2026-07-05 02:46:08Aster Vale opened his eyes, greeted by a cracked, moldy stone ceiling. The air in the room smelled of ancient dust, charred herbal potions, and the desperation of a destitute student.
He groaned softly, massaging his throbbing temples. Memories that weren't his flooded his brain mercilessly, colliding with his original consciousness until he nearly vomited.
Aster Vale. A firstyear student at Aethelgard Magic Academy. Majoring in Crafting and Potions. An orphan from a border village who had entered this prestigious academy solely on a pity scholarship.
And more importantly: he was an extra. A nameless background character. Cannon fodder destined for a ridiculous death in Chapter 3 of the novel Aethelgard Chronicles, which he had just finished reading in his original world the night before.
Aster rose from his hard bed, staring at the cracked silver mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection showed a young man with messy black hair and ordinary brown eyes. A face no one would remember. A face easy to forget after dying.
"Tomorrow morning," Aster whispered to his own reflection, his voice raspy and trembling. "The coffee spill incident in the cafeteria."
In the original novel, tomorrow morning was the academy's third day. The protagonist, Kaelen Drago—who couldn't yet control his explosive mana—would be sitting alone in the cafeteria. Aster—the unlucky extra—would slip, spill hot coffee on Kaelen’s expensive uniform, and the startled protagonist would reflexively release a wave of defensive mana.
The result? Aster would be scorched to ash in the blink of an eye. A ridiculous death used by the author solely to show how dangerous Kaelen's power was early in the story. No one would mourn. No one would remember his name.
Aster swallowed hard, tasting metal on his tongue. He didn't want to be ash. He didn't want to die just to serve as a stepping stone for the protagonist’s character development.
However, avoiding the coffee incident was merely a temporary solution. Even if he survived tomorrow morning, he was still slated to die in Chapter 50.
"The Abyss Wave," Aster muttered, his eyes narrowing sharply.
In Chapter 50 of the original novel, a dimensional rift would open beneath the academy, spewing out thousands of Abyss monsters that would slaughter half the student body. Nobles with highlevel protective artifacts would survive. But common students like Aster? They would be appetizers for those monsters.
Aster paced his cramped room, his brain spinning frantically in search of an exit. He needed a protective artifact. Something that could withstand catastrophic physical and magical attacks. And he knew exactly where that artifact was.
"The Cracked Stone," Aster whispered, stopping at the window to stare at the academy’s distant clock tower. "The fossilized scale of an Earth Dragon’s heart."
In the original plot, in Chapter 5—three days from now—a minor antagonist named Valerius would go to the academy's underground black market. He would buy a cracked black stone for a pittance, mistaking it for decorative trash. Yet, in Chapter 80, the stone was revealed to be an absolute protective artifact capable of repelling all forms of destructive mana. Valerius used it to survive the Abyss Wave, while hundreds of common students died gruesome deaths.
"If I want to live, I have to snatch that stone from Valerius before he goes to the black market," Aster thought coldly, staring at his reflection in the window glass. "I must get to the black market first, find that stone, and buy it."
However, there was one major problem.
Aster opened his wobbly wooden desk drawer and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He opened it and poured the contents onto the table.
Three silver coins and a few copper coins. His total personal wealth in this world.
"The black market doesn't accept silver coins," Aster muttered in frustration, rubbing his temples. "That stone, even if considered trash by Valerius, will still be priced at a minimum of five gold coins by antique dealers. I need five gold coins, and I only have enough money to buy hard bread for two weeks."
He couldn't borrow money. His roommate, Toby, despite coming from a family of merchants, always spent his allowance on food and never had any savings. Aster couldn't sell any valuables either, because he didn't have any.
"I have to make something to sell," Aster thought, his eyes sweeping across the messy room. "Something I can sell for a high price at the black market."
The room door suddenly swung open with a loud creak. A chubby young man with messy blonde hair walked in, carrying two paper bags filled with sweet bread.
"You're awake, Aster?" Toby asked with a wide grin, tossing one paper bag toward Aster. "I bought breakfast from the shop in front of the gate. Southernstyle honey bread, still warm."
Aster caught the paper bag by reflex. "Thanks, Toby."
Toby sat on his own messy bed, devouring his bread greedily. "You look very pale. Are you sick? Tomorrow morning the academy cafeteria is serving a special menu to welcome the new students. Black coffee from southern beans and meat toast. We have to go early so we don't run out of seats."
Hearing the words 'cafeteria' and 'coffee,' Aster choked on his own bread. He coughed violently, pounding his chest repeatedly to force the food down.
I just thought of a way to avoid that coffee, and you go and remind me! Aster thought in a panic.
"I... I'm fine," Aster replied after taking a sip of water, his eyes watering from choking. "Toby, tomorrow morning I won't be going to the cafeteria."
Toby frowned, confused. "Why? You always say you look forward to the free food from the academy because our allowance is so limited."
"I... am fasting. Yes, a sacred tradition from my village. I won't eat or drink outside this room tomorrow morning until the sun is directly overhead," Aster lied with a straight face.
"A very strange tradition," Toby muttered, shrugging his shoulders indifferently and returning to his food. "Fine then. I'll wrap up some bread for you if you change your mind."
After Toby finished eating and went to the bathroom to get ready for his theory class, Aster leaned back against his wooden chair. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his wildly spinning mind.
His survival plan was set:
Tomorrow morning: Avoid the cafeteria, destroy the coffeespill death flag.
Tomorrow night: Go to the black market, find the Cracked Stone, and buy it before Valerius arrives.
The problem: How to get five gold coins in two days?
Aster opened his eyes, staring at the pile of junk in the corner of the room. Scrap metal pieces, weathered wood, cracked glass bottles, and fabric scraps he’d scavenged from the bin behind the craft workshop. His initial intention was to use these free materials for academy assignments so he wouldn't have to buy expensive ingredients.
"Maybe I can make something from this trash and sell it as... handicrafts?" Aster muttered doubtfully. "Or simple household tools? Nail clippers, combs, or coasters?"
He didn't expect to sell those items for a high price. However, if he could sell a few dozen for cheap, maybe he could collect five gold coins in two days.
But, as if the universe had heard his plea and decided to offer him a much crazier solution, a cold, emotionless, mechanical voice suddenly echoed inside his head.
[Soul initialization complete.]
[Detecting dimensional anomaly... Connecting to the World Law Network...]
[Connection failed. World Law detects unregistered entity. Classifying entity as FateDestruction Virus.]
[Activating emergency concealment protocol. Encrypting system to avoid scanning...]
Aster froze in his seat. His eyes widened as he stared into the empty space in front of him, his breathing hitching for a second.
[Crafting & Potions System (Error Version) has been successfully activated.]
[Welcome, User. Please create your first piece of junk to start the tutorial.]
A semitransparent, pale blue screen appeared before his eyes, flickering unstably like a broken old television set. Red and green static lines crawled across the surface of the screen, accompanied by an earpiercing buzzing sound.
Aster stared at the screen with mixed feelings of soaring hope and deep suspicion.
He had a system. That was good news. With this system, he might be able to create highquality goods to sell and earn the five gold coins he needed.
However, the system was bugged, and worse yet, it was hiding from the "World Law" that viewed it as a virus. That was very, very bad news.
"I don't need a perfect system," Aster whispered, staring at the wildly flickering screen with the sharp gaze of a merchant betting his final capital. "I just need something I can sell for a high price at the black market. Give me anything you can make from the trash in this room."
He turned toward the pile of junk in the corner, an idea beginning to form in his head.
"I'll make nail clippers," Aster muttered, picking up a piece of scrap metal and a small spring from his desk drawer. "A simple tool that everyone surely needs. If I can make it with high quality, I can definitely sell it for a decent price."
Aster didn't know that his decision to make "simple nail clippers" would be the beginning of a series of misunderstandings that would shake the entire Aethelgard Academy, and turn him into a feared legend in the underworld.
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Chapter 145: Back to the Shop
Nine o'clock at night.The bell above the door of Vale Junk Shop rang. Ting.The sound was small, rusty, and slightly out of tune. But to Aster Vale, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. A sound that meant he was home. A sound that meant the workday was over. And most importantly, a sound that meant it was time to count his money.Aster stepped inside, closed the wooden door with creaking hinges, and locked the double latch. He did not turn on the main light right away. Moonlight filtering through the front window was enough to guide him to the rocking chair behind the counter. The chair creaked in protest as he sank his tired body onto its thin cushion.From inside his woven rattan bag, he pulled out a notebook, a pen, and a broken mechanical calculator with a snapped indicator needle. Then, he began taking out bags of coins.Clink. Clink. Clink.The sound of gold hitting the wooden counter was tonight's symphony. Aster lined up the piles of coins, sorted them by income sour
Chapter 144: Two Different Paths
The corridor connecting Floor One to the surface was still intact. The stone steps creaked under the footsteps of Helena and Kael—two figures who should have never walked side by side. The Grand Inquisitor of the Church of Sacred Light. The General of the Valdris War Faction. Two institutions that had stood on opposite sides for two hundred years.Behind them, four royal knights escorted them. Not escorting them as prisoners. Escorting them as... witnesses. As people who did not know what to do about two individuals who had just stopped being themselves.Sunlight poured in from above. Real sunlight. Not crystal light. Not the glow of moss. Not mirror reflections. Sunlight that was warm, honest, and reflected nothing other than itself.Helena stopped at the dungeon gate.The black stone arch towered before her—ancient symbols eroded by three hundred years, security seals that were now dark, a surface no longer glowing. The gate looked old. Tired. Like someone who had stood for too long
Chapter 143: From Cult to Community
Malachar did not walk like a Grand Priest. There was no cape billowing without wind. No eyes burning with the fire of conviction. No voice sounding like dry bones scraping together inside a cave.He walked like an old man who had just woken up from a forty-year sleep, realizing that all his dreams belonged to someone else.His steps were short. Hesitant. His old shoes touched the mirror floor without confidence—without direction. Where should he go? What should he do? Who was he, if not the Grand Priest of the Abyss Remnant Cult? Who was he, if not a hunter of God? Who was he, if not anything at all?The Cracked Mirror still lay on the floor. Its cracked surface now reflected the ordinary light of the Maze—a light that showed no souls, no truth, nothing other than the surface. But Malachar did not need to look at the mirror anymore. He had already seen it. And what he saw was still burning behind his eyes.A former bishop. Alone. Fired. Without friends. Talking to walls.Not a Grand P
Chapter 142: Toby, the Unwanted "Prophet"
He found a gap between two cracked mirrors—a narrow two-meter space hidden behind the reflection of light. There, far from the battle, far from the screams, far from poison daggers, mana nets, and giant fists slamming into the floor, Toby did the only thing he could do while the world was collapsing around him.He cooked.The Kerosene Stove burned with a small blue flame. Its bent chimney puffed out thin steam that smelled like chicken broth mixed with damp moss and a hint of ozone from the dungeon air. Inside the dented pot he brought from the shop, dungeon water boiled—water he scraped from the leaks along the Maze walls, water no sane person with an appetite would ever drink.Toby stirred the soup with a wooden spoon he had chewed on in three places. A greasy apron was tied around his neck—an apron he found in a supply sack when they first entered the dungeon. It was way too big for him, but enough to keep his fur safe from splatters.This was not the thick, black, asphalt-smelling
Chapter 141: Aster Faces the Three Leaders
Reinforcements arrived in four minutes and thirty seconds.A platoon of Aethelgard royal knights—forty men in silver armor with golden lion crests on their chests—entered Floor Four in a two-column formation. Their captain, a woman with a scar on her temple and eyes that had seen too much to ever be shocked by anything, swept her gaze across the Maze.And even she stopped.Twenty Valdris shadow soldiers sat on the floor. Weapons lay beside them. Masks unfastened. Empty eyes. Not fighting back. No need to bind them—they weren't even trying to stand up.Twelve cult followers knelt on the other side of the Maze. Their red eyes blinked with a confusion never before seen on the face of any cultist. Some were crying. Some were staring at their own hands. Some just stayed quiet.Kael's five guards lay near the shattered mirror wall. Unmoving. Breathing, but unmoving.And in the middle of it all, three people sat in front of a small cracked mirror. Crying.The platoon captain swallowed hard.
Chapter 140: The Last Line of Defense
The effect of the Rusty Shop Bell pulled everyone to a single point. The effect of the Dusting Broom erased intent from everyone within a ten-meter radius. But not everyone was within that radius. And not all intent could be erased.Kael's five personal guards stood at the edge of the Maze. They felt the pull of the bell. They felt the broom's erasing effect. But they were veterans of three border campaigns—their souls had been forged too hard, too many times, for the outer layer of their intent to be wiped away by a single sweep of a broom.And four of Malachar's followers—four of the twelve who had been brainwashed too deeply, for too long, for the chains on their souls to be loosened by a single wave of cleansing—stood up. Their red eyes glowed. Ritual knives were drawn.Nine figures moved. Not toward the mirror. Not toward the three crying leaders. Toward Aster.Toward the old man crouching on the moss, his back to the world, pressing the buttons of a broken calculator.Kaelen mov
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