I am just an NPC ,but I rewrite the story-Chapter 33 - []

I made it about three miles before I remembered that Level 1 stamina is, effectively, garbage.

My lungs were burning, my legs felt like lead, and the adrenaline that had propelled me out of the village had long since evaporated, leaving me bent double by the side of a dirt road, wheezing like a broken accordion.

"Stupid," I gasped, wiping sweat from my eyes. "Four years of farming and I have the cardio of a potato."

I checked the position of the sun. It was nearing noon. Oakhaven was a three-day walk for a fit adventurer. For me? It might as well be on the moon. If the massacre was scripted to happen tonight or tomorrow, walking wasn’t an option.

I needed wheels.

I scanned the road. It was the main trade route heading West, but traffic was thin. In the peaceful timeline—the one I had erased—this road would be bustling with caravans. Here, it was quiet. The air felt tense, like the calm before a storm.

A rhythmic creaking sound came from around the bend.

I straightened up, trying to look less like a dying peasant and more like a respectable traveler.

A wagon appeared. It was a heavy, covered transport pulled by two oxen. It wasn’t a royal caravan; it was a merchant’s wain, piled high with barrels of ale and crates of produce. The driver was a portly man with a red beard and a crossbow resting ominously on the seat next to him.

I stepped onto the road and waved.

The driver didn’t slow down. He actually sped up the oxen, his hand drifting toward the crossbow.

"I’m not a bandit!" I shouted, holding up my hands. "I just need a ride to Oakhaven! I have... vegetables!"

It was a weak offer. I had a rusty knife and half a loaf of stale bread in my bag.

The driver eyed me suspiciously as the wagon rumbled closer. He took in my rough tunic, my dirt-stained hands, and my complete lack of armor or weapons.

"You look like you fell out of a tree, boy," the driver called out, slowing the oxen just enough to talk but not enough to stop. "What’s a field-hand doing on the King’s Highway?"

"Running away from home," I said, jogging alongside the wagon. "Looking for work in the city. I can pay you in labor. I can... lift things. I know how to stack barrels."

The driver snorted. "Running away, eh? Bad time for it. The roads aren’t safe. The Dark Wolf was spotted in these woods two days ago."

The Dark Wolf. Kaelen’s mercenary alias.

"I’ll take my chances," I said. "Please. My feet are killing me."

The driver hesitated, then sighed. "Hop in the back. Don’t drink the ale, or I’ll throw you to the wyverns. Name’s Barnaby."

"Ren," I said, scrambling onto the tailgate before he could change his mind.

I collapsed onto a sack of grain, my heart pounding. Step one complete. I had transport.

The inside of the wagon smelled of hops and sawdust. It was dark, illuminated only by the sliver of light coming through the rear flap.

"So," Barnaby called back from the driver’s seat. "You heading to Oakhaven for the Festival?"

"Festival?" I asked, shifting to get comfortable.

"The Harvest Festival. Governor Thorne is throwing a big party. Trying to keep morale up, I reckon. With the war going the way it is, people need a distraction."

Governor Thorne. That was Vance’s father. Or uncle? No, Vance’s father was on the Council. This must be the uncle Lysandra mentioned in the other timeline.

"The war," I said, testing the waters. "Is it bad?"

Barnaby laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Is it bad? Son, have you been living under a rock? The Iron Covenant has basically declared martial law in the outer districts. They say they’re hunting ’corrupted mages,’ but mostly they’re just seizing assets. And the Royal Guard? They’re too busy protecting the Capital to care about us out here."

"I heard the Knight Commander is tough," I said. "Lady Lysandra."

"Oh, she’s tough alright," Barnaby agreed. "The ’White Saint.’ They say she hasn’t smiled in three years. She hunts the Dark Wolf like it’s a personal vendetta. Rumor is, they used to be classmates."

I closed my eyes.

Classmates. In this timeline, they weren’t friends. They were rivals. Kaelen was the outcast who snapped, and Lysandra was the golden child who had to put him down. It was the classic tragedy arc.

"Do you think he did it?" I asked quietly. "The Dark Wolf? Do you think he’s really a monster?"

"Who knows?" Barnaby mused. "The papers say he burned down a village in the East last month. Killed everyone. But... I met a trader from the East. He said the village was attacked by bandits, and a man with a black sword saved the children. But the papers don’t print that."

Propaganda, I thought. Valen controlled the narrative. He was painting Kaelen as the villain to justify the purge.

"Hold on," Barnaby said suddenly, his voice dropping. "Checkpoint."

The wagon lurched to a halt.

I peeked through the canvas flap.

We were stopped at a wooden barricade across the road. Three soldiers were manning it. They weren’t Royal Guards. They wore grey armor with the symbol of a broken chain on their breastplates.

The Iron Covenant.

"Papers," one soldier barked, walking up to Barnaby.

"Just delivering ale for the Governor," Barnaby said, forcing a cheerful tone. He handed over a scroll.

The soldier scanned it, then looked at the back of the wagon.

"Any passengers?"

Barnaby hesitated. "Just a hitchhiker. Farm boy."

"Out," the soldier ordered.

I swallowed hard. I checked my pocket. The silver ID card was there. If they searched me and found a piece of magical metal, I was dead.

I shoved the card deep into my boot. I rubbed dirt on my face to look even grubbier.

I hopped out of the wagon.

"Name?" the soldier asked. He held a crystal rod—a mana detector.

"Ren," I mumbled, looking at my feet. "From the valley."

The soldier waved the rod over me. It stayed dull grey. No magic.

"Clean," the soldier grunted, looking disappointed. He grabbed my chin and forced my head up. "You seen anyone strange on the road? Someone wearing a black cloak? Carrying a big sword?"

"No, sir," I said, making my voice tremble. It wasn’t hard; I was actually terrified. In the last timeline, I had Admin powers and a tank. Now, I was just a guy who could be killed by a stiff breeze.

"Get back in," the soldier spat, shoving me. "And tell the Governor his ale is late."

I scrambled back into the wagon. Barnaby flicked the reins, and we rolled past the barricade.

I let out a shaky breath.

"See?" Barnaby called back. "Friendly bunch."

"Charming," I muttered.

We arrived at Oakhaven at dusk.

It was a fortress town built on the edge of the Thorn-Wood. High stone walls, heavy iron gates, and watchtowers manned by nervous-looking guards.

But inside, the town was lit up. Lanterns hung from every eave. Music drifted through the streets. The Harvest Festival was in full swing.

"This is where I leave you, kid," Barnaby said, pulling up to a warehouse near the market square. "Try not to get arrested for loitering."

"Thanks for the ride, Barnaby," I said, hopping down.

"Keep your head down," he advised. "Trouble has a way of finding people who look lost."

He drove off.

I stood in the square. It was crowded. People were dancing, drinking, and eating roasted corn. It felt... wrong.

I knew the plot of Volume 2, Chapter 1.

During the festival, a group of ’cultists’ summons a Void Beast in the town square. The beast slaughters the civilians. Kaelen arrives to stop it, but he’s too late. The Covenant arrives moments after him, sees him standing over the bodies, and blames him for the summoning.

It’s the framing event.

I checked the sky. The sun had set. The moon was rising.

"Midnight," I whispered. "The summoning happens at midnight."

I had four hours.

I needed to find the summoners. Or Kaelen.

I walked through the crowd, keeping my hood up. I used my [Analysis] skill—the only passive skill I had left from being Level 15.

[Target: Merchant. Level 2.]

[Target: Drunkard. Level 3.]

[Target: City Guard. Level 10.]

Nothing stood out. Just normal people enjoying a party before the end of the world.

I moved toward the town center, where a large wooden stage had been erected for the Governor’s speech.

Wait.

I saw a figure near the alleyway behind the tavern.

Cloaked. Moving fast.

I focused.

[Target: ???]

[Level: 35]

[Status: Concealed]

Level 35. That was way too high for a random villager.

I followed him.

The figure slipped into the shadows, moving away from the festival and toward the eastern wall—the section nearest the Governor’s mansion.

I trailed him, keeping my distance. Without my stealth skills or Ria’s training, I had to rely on the noise of the festival to mask my clumsy footsteps.

The figure stopped at a side door of an old grain silo. He knocked three times.

The door opened. Another figure appeared. They exchanged words I couldn’t hear, and then handed over a package.

A package wrapped in black cloth that seemed to absorb the light.

A summoning catalyst.

My heart raced. I had found them. The cultists. They were planting the beacon for the Void Beast.

I needed to stop them. But I was Level 15 with a rusty knife. If I engaged, I’d be dead in seconds.

I needed help.

I looked around. There were no guards here. No heroes.

Then, I felt it.

A vibration in the air. A static charge that made the hair on my arms stand up.

It wasn’t magic. It was pressure.

I looked up at the roof of the silo.

Crouched on the edge, silhouetted against the moon, was a man. He wore a tattered black cloak that fluttered in the wind. On his back was a massive shape wrapped in bandages.

[Target: Kaelen (The Dark Wolf)]

[Level: 45]

[Status: Hunter]

He was here.

He had tracked them too.

Kaelen dropped from the roof. He landed silently behind the two cultists.

He didn’t draw his sword. He just spoke. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"You’re early," Kaelen said. His voice was rougher than I remembered. Cold. Tired.

The cultists spun around.

"The Wolf!" one hissed, drawing a jagged dagger. "He’s here!"

"Kill him!" the other shouted, reaching into his robe—probably for a spell scroll.

Kaelen moved.

He didn’t use a flashy skill. He just stepped forward and punched the dagger-wielding cultist in the throat. The man crumpled.

The second cultist fired a bolt of green energy.

Kaelen swatted it aside with his bare hand. His gauntlet absorbed the impact. He grabbed the cultist by the collar and slammed him against the silo wall.

"Where is the anchor?" Kaelen growled. "Where did you plant the Void Seed?"

"You’re too late," the cultist wheezed, grinning through bloody teeth. "It’s already blooming. The Governor’s daughter... she’s holding it."

Kaelen froze. "The girl?"

"She thinks it’s a gift," the cultist laughed. "A pretty black gem for a pretty lady. When the clock strikes midnight..."

Kaelen threw the cultist to the ground. He turned to run toward the Governor’s mansion.

But he stopped.

He sensed me.

He turned his head, his eyes scanning the shadows where I was hiding behind a barrel.

"Come out," Kaelen said.

I stepped out, hands raised.

Kaelen looked at me. His eyes were dark purple—no gold in this timeline. He looked exhausted, his face gaunt, covered in stubble. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a week.

"You’re not with them," Kaelen observed. "You have no mana."

"I’m just a traveler," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I saw them pass the package."

"Go home, traveler," Kaelen said, turning away. "This town is about to burn."

"You’re going to the mansion," I said.

Kaelen stopped.

"The Governor’s daughter," I said. "If she has the seed, and you try to take it from her... the guards will think you’re attacking her."

Kaelen looked back at me. "I know. But if I don’t, she turns into a portal and eats the city. I prefer being hated to being dead."

"There’s another way," I said.

"And who are you to tell me my business?" Kaelen snapped, his hand drifting to the bandaged sword on his back.

"I’m Ren," I said. "And I know that the Void Seed reacts to fear. If you burst in there scaring everyone, you’ll trigger it early."

Kaelen narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"I read a lot," I said.

I walked up to him. I was terrified. This wasn’t my Kaelen. This was a stranger. A dangerous, cornered animal.

"Let me help," I said. "I can get close to her. I look harmless. You’re... conspicuous."

Kaelen looked me up and down. He saw the rusty knife at my belt. He saw the dirt on my face.

"You’ll get yourself killed," he said.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But I’m Level 15. I need the XP."

Kaelen blinked. "What?"

"Joke," I said quickly. "Bad joke."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then, he let out a breath.

"You have ten minutes," Kaelen said. "I’ll create a distraction at the gate. You find the girl. You get the stone. If you fail..."

"You come in swinging," I finished.

"Exactly."

Kaelen adjusted his cloak.

"Ren," he said, testing the name. "Don’t die. I’m tired of burying people."

He vanished into the night, moving toward the front gate of the mansion.

I turned toward the servants’ entrance.

The timeline was reset. The memories were gone. But the party was forming again.

"Okay," I muttered, gripping my rusty knife. "Let’s crash a party."