Chapter 0 – Prologue

There’s a saying: ‘Man is an animal prone to delusion.’

So many in this world live their lives committing such errors.

“No way.”

Among them was this kind of human.

One convinced that the world would soon meet its end.

Having poured everything into becoming stronger.

“Are you saying this world *isn’t* ending?”

Only to discover a place brimming with dreams, hope, passion, and love.

A certain otherworlder, mistaking the genre, had become an overpowered anomaly.

Chapter 1 – Genre Confusion

If you’re a Korean man, there are three things you know well.

One is the military. One is games. And the other is, precisely, regression, possession and transmigration.

In that sense, Min-ho – no, Deus – decided to accept reality.

Time passed, but nothing changed. This world was not the one he knew.

He was certain he’d been possessed by the novel he read the day before.

But if so, why was he possessed? What was the reason?

『Author-nim. The lack of indentation is a bit bothersome.』

Deus covered his face with his hands. Of course, that comment must have been the culprit.

But it was a bit unfair. The main story was so serious that he just wanted to lighten the mood.

He even used a cute emoticon to make it clear he wasn’t trying to be a jerk.

To misunderstand a reader’s deep intent and suddenly inflict possession! That’s just too much!

In any case, he had become an otherworlder inside the novel.

As proof, something had been floating around in his head since earlier.

[ Define your covenant. ]

In the novel he read yesterday, the protagonist also used a covenant.

The stronger the covenant, the greater the restrictions, but also the greater the power granted.

A double-edged sword. A cursed oath that, once etched, must be kept without fail.

Deus’s mind raced.

The novel he was possessed into. The novel he was reading yesterday. The novel he commented on.

＜Gate Opens on the First Day of the Mercenary Company＞

A fantasy world where gates open and monsters pour out in an apocalypse genre.

A growth story where a protagonist, who becomes a mercenary, gradually becomes stronger and eventually becomes the King of Mercenaries.

A dark fantasy devoid of dreams and hope. Countless people die.

Even the protagonist’s close associates are no exception. The heroine died in the installment three days ago.

It was devastating even in text, but now he had to confront it with his own body.

He had to survive. At least, he didn’t want to die as miserably and painfully as they did.

“A covenant, huh.”

Deus, slumped on the spot, thought of the protagonist in the novel.

The covenant he used. The vow that restricted him, yet protected him.

What must I do? What oath must I swear to see results?

‘Decided.’

Deus crushed his own fingertips between his teeth with a *crack*!

Just like he’d seen in novels. Exactly like the protagonist did.

Though he was likely nothing more than a mere extra, still, to survive.

Perhaps with the belief that he could save a world without even a sliver of hope.

“I. Cannot wield any weapon.”

One of the problems with this novel’s world. The enemy isn’t just monsters from beyond the Gate.

It’s rife with betrayers, ready to stab you in the back at any moment.

*Hiss!* —

With his left index finger, slick with blood, he carves the first oath into his right arm.

Now, he cannot hold any weapon.

Instead, so long as he upholds this oath, no weapon can harm him.

“I. Shall receive no aid in the face of battle.”

As is always the case with apocalypses, dark fantasies, those who come to help always die.

Deus hated that. He wanted to paint a happy ending on this novel.

Even if he was just an unwilling participant, it was a novel he genuinely loved.

This time, with his right index finger, he binds the second oath to his left arm.

Henceforth, he cannot expect any effective help in the battles before him.

In return, he can break through any situation on his own.

“I.”

Finally. He draws a bloody line along his own throat.

It resembled a noose tightening around his neck.

“Shall not ignore the misfortune of the good.”

The only way to survive in an apocalyptic tale is this.

To remain by the side of those who deserve it.

To win their hearts, earn their favor, and become their comrade.

From now on, he will become a guardian spirit protecting all the good.

From now on, he will become a grim reaper judging all the wicked.

“These three are my oaths.”

Cannot wield any weapon.

Shall receive no aid in the face of battle.

Shall not ignore the misfortune of the good.

For a sudden oath, he’d done rather well.

Deus thought it was all thanks to reading the novel so carefully.

[ Your oath is of too high a caliber. ]

“…Huh?”

That strange message surfaced once more.

‘What is this? Too high a caliber? The protagonist used similar oaths just fine!’

Could it be because he was fated to possess a completely insignificant extra?

Or perhaps it swiftly pocketed the covenant the protagonist was meant to receive?

Before I could desperately conjure another covenant, the next phrase materialized in my mind.

[Considering the aforementioned, preparation time to fulfill the covenant will be granted.]

Never in my life had I seen such a setting in a novel.

I tilted my head in brief confusion, but promptly banished it from my thoughts.

If it grants me time to train, wouldn’t that be a boon?

Before the possession, I was already an amateur mixed martial artist.

For someone who dreamt of going pro, physical training was the very fabric of my existence.

Deus became wholly consumed with training. Single-mindedly devoted to training.

Perhaps it was a possessor’s perk; whatever I envisioned, it was instantly provided.

A flawless training ground. An impeccable diet. And even opponents that felt utterly real.

When even the sensation of how much time had passed grew hazy.

When my physique was packed to the brim with pure, unadulterated combat muscle.

“Preparation is complete.”

Let’s do this. World’s end. I will stand proud and survive in this apocalypse.

Wearing a confident smile, the possessor tore through the fabric of space and emerged.

*

“Class President.”

“Yes! Attention, everyone! Bow to the teacher!”

Broad shoulders. A darkly tanned face. Scars etched here and there upon his forearms.

Truly, an exterior radiating the apex of ‘ferocity’. Yet none of the students cowered.

Despite his appearance, he was an exceptionally kind teacher. So much so that his nickname was ‘Deer Eyes’.

“Is it already the second week of the new semester? Good morning to you all. Let’s take attendance.”

Each student’s name was called out, and they responded in turn.

Some were nobles with surnames. Some were commoners without.

All were gathered in a single space, as students of a like.

There was no apparent distance between them.

Nobles treated commoners, and commoners treated nobles, with casual ease.

The reason was simple. Though their statuses differed, they shared one similarity.

“Miss. I trust you’ve completed your homework today.”

“I swear, I’ll kill you. How many times must I tell you not to call me that?”

A crimson flame danced upon the noble girl’s index finger.

Not magic. An ability of the ignition type.

“Ah. I didn’t bring a pen. Anyone I can borrow a pen from?”

“Honestly, tell me. You’re not a noble, are you? How do you forget it every single day?”

A commoner girl gestured, and a pen from her desk floated over and landed next to him.

The noble boy who claimed to have no pen laughed, saying, “Telekinesis really is the best!”

Abilities. This was the ivory tower for those who wielded such mysterious powers.

“Irka Leblanc.”

“Present.”

“Marian.”

“Yes, sir!”

The students’ chatter seemed endearing to the teacher, whose eyes were large and soft like a deer’s. He continued calling roll in silence.

Then, his gaze landed on a name, and he raised his head, looking towards the back of the classroom.

“Deus.”

At the sound of his name, called by the deer-eyed teacher, a male student sitting in the back raised his hand slightly.

A head taller than the other boys. A physique impossible to hide, even with clothes.

He hadn’t struck any kind of pose, simply raised his hand. Yet the contours of muscle were laid bare.

The buttons on his uniform looked ready to pop off at any moment with a *rip*!

Truly, an overwhelming youth. A figure that seemed to radiate the very essence of martial prowess.

His sharp gaze alone seemed capable of making anyone’s knees tremble.

Even skilled knights might hesitate to draw their swords before him.

“Deus. You really have no intention of joining the martial arts club?”

“I apologize. I still haven’t considered it.”

“Hmm. I see. Still, if you change your mind, be sure to tell this teacher.”

As if the kendo club advisor wasn’t already looking down on our martial arts club.

He restrained himself with effort, fighting the urge to grab the strapping student’s hand and plead with him sincerely.

“Alright, then. Let’s begin our literature class. The weather is perfect for appreciating a poem.”

“oooh!”

“Deer Teacher! Recite a poem for us!”

“Shall I? Ahem, ahem. Let’s see, then. Today, the poem we’ll study is—”

That muscle-bound macho teacher being called Deer. And a literature teacher at that.

To look at him, you’d think he was some mercenary captain, out there harvesting orc heads.

Deus, who had once again rejected the martial arts club’s invitation, sighed.

Turning his head, he saw the school grounds ablaze with blooming flowers.

Spring. A beautiful season. The beginning of everything. A new year, a new semester.

Could there be anything more perfect to represent the beginning of a world full of dreams and hope?

‘That’s right. A place full of dreams and hope.’

*Crack!*—

Ah. Guess I squeezed too hard. The newly bought hand grip shattered.

I thought these were supposed to be popular with martial artists. How could it be so weak?

‘I got ripped off. Damn.’

If the merchant had heard that, he would have vehemently argued.

It was a tool favored by martial artists with considerable skill.

He had assumed the young customer who came to buy it was surely one of them.

So he’d offered it at the lowest possible price, and now he was being accused of fraud!

“Ah, Spring! Do you leave only your fragrance behind and depart!!”

“oooh!!”

The muscle-bound macho teacher recited poetry with passion.

The students, seated in their places, sent playful cheers.

Even the various flowers swayed gently in the spring breeze.

To cut to the chase, the world hadn’t ended.

Not ‘not yet’ ended. Rather, there was ‘no possibility’ of ending from the start.

And why would there be? This world wasn’t fated for such a thing.