Role Stealer: The Script Executioner

The fall didn’t end in a crash. It ended in a gasp.

Arthur’s lungs suddenly burned with the smell of stale sweat, cheap tobacco, and damp stone. The blinding white light of the collapsing Executive Tower was gone, replaced by the dim, flickering glow of a mana-lamp hanging from a cracked ceiling.

He wasn’t falling anymore. He was sitting on a wooden bench, his back aching under the weight of a massive leather rucksack filled with heavy iron rations and spare whetstones.

”Hey, trash! Are you deaf?”

A heavy boot slammed into the side of the bench, nearly knocking Arthur to the floor. He looked up. Standing over him was a man in polished silver plate armor, his hand resting on the hilt of a glowing broadsword. Behind him, four other adventurers were laughing, their gear high-quality and well-maintained.

Arthur tried to blink his eyes, expecting the orange HUD of the Architect to appear. He tried to call for a system scan.

Nothing happened.

There were no floating windows. No error logs. No Screen Time meter. He looked at his hands—they were thin, calloused, and covered in old scars. The black data armor and the obsidian mask were gone. He was just a human. A weak, unremarkable human in a world that only respected strength.

”I asked you a question, Porter,” the armored man, whose nameplate read ’Captain Kael,’ growled. ”Did you pack the healing potions for the 10th Floor raid, or do I need to break your fingers to remind you of your job?”

Arthur took a slow, deep breath. He didn’t have his powers, but he had his memory. He knew this world. He had written the initial draft of the ’Tower of Ascension’ before the company turned it into a slaughterhouse.

”I packed them,” Arthur said, his voice sounding higher and weaker than his original one. ”But you shouldn’t go to the 10th Floor today.”

The laughter stopped. Kael leaned in, his face inches from Arthur’s. ”And why is that, little rat?”

”The mana density in the tower is spiking,” Arthur said, keeping his voice steady despite the trembling of his new body. ”The 10th Floor is usually a Green Zone, but today it’s going to trigger a hidden trap. A Total Wipe event.”

Kael stared at him for a second, then burst into a loud, mocking laugh. ”A porter giving advice to a Gold-Rank Climber? That’s rich! Listen, trash. You carry the bags. We do the fighting. Now, get up. The gate opens in five minutes.”

Arthur stood up, the weight of the rucksack nearly buckling his knees. He followed them toward the massive, glowing blue portal at the center of the hall. He knew exactly what was going to happen.

They stepped through the portal.

The 10th Floor was supposed to be a peaceful forest. Instead, it was a hellscape of purple fire and obsidian spikes. Before Kael could even draw his sword, a massive, shadowy claw reached out from the ground and crushed the entire party in a single, wet crunch.

Arthur didn’t even have time to scream. The shadow consumed him, tearing his new, weak body to pieces.

[Condition Met: Death of the Observer.]

[Rewinding to Checkpoint: 10 Minutes Prior.]

Arthur gasped.

He was back on the wooden bench. The smell of stale sweat and tobacco was back.

”Hey, trash! Are you deaf?”

Kael’s boot slammed into the bench again.

Arthur looked up, a cold, sharp smile touching his lips. He didn’t have his Architect powers, but he had something better. He had the future.

”I’m not deaf, Kael,” Arthur said, standing up before the man could kick him again. ”I was just counting how many seconds you have left to live. And if you want to change that number, you’re going to start listening to the ’trash’.”