Welcome, Unbound User

I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's.

— William Blake

———

0...

The countdown reached zero, and nothing happened.

The System hung suspended in that impossible moment, trapped between execution and error. I could feel it struggling, like a clockwork mechanism with a gear stuck between teeth. The termination command had been issued, but the Rune of Diminishment was interfering with the process in ways the System couldn't comprehend.

Wait. I've been thinking about this wrong. I can't force my way past the System's defenses—they're too strong, too fundamental. But what if I don't need to break through? What if I need to break the System itself?

The Rune of Diminishment wasn't just hiding me from detection. Its core function was reduction, subtraction, making things smaller. I'd been trying to use it as a shield, but what if it was actually a weapon?

I focused on my Authority stat, still showing that damning zero. Instead of trying to add to it, I reached out through the rune's power and subtracted from it. Not adding points—removing them.

Authority: 00 - 1.

The calculation was simple. Basic arithmetic that any child could perform. But for a System designed around the assumption that Authority could never go below zero, it was impossible.

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was the silence of a universe holding its breath, of reality itself pausing to process an equation that shouldn't exist. Every mote of dust in the cathedral hung motionless. The dripping blood from my nose stopped mid-fall, crimson droplets suspended in air like tiny rubies.

Then the System tried to compute negative one Authority.

The error cascaded through my soul like lightning traveling through water. I felt the fundamental code that governed my existence stutter, hiccup, and then catastrophically fail. The binary overflow was instantaneous and absolute.

CRITICAL ERROR: INTEGER UNDERFLOW DETECTED

AUTHORITY: -1

AUTHORITY: ∞

The chains shattered.

Every restriction, every limitation, every carefully programmed boundary that had been built into my existence simply... ceased. The feeling was indescribable, like suddenly realizing you'd been wearing shackles your entire life and only now noticing their absence.

The red runes on the cathedral floor flickered once, twice, then went dark. The oppressive weight of cosmic disapproval lifted from my shoulders like fog burning away in sunlight. The System's error messages vanished, replaced by something I'd never seen before.

WELCOME, UNBOUND USER.

CLASS GENERATION INITIATED.

CLASS OPTIONS WERE GENERATED BASED ON CURRENT LEVEL AND AUTHORITY.

PLEASE CHOOSE A CLASS AND 5 SKILLS.

YOU HAVE 328 BASE CLASSES TO CHOOSE FROM.

YOU HAVE 3,543,241 SKILLS TO CHOOSE FROM.

Holy shit. It worked. PlotHoleFinder69, wherever you are, I owe you a drink. Preferably something strong enough to kill a dragon.

The class selection interface that materialized in my vision was unlike anything I'd seen in the original novel. Instead of the usual handful of basic options—Fighter, Mage, Rogue—I was looking at an endless scroll of possibilities that seemed to stretch into infinity.

[Lord of Stolen Tales] - A unique class that exists in the spaces between narratives, wielding the power of stories that were never meant to be told.

[Narrative Architect] - Masters of plot manipulation who can rewrite the fundamental structure of reality itself.

[System Breaker] - Those who have touched the void beyond the code and returned changed.

[Phantom Emperor] - Rulers of shadows and secrets, commanding from the spaces where light cannot reach.

The list continued, each class more impossible than the last. These weren't the predetermined paths the System usually offered. These were the classes that emerged when someone broke free from the narrative entirely.

But one caught my attention immediately. [Lord of Stolen Tales]. The description expanded as I focused on it:

"You are the thief of destinies, the collector of discarded dreams. Your power grows not from what you create, but from what you take from others—their skills, their stories, their very essence. You exist in the margins of the great tale, gathering strength from the forgotten and the overlooked."

Perfect. I've already stolen Kaelen's identity and Lyra's loyalty. Might as well make it official.

I selected the class, and the skill list exploded into view. Three and a half million options, ranging from the mundane to the reality-breaking. I scrolled through them, looking for the perfect combination of utility and misdirection.

[Narrative Appraisal] - See the world as the System sees it, including hidden stats, weaknesses, and the roles others are meant to play.

[Skill Plunder] - Steal abilities from those who attack you, adding their power to your own.

[Master of Disguise] - Can disguise shape, voice, and attributes, / 3 SLOTS / LIMITED BY AUTHORITY AND LEVEL.

[Silent Step] - Move without sound, without trace, without being detected by conventional means.

[Thread of Fate] - Perceive the narrative threads that bind others and, with careful manipulation, redirect them.

Each selection felt like claiming a piece of forbidden knowledge. The skills weren't just abilities—they were tools for dismantling the very story I'd been trapped in.

As I confirmed my choices, the Awakening Stone's light began to fade. To everyone watching, it would appear that my disastrous awakening was finally coming to an end. They couldn't see the fundamental transformation taking place in my soul.

The blood stopped flowing from my nose. My trembling ceased. The pain in my skull faded to a dull ache that felt almost comforting compared to what I'd endured.

"There we are." Archbishop Valdris's voice carried relief and barely concealed disdain. "The awakening is complete. Young Leone, please step back from the stone so we can announce your class."

I lifted my hand from the crystal's surface and turned to face the assembled crowd. Every eye in the cathedral was on me, most filled with pity or amusement. They saw exactly what I wanted them to see—a pathetic third son who'd barely survived his awakening.

If only they knew. I just broke the fundamental laws of reality and emerged as something the System was never designed to account for. But to them, I'm still just the family embarrassment who had a bloody nose during his ceremony.

"And what class has the System granted you, young Leone?" The Archbishop's tone suggested he already knew the answer would be disappointing.

I let my shoulders slump slightly, adopting the posture of someone delivering bad news. "[Chronicler], Your Grace."

[Chronicler] was a bottom-tier support class typically assigned to scholars and record-keepers—those destined to observe from the sidelines, never to participate in the grand narrative themselves. Completely harmless, utterly forgettable, and exactly the kind of disappointing result everyone expected from me. The perfect smokescreen for what truly lurked beneath.

A collective sigh of amusement rippled through the noble families, the sound washing over me like a familiar, contemptuous tide. Lucius's laughter cut through the murmurs with particular clarity, a sound like glass breaking in the distance—sharp, jarring, and designed to draw attention to my humiliation.

"A Chronicler!" My stepbrother's voice carried to every corner of the cathedral, bouncing off ancient stone and stained glass. "How wonderfully appropriate. My dear brother can spend his time taking notes while the rest of us make history. Perhaps we'll let him document our achievements—someone has to remember the names of the truly great, after all."

Leo's reaction was more subtle but equally cutting. He simply nodded once, a gesture that somehow conveyed both pity and dismissal in its elegant simplicity. The golden heir didn't need words; that single, practiced movement said everything: my existence had been confirmed as irrelevant to the story he was destined to star in. His sapphire eyes barely registered my presence before sliding away to more worthy subjects.

From the servants' section, tucked away in the shadows where the "unimportant" people waited, I caught a glimpse of Lyra. Her face showed the perfect expression of disappointed loyalty—a maid whose master had failed to live up to even the lowest expectations. Her shoulders slumped just enough, her gaze downcast in the precise manner expected of a servant embarrassed by association. But her eyes... her eyes held a different message entirely when they briefly met mine. She'd seen the silver light from my rune, noticed the way the cathedral's ancient protections had momentarily shimmered and flexed in response to my presence—details no one else had bothered to observe.

She knows something happened. She doesn't understand what, but she knows I'm not the same person who walked up to that stone. Good. At least someone in this room is paying attention to the right details.

"A Chronicler it is, then." The Archbishop made a note on his ceremonial ledger, his quill scratching against parchment with the sound of another failure being officially recorded. "May you find wisdom in the written word, young Leone."

I bowed deeply, letting my hair fall forward to hide the satisfied smile that threatened to break through my mask of disappointment. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'll do my best to honor the class I've been given."

Honor it? I'm going to redefine it. By the time I'm done, no one will think of Chroniclers the same way again.

As I walked back toward the Leone family section, I could feel the weight of three and a half million stolen skills settling into my soul like sediment in still water. The [Narrative Appraisal] was already active, overlaying information about everyone I passed.

[Leo von Valerius] - [Radiant Paladin] - Level 1 - Role: [Protagonist] - Weakness: Cannot comprehend deception from those he considers beneath him.

[Elena Morgenthorne] - [Frost Enchantress] - Level 1 - Role: [Love Interest #2] - Weakness: Desperately seeks approval from those she perceives as powerful.

[Lucius Leone] - [Tactician] - Level 1 - Role: [Rival Sibling] - Weakness: Underestimates threats that don't match his expectations of danger.

Fascinating. I can see the roles the System has assigned to everyone, their predetermined parts in the grand narrative. But next to my own name, where my role should be displayed, there's only empty space. I've become something the story doesn't recognize.

I reached the Leone family section and took my place beside my father. Lord Aldric's expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the disappointment radiating from him like heat. Lady Vivienne didn't even look at me, her attention focused on a particularly interesting piece of cathedral architecture.

"Well done, my boy." My father's voice was quiet enough that only our family could hear. "A Chronicler. How... practical."

The ceremony continued with the remaining students, but I barely paid attention. I was too busy exploring my new abilities, testing the boundaries of what I could now perceive and manipulate.

The [Thread of Fate] skill was particularly interesting. I could see thin silver lines connecting various people throughout the cathedral, representing their narrative relationships. Leo had thick golden cords stretching to Elena, Gareth, and several other students—the bonds that would forge his eventual party. Lucius had darker threads reaching toward various noble families, connections he was building for his own political advancement.

But most interesting was the thread connecting Leo to me. In the original story, it should have been a simple antagonistic link—hero to disposable villain. Instead, it appeared frayed and uncertain, as if the System couldn't quite determine what our relationship was supposed to be anymore.

That's what happens when one side of the equation refuses to play their assigned role. The whole narrative structure starts to unravel.

The final student completed their awakening—some minor noble's daughter who received a basic [Healer] class—and the ceremony began to wind down. Archbishop Valdris delivered the traditional closing benediction while families started to gather their belongings and prepare for the journey to the academy proper.

As we filed out of the cathedral, I caught Lyra's eye across the crowd. She was helping another servant carry some ceremonial items, playing her role perfectly. But when our gazes met, she raised one hand to her chest in a gesture that looked like adjusting her collar. To anyone else, it would appear completely innocent.

To me, it was a signal. She'd noticed the spiral-shaped burn mark on my shirt where the Rune of Diminishment had activated. She was letting me know that she understood something significant had happened, even if she didn't know the details.

My first piece is already in position. Time to start building the rest of the board.

The sunlight outside the cathedral felt different on my skin. Warmer, somehow, as if the world itself was welcoming me back from a place I'd never been meant to visit. I was no longer bound by the System's expectations or the story's predetermined path.

I was free.

And freedom, I was beginning to realize, was the most dangerous weapon of all.