Mystica: Reincarnated Into A Novel As A Villain With 3x Reward System
Chapter 47: Altered Timelime

Chapter 47: Altered Timelime

FeA few years have gone by since Arvian passed the Academy Exam.

Arvian relaxed in his chair, one leg hanging over the other. He sipped his tea, feeling the warmth of the cup on his face, a nice contrast to the cold around him. His loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up, caught the orange light of the sunset, glowing like scattered gold. The sunset outside looked wild, more like a fire consuming the sky than just the end of the day.

As he sat there, with his legs crossed, he enjoyed another sip of tea. The steam wrapped around him, bringing a little warmth that felt good for a moment. The golden-orange light flowed through the window, covering him like honey spilled on paper. The earthy smell of the tea kept him focused on the here and now.

In the background, waves crashed against the shore, their sound calming like a gentle song in the quiet evening.

But his heart was far away, resting by a tree next to a river, swaying lightly in the breeze.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

"May I come in, Sir Arvian?" A girl stood at the door, her purple hair shining in the fading light and her glasses sparkling.

"Come in," he replied softly.

She walked in, holding a black case with a silver handle that shone like a piece of the moon.

"This case is for you, from the president," she said, her voice polite but gentle.

"Leave it on the bed," Arvian said, raising the cup to his lips for another sip.

She carefully placed the case on the smooth blanket of the bed, her movements careful as if she was holding something alive.

"Has Lady Astrea returned from the restaurant?" Arvian asked, turning his gaze toward the sunset.

"Not yet, sir," she answered calmly. "She hasn’t come back."

"I see. Let me know when she arrives."

With a nod, the girl slipped out, and the door creaked shut behind her.

Arvian stared at the horizon for a moment before calling up the system. The screen turned on, its light cold and sharp.

[Danger Alert]

Information Leak Detected

Time Remaining: 2 Hours

[System Warning] Cataclysm Probability: High

The Totla Soul fragments had woven through Arvian’s soul over the last two years. They changed him, transforming him into something different. The system, always watching, had pushed him to his limits—controlling him, making him endure pain each week. But Arvian understood the game. He played along, aware of its tricks, ready for what lay ahead.

His bond with Veyra—now known as Astrea Veyra—had grown deeper, though she had changed. Her old self was gone, replaced by something new, and he accepted that change. Malgrath, another part of his journey, was unfamiliar yet connected to him.

And the Rotten Heart—he had learned to control it. Its poison no longer held power over him; he used it instead, an emotionless being forged in the system’s fires. Yet deep inside, he held onto a plan to awaken a powerful ability: the Celestial Reaper, to be ignited through his connection with Astrea.

***

Meanwhile in an altered timeline, where the threads of fate wove a different tapestry, another Arvian existed. Not the battle-hardened man sipping tea under a hellfire sunset, but a frail boy, barely ten winters old, with eyes too large for his gaunt face.

His limbs were thin as reeds, trembling under the weight of even the lightest chores.

This Arvian lived in a quiet village nestled between rolling hills and a lazy river, far from the cataclysms and soul fragments that plagued his other self. His new parents, a blacksmith and a weaver, were kind but weary, their faces etched with worry for their sickly son.

They called him "Little Star," hoping the name might spark some strength in his brittle bones. But the village healer only shook her head, muttering about a heart too weak to carry him far.

The boy Arvian sat by the riverbank, his back against a gnarled oak, watching the water ripple under the golden dusk.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and a soft breeze hummed through the reeds, carrying the faint clang of his father’s hammer from the forge. His small hands clutched a stick, which he used to trace aimless patterns in the dirt—circles, stars, things he couldn’t name. The world felt too big for him, too heavy, like a cloak he could never hope to wear.

"Arvian!" His mother’s voice drifted from the cottage, warm but edged with concern. "Come inside, love. The chill is coming."

He sighed, his breath a faint wisp in the cooling air.

Standing was a chore, his legs wobbling as he leaned on the stick for support. The sunset painted his pale face in hues of amber, making his sunken cheeks glow like parchment held to a flame. He shuffled toward the cottage, each step a quiet battle against the weakness that clung to him like a shadow.

Inside, the hearth crackled, its warmth kissing his cold fingers. His mother knelt by the fire, stirring a pot of stew, while his father sat at the table, polishing a newly forged horseshoe. The room smelled of herbs and molten iron, a grounding mix that made Arvian’s chest feel a little less hollow.

"Sit, Little Star," his mother said, her smile soft but strained. "You’ve been out too long again."

He nodded, sinking into a chair. His eyes drifted to the window, where the last embers of the sunset bled into the horizon.

Something stirred in him—a flicker, like a memory he hadn’t lived. A whisper of power, of something vast and terrible waiting beyond the veil of his fragile existence. He shook his head, blaming the thought on the stories the village elder told of gods and reapers.

That night, as he lay in his small bed, the world outside grew still. Too still. The crickets’ song faded, and the wind held its breath. Arvian’s heart, weak as it was, thudded unevenly in his chest. He sat up, clutching the blanket, his eyes darting to the window. The sky was no longer orange but a deep, unnatural violet, streaked with veins of silver light.

A sound came then—a low hum, like the earth itself was groaning. The air grew thick, pressing against his skin.

He stumbled to the window, his stick clattering to the floor. Outside, the river no longer flowed. It stood frozen, its surface a mirror reflecting a sky that didn’t belong. And in that reflection, he saw it: a figure, cloaked in shadow, its eyes burning like twin stars.

"Arvian," it whispered, though its voice was inside his head, cold and sharp as a blade. "You cannot escape the soul you carry."

His heart lurched, pain spiking through his chest. He gasped, falling to his knees, as the room spun around him. The last thing he saw, before darkness swallowed him, was the figure stepping out of the river’s reflection, its hand reaching toward him, silver light spilling from its fingers like blood.