The faint glow of light filtered through his closed eyelids. A dull ache radiated through his chest as he stirred, his hand instinctively moving to press against his ribs. His fingers brushed against bare skin, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill he expected from death.

His breath hitched as his mind raced. 'Why am I still alive? I should be dead.'

He recalled the moment—his heart crushed, the suffocating darkness swallowing him whole. Yet here he was.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. The dimly lit chamber came into focus, its cold stone walls unfamiliar and oppressive. He sat up abruptly, wincing as the ache in his chest flared. His hands moved over his torso, tracing the spot where the pain lingered.

The memory of death was fresh, yet his body felt… whole.

"What the hell…" he whispered, his voice hoarse, filled with disbelief.

A soft rustle broke the silence, drawing his attention. He froze, turning his gaze to the side. A woman stood there, her golden hair shimmering faintly in the dim light. Her piercing purple eyes met his, calm but unyielding, as if she'd been waiting for him to notice her.

"You're awake," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

"You… you're that woman from the forest," he muttered, staring at her. How could he forget such a beautiful face?

"What was your name again?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"You don't remember my name?" she said, her voice calm but with a sharp edge that made him flinch. Folding her arms, she stepped closer, her presence suddenly imposing.

"I—uh," he stammered, his throat dry. "It's not like we were properly introduced..."

"You're fortunate I decided to save you," she said sharply. "Especially given your lack of manners."

"I'm sorry. Really. And… thank you for saving me, though I don't even know what's going on."

She paused, her sharp gaze scrutinizing him intently. "Hmm... that's fine. But tell me—how do you feel? Different than before?"

"Huh? What do you mean, different than before?" he asked, confusion clouding his thoughts.

"Can you not feel it?" she asked.

"Feel what?"

"Your heart," she said, her eyes never leaving his.

He blinked, his hand instinctively going to his chest. "Heart?"

He closed his eyes, trying to sense what she was talking about. A strange warmth spread through his body, like something was burning from within. "I just feel... more heat inside, like some kind of flame is burning inside me." He opened his eyes, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"…?"

"What did you do?"

"I saved you," she replied curtly. "That's all you need to know."

He frowned, the disbelief on his face deepening. "Okay… but why do I feel like this?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. "You're not in the position to ask questions," she said, her tone firm, brooking no argument. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be alive to feel anything."

Her words silenced him, leaving him unsure how to respond. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath his confusion, but the calm authority in her voice left no room for argument.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned slightly and raised a hand. A moment later, the soft sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the chamber. A young maid in a dark uniform appeared, bowing respectfully.

"Escort him to the guest chambers," she instructed. "Make sure he has everything he needs."

"Yes, my lady," the maid replied, straightening before turning to him. "Please, follow me."

He hesitated, glancing back at the woman, but her attention had already shifted elsewhere. With a reluctant sigh, he followed the maid through the dimly lit corridor.

Stolen story; please report.

The silence stretched between them as they walked, the soft tap of the maid's footsteps the only sound. His thoughts raced, the warmth in his chest a constant reminder of his unanswered questions.

The maid stopped before a heavy wooden door, pushing it open to reveal a spacious yet simple room. A large bed sat against the far wall, its covers pristine, and a small table with a chair was placed near a window overlooking a quiet courtyard. A faint, calming scent of herbs lingered in the air.

"This will be your room," the maid said softly, stepping aside to let him in. "If you need anything, pull the cord near the bed."

He stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. It was comfortable, almost too comfortable given the strange circumstances. Turning back to the maid, he opened his mouth to ask something, but she bowed slightly and left before he could speak, the door clicking shut behind her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he moved to the bed and sat down heavily. His mind replayed the events—her cryptic words, the strange heat coursing through him, the fact that he was even alive.

"System, explain the situation..." he muttered, pacing the room, his thoughts tangled in confusion. "Why did the Sorcery Guide suddenly turn into blood and... merge with me? And then... I died?"

A brief pause followed before the familiar mechanical tone echoed in his mind.

[Analyzing...]

[The book appears to have been imbued with a lethal trap, likely designed to deter or punish those attempting to access its contents. The trap was triggered upon reaching the final page.]

His brows knitted together as he tried to process the explanation. "A trap? Why would a guidebook have something like that? Aren't books like that supposed to teach, not kill?"

"Well Not Like It matter.. ill just be ressurected back in time.."He muttured

[Analysis inconclusive. Potential reasoning: To guard forbidden knowledge or ensure that only a chosen individual may inherit its secrets.]

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his hands rubbing his temples. "So... now it's inside me? What does that even mean? What did it do to me?"

[Incorrect. The book is not inside you. It was imbued with a teleportation spell. When the trap was activated, the book likely returned to its original location.]

"Great," he muttered, leaning back against the headboard. "So the book isn't inside me. It's just back where I found it. And I nearly died for nothing."

Silence hung in the room, broken only by his shallow breathing. He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. Finally, he muttered to himself, "Then why do I feel this heat inside? What did that woman do to me?" He clenched his fist, frustration mounting. "How was she even able to save me? I was dead—my heart was crushed by that trap. It shouldn't have been possible..."

The system remained quiet, offering no answers. He groaned, running his hands through his hair. The heat pulsing in his chest was undeniable, like embers of a fire that refused to die. "System," he tried again, "do you have any analysis on this heat? On... whatever she did?"

[Analyzing...]

The pause stretched longer this time, the seconds dragging as his impatience grew.

[Foreign energy has been infused into your body. This energy is sustaining your physical functions in place of your natural life force, which was critically diminished during the trap's activation.]

[Additionally, your body no longer possesses a heart. In its place, there is a concentrated flame—an anomaly that is the source of the heat you are experiencing.]

He froze, his breath catching. "No heart? A flame? Are you saying... there's fire burning inside my chest, keeping me alive?"

[Affirmative. The flame appears to be acting as a substitute for your heart, circulating energy throughout your body. Without it, survival would be impossible.]

"..."

He stared blankly at the wall.

"These things... they're so hard to understand," he muttered. "How can I even be alive with a flame burning inside me instead of a heart? It makes zero sense..."

"Then again," he said with a dry laugh, "nothing about this situation makes any sense. So why bother trying to figure it out now?" He let out a resigned sigh, muttering to himself. "Might as well save my energy for whatever insanity comes next."

Just as he was beginning to settle into his thoughts, a light knock sounded at the door, snapping him out of his reverie. He straightened up.

"Come in," he called.

The door creaked open, and the maid who had escorted him earlier stepped inside, a neatly folded set of clothes draped over her arm. She bowed slightly before speaking, her tone polite but distant. "My lady has instructed me to provide you with these. Please change into them."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Clothes?"

"Yes," she said, stepping further into the room and placing the bundle on a nearby chair. "These will be more appropriate.." Her gaze briefly swept over his disheveled form.

He looked down at himself, realizing for the first time how torn and bloodied his garments were from the ordeal. The fabric hung awkwardly on him, stained and tattered. He sighed. "Fair enough."

The maid gestured toward the bundle. "These are tailored to your size. If you require assistance, I will summon someone."

"I think I can manage," he replied, slightly embarrassed at the thought of needing help to dress.

"Very well." She bowed again, her movements fluid and practiced. Before leaving, she added, "Once you are ready, summon me by ringing the bell on the table. My lady has also arranged for a meal to be brought to you shortly."

"Wait," he said quickly, stopping her just as she reached the door. "The woman—your lady. Who is she?"

The maid paused, her hand on the door handle. Her expression remained neutral, but there was a faint flicker of something—hesitation?—in her eyes. "That is not for me to say," she replied softly. "You may inquire with her directly when the time comes." With that, she slipped out, closing the door behind her.

He stared at the closed door for a moment, then turned his attention to the clothes.

Unfolding them, he found a set of elegant yet practical attire—a high-collared black tunic with silver embroidery, paired with dark trousers and a long overcoat with intricate patterns stitched along the hem. The fabric felt luxurious under his fingers, far beyond anything he'd ever worn before.

"She sure knows how to dress her guests," he muttered, slipping out of his ruined clothes and into the new set. The fit was perfect, the material surprisingly comfortable.

He caught his reflection in the polished surface of a nearby mirror and barely recognized himself.