The ground shook.
A low, grinding rumble vibrated through Finn’s boots, rattling his teeth. The air reeked of blood and molten metal, laced with a high-pitched whine—like overclocked circuitry.
This wasn’t Alex’s stream. This wasn’t a screen.
This was real.
Finn’s heart pounded, each beat screaming one truth: I’m in the game. Fort Bastion’s battlefield sprawled below, a twisted reflection of Lumina’s Defense’s tutorial level. Stone walls crumbled under monstrous claws. Soldiers screamed, their voices raw, human, dying.
The crown dug into his temples, heavy as guilt. His armor clung, clumsy yet eerily familiar, like a phantom limb stirring with muscle memory. I’ve studied strategy, leadership—endless books, interview prep, Finn thought, clutching the thought like a lifeline. But nothing prepared me for this.
A Mantis Stalker’s screech tore through the air, sharp as a blade. Its mandibles glinted, slicing the smoky haze. Finn’s stomach lurched.
Knowing isn’t doing.
All those hours glued to Alex’s streams, memorizing builds, felt useless now. His “knowledge” was a flimsy illusion, crumbling against the brutal reality bearing down. This wasn’t a gamepad. This was permadeath.
Rylan’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp as steel.
“Your Highness!” The Champion of Light stood tall, his armor scarred but unyielding. His eyes locked onto Finn’s, respectful yet demanding. “The wall’s breached. Crawlers swarm the gaps. Stalkers flank our men.”
Finn froze. Your Highness? He wasn’t hunting for a job anymore. He was Prince Finn, thrust into a lethal reality he barely understood.
Rylan’s gaze didn’t waver. “What are your orders, Prince Finn?”
The title hit harder than the crown. Finn’s breath hitched. “Tell me about a time you adapted to an unexpected obstacle,” an old interview question echoed, mocking him. This isn’t a resume. This is claws and blood.
A flicker in his vision snapped him back. A shimmering HUD materialized, glowing blue and cold.
[Character Status]
Name: Finn Park (The Reluctant Prince) – 1★
- Level: 1
- HP: 80/80
- Skills: None
- Weapon: Ceremonial Royal Dagger
- Aether Capacity: 10/10
- Description: A prince who didn’t want to be a prince. He’s read a ton of business books and attended countless workshops, but sadly, none of that translates to real-world skills. Imagine a prince who can deliver a lecture on “team synergy” but couldn’t swing a sword to save his life. Right now, he’s very confused and probably wishing for a handbook on “How to Survive a War.”
“No skills?” Finn whispered, voice lost in the battle’s roar. “A ceremonial dagger?”
His stats weren’t just bad. They were a joke. Level 1. HP so low a stiff breeze could end him. And that description? It was mocking him.
This is what I’m stuck with?
So much for envisioning a glorious charge, sword raised high. Finn’s current reality involved praying his leaden feet wouldn’t betray him, that raw terror wouldn’t freeze him solid again.
Finn’s eyes darted to the battlefield. Crawlers—scuttling, beetle-like horrors—poured through the breached wall. Stalkers, all claws and hunger, prowled the flanks. Soldiers fell, their blood staining the stone red.
I’m going to die here.
The thought hit like a punch. Finn’s knees wobbled, the dagger’s hilt slick in his sweaty palm. This is the tutorial level. The one where everyone dies. Everyone except Rylan.
His mind flashed to Alex’s Ironman run. The impossible victory. Alex hadn’t saved the prince or the army, but he’d kept key heroes alive longer than anyone thought possible, using nothing but cunning.
Could I do that? Finn’s HR-trained brain kicked into gear, grasping for patterns, strategies, anything. All those workshops on “adapting to challenges”… could they actually work here?
“Finn!” Rylan’s shout snapped him back. “Focus! We’re out of time!”
The HUD flashed red, a tactical overlay highlighting threats.
[HUD] [Enemy Detected: Mantis Stalkers (x3)]
[Distance: 20 meters] [Status: Closing fast]
“Three Stalkers,” Finn muttered, voice tight. He dredged up Alex’s gameplay vods. Stalkers are fast. Weak to coordinated strikes.
Rylan’s expression hardened, his hand tightening on his sword. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—fear? Doubt?—before resolve took over.
The HUD pinged again.
[HUD] Rylan activated [Unyielding Guardian]
[HUD] Rylan gains [Defense Up ↑] (Temporary)
[HUD] You gain [Strength ↑] (Temporary) for proximity
A golden aura erupted from Rylan, warm and humming with Aetheric power. It washed over Finn, easing the chill in his bones. The Champion’s strength was a stark reminder: Rylan was a hero. Finn was a nobody.
“I’ll hold them off,” Rylan said, voice steady as stone. “It’s my duty to protect you. Get to the stairs. Find cover.”
He pushed Finn toward a stone stairway descending from the rampart. In one fluid motion, Rylan raised his glowing sword and shield, planting himself between Finn and the Stalkers’ gnashing claws.
“Go, Your Highness!” Rylan roared, eyes fixed on the monsters emerging from the smoke. “I’ll buy you time!”
Finn stumbled down the steps, fingers brushing the dagger’s ornate hilt. Pretty, he thought bitterly. As useful as a toothpick against those things.
His mind raced. Think, Finn. Even a useless tool has a purpose. He clung to his analytical skills, honed for boardrooms, not battlefields. There’s always a solution. If one path fails, find another.
Then, a colder thought struck.
Wait. In the tutorial, the prince always dies.
His breath caught, panic surging. Am I doomed to follow the script?
But Alex had defied the odds. He found a way. So can I.
“GO!” Rylan’s voice cracked with strain, his sword clashing against a Stalker’s claw. The screech of metal on chitin echoed, sharp and final.
Rylan shoved Finn toward a heavy oak door. “Through there! Your team’s waiting inside! I’ll hold the line!”
My team? Finn’s heart leapt, then sank. What if there’s no one?
He sprinted, Rylan’s fight raging behind him. The Champion’s sword flashed, a silver arc in the gloom. He’s buying me time. I can’t waste it.
Finn reached the door, its iron handle cold as death. His lungs burned, the air thick with smoke and ozone. He gripped the handle, trembling.
Please don’t let this be the end.
He pushed the door open.
Darkness swallowed him. The scent of damp stone and something sharp—metallic, electric—hit his nose. Shadows shifted, deeper than the courtyard’s chaos.