When Rick awoke from the darkness, a violent, gut-wrenching pain was hammering through his skull. It was so unnatural that even thinking felt like wading through sludge. ‘Damn… shit! Did I just get slapped by a subspace psychic storm, or hit by a Heart-Splitting Judgement? Why the hell does it hurt bad…?! Hhhss!’ Still confused and groaning through gritted teeth, Rick slowly opened his eyes, instinctively scanning his surroundings. The throbbing headache reminded him of that one horrible encounter during the Chaos Tide event. Driven by survival instinct, he tried to recall—what exactly had happened to him? ‘I’ve shrunk!’ The first thing he noticed as his surroundings came into focus was that—he was smaller! The pair of pale, delicate little hands in front of him definitely didn’t belong to the [Warden of Despair] he played in-game. Those hands couldn’t possibly handle anything on the [Wall of Desolation]—not clearing frost, hauling oil drums, loading ballista bolts, or crushing an enemy’s throat. Then it hit him. He should be in Fort Solin, north of the [Wall of Desolation], fighting alongside the NPC factions [Winter Cavalry Legion] and players from [Ashen Pact], holding the line against the demonic army from the [Gate of Northern Chaos]. Any frontline combatant—whether NPC or player—risked being corrupted by chaos and instantly flagged as dead, transforming into a corrupted entity. Rick remembered vividly: Fort Solin held on for six hours against the tide of crimson demons and chaos blight, before falling. They had sent every last messenger, familiar, and long-range communication spell before declaring the fortress lost. He had been locked in battle with a chaos elite when he saw the fortress gates blasted open. A massive demon, mounted on a twisted warbeast, smashed through the fortifications within thirty seconds—ripping through both NPCs and players. Rick, a frontline tank, was clipped and left near death. Then the screen went black—and he blacked out too. Logically, he should’ve respawned outside the corrupted zone at the [Ashen Pact]'s Undying Bonfire or near the [Hunter’s Guild]’s Soul Lantern. But this situation made no sense. Wherever he was lying now, it wasn’t bad at all. He was nestled in a thick, soft velvet cushion, embroidered with gold and silver roses. The carriage interior was lined with lavish carvings, every corner painstakingly decorated. A faint, expensive fragrance lingered in the air, and the elven glass on the carriage windows was masterfully crafted. This was an extravagantly luxurious carriage—just the interior alone was enough to make Rick’s eyes go green with envy. ‘What is this…?’ His eyes caught a crest embroidered on the dark red curtains: two winged beasts stitched in gold thread, standing back to back, surrounded by silver roses, red blooms, and a sword-and-shield motif. It looked familiar—he was sure it had appeared in version 3.0 of the game—but it had been so long, he couldn’t remember which noble house it belonged to. As he leaned closer to the window to get a better look, he saw something pale in the glass reflection—a small, bloodless face! "Woah!" Rick recoiled in shock. But then the figure in the window mimicked him exactly. He hadn’t just shrunk—he had switched bodies! Freaked out by his own reflection, Rick steadied his breathing. The headache was slowly fading, likely due to his increasing wakefulness. He leaned in again to examine himself in the glass, trying to make sense of his new form. A delicate face stared back—almost too perfect, with a sickly beauty. Her skin was flawless and pale like polished ivory, evoking a strange sense of pity. Her eyes, deep wine-red, held a sorrowful glint and a faint trace of death. Long hair, silvery-white with a hint of gold, cascaded down her back like moonlight. She didn’t need to speak—this doll-like girl radiated an unspoken charm. Wait. Girl?! Rick’s expression changed. He yanked his pajama collar and checked a certain part of his body. Flat. Completely flat. Was this karma? He played a few female characters in the past—learned how to fake a girl’s voice, even mastered some ladylike mannerisms. He’d fooled more than a few innocent male players. And now, it had all come back to bite him. Somehow, his character had become a girl. Just as his mind spiraled into panic, a calm female voice came from outside the carriage. “You’re awake, milady?” “…Mm.” The response came out by habit, and Rick blinked in surprise. The woman outside wasn’t speaking Chinese—she was using [Fractured], the northern dialect from the old continent in the game. The accent was strong and unmistakable. That meant… he was still in the northern region. “Forgive my earlier rudeness, milady,” the woman continued. “By the lady’s orders, I had to get you out of the castle. Those vile rebels could discover your escape at any moment. I must bring you somewhere safe. The North is no longer secure. I hope you understand.” So they were… on the run? “And where exactly are we going?” The voice that left Rick’s mouth was clear and musical, like silver bells ringing in the dark. He thought to himself—chaos demons were running rampant past the [Wall of Desolation]. What kind of suicidal northern noble thought it was a good time to rebel now? “To the Sethe Estate in the Southwind Province.” “Southwind?” Rick’s eyes widened. Southwind Province had been wiped off the map in version 2.2 during a chaos dungeon event. It became a diseased, barren wasteland even the [Radiant Church]’s saintly healers avoided. They were heading there for refuge? Was this suicide? Wait! Suddenly, a spark lit up in Rick’s mind. He lunged for the curtain and studied the crest again. Twin-winged beasts, armored in chainmail. Roses bound by oath. Blood weeping from the bloom. Swords guarding the queen. Flame and blood from the same source! He remembered now. It was the sigil of the hidden faction [Cainehurst] from version 3.2’s [Nightmare of Blood Plague] expansion! And in the lore of [Fractured], [Cainehurst] was never mentioned in the northern regions. That ancient castle shrouded in snow and illusion was supposed to exist only in fragmented dreams and unstable space-time! He hadn’t just crossed worlds. He’d gone back in time—back to before the official launch of [Fractured]. Back to become a lost heir of Cainehurst. If his guess was right, then based on the lore of 3.2’s [Nightmare of Blood Plague]… He had become Maria of the Astral Clocktower.