Chapter 06: His Plan for Planet Karnargal

*I finally found a new life I could enjoy.*

Masym's haunting words reverberated in Luke's mind as he slowly opened his eyes. Blurry vision and a pounding heart greeted him amid the wreckage of the bookshop. 

Everywhere he looked, devastation reigned—books shredded into confetti, shelves and tables splintered into fragments, and glass reduced to minuscule grains. 

Masym's blood stained the once-cheerful haven, transforming it into a nightmarish scene of crimson despair.

*You were supposed to die first, not me! I was supposed to die fourth…* 

That bitter whisper, echoing Masym's final defiant cry, seemed to drift from the very walls behind him. 

With trembling hands pressed to his chest, Luke turned slowly, tears streaming down his face as the weight of horror pressed upon him.

In the shadowy recess of a corner, a dark figure sat in a cushioned chair—where children had once gathered—now half-swallowed by the gloom.

The figure attempted to lift its left hand in a gesture of accusation, but it faltered; its bloodstained limb lay severed, and scarlet rivulets pooled at Luke's feet. 

In a voice barely above a whisper—eerily reminiscent of Masym's own tone—the figure asked, 

"Why?"

"I'm sorry…" 

The voice rasped, and Luke sank to his knees, overcome by grief and guilt. 

Luke's eyes fixed on his own trembling hands, now stained with the blood of an innocent, droplets splattering onto the floor. A crushing realization seized him:

I killed him.

"NO!!!" 

He screamed, his cry shattering the silence as he jerked himself awake. 

Gasping for air, drenched in sweat and trembling with emotion, Luke discovered with dismay that his hands bore no blood. 

Yet the tears continued unabated, and the haunting memory of Masym's final words—

*You! You were supposed to die first, not me! I was supposed to die fourth…*—refused to fade.

"I should have accepted death when it came for me!"

Luke screamed, his voice raw with anguish as Masym's face flickered in his mind—a ghostly reminder of the cost of his survival. The weight of it all crushed down on him, suffocating, inescapable. Through clenched teeth, he muttered,

"An innocent man, transmigrated like me, died... because I wanted to live."

Even though Luke's heart rebelled against the meaning behind Masym's final words, his guilt-ridden mind refused to grant him mercy. 

A bitter truth began to crystallize within him. 

Only someone who had read the novel could know that Masym was meant to be the fourth villain to fall at Arryn's hand and that Errol Wynter was destined to die first. 

Luke remembered every meticulous detail from the story—the precise moments of each villain's triumph and downfall. After all, they were his favorite characters.

Masym Rete had been a notorious spy and lethal assassin, feared across continents. 

In the novel, Masym attempted to assassinate Arryn and steal his divine sword while the prince was alone in his mansion. However, his attempt failed, leading to a vicious duel where they fought on equal footing. 

In the end, Arryn was forced to unleash the full power of his divine sword to protect himself, sealing Masym's fate.

Masym was truly that powerful.

Luke's original plan had been diabolical: lure Arryn into a ferocious battle with Masym, then use the ensuing chaos to vanish into the shadows until he could regroup and finally end Arryn's reign. 

It wasn't Luke's fault that a transmigrator had perished—who could have predicted such a twist of fate? But Luke's guilt was an avalanche he could neither halt nor escape.

He slumped lower, his despair mingling with searing self-reproach. 

Lifting his tear-streaked hands, he stared blankly at the low-height ceiling.

"This all happened because of Arryn Rocheford," he murmured hoarsely.

His throat was parched, his every thought consumed by blame.

'It's not my fault. It's Arryn's fault. He started all of this when he reincarnated in this world.'

A familiar, insidious whisper—*Can you really do it?*—echoed in his mind. Then, as if in response, another voice resonated inside him: 

"I can do it!"

At that moment, determination sparked within Luke. 

With a sudden jolt, he sat up, clenching his fist and staring at it as if it held the power of his resolve. Without a moment's hesitation, he punched his own face. The impact blurred his vision, yet strangely, clarity flooded his mind. 

'The only way to end this nightmare is to kill Arryn Rocheford.'

Rising with rage surging through his veins, Luke surveyed his surroundings. He needed to figure out where he was and form a plan.

The cramped room was stark—a fortress of rusted orange walls, a ceiling so low he could barely lift his arms, and a solitary candle casting feeble light like a miniature sun. 

In one corner, a small wooden bucket of water and a crude, unseemly potty completed the dismal picture. On a rickety table lay a few scattered sheets of paper and a stub of charcoal.

Taking in the lack of furnishings and the walls enclosing him on all sides, Luke whispered in shock,

"Am I in prison?"

--- 

After pacing for several long minutes, Luke stilled himself. 

His mind churned with anxious questions—had he been suspected of killing Masym Rete? Or was it all Arryn's twisted design? 

Every time Arryn's name surfaced, his anger flared uncontrollably.

Without wasting another second, Luke sat down at the table, grabbed the charcoal, and began to scribble and sketch with feverish intensity. He scrawled every detail on every scrap of paper he could find. 

In less than half an hour, his plan to assassinate Arryn took shape. He meticulously sketched five maps and drafted three sheets detailing his plans and the names of those he needed.

Referencing an earlier online comment he'd exchanged, Luke reiterated his original scheme: 

Manipulate the six remaining continents into waging war against Arryn's dominion—Eliond—to liberate their oppressed peoples. 

To pull off such a coup, he needed a comprehensive map.

With meticulous care, Luke drew a map of Planet Karnargal—the very world in which he now transmigrated. 

Luke sketched seven expansive continents, each unique in shape yet equal in size, arranged around a central dome-like structure. 

At the very heart of it all lay a tiny but pivotal island, which he clearly marked. Surrounding it, he shaded the vast ocean in deep charcoal, symbolizing the endless void that separated these lands.

His eyes fixed on the upper edge of one continent, oddly shaped like an avocado and pointing directly toward the central island. 

Luke labeled that region "Paha"—a celestial land of silver peaks, lush woodlands, and shimmering seas, yet its people suffered in hunger. 

Paha, of course, was under the rule of Arryn's kingdom, Eliond.

Next, Luke meticulously outlined the layout of Eliond—marking its roads, mountains, and key landmarks, with particular emphasis on Arryn's opulent mansion. 

Even with nothing but charcoal, his determined thumb smudged and blended details into life, as if he were redrawing the very blueprint of destiny. 

He'd seen these maps a thousand times online, discussed them feverishly with fellow readers, and now, each stroke of his charcoal carried the weight of his obsession.

Arryn's mansion was indelibly burned into his memory. Luke had been captivated—and repelled—in equal measure by Arryn's arrogant persona from the novel. 

In a twisted irony, Luke had become a stalker fixated on Arryn's death. Now, with his chance finally within grasp, he refused to relent.

He set aside his drawings and turned to his written plans. 

At the top of the page, a list of essential resources and step-by-step strategies lay scrawled in hurried, determined handwriting. He knew that nothing would go exactly as scripted, but preparation was his only hope.

Luke then racked his brain for names—those who might become valuable allies and those whose betrayal he must avoid at all costs. His mind churned through every possible scenario until, suddenly, a startling thought flashed before him: 

'If Masym Rete and I are transmigrators… what if all the villains are transmigrators too?'

That possibility altered everything. Suddenly, the potential for alliances and the reshuffling of strategies became tantalizingly real. 

A faint, conspiratorial smile tugged at his lips as he mused, 

'If all the villains are transmigrators and we combine our strength, we could not only kill Arryn but obliterate his entire continent.'

Then, like a ship caught in turbulent seas, his mind swayed from happiness to bitterness as his thoughts refused to settle. 

'How can I be sure those transmigrators won't betray me? What if they spill everything to Arryn? If that happens, all my plans will be worthless!'

His stomach twisted in a knot of doubt. Frustrated beyond measure, he crumpled the freshly drawn papers in his hands.

In the midst of his despair, a sudden mechanical clank echoed from behind him, snapping him out of his reverie. 

Instinctively, Luke snatched the papers and tucked it under his shirt before pivoting to face the source of the noise.

Slowly, the wall in front of him descended, and harsh sunlight stabbed his eyes, forcing him to wince. As his vision adjusted, he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Pathetic state, brother," came a mocking voice from the descending wall— a woman's voice, laced with disdain.

'Brother? Could it be?

Luke's heart hammered as he desperately hoped the voice belonged to the person he thought it did.

With his eyes burning from the light, they widened in recognition. A surge of relief and joy burst forth as he shouted, 

"Eryn Wynter!"

[The Hero's Journey continues…]