Chapter 2: The Future is Doomed
Reivan sat at the small wooden desk in his room, a crude quill in hand and a half-filled ink bottle beside him. A single candle flickered, casting long shadows across the wooden walls. He let out a deep sigh, staring at the blank parchment in front of him.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let’s put this all down before I forget anything."
After the disaster at the mercenary recruitment, it was painfully clear—he had to avoid more misunderstandings. People already thought he was some kind of military genius, and if things kept going like this, he’d be dragged into a war before he could even enjoy a proper meal.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
Reivan clenched his jaw. He knew this world’s future. And it was grim.
----------------------------------------
GAME MECHANICS & THE WORLD’S FATE
Reivan dipped the quill into the ink and began writing.
1. The World Setting
* The world of Age of Dominion was based on a medieval fantasy realm divided into several major factions—the Empire, the Kingdoms, the Independent States, and the Mercenary Territories.
* The game had a complex power struggle system where the balance of power shifted based on player actions.
* Historically, in the main timeline, the world enters a period of massive war within five years.
2. The War Timeline
* Year 1: Tensions Rise – Minor conflicts between noble factions escalate. Trade routes become unstable.
* Year 2: First Major Battle – A rogue faction within the Empire rebels, causing a ripple effect across the continent.
* Year 3: Mercenaries Rise – Due to instability, private armies and mercenary groups begin to seize power.
* Year 4: Famine & Chaos – Entire regions collapse due to resource shortages.
* Year 5: The Great War Begins – The game’s true ‘main story’ event, where all nations are engulfed in conflict.
Reivan stopped writing and rubbed his temples.
"This is worse than I remember," he grumbled.
----------------------------------------
WHERE HE STANDS
* He wasn’t a noble.
* He had no personal army (yet).
* He had zero combat experience.
* His family business was small and unremarkable.
* And worst of all… he had already attracted attention.
Viscount Roderic probably had his name written somewhere by now. The mercenaries? Who knew what they were thinking. The last thing Reivan wanted was to get roped into politics or war—but the world itself was already tilting toward disaster.
"I need a plan," he muttered, tapping his quill against the table. "Something that keeps me out of trouble and lets me enjoy life."
----------------------------------------
THE PLAN
1. Avoid War at All Costs – No fighting, no battlefield nonsense. He’d rather be a rich merchant than a dead hero.
2. Build a Network – Influence matters. If he could get in the good graces of a powerful noble or a big-shot merchant, he could use them as a shield.
3. Secure Wealth – Gold was power in this world. If he could start controlling trade, he could make himself indispensable.
4. Stay Away from the Main Characters – This world’s ‘protagonists’ would eventually wreak havoc. He needed to stay far, far away.
5. Keep Playing the Fool – The misunderstandings were dangerous, but if he played them right, he could use them to his advantage.
Reivan leaned back in his chair.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Simple plan," he muttered. "Just one problem…"
----------------------------------------
A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER
The next day, still wary of the mercenaries sniffing around, Reivan decided to take a detour through the city’s marketplace. The streets were bustling, filled with merchants shouting their wares, the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, and the scent of freshly baked bread mixing with the sharper tang of leather and metal.
He had no particular destination in mind—just a simple attempt to look busy and unapproachable so no one would stop him. However, as he strolled past a crowd gathered near the plaza, an auctioneer’s voice cut through the noise.
“Next up, a fine specimen! Young, healthy, and ready to serve in any capacity!”
Reivan’s steps faltered. He turned his head toward the elevated platform where a row of slaves stood, their faces blank, their hands bound in iron cuffs.
His stomach twisted. He had always hated these kinds of scenarios in games, but seeing it in real life? That was something else entirely.
Then, his eyes landed on her.
A girl with silver hair and dull green eyes, barely in her early teens, stood at the end of the row. Her clothes were ragged, her posture stiff but not entirely defeated. Unlike the others, she wasn’t trembling or crying—just standing there, quiet and unreadable.
A memory clicked in his mind. I know her.
She was a minor character from the game, a sidekick to the protagonist. In one ending, the protagonist failed to save her, and she died in one of the countless wars that tore through the land. She was never important—just background support. But still…
Reivan exhaled. I should walk away. This isn’t my problem.
But his feet didn’t move.
He already knew how this world worked. This wasn’t a game anymore. If he left her here, she wouldn’t survive.
The auctioneer continued his pitch. “A perfect servant for noble households or an excellent hand for any craftsman—do I hear ten gold?”
A noble across the plaza lazily raised his hand. “Ten.”
“Twelve,” another bidder called.
Reivan clicked his tongue. This is stupid.
“Fifteen,” he said, raising his hand.
A few heads turned in surprise. Why was a merchant’s son bidding on a slave?
The auctioneer’s eyes gleamed. “Ah! A fine eye, young master! Do we have any other bids?”
Silence.
Reivan didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll pay in full.”
The auctioneer clapped his hands together. “SOLD! To the esteemed young master!”
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd as Reivan approached. The girl was unshackled and pushed toward him. She barely reacted, just staring at him with those unreadable green eyes.
Reivan sighed. “Alright, let’s go.”
She hesitated, then slowly followed him out of the plaza. The weight of what he’d just done finally settled on him.
Damn it. I already know how this is going to go.
As they walked through the streets, the whispers started up again.
“Why would he buy a slave?”
“Maybe she’s secretly important?”
“He’s making moves even nobles wouldn’t dare…!”
Reivan rubbed his temples. Another misunderstanding. Great.