I'm so sorry for the lack of creativity. The beginning of my stories is always weak. Chapter 1 is always the best.
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My eyes snap open, as if someone had turned on a light inside my head. I breathe rapidly, the air rushing in and out of my lungs in short, uncontrolled bursts. I feel droplets of sweat sliding down my forehead, cold against my burning skin. I lower my gaze, confused, and there it is: a book in front of me. Its title, engraved in golden letters on a worn leather cover, reads Grimoire of the Primordial Essences. Something inside me shudders; that name resonates like a distant echo, as if I somehow know it is tied to magic, to a power I cannot fully comprehend.
I look at my hands. They are not the ones I know. They are slender, delicate, with long and elegant fingers that seem never to have worked a single day. I rise from the chair with a clumsy motion, nearly stumbling, and rush toward a mirror I see on the other side of the room. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I stop in front of the glass and freeze. This is not me.
In the reflection stands a young girl—perhaps around 16 years old? Her hair is as white as snow, falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her large, bright eyes are a deep shade of violet, like polished amethysts. Her lips, thin and delicate, are painted a soft red that contrasts against her pale, almost translucent skin, giving her an otherworldly, ethereal beauty.
I am wearing a dress I do not recognize. It is a light shade, white or perhaps pale gray, with a long, flowing skirt that moves slightly with every step. The sleeves are wide and puffed, giving it an elegant air, almost as if taken from an ancient tale. The fabric appears lightweight, with subtle folds that catch the light, and my waist is cinched by a dark belt that contrasts with the softness of the rest.
I stare at myself, blink, and then, with a voice that does not feel like mine—delicate, high-pitched, trembling—I say:
—W-what… what is happening?
I walk slowly around my room, my steps echoing softly against the polished wooden floor. My mind is a whirlwind, trying to make sense of what is happening. I don't remember my name—my real name—only the one that seems to fit this body: Eidel. Eidel Veylthorne. The surname surfaces in my mind as if it had always been there, an echo of a life I never lived. I know I come from a wealthy family, a distinguished lineage of the Nasca Empire under the Eastern Dynasty.
Then, the name strikes me like lightning: Rudra Nam Ul Nasca. The emperor, the legendary warrior from Tensei Shitara Slime. Am I… inside that world? My breathing quickens again, but I force myself to stay calm, pressing a hand against the wall adorned with intricate tapestries.
I try to organize my thoughts. If this is real, if I am truly here, then I must adapt, understand. But before I can continue, a voice breaks the silence:
—Eidel!
I startle so much that I nearly trip over the hem of my dress, grabbing the edge of a table to keep myself from falling. My heart pounds as I turn my head. A woman stands there—tall, elegant, with the same white hair as mine, though hers is neatly tied up in a flawless bun. Her violet eyes, identical to mine, look at me with a mixture of warmth and authority.
My mother. I know it without a doubt.
—Have you finished studying? —she asks, her voice firm but not harsh.
I instinctively glance at the desk where I had been before. The Grimoire of the Primordial Essences is still there, open to a page filled with symbols I don't fully understand. I swallow hard and, with a shaky voice I barely control, respond:
—Y-yes, Mother. I've finished.
She nods, satisfied.
—Then get ready for dinner. Don't take too long.
—Of course, Mother —I say, almost reflexively, while my mind continues to spin like a storm. She turns and leaves the room, once again leaving me alone, carrying the weight of this new world on my shoulders.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves still coursing through me. By pure reflex, my hands move to my dress, smoothing the skirt and adjusting the sleeves with a care that feels instinctive. I freeze, startled. Since when do I know how to do this? The movement was so natural, as if this body had repeated that action hundreds of times, yet to me, it feels strange—almost foreign. I shake my head, deciding not to lose myself again in the maze of my thoughts, and step out of the room.
I descend the stairs carefully, my footsteps echoing in the silence. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I find myself in an immense hallway, flanked by marble columns and adorned with crystal lamps that gleam under the light. Servants, dressed in impeccable uniforms, move back and forth, but upon seeing me, they stop. One by one, they lower their heads in respectful bows.
My heart skips a beat. I have never been the center of so much attention before, and a knot forms in my stomach as I try to maintain my composure. I quicken my pace, guided by the memories of this body that, like a blurry map, lead me toward the main hall.
Upon entering, I see my mother standing, speaking with a pair of servants. Her presence commands respect; she wears a dress similar to mine, but far more ornate, with golden embroidery that glows under the light. The servants nod at her words and quickly withdraw upon noticing my arrival. She turns her head toward me, her violet eyes assessing me for a moment before softening.
—You arrived just in time, Eidel —she says, her tone a blend of authority and warmth.
I approach my mother with hesitant steps, the echo of my shoes resonating through the hall. I swallow hard and, in a tone I try to keep calm, ask:
—Why do you say I arrived just in time, Mother?
She looks at me, and a smile lights up her face—a mix of pride and joy that makes her eyes gleam.
—Because the official will be arriving soon, Eidel. He is coming to meet you and sign the treaty for your marriage. It is an important step to unite our families.
My expression freezes. It feels as if the ground beneath my feet has vanished. Marriage? I just woke up in this body, I don't even know who I truly am, and the first thing I hear is that I am to marry someone I have never met. My mind screams, but my face—trained by the instincts of this body—remains serene. With immense effort, I keep my composure and, in a soft voice I barely recognize as my own, ask:
—Who… who is this official, Mother?
She brightens, as if sharing wonderful news, and begins speaking with enthusiasm.
—It is Lord Gavren Thalor, a man of great influence in the Nasca Empire's court. He is over sixty years old, but his experience and power make him an invaluable ally. He is a ruthless strategist, though they say his temper is… difficult. He has amassed his wealth by exploiting mines in the southern lands, without concern for how many workers have died in the process. Some call him cruel, but I see him as a determined man.
She continues, oblivious to the way my stomach twists with every word.
—He bears a scar across his face, from a battle he himself provoked to eliminate a rival. His third wife died under mysterious circumstances just a year ago. But don't worry, Eidel—this is for the good of the family.
Sixty years old. Cruel. A man who does not hesitate to sacrifice lives for power. And I, trapped in this sixteen-year-old body, am the piece that will seal this deal.
My mother keeps smiling, unaware of the storm of horror growing inside me.
With a lump in my throat, I look at my mother and, in a soft voice I can barely control, say:
—Mother, I'm going out for a moment. I need… some air.
She nods, still wearing that same smile.
—Don't take too long, Eidel. The official will be here soon.
I don't respond. I turn around and walk through the halls with my head lowered, my footsteps silent against the marble floor. I keep a composed expression, though inside, I feel like I'm about to explode. The servants watch me as I pass, but I don't stop. I keep going until I finally step outside the enormous mansion. The fresh air hits my face, and I look around. I'm alone. No one is following me.
Then, I scream.
It's not a cry of sorrow, but a roar of pure rage that tears through the silence. My voice echoes in the empty courtyard, and I let everything out.
—What the hell is happening!? —I shout, raising my arms to the sky—. Why is this happening to me!? This makes no sense! Reincarnating into a fictional world? Seriously? This is insane!
I stop, panting, and suddenly, a bitter laugh escapes my lips. I take a deep breath, resting my hands on my knees, and tell myself:
—Calm down, Eidel. Breathe. You have to keep a cool head. This… this is real now, whether you like it or not.
But then, my inner voice cracks, and I keep talking to myself, as if trapped in a loop:
—Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down? Why am I here? Why me? I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to wake up in the body of a girl who's about to marry a despicable old man. Why am I in this situation? Why? This makes no sense! Why me? Why here? Why now?
I take another breath, slower this time, and straighten up. My smile fades, but the anger still burns in my chest. I look back at the mansion, knowing I can't escape so easily. Not yet.
I enter the mansion with determined steps, the echo of my scream still ringing in my head. I walk through the hallways, turning left down a corridor that the memories of this body guide me to follow. I arrive at a heavy door of dark wood and open it without hesitation. It's the room of my father, Lord Darius Veylthorne.
The air inside is thick with the scent of old leather and polished metal. The room is filled with artifacts—bookshelves crammed with dusty tomes, a desk covered in maps and scrolls, and glass cases displaying gleaming weapons. In one corner, a stand holds an ornate suit of armor adorned with golden engravings, and on the wall hangs a tapestry depicting an epic battle, dragons and knights clashing beneath a stormy sky. Everything in this room screams power and legacy.
My eyes scan the space, and thanks to Eidel's memories, I know exactly what to look for. I approach a coat rack beside the desk and grab a thick gray wool cloak, fastening it with a silver leaf-shaped brooch. I throw it over my shoulders, covering my dress. Then, I move toward a small display case and open the glass. There it is—a short mithril sword, its blade glowing with an almost supernatural silver sheen, light yet lethal. I take it and secure it to the belt of my dress. Finally, I glance at the desk and spot a few gold coins scattered among the papers. Not much, about ten pieces, but enough to buy food for a few days. I tuck them into a hidden pocket inside the cloak.
I leave the room with my heart pounding, the cloak billowing behind me. I run through the halls, ignoring the confused looks of the servants who step aside with respectful bows. I take the stairs two at a time and rush through the main hall. As I step outside the mansion, the cool night air hits me once more. I sprint through the cobbled streets of the Nasca Empire, my breath forming clouds in the cold air. The glow of the lanterns flickers around me, and the sound of my footsteps blends with the distant murmur of the city.
A guard appears around a corner, his armor clinking as he patrols. I freeze and press myself against the wall of a building, the cloak shielding my face. When he passes, I resume running, slipping into a narrow alley. Up ahead, two guards are chatting in front of one of the city's smaller gates. I crouch behind a cart loaded with barrels and wait, holding my breath. When one of them steps away to adjust his spear, I seize the moment and dash across, keeping to the shadows.
The path isn't long—the Veylthorne mansion lies on the outskirts of the city center, and soon, I spot the empire's outer wall. One last guard watches over the exit, but he's distracted, gazing toward the heart of the city. I slip past him with silent steps, my cloak barely rustling, and finally, I am outside.
I stop, panting, and look up at the night sky. The stars shine brighter than I've ever seen, an infinite tapestry over this magical world. I smile, a mix of relief and defiance on my face.
I'm going to live this new life on my own terms.
After all, you don't wake up in a place like this every day.
If I die, I no longer care.
This is my beginning, and I'll make it my own.