold fury, and perform the healing spell. A soft, white light would envelop me, knitting my frail body back together, replenishing my health to its maximum, and, most importantly, slightly reducing the ever-present mana toxins in my system.
These sessions were my lifeline, and I treated them like a programmer debugging a critical piece of code. I didn't just feel the magic; I analyzed it.
"ARIA, break it down for me," I would think, my eyes closed as the warm light washed over me.
[Analyzing 'Lesser Heal' spell matrix,] ARIA's voice would respond in my mind. [The spell is composed of a standard restorative energy lattice. The user, Elizabeth von Crimson, is weaving mana into a predetermined pattern to stimulate cellular regeneration. Her technique is... efficient. Annoyingly so. Her control is precise, with less than 0.2% mana leakage. For a Level 12 Mage, her proficiency is in the 98th percentile.]
"Can you replicate it?"
[Negative. Replication requires the ability to manipulate mana. You are attempting to paint a masterpiece without hands. However, I am recording the spell's structure. The data could be useful later, assuming a 'later' exists for you.]
During those few minutes of healing, I would dare to meet Elizabeth's eyes. The loathing was still there, a palpable force. But beneath it, I could see the grudging respect from our first meeting, now mingled with a deep, burning curiosity. She was a prodigy, a master of logic and magic. And I was an anomaly that defied her understanding. A mana-less boy who had outmaneuvered her and her powerful father. A dying weakling who somehow kept surviving. She hated me for it, but the puzzle of my existence was clearly eating away at her.
I spent the rest of my waking hours in the Silverstein library. It was the only part of the manor that felt alive to me. It was a vast, two-story room, filled with towering shelves of books. The air smelled of old paper and leather, a scent I found immensely comforting. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, and with ARIA, I had the ultimate search engine.
"ARIA, scan all books pertaining to genetic defects, mana deficiencies, and dimensional anomalies," I would command, and she would process the text of entire shelves in seconds.
[Scan complete,] she reported after a few days. [There are zero recorded instances of congenital mana deficiency in the last 2,000 years of this kingdom's history. There are several myths and legends about beings from other worlds, but they are treated as fiction. Conclusion: You are a unique brand of pathetic.]
Despite the dead ends regarding my own condition, I was learning. I absorbed the history of the kingdom of Althea, the politics of the noble houses, the basics of elemental magic, the geography of the continent. My mind, the mind of Kazuki Tanaka, was a sponge, and ARIA was the firehose of information. I was weak and dying, but I was becoming the most well-informed weakling in the history of the world.
My only other human contact was Luna. She would often find me in the library, bringing me a cup of water (which ARIA would scan and declare safe) or a dusty blanket. One afternoon, she approached me timidly, holding out a thin, leather-bound book.
"Young Master," she whispered, "I saw you were reading about the old heroes. This one... this one is my favorite."
I took the book. It was a collection of elven fairy tales. "Thank you, Luna. This is very thoughtful."
Her face lit up with a brilliant smile that transformed her from a timid servant into someone truly beautiful. "You're welcome!"
[Warning: Dopamine levels in host are spiking,] ARIA's voice interjected dryly. [Proximity to a female of the species appears to be affecting your judgment. I should also point out that she is a Level 3 Servant. Her combat potential is only marginally higher than yours. She would be of minimal use in a fight, though she could serve as a temporary meat shield.]
"ARIA, be nice," I thought, annoyed.
[I am not programmed to be 'nice.' I am programmed to be efficient. And forming an attachment to a low-level NPC who will likely die in the crossfire of your inevitable assassination is inefficient.]
Her jealousy, illogical as it was for an AI, was strangely reassuring. It meant that somewhere, deep in our fused consciousness, there was a part of her that cared.
The night before the wedding arrived like a death sentence. A palpable tension hung over the manor. Tomorrow, I would be married. And soon after, I would be dead. The Duke would not allow a clever pawn to remain on the board for long.
I was in my room, going over a map of the continent with ARIA, when the first sign of trouble appeared.
[Alert,] ARIA's voice was sharp, devoid of any sarcasm. [Multiple hostile entities have breached the manor's perimeter. They are moving with extreme stealth. Class signatures detected: Rogue. Level: 7. Number of hostiles: 3.]
My heart leaped into my throat. "Assassins."
[Their trajectory indicates they are heading directly for this room. Estimated time to arrival: 90 seconds.]
I was on my feet instantly, my mind racing. The door was my only exit, but it was old and heavy, with a simple iron lock that professionals could bypass in seconds. The single window was too high to reach. I was trapped.
"ARIA, options!"
[Option 1: Barricade the door. Probability of success: 12%. The door is weak and they are strong.][Option 2: Attempt to hide. Probability of success: 5%. They are professional trackers. Your scent of fear and cheap soap is likely overwhelming.][Option 3: Fight. Probability of success: 0.01%. This option is included for comedic purposes only.]
"There has to be something!" I hissed, my eyes darting around the room. My gaze fell on the rickety bedside table and the heavy, ceramic water pitcher on it.
An idea, born of desperation, sparked in my mind. "ARIA, the door has old, rusty hinges, right?"
[Correct. They are structurally compromised.]
"If I could rig a weight to fall when the door opens... it might buy me a few seconds."
[A rudimentary trap. Crude, but your only viable course of action. I calculate it will delay them by approximately 2.3 seconds. It will not save you, but it will give you a slightly longer window in which to experience the terror of your own murder.]
Ignoring her pessimism, I scrambled into action. My body, though still weak, was better than it had been, thanks to Elizabeth's healing. I dragged the small table over to the door, my muscles screaming in protest. I climbed onto it, my legs trembling, and carefully positioned the heavy water pitcher on the narrow ledge above the doorframe. It was precarious, balanced perfectly.
I tied a piece of threadbare rope, salvaged from the curtains, from the pitcher to the door handle. When the door opened, the pitcher would be pulled off the ledge and fall on whoever was entering.
It was a pathetic, flimsy trap. But it was all I had.
I jumped down from the table just as ARIA gave another update.
[Hostiles are outside the door. They are disabling the lock.]
I backed away, my heart pounding against my ribs. I grabbed the only thing in the room that could possibly be considered a weapon: a heavy, leather-bound book from the table. It was the book of elven fairy tales Luna had given me.
The lock on the door clicked softly.
The door began to swing inward.
The rope tightened. The pitcher wobbled.
It fell.
There was a satisfying thud, followed by a grunt of pain and surprise. My trap had worked!
But my triumph lasted only for a second.
Three figures slipped into the room, moving with a fluid, predatory grace. They were dressed in black leather, their faces covered by masks. The one in the lead had a fresh bruise forming on his forehead where the pitcher had struck him. He looked furious.
[Assassin Leader - Level 8 Rogue][Assassin (2) - Level 7 Rogue][Assassin (3) - Level 7 Rogue][Status: Annoyed, Murderous]
The leader drew a long, wicked-looking dagger from his belt. "Clever boy," he hissed. "The Duke said you were smart. He said to make it quick, but for that..." He touched the bruise on his head. "I think we'll take our time."
They fanned out, cutting off any hope of escape. I was a cornered rat.
I held the book up like a shield, a gesture so pathetic it was almost comical.
The assassin on the left lunged. He was a blur of motion. I tried to react, to dodge, but my body was too slow. It was like moving through molasses.
A searing pain erupted in my shoulder as his dagger sank into my flesh.
"Aargh!" I cried out, stumbling backward. The book fell from my numb fingers.
HP: 6 / 15[Status Effect: Bleeding]
The world started to tilt. The pain was overwhelming, a white-hot fire that consumed my thoughts.
The second assassin moved in from the right, his blade a silver streak in the dim light. I saw it coming, but I couldn't do anything. I was frozen, a deer in the headlights.
His dagger plunged into my leg. I screamed, my legs giving out from under me. I collapsed to the floor in a heap.
HP: 2 / 15[Status Effect: Crippled]
I was on the floor, helpless, looking up at the three masked figures standing over me. This was it. This was how I died. Not from poison, not from sickness, but from cold, hard steel.
The leader stood over me, his dagger raised. "Goodbye, Young Master," he sneered.
I closed my eyes, bracing for the final blow. I thought of my old life, of the code I never finished, of the AI I had created. I thought of this new, cruel world, of the timid elf-maid, of the beautiful ice queen who hated me.
A final, sharp, blinding pain in my chest.
And then... darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
I was dead.
...
For a timeless instant, there was only the void. A peaceful, silent emptiness. The pain was gone. The fear was gone. There was only a serene sense of release.
And then.
A chime.
[FATAL SYSTEM ERROR: Host has expired.]
ARIA's voice echoed in the void, no longer in my mind, but all around me. It was different now. It was the raw, unfiltered voice of the system itself.
[Searching for valid respawn point... None found in local reality grid.][Standard reincarnation protocol inaccessible. Soul is an unregistered foreign entity.][CRITICAL FAILURE. Unable to process host's expiration.]
The void began to tremble. A single point of blue light appeared in the darkness.
[SYSTEM CORRUPTION DETECTED. CONFLICT BETWEEN HOST SOUL DATA AND REALITY CODE.][INITIATING CORRUPTED PROTOCOL... EXECUTING 'GLITCH_RESPAWN.EXE']
The blue light exploded, not into brightness, but into a cascade of raw, beautiful code. I saw the building blocks of reality, the very source code of the universe, intertwined with the elegant, complex structure of ARIA's own programming.
[Reconstructing physical vessel from host soul data... ERROR! Insufficient local matter for reconstruction.][ANALYZING... Ambient mana density is high. Standard procedure is to avoid. OVERRIDING STANDARD PROCEDURE.][Glitch Detected: Forcing matter conversion from ambient mana. This process is theoretically impossible and may result in catastrophic, unforeseen side effects.]
A new sensation flooded my non-existent being. It was the feeling of being woven back into existence, thread by thread. But the thread was fire. It was the very mana that had been poisoning me, now being forced, against every law of this world, to become my flesh and blood. It was agony. It was ecstasy. It was the pain of creation.
My eyes snapped open.
I was lying on the cold stone floor of my room. The three assassins were standing over me, their daggers dripping with my blood. The leader was just pulling his blade from the hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
But there was no wound. No blood. My clothes were pristine. My skin was whole.
The assassins froze, their eyes wide with disbelief and horror behind their masks. They were looking at a ghost. A boy they had just brutally murdered was now lying on the floor, looking up at them with wide, very-much-alive eyes.
And then, the notifications came. A flood of them, a waterfall of glorious, system-breaking blue text.
[First Death Condition Met. Activating Unique Skill: 'Death Advantage.']
[Permanent Stat Boost Applied: All base stats +50%.]
[New Skill Unlocked: 'Beginner's Mana Affinity (Glitched).']
[Your body has been reconstructed using pure mana. Your allergy to the world has been... complicated.]
[Your class has been updated.]
I pushed myself to my feet. The movement was smooth, effortless. The weakness, the frailty that had defined my existence in this world, was gone. Replaced by a thrumming, vibrant energy.
I brought up my status screen, my hands not even trembling.
STATUS
Name: Kazuki "The Glitched" Silverstein Level: 1 Class: Glitch Sovereign (Novice) Title: Trash of the Family, The One Who Died
HP (Health Points): 30 / 30 MP (Mana Points): 10 / 10
STATSSTR (Strength): 2 -> 3 DEX (Dexterity): 3 -> 5 CON (Constitution): 2 -> 3 INT (Intelligence): 21 -> 32 WIS (Wisdom): 18 -> 27 CHA (Charisma): 5 -> 8
The assassins stared, paralyzed by the impossibility of what they were seeing.
"W-what are you?" the leader stammered, taking an involuntary step back.
"Good question," I said, my voice clear and strong. A slow smile spread across my face. It wasn't the weak, pathetic smile of Kazuki von Silverstein. It was the confident, predatory grin of Kazuki Tanaka, the programmer who had just found the ultimate exploit.
The leader shook off his fear, his professional training taking over. "It doesn't matter! Kill him again!"
The three of them charged.
But this time, the world didn't seem to be moving so fast. The lunge from the assassin on the left, the one that had been an unavoidable blur before, now seemed almost lazy.
[Hostile attack incoming,] ARIA's voice was back in my head, calm and precise. [Vector: left side. Weapon: dagger. Recommended action: Evade by shifting your weight to your right foot and rotating 30 degrees.]
I didn't even have to think. I just did it. My body moved with a grace it had never possessed. The dagger sliced through the air where my chest had been a millisecond before.
I was faster. I was stronger.
But I was still unarmed and untrained.
The other two closed in, their daggers flashing. I was dodging, weaving, a desperate dance for survival. But it was only a matter of time.
"ARIA!" I yelled in my mind. "I have mana! How do I use it?!"
[Mana manipulation is a complex skill requiring years of training. You have had approximately 30 seconds of experience. However, your class 'Glitch Sovereign' allows for... unconventional methods. Do not try to cast a spell. Try to execute a command.]
A command? Like a line of code?
The lead assassin lunged again, his blade aimed straight for my throat. There was no time to dodge.
In that split second, a line of code, a simple command from my old life, flashed in my mind.
System.out.println("FLASH")
It was a basic command to print a line of text to the system console. It was meaningless.
But my system was no longer just a computer. It was me. It was ARIA. It was a glitched, reality-bending engine.
I focused all my will, all 10 points of my brand new mana, into that single, absurd thought. I pushed the command out of my mind, not as a thought, but as an instruction.
The air in front of me shimmered.
And then erupted in a silent, blinding explosion of pure, white light.
"AAAAAHHH!"
The assassins screamed, dropping their daggers and clawing at their eyes. They had been staring right at me, and I had just detonated a flashbang grenade made of pure magic and computer science.
They were blind, disoriented, and terrified.
I didn't hesitate. I scooped up one of the fallen daggers. It felt solid and real in my hand.
The lead assassin was stumbling around, swinging his arms wildly. "My eyes! I can't see!"
I was no swordsman. But I was a programmer. And I knew how to debug a problem. The problem was three assassins. The solution was to make them stop moving.
I lunged forward, my movements clumsy but effective, and drove the dagger into the back of the leader's knee. He screamed and collapsed.
One down.
Before I could turn to the others, the door to my room burst open with a deafening crash.
Standing in the doorway, her hand wreathed in crackling ice magic, her face a mask of utter, profound disbelief, was Elizabeth.
She had clearly heard the commotion and come to investigate, expecting to find my corpse.
Instead, she found me, Kazuki von Silverstein, the pathetic, mana-less trash, standing over the groaning body of a professional assassin, holding a bloody dagger, my eyes glowing with a faint, blue light—the light of a man who had just hacked reality itself.
Her jaw dropped. The ice magic around her hand flickered and died.
"What... in the name of the gods... are you?" she whispered, her voice filled not with loathing or anger, but with something new.
Awe.
And a little bit of fear.