Chapter 10 - Broken Flags and Buried Magic

The elixir sat quietly in Luca’s palm, its golden glow casting soft patterns across the dim dorm room walls. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs still sore from training, arms heavy with exhaustion. But his mind—it refused to rest.

He stared at the bottle.

So small. So light. And yet... it had come at such a heavy price.

Back in the clocktower, he hadn’t allowed himself time to think. The adrenaline, the shock, the overwhelming swirl of emotions from the vision—they’d all been pushed down. Suppressed.

But now, in the quiet of his room, with no blade raised against him, no ghostly knight staring him down, the thoughts came flooding in.

What the hell was that?

He had played this game—

End Realms

—hundreds of times. No, more than that. Thousands.

He knew every event flag, every possible cutscene, even the glitched-out side stories that developers never fully patched. But not once—not even once—had something like

that

happened.

A memory? A soul? A vision so vivid it made him feel the man’s pain?

He clenched the elixir tighter.

It shouldn’t be possible.

The spirit knight was just an early-game optional boss. A footnote for Aiden, the golden protagonist. You could fight him for EXP and minor rewards—a stat-boosting trinket, a few gold coins, maybe a unique sword you’d never use past mid-game. When Luca had first encountered him while playing as Aiden, the fight had been laughably easy. He had blinked, and the boss was gone. A few flashy moves, one well-timed combo, and the knight disintegrated into particles without ever touching him.

It was so insignificant that he’d nearly forgotten the knight existed at all.

And yet—

Even players who weren’t as skilled as Luca, those who uploaded hours-long videos filled with frustrated shouting and messy, drawn-out fights—

they

had never triggered anything like what happened to him. No ghostly vision. No emotional memories. No glimpse into a father’s dying regrets. Just a tough boss and a loot drop.

It wasn’t just about

how

long you fought.

It was about

who

was fighting.

Which left only one conclusion:

This didn’t happen because the spirit knight changed.

It happened because

he

did.

Because the one standing in the clocktower wasn’t Aiden.

It was

Luca

.

That thought sent a chill down his spine. He slowly reached over to the drawer beside his bed and pulled out the worn leather-bound journal he’d found on his first day here.

The original Luca’s journal.

He hadn’t read much of it. Only glimpses. But now, it felt urgent.

He flipped it open, fingers grazing over the old ink. The handwriting was jagged, inconsistent—like someone unsure of the world around them. He turned through the pages until he found one entry that made his breath catch.

"It happened again. I saw them. I heard their voices. They’re not dreams. I’m not asleep. But no one else can see. No one else believes me. Father says I’m making it up. Mother prays harder each time. I stopped telling them anything. What’s the point? Even I don’t know what’s real anymore."

Luca stared at the words, heart pounding.

So this wasn’t the first time.

The original Luca had... seen things. Felt things. Visions? Memories? Spirits?

It wasn’t just him.

And his parents—they noticed. They were worried. Maybe even afraid. But Luca... he had kept it to himself. Bottled it up. Because he hadn’t understood it either.

Luca shut the journal slowly, letting out a long breath.

"So this is the life I walked into..."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together as he stared into the floor.

What did it mean?

Why him?

Why could

he

see those visions now?

What was it about this body, this soul, that drew in echoes of the dead?

He searched his thoughts, trying to piece together a theory. Anything that made sense.

But the answers remained just beyond reach.

Still, something was becoming clearer.

He looked down at the elixir.

Even its glow felt heavier now.

"What am I getting myself into?"

And for the first time since arriving in this world, Luca wasn’t thinking about survival.

He was thinking about the truth.

His thoughts drifted further, tumbling back to something else. The class assignment. The interview with the professors. Their hushed voices, the sideways glances. The way they’d spoken about his mana.

"Unregistered attributes... unidentified magical traces... affinity levels exceeding the elite threshold..."

It had sounded absurd.

But now...

Luca’s eyes widened, the golden light from the elixir reflected in their depths.

There was an element above the elite. A theoretical concept, never implemented in the game. Hidden deep in the lore. He remembered reading about it only once—in a forgotten cave filled with scrapbooks and tomes. A flavor text, dismissed at the time as nothing more than a quirky bit of worldbuilding.

But if that element—if that affinity—was

real

...

If it belonged to

Luca

...

Then something has gone

hella

wrong with this game.

***

Aiden adjusted the strap on his shoulder as he walked across the morning-lit academy courtyard, the fresh air brushing past him with a chill. Despite the early hour, his muscles already ached slightly from sparring with Kyle and Selena earlier. Training had become a rhythm, a daily beat that kept him focused ever since arriving at Arcadia Academy.

Kyle—sharp, methodical, and always two steps ahead—had proven himself not only as a worthy sparring partner but someone with a head for strategy. Not surprising, considering he was the grandson of the Iron Duke himself. Selena, on the other hand, was pure destruction. Her spells were fast, her reactions swift, and her will unshakable. In such a short time, the three of them had become a tightly-knit trio, bound by sweat and bruises.

But not everyone had found their place in this camaraderie.

Lilly.

He frowned.

Since childhood, she’d always been with him—his shadow, his partner, the one person he never had to explain himself to. But here... something had shifted. She didn’t talk to Kyle or Selena. Didn’t even try, really. He’d noticed the cold shoulder she gave them, the stiffness in her posture when they were around. She never joined in when the three of them joked after practice. And she always vanished in the mornings, long before training began.

It bothered him.

He wanted her to get along with them, to be part of the team. Wasn’t that what they’d dreamed of? Coming here, growing stronger together?

But maybe it wasn’t so easy for her. He knew Lilly—knew how deeply she felt things. How her pride sometimes got in the way of everything else.

Today, he was going to change that.

He made his way toward the girl’s dorms, passing by flowerbeds and early-rising students heading to their own routines. Then he spotted her—long pink hair drifting in the wind as she stepped out of the building, eyes fixed on something far away.

"Lilly!" he called, halfway across the lawn.

She didn’t turn.

Instead, she kept walking—purposeful, silent.

Aiden paused.

Then curiosity tugged at him. He followed at a distance, careful not to draw attention. Her steps were measured but not hurried. She wasn’t going to class. That much was obvious.

She passed through the gardens, down an unused path between the dorms and training fields. Aiden stayed low, ducking behind a row of hedges when she turned to glance behind her.

Where is she going?

She rounded a corner, crossed the old stone bridge behind the east training field, and slipped into one of the older sections of the academy—places that few students visited unless assigned.

Then she stopped.

Aiden froze behind a tree, peering ahead.

There—standing in the clearing, amidst training dummies and worn-out weapons racks—was a lone figure.

Sword raised.

Body steady.

Movements fluid.

Swing.

Step.

Swing.

Again. Again.

Aiden’s eyes widened.

"...Luca Valentine."

His voice left him in a breathless whisper.

Was now moving like a shadow dancing through sunlight.

Aiden watched, stunned, as Luca continued his practice. There was a weight to his swings. A rhythm. An intensity that hadn’t been there before.

And Lilly...

She stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching quietly.

Not a word spoken. Not a greeting exchanged.

Just... silence.