Chapter 2: The First Fight

"Breathe. There’s no one here. You can come out. And for God's sake, stop crying."

From behind the door, a rough male voice boomed like thunder:

"Search everything again! The Duke’s daughter must be here! We can’t leave without her! Move it, you idiots!"

"Yes, sir!" a chorus of voices replied.

A moment later, two men burst into the library like a whirlwind. They were clad in rough leather armor, their hands gripping bloodstained swords that reeked of death. One of them, with crimson stains splattered across his face and clothes, stumbled when he saw Arthur. His eyes widened in horror, his face turning as pale as a sheet, and he staggered back as if he’d seen a ghost.

"I… I strangled him with my own hands! I swear, I killed him!" he stammered, his voice trembling.

"Then you didn’t finish the job, you fool!" barked the second man, his initial shock replaced by a vicious sneer. "Finish him now!"

Like hungry wolves, they bristled with their swords and advanced on Arthur, clearly intent on making sure he stayed dead this time.

Arthur froze for a moment, hesitation flickering in his mind. Memories of Earth flooded back—the strict laws, the inevitable punishment for any act of violence. A prison cell, cold and unyielding, with an AI algorithm tailoring his punishment. In his case, it had been hours of relentless rap music blasting daily during his sentence.

Wait. But… if this is another world… A sudden realization struck him like lightning. Here, I can do… anything? A wild, unrestrained thrill surged through his veins, chasing away the last remnants of hesitation. A wicked, anticipatory grin spread across his unfamiliar face.

Come on then, you sorry brats. He dropped into a fighting stance, ready to meet his attackers. One of them let out a wild cry and lunged forward, swinging his sword in a downward arc.

Arthur, however, had seen attacks like this thousands of times before. Their movements were clumsy and predictable, like children swinging sticks compared to the refined techniques of Earth’s fighters. But… his new body! It felt sluggish, unresponsive. He took a quick diagonal step forward, slipping out of the attack’s path. The sword whistled through the air, barely grazing the sleeve of his shirt. The warrior, caught off guard by such agility, lost his balance, stumbling forward awkwardly.

Arthur waited a fraction of a second, letting the momentum of the attack carry his opponent closer. Then, like a bolt of lightning, he struck. His palm shot out like a whip, slamming into the man’s jaw. Every movement—the step, the shift of weight—was executed with near-flawless precision, limited only by his unfamiliar form. Even with his new body’s weakness, the technique honed through decades of training did its job. The warrior crumpled onto a pile of books, unconscious.

The second mercenary, barely processing what had just happened, was already advancing, thrusting his sword forward like a snake’s fang. Arthur’s hand shot out, brushing the flat side of the blade with a light, almost imperceptible touch. The attack was deftly redirected, the sword passing harmlessly by. Another explosive step forward, and the edge of Arthur’s hand crashed into the man’s throat. The strike was precise and devastating. The mercenary let out a choked gasp, dropped his sword, and collapsed to his knees, clutching at his throat. Arthur didn’t hesitate. A sharp, snapping low kick to the jaw sent the second man sprawling, joining his comrade in unconsciousness.

Well… that was boring. Arthur found the whole thing laughably unimpressive. Too easy, too quick. But as the adrenaline faded, a sharp, aching pain shot through his joints, so intense it made him double over.

What kind of crappy body did I end up with? No one else rushed into the room, and the sounds of battle outside had died down. Silence settled, broken only by his heavy breathing. He returned to the cabinets, hoping the girl had fled during the chaos. But no, she was still there, frozen in fear like a rabbit caught in a predator’s gaze.

"Hey, it’s safe now. You can come out. Are you the Duke’s daughter they’re after? Fine, I’ll help you escape, wherever this is."

No response.

Arthur sighed dramatically and shrugged. "Alright, suit yourself." He turned and headed for the door but slowed his steps as if reconsidering. "Though, for the record, I’m not in a hurry. Just so you know, I’m not planning to wait here forever." He stopped, his back to her, giving her time to make a decision. Near the door, a mirror caught his eye, and he saw his reflection—a frail, skinny young man with slightly long blonde hair, pale skin, and yellow eyes. He looked like he’d never done a day of physical labor in his life.

This body could use some exercise.

His gaze shifted to the fallen enemies. The satisfaction of victory slowly gave way to growing curiosity. What kind of world is this? Who is this girl? And why are these men after her?

Just as he took a step toward the door, the girl scrambled out from behind the cabinets like a frightened bird. "Wait! I… I’ll go with you. You… you can handle those… mercenaries, right?" She clumsily crawled out, clinging to the edges of the shelves.

So, they’re mercenaries, Arthur thought. Just like on Earth—no one wants to get their hands dirty. "Of course, I can handle them," he said casually, glancing at the unconscious men. "These two swung their swords like kids, honestly."

The girl finally emerged from her hiding place and stood to her full height. She brushed invisible dust off her expensive but practical traveling outfit, devoid of unnecessary frills. In the dim light of the flickering torch, her chestnut curls shimmered like dark gold. She was slender and tall, at least 175 centimeters, with marble-white skin and a bright flush from recent tears and stress. Her large, wet green eyes, full of hope and fear, locked onto Arthur’s, silently pleading for protection.

"I saw…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I saw them… strangle you. You were lifeless… right here! And then… you came back. Are you… possessed by an evil spirit? Or… blessed by the Ether?"

What’s she babbling about? Did I inhabit a dead body? Damn, that’s kind of a bummer. If I tell her I’m from Earth, she’ll freak out even more. I need to come up with something.

"Ahem, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I woke up here and then saw you, and these amateurs attacked." Nice save, Arthur. And not entirely false.

"Really…?" She clearly didn’t buy it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t press further.

Their tense conversation was interrupted by another unexpected arrival. Arthur’s sharp ears caught the sound of someone running down the hallway outside, heading straight for them. Instinctively, he stepped away from the door, dropping into a fighting stance, ready for another confrontation. But to his surprise, it wasn’t a mercenary who appeared in the doorway—it was a guard in armor identical to the one lying dead in the library.

"My lady!" the guard exclaimed, panting from his run. "Thank the gods, you’re safe! We need to get out of here, now!" He reached out to the girl, urging her to follow.

"Wait!" she stopped him, gathering her composure. "This… librarian… saved me from the mercenaries. He should come with us." She gestured toward Arthur, introducing him to the guard.

The guard gave Arthur a quick, appraising look. "Librarian Aren?" he asked, looking at his chest. "Come on, follow me, and don’t fall behind!" He waved his hand, signaling Arthur to join them.

Aren? Arthur glanced down at his body and noticed a patch on his worn leather jacket with his name and profession: "Librarian Aren"

"Alright… fine," Arthur shrugged, accepting the new rules of the game. Lucky break. Now the guard’s responsible for this crybaby.

The Duke’s daughter approached the guard. He took her hand and, without wasting a second, began leading her away at a light jog, as if she were a fragile vase he was afraid to lose in the chaos. Arthur followed closely behind. The hallway was brighter than the library, thanks to large arched windows overlooking the inner courtyard. The floor was littered with the bodies of mercenaries and guards, frozen in unnatural poses. Dark pools of blood spread across the stone tiles. But no one alive was in sight.

They quickly made their way through the hallway and burst into the inner courtyard. The gates leading outside were just ahead.

"Young Lady Isla, the carriage should be right outside the gates, hurry!" the guard urged, pulling the girl along.

But before he could take another step, a shadow descended from above. Another mercenary dropped from the second floor, landing squarely on the guard’s back and slamming him to the ground. Standing over him like a predator over its prey, the mercenary slowly, almost savagely, drove his sword into the guard’s back. His movements were unnaturally fast and precise, as if honed to perfection beyond human limits.

Who the hell is this guy? Arthur thought, instinctively stepping in front of Isla. He wasn’t so much concerned with protecting her as he was eager to face this clearly dangerous opponent. The mercenary, tall and wiry, was dressed in black leather, his face hidden under a hood.

"Nowhere to run," the mercenary rasped, his voice muffled by the hood. "Surrender, Lady Isla." He began advancing toward them with slow, deliberate steps, completely ignoring Arthur as if he were invisible.

Arthur, however, wasn’t about to be ignored. He dropped into a fighting stance, ready to meet the enemy. Cocky brat , he thought, his eyes locked on the approaching mercenary.

The mercenary, as if noticing Arthur for the first time, glanced at him. A faint, unpleasant static charge ran through Arthur's body, like touching a live wire. In the next instant, the mercenary closed the distance in a flash and swung the hilt of his sword toward Arthur's face. Arthur hadn’t expected such inhuman speed. No one should be able to move like that, no matter how much they trained. But his instincts, sharpened by years of combat, and his lightning-fast reflexes allowed him to dodge the deadly strike at the last moment. A thin scratch on his cheek was the only reminder of how close he’d come to death. What the hell? What kind of speed is this? Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest.

The mercenary paused, surprised.

"How interesting," he drawled, slowly turning his head toward Arthur. "A mere librarian… dodged my strike. Without even using Ether. Truly… fascinating." He sheathed his sword, shifting his full attention from the Duke’s daughter to Arthur.

"Don’t try to run. I’ll catch you in an instant," he said to the frightened girl.

The mercenary cracked his neck and took a light, springy step forward, moving with the same incredible speed. He aimed a straight, snapping punch at Arthur’s chest.

Arthur, however, had already realized he was dealing with something unnatural, an opponent far beyond an ordinary human. And he was ready. Though the speed was beyond human limits, the technique and execution of the strike were surprisingly crude, like an amateur’s by Earth’s martial arts standards. Arthur, summoning all his willpower, intercepted the strike with a precise, practiced motion. Using techniques he’d honed over decades, he redirected the force and direction of the attack. Mimicking the mercenary’s movement, he deflected the strike with his front hand, then used the enemy’s own momentum to flip him through the air and slam him into the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of the mercenary, and Arthur moved in to finish him with a stomp to the face. But the mercenary, gathering his strength, blocked with both arms and, with a single hand, flung Arthur away like a ragdoll. Arthur tumbled through the air but managed to land on his feet, crouching to absorb the impact.

Both men rose to their feet, eyes locked. Despite their enmity, a flicker of mutual respect passed between them. They recognized each other as worthy opponents. But Arthur knew the difference in strength was vast. If he took even one hit, if he let himself be caught, it would be over. He’d be dead.

The mercenary smirked, cracking his neck. "You’re full of surprises, librarian. Let’s see how long you can keep up."

Arthur’s mind raced. This guy’s inhuman. I need to end this fast; this frail body is giving up. He clenched his fists, ready for the next round.

Isla watched from behind, her hands pressed to her mouth. "Be careful!"

Arthur didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on the mercenary. The fight was far from over, and he knew it would take everything he had to survive.

The mercenary charged again, his movements a blur. Arthur braced himself, his heart pounding. The thrill of battle, long forgotten, slowly roused his blood-forged skills.