Indeed, he remembered now. All too well. Not many writers would dare include a weird-ass Temple-backed magical chastity belt. And mandatory, to boot. The whole concept was fucked up. Myrkas had thought so when he first read the novel and his opinion had not changed.

A bond on a key, given by the temple of Allrikh to all women after their first menses—of course. How original. A goddamn chastity belt. Except the "key" was not bestowed to the woman herself. Of course not! The power to unlock her belt was always given to a man. Her supposed protector, her guardian. Her owner. Her key's keeper. A long-standing tradition.

When it was merely fiction, Myrkas had not thought much of the whole concept: a vessel for some perverted author's wish fulfillment most likely. It was a harem-type web series, not a great work of literature. Acceptable entertainment to pass the time. And Myrkas had had a lot of idle time to pass with his repeated hospital visits in his previous life.

However, the concept's implications were wholly different now. Myrkas lived here. Nirrina was his heart sister. Women were actually owned by men here, all under the guise of "protection."

Hells, the original protagonist "collected" keys as he went along his adventures. The princeling had amassed five wives by the time Myrkas stopped reading. Sure, people here called it "divinely ordained protection." It was supposedly all for women's benefits. No matter, the interested had no say in who took hold of their key. The previous guardian, usually a lady's father, was the one to choose the next. If they didn't keep her "in the family" by handing her key to a cousin or, shudders, an uncle.

The prince often bypassed this requirement by outright killing the previous owner. Vindicated by the horrible state in which he found his future wives in, the princeling quickly proceeded to "liberate" them before adding them to his harem "for their own protection."

It was twisted, wicked. And the women could be "given" or "gifted" away at any time. Myrkas' self-appointed big sister, his chosen family, could be taken from him at any time.

Unacceptable. Nirrina needed to be safe. To be able to choose her fate. Myrkas had to free her, protect her. To be strong enough to be her shield, a true shield. His quest for power had a higher purpose now. A true, honourable goal. Nirrina could not be forced to... Myrkas shivered, refusing to think about it.

"Nirrina, who has your key?"

The young woman frowned before she answered.

"Master Hakhmir of course. Who else?"

Myrkas was stunned, unsure how to proceed. Was he supposed to save Nirrina from his uncle? His awkward, distant but so far decent uncle? It wasn't as if Nirrina and himself were suffering, on the contrary. They were living well and nothing untoward had happened.

Where would they go once Nirrina was freed? How would Myrkas free her? He was too young to hold a key. Any grown man would be able to get her a new belt and keep the key. The only requirement to get a new set was for a man of age, fifteen, to present himself to the temple with any unbound woman past her first menses. The temple didn't assess if the man had any right to her or if he could adequately protect her. If she was found without a bond, her previous guardian's claim was automatically voided. A "failure to protect" clause. Hence bonds were never taken off, only unlocked. And keys guarded more preciously than mundane gold.

"But uncle is so old," Myrkas exclaimed. "He can't possibly be your husband!"

Nirrina merely chuckled at his vehemence.

"Your father wasn't that much younger, you know. And I prefer to be inherited than to bear the shame of adding another name to mine! Or to be left in the Temple's care."

She moved closer to him, to gently ruffle his hair.

"It's okay Myrkassa, Master Hakhmir is a good man. Not very talkative but plenty kind. I think. He is a disinterested guardian more than a husband. I am afraid you will not have cute little cousins anytime soon. It almost makes me sad. And bored. I have nothing to do. I have never been so idle. I might have been treated as a servant in your father's house, but at least I was occupied. Serni and Marta take care of everything here. And I don't dare mess with your uncle's things. I laze around all day, exactly like a wealthy sabisa."

"But... but what if he gives you away? I can't lose you," Myrkas added.

The boy did not cry, definitively not. Myrkas had a grain of sand in his eye. Or someone was cutting onions nearby. His rising heartbeat did not spring from anxiety. No cause there. Myrkas only had legitimate, selfless concerns for his big sister and her future. He did not fear being left alone. He did not have. abandonment issues. Nope.

The system was just so crooked. Women didn't have rights. This "divinely mandated" protection was filled with loopholes and opportunities for abuse. These were central to so many plot points and minor arcs in the web series. Hells, that was how the princeling gathered most of his harem members. Save the damsel and keep her key.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

It was all wrong, but Myrkas didn't see a way out. Nirrina's safety was his first concern. He wasn't enough now. Didn't possess enough strength, wealth, and influence. He needed all to keep her safe, to make sure none could send her away.

Nirrina was his rock, his one constant in this world. She was always there when he needed, whether with a word or a hug. Or an admonishment on some rare occasions. She answered all his stupid questions and repeated as needed, with infinite patience. A big sister straight out of a fairy tale, the type the hero risked all to save from the dragon.

Tears started to fall on Myrkas' cheeks. A sniffle or two was heard. Arms embraced him, Nirrina being there, always. She patted his hair, soothing.

"Don't worry Myrkassa, I'm not going anywhere. I'll talk to your uncle, find a way to make myself useful, irreplaceable. Even so, I don't believe he would give me away. He... cares, in his own way. I'm sure. I think.

"Anyway, he is way too busy with his work to bother finding me a new guardian. I am not such a hot commodity, I know. Too skinny, too pimply, no special talent. He won't have to beat suitors away from his doorstep!"

Nirrina lightly chuckled while hugging Myrkas tighter.

"See Myrkassa, no need to worry. And stop calling me Nirrina, it is too distant! I am your Nirsa like you are my Myrkassa. People will worry I mistreat you if they hear you calling me without a mark of affection. We are family; it doesn't matter how it came to be."

She smiled at Myrkas, drying his tears with her sleeve.

"There, now what were you barging in my room for? I taught you better manners. It looks like you need some more lessons on politeness and etiquette."

"I just wanted to see you Nirsa, I swear," Myrkas said as he escaped. "The day is much better when I see you first thing in the morning," he even added, shameless.

Her bright laughter chased him as he ran, headed to a secluded spot in the gardens. Myrkas went to hide under his favourite tree. Its branches hung over the banks of a pond, with its small, pale blue leaves caressing the water. The tree's large trunk made for the perfect backrest. Its pale gray, birch-like bark provided just enough cushioning to allow Myrkas to spend hours sitting between its roots.

The tree was situated across a quasi-island at the border of the estate. A simple stone bridge crossed the stream linking this pond to the rest of the water features on the grounds. It made a natural barrier between the verdant field passed the bridge and the rest of the garden.

The large patch of tall, emerald grasses made quite a contrast against the varied flowers, bushes, and trees dominating the majority of the estate.

The field across the bridge was uniform in its composition. The waist-high plants waved in harmony with the breeze. The wind carried their sharp scent, similar to a mix of freshly cut grass and lemongrass oil. It smelled of summer.

Myrkas didn't wander too close to the green sea though. The tall spindles hid needle-like protrusions aplenty. Myrkas only needed one extremely painful scratch to decide he'd better stay away, on the tree side of the low bridge.

He felt safe in his secret spot. Hidden from the world and secure in nature. No one had found him there so far—although the search efforts were unlikely to have been very extensive so far, seeing as Myrkas always came back for meals.

Myrkas settled in his little haven, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. His frantic heart calmed down. This place helped quiet his mind after his unexpected emotional roller coaster.

However, something great had come out of his eventful morning. Myrkas knew. He was certain, without doubt, that he had, in fact, transmigrated into the world of the terrible web novel. The fact that Myrkas could not remember the name of the book or of its characters was unimportant. He recalled the details—most of them—the plot, and the setting. He could start planning. Leverage his literal otherwordly knowledge to rise above all others!

Despite his growing enthusiasm, Myrkas kept himself in check. He was not dumb. He could not assume everything would be faithful to what he remembered from the web series. He would still need to test and experiment on his path to power.

In a stroke of wisdom, Myrkas decided to put the concern of the original plot and its princely main character aside. First, Myrkas saw no way to figure out when he was in the timeline until the expansion war began. Even then, he didn't remember how long it had gone on before the last battle and the Betrayal occurred. Hard to take advantage of "prescient" knowledge when you didn't know when certain events should happen. Myrkas plainly didn't want to waste time running all around unless he had a better idea of what to expect from Empire politics.

Second, the prince lived far from Myrkas. As the saying went "Far from eyes, far from mind!' Or was it "Far from eyes, far from heart?" Whatever, Myrkas hadn't liked his royal personality much. The princeling was arrogant, impulsive, and coasted on plot armour, money, and his bloodline. Not a great guy to know. At least, Myrkas wasn't a girl. He had escaped ever becoming another harem piece.

Getting embroiled with any of the imperial princes spelled disaster. Succession politics were dangerous. Of course, the supposed main character should prevail in the end. However, Myrkas had no easy way to discern which royal highness was the right one. Thanks to their imperial bloodline, necessary to inherit the throne, they all shared the same description: light-blonde hair, violet eyes, and smooth golden skin.

It was too dangerous. Better to stay as far away in his little provincial corner for as long as Myrkas could. Who needed royal friends or enemies? Not Myrkas.

All that was left for the tween was to gain power. Gather strength to protect himself and his loved ones. Myrkas lived in a cultivation world! It meant training sequences, hidden old masters—and monsters—secret treasures, overconsumption of pills and elixirs, and, most importantly, meditation. The sacred arts of Qi gathering and enlightenment through meditation and worldly reflections were a must, essential to any respectable cultivators.

The princeling had meditated and reflected so much in the novel that some people thought the author was trying to start a self-help cult. The web series had been filled with profound-sounding yet meaningless idioms and poems.

But no worries, Myrkas was convinced he would easily get the hang of it. After all, how hard could it be to meditate?