An Unfamiliar World (2)

I lay with my back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Old, weathered wood. Faint moonlight slipping through the gaps in the window. An unfamiliar house, an unfamiliar room, and an unfamiliar world.

Yet the story rising in my mind felt anything but unfamiliar. This was the world from the tale I knew. And that tale began in a myth so ancient it might as well have been the dawn of time.

In the primordial era, countless gods had existed in this world. Each shaped creation with their own divine authority, scattering fragments of their power across the land. Later generations would call that power mana.

At first it was an age of peace. But peace never lasts when gods begin to quarrel. Some believed humans held true potential—fragile now, yet one day capable of reshaping the world through their own strength. Others viewed them as failed experiments, imperfect creatures who would inevitably ruin everything the gods had built.

That small difference in opinion grew, festered, and finally exploded into open war. The War of the Gods. The sky fractured. The earth tore open. Seas rose and inverted while lightning and fire swallowed the horizon. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Countless deities fell, and the angels who served them littered the ground like broken dolls.

The aftermath defied imagination. Entire continents were reshaped. Countless humans and other races perished. After long ages had passed, the war finally ended in victory for the gods who had loved humanity.

But victory did not solve every problem. Among the defeated were gods whose ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠existence was tied to the fundamental laws of the world itself. Erasing them completely might have collapsed reality. So the victors chose a different punishment: they erased the defeated gods’ true names.

In this world a true name was never just a name. It was the absolute definition of a deity. The fewer beings who remembered it, the weaker the god became, until at last their divine authority crumbled away.

The winners stripped the losers of their true names and branded them with false ones instead. From that act were born the beings later called evil gods—or outer gods.

Even then the war did not truly end. After the divine conflict, three things remained upon the earth: the corpses of gods and angels, the colossal magical energy scattered across the land, and the despair, terror, and hatred poured out by mortals and every other race.

Those three forces mingled and gave birth to new entities. People named them demons.

Demons fell into two broad categories. The first were the Seventy-Two Demons—colossal beings born by feasting on divine corpses and raw magical power. The second were those born directly from human sin: Greed, Pride, Envy, Wrath, Lust, Sloth, and Gluttony. The concentrated essence of those seven sins coalesced into entities known as the Seven Deadly Sins.

Because they had been born from the gods’ war—from despair, hatred, and fear—the demons loathed their creators. They loathed the angels, humans, and every other race the gods had made. They attacked without discrimination.

The world fell into war again. This time, heroes rose. Humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin—powerful individuals from every race stood against the demonic hordes. The human king remembered as the Founder. The first elven queen. Ymir, progenitor of the dwarves. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The archmage who raised the first magic tower. When all those heroes combined their strength, the demonic legions were finally driven back.

The Seventy-Two Demons were sealed in the deepest abyss—Hell itself. After the war the gods left behind a single vow: unless the world stood on the brink of annihilation, they would never descend directly again. Their will would reach the earth only through their believers. From that day forward, gods and celestials withdrew from mortal sight.

Yet demonic power never fully vanished. Fragments of the Seventy-Two Demons’ strength passed to certain individuals, giving rise to a new race. People called them demonkin. The entire race possessed powerful bodies and potent magic. But there were also beings born directly from demonic essence rather than merely receiving it. These were still called demons, and they were far stronger and more merciless than any demonkin.

In the end most demons outside the Seventy-Two and the Seven Deadly Sins perished in the war. The survivors were sealed in Hell alongside their greater kin.

Did that make the unsealed demonkin weaker than true demons? Usually, yes. But exceptions existed—demonkin powerful enough to rival the Seventy-Two. The Demon Kings. Their subordinates, while not matching that pinnacle, still equaled high-ranking demons. They founded Pandemonium, a nation ruled by the Demon Kings, and settled in the southern hemisphere on land forged from pure magical energy, far from the northern continent.

The rest of the continent was divided among several other powers. The Holy Elysion Empire—commonly called the Holy Kingdom—was a papal state whose influence reached every corner of the world. It wielded divine revelation, holy power, and the singular force known as the Saintess.

The Etheria Kingdom stood as the continent’s foremost center of magical research, built around the first magic tower, Etheria. Mages had flocked there for centuries until the gathering became a kingdom.

Alfheim Kingdom lay deep within ancient forests, the homeland of the elves. They excelled in nature and spirit magic and were said to be a race born directly from divine power, much like the angels. The gods had breathed life into the world through the World Tree Yggdrasil; the first elves emerged from its earliest fruit.

Nidavellir Kingdom rested beneath a colossal mountain range, the underground realm of the dwarves. A nation of fortress-cities, it housed the greatest blacksmiths on the continent. Countless artifacts and weapons were forged in its fires.

Then came the Astrea Empire, the mightiest human nation. Unrivaled in military strength and territory, it was also home to Arcadia Academy. Its aristocratic culture had produced generations of heroes and knights.

Finally there was the Bacar Kingdom, the continent’s largest commercial power. A free city-state where mercenaries and merchants thrived, it served as a ceaseless crossroads of trade and information.

Thousands of years after the gods’ war, these seven nations maintained a precarious balance, coexisting beneath the fragile name of peace.

But the seal on Hell was weakening. The Seventy-Two Demons could not yet escape, yet lesser and mid-tier demons had begun to crawl onto the surface. Humans who had contracted with demons for power—demon contractors—were actively working to shatter the seal completely.

And at the center of every version ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of that story stood one figure: the hero chosen by Iseria, mother of all gods and deity of life and order. In the end she would defeat every resurrected member of the Seventy-Two and save the world.

“…Yeah.”

I let out a long breath. After recalling everything, denial was no longer possible. This was exactly the world I remembered from the story. And right now I stood on the continent where every chapter of that tale began—home of Arcadia Academy.

“…Transmigration.”

The word slipped out before I could stop myself. It was the only term that fit. I had entered the novel. I had been dropped inside it.

The same overused trope you saw in web novels all the time. In situations like this, the usual pattern was—

I thought for a second, then gave a small, dry laugh.

“No way.”

Still… you never knew.

I spoke into the empty air.

“Status window.”

Nothing happened. A brief silence.

“…As expected, there isn’t one.”

The moment I muttered those words and started to turn my head—

A familiar notification rang inside my skull.

“…Huh?”

My eyes flew wide. At that exact moment a window of pale light materialized in the corner of my vision.

“…What the hell.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. The status window had actually appeared. I slowly lifted a hand and waved it through the air. My fingers passed straight through the glowing panel, yet the window refused to disappear. It remained fixed in my sight like a game UI.

The stats were all visible. Strength, agility, stamina—I scanned each one. They were average. Honestly, they were a little low. Compared to the noble scions and geniuses entering the academy they would probably look pathetic.

But none of that mattered right now. My gaze had already locked onto the bottom of the window.

Trait. Mark of the Seven Sins.

“…Seven Sins.”

I repeated the words slowly. Greed. Pride. Envy. Wrath. Lust. Sloth. Gluttony. The seven sins. In this world those words carried only one meaning.

The Seven Deadly Sins.

I stared at the window in silence, then slowly reached out and tapped the single trait listed.

“Pride?”

I narrowed my eyes. And in that instant—

“No way…”

I looked at the status window again. A moment of silence. Then I let out a small, bitter laugh.

“…This.”

It looked like I had fallen into a far more troublesome situation than I had expected.