An Unwritten Story [LitRPG, Evil MCs]

A few months ago,

What exactly is he?

That was the only thought Aoi could mutter to herself as she stood at a distance, her eyes locked onto Noa as he fought against the royal soldier. It was a question that felt very familiar to her—one she had frequently pondered back on Earth while observing him from the fringes of the classroom.

He had been summoned alongside the rest of them, torn from the same mundane reality. Sure, he seemed to possess a somewhat decent physique back then, but raw physical stats alone couldn't possibly account for the display he had unleashed against that knight. To move like that without a single day of proper training was absurd—not to mention the fact that he completely lacked a system interface to guide his growth.

She also remembered a bizarre detail that most of their classmates had entirely overlooked in the chaos:

Why did his initial assessment report state that his Skills were locked?

Aoi—now twenty-one years old—softly exhaled, her fingers absently tracing the hilt of a knife at her waist. She wore a black long-sleeved shirt tucked into form-fitting white trousers, with brown leather boots pulled around her calves. A utility belt rested around her hips, anchoring several throwing knives in place, while her silver hair was pulled back into a high ponytail by a simple black hairband.

It was the standard uniform she and the other otherworlders wore for daily combat training.

The more I think about him, the more I get this urge to unravel the mysteries surrounding him, she thought, a faint, curious smile touching her lips. Honestly, I don't even think he's fundamentally a bad person. If the kingdom had just left him alone, he probably would have lived out his days in this kingdom quietly.

That was the prevailing impression Aoi held toward Noa. Maintaining a strictly neutral stance, she viewed him as an intriguing puzzle she had observed for a very long time. But unknown to her, Noa’s true nature was far more chaotic than she imagined.

“Aoi, hurry up! We’ve been summoned by His Majesty!” Hana—Aoi’s close friend—shouted from across the dusty expanse of the castle training grounds.

“Coming!”

…

Inside the grand, sweeping royal hall—the very place where their souls had first arrived in this strange world—the students gathered once more, having quickly changed out of their training uniforms and into their preferred attire.

Some wore custom sets of light armor and tactical equipment, while others wore nothing but flamboyant, high-end otherworldly fashion.

Four years had bled away since they stepped into this unknown world named Mythara. Their bodies had been visibly hardened by relentless training, and their gazes had sharpened into something lethal; they could now call themselves proper warriors. Standing in contrast to the frightened, disorganized children they once were, they now stood in a flawless, disciplined military formation.

No idle chatter echoed among the twenty-eight of them. The silence in the hall was heavy, almost suffocating.

Sigh… we started with a total of thirty-one people, including Mr. Nahori. And now, we’re down to twenty-eight.

“I have summoned you all today to personally congratulate you for surpassing the standard knight ranks!” King Manus announced from high atop his ornate throne, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings as he raised a hand. “As a direct reward for your hard work, each of you will receive a High Relic-grade weapon of your own choosing.”

“R-Relic-grade…?”

“Wow…”

Muted gasps and eager whispers rippled through the formation.

Blacksmiths capable of forging a true Relic-grade weapon were so exceptionally rare in Cyradis that most such armaments were ones passed down through older generations. Items of that caliber could typically only be wielded by the highest-ranking grandmasters or legendary knights.

In this world, the absolute hierarchy of equipment was divided into distinct tiers: Common, Refined, Relic, Mythic, and Eclipse.

While the majority of the students rejoiced, offering quiet cheers as they eyed the shrouded weapon racks, a few of the sharper minds felt their instincts spike with immediate caution.

Mina was one of them.

A young woman with silken red hair styled into a sharp, elegant butterfly cut stood flawlessly still within the formation. Her vibrant purple and blue dress beautifully complemented the gleam in her eyes.

Does this mean the postponed war is about to resume? She thought, directly addressing the unseen entity woven into her soul.

<<Calculating… Probability: 76%>> the voice of her system replied in its chilling, unyielding mechanical monotone.

Meanwhile—

Aoi focused her gaze forward.

[Analysis Failed!]

Tsk, I still can’t read his information… Aoi pulled her gaze away from King Manus as her glowing system window remained blank, refusing to show any progression. Whatever. Let’s at least check my own parameters. Status.

With a silent mental command, her personalized status screen materialized before her eyes:

[Name: Aoi Misora]

[Race: Human]

[Age: 21]

[Affiliation: Otherworlder]

[Titles: —]

[Essence Fragment: Active]

[Synchronization: Deep Sync]

Attributes

• Strength: 34

• Agility: 27

• Endurance: 17

• Aether: 13

• Intelligence: 45

• Authority: ???

• Existence: ???

Skills

[Clairvoyant Insight (Rare)]

• Sharpens senses to a supernatural level.

[Fate’s Whisper (Rare)]

• Instinctively senses when an event holds significance.

[Calm Mind (Common)]

• Stabilizes thoughts under stress.

[Low Mental Resistance (Common)]

• Minor resistance against fear, pressure, and mental interference.

[Mind’s Eye (Unique)]

• Assess attributes, skills, and curses of a target.

[Reverie (Unique)]

• Read thoughts and emotional states of a target.

• Duration: 60s

• Cooldown: 12h

I’ve already upgraded [Observer’s Eye] into the [Mind’s Eye], but his majesty’s info is still entirely blocked, she mused, trying to piece the anomalies together while her classmates stepped forward one by one to claim their legendary equipment. If the skill's description doesn't lie, it shouldn't be a matter of raw stats blocking me. Is it a skill that nullifies mental interference?

“Shun Aoyama, Kurose Hana, Kaito Yagami, and Aoi Misora,” the royal herald’s voice rang out, cutting through her thoughts. “Step forward to receive your High Relic-grade weapons.”

As stated, even the grading system possessed strict sub-tiers: Low, Mid, High, and Peak. The difference between sub-tiers might look like a minor percentage shift, but on a chaotic battlefield, that slight variance was the definitive line between a clean parry and a shattered spine.

…

The four uniquely acknowledged vanguard students walked to the front of the dais, receiving their masterfully crafted weapons from the royal attendants. Behind them, their peers reacted in a chaotic mix of emotions—some cheered loudly, some burned with quiet envy, and others silently formed friendly rivalries.

Once the final weapon had been granted, Manus leaned forward, his shadow casting a long pall over the hall.

“Elear.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the head mage replied smoothly, stepping forward from the shadows of the throne. “From this moment onward, based entirely on your individual contributions, you will be assigned specialized operational roles. However, before you deploy to your respective missions, you must all dispatch to the Thalaor Kingdom to safely deliver a rare artifact.” He pointed a gloved finger to a specific, isolated point on the map he held. “You will be teleported directly to this coordinate, a short distance away from the Thalaor borders.”

“The Thalaor border at that location is dominated by a dense forest teeming with high-level monsters,” the head priestess added, her voice trembling slightly as she clasped her fingers together in a frantic prayer. “Furthermore, the artifact itself passively attracts monsters over a massive radius. Protect it with your lives, deliver it safely, and return to us unharmed, oh brave heroes.”

After four years of brutal conditioning, the students thoroughly understood the cutthroat culture of Cyradis. As elite warriors who had officially eclipsed the power of high-ranking knights, they held their heads high and proudly accepted the mandate.

“As you wish, Your Majesty!” they roared in unison.

These twenty-eight souls were gems forged through blood, sweat, and tears. Armed with the advanced techniques of the kingdom's finest knights, real combat experience dragged from the depths of lethal dungeons, the vast resources of the crown, and the power of their systems, they stood together as one of the strongest military forces within Cyradis.

They knew all too well that if a force as powerful as theirs was being explicitly appointed for a mere delivery task, the artifact in question was far from ordinary.

***

Back to the present.

Four years had passed since Noa Shinra had collapsed into the mud and assumed the name of the Ravel family. He was now twenty-one years old, Lina had blossomed into an energetic fourteen-year-old girl, and Mara was forty-five—though she still looked no older than twenty-seven. In the world of Mythara, the more Aether one possessed within them, the slower their physical body aged.

Noa and Lina sat at the exact same, hyper-familiar wooden dining table, Noa holding his spoon raised high in anticipation while Mara prepared breakfast in the nearby kitchen. Noa had grown significantly, now standing at a commanding 180cm, while Lina reached around 150cm, and Mara maintained her elegant 170cm stature.

My physique literally looks like I've been training every day, Noa thought, staring down at his arms with a look of profound amusement. But I swear, I did absolutely nothing but sit around, dude. This same shit happened back on Earth too. I guess this is what you call cheating instead of actual hard work, lol.

“I heard from the villagers that a group of legendary heroes from another kingdom passed through our borders and left just a few days ago,” Mara’s gentle voice floated over the sizzle of the pan from the kitchen. “Apparently, the townspeople treated them like celebrities.”

“…?”

“Heroes…?” Noa muttered.

Noa and Lina snapped their heads toward the kitchen doorway at the exact same time, bumping their heads together as they leaned in to listen.

“Enough gossiping. Focus on eating your breakfast right now,” Mara scolded playfully, stepping out of the kitchen balancing the steaming dishes. “Although, Noa… those high twin-tails really did look good on you. Why did you take them out?”

“…Shut up,” Noa growled, his expression dropping into a deadpan glare.

“See? Even Mom agrees with me! Heheheh~” Lina laughed cheekily, poking his arm repeatedly.

“…I will endure this humiliation, but just you wait, you little—” Noa cut himself off mid-threat, his purple irises narrowing as his gaze locked onto her collarbone. “Hey, what is that necklace?” He pointed directly at a crudely fashioned cross necklace resting against Lina’s neck.

“This?” Lina asked, her fingers absently twirling the metal charm. “The church father who visited the village yesterday gave it to me as a blessing. What? Are you jealous that you didn’t get one? Well, I am not giving you mine!”

The church? Noa’s internal alarm bells went off instantly. A church in a fantasy world is always a generic cliché for bad news.

“Put that garbage away right now,” Noa warned, his voice dropping its playful edge. “It’s an obvious red flag.”

“Bleeh! I don’t want to!” Lina fired back, sticking her tongue out at him with childish defiance.

Sigh… This kid never listens to me.

Mara placed the main pot in the center of the table. She gently took Noa’s bowl, not forgetting to give his messy black hair a teasing headpat, and filled it to the brim with the rich stew.

“So, are we leaving tomorrow?” Noa asked, blowing on a steaming spoonful.

“Yes. Make sure you pack all your belongings before sunset,” Mara replied with a firm, decisive nod.

“Cough—cough!”

Mmm? At the sound of Lina hacking, Noa grabbed his glass of water without looking. “Here. Drink this and eat slower, you idiot.”

But as he turned his face toward her, his heart dropped into his stomach. Lina hadn’t even touched her food; her spoon hadn't moved an inch. Realizing something was horribly wrong, he grabbed her shoulder, only to find fresh, crimson blood splattered across Lina’s shaking hands.

With another wet, hacking cough, more crimson spilled from her lips.

“H-Hey… What’s wrong?!” Noa barked as he lunged across the space to catch her collapsing body before she hit the floor.

Mara’s maternal instincts flared instantly. She bolted around the table, dropping to her knees beside them. “Lina! What’s wrong, honey?! Look at me!” She pressed a frantic palm against Lina’s forehead.

“UHHHH… MY HEAD… IT HURTS! IT FEELS LIKE IT'S EXPLODING!” Lina clutched her temples with clawed fingers, letting out a raw, agonizing scream that tore through the quiet farmhouse.

Simultaneously with her bloodcurdling screams, the cross necklace around her neck began to thrum, emitting a holy light of blinding white that rapidly flooded every square inch of the room.

Tsk! I knew that piece of shit was trouble, but I didn't expect it to trigger this fast! Noa gritted his teeth, his hand flying out to forcefully rip the necklace from her throat.

But the moment his fingers brushed the metal, the holy light pulsated furiously, causing Lina to convulse as her breathing caught entirely.

His adorable sister was actively suffocating to death right in his arms, his mother was desperately holding onto her dying daughter, her brown eyes brimming with helpless tears, and his own raw physical strength would only worsen the curse if he tried to touch it again.

He wasn't some brilliant strategist capable of devising a complex counterspell, and he sure as hell couldn't heal her like a high-tier priestess. He possessed no intricate plan. And when Noa lacked a plan, the simple answer that ever came to his mind was:

Destroy it all until there is nothing left.

“Hold on,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

---

Inside the grand, vaulted sanctuary of the regional church, sixteen high-ranking priests stood in a perfect, geometric circle. Far above, magnificent stained-glass windows fractured the incoming morning sunlight, casting vibrant, multi-colored prisms across the immaculate white marble floor below.

“Today, the long-awaited descent of our glorious god, Aria, shall finally be completed!” the head priest declared with fanatical fervor.

He was an elderly man with long, flowing light-blue hair and matching eyes, his immaculate white robes heavily embroidered with sacred white script that shimmered faintly with active divine magic.

“The lost glory of the Thalaor Kingdom shall finally be revived this day,” Duke Viremont muttered from the edge of the ritual circle. “But at what cost?”

He stood flanked by nearly forty of his finest, heavily armored knights. His pitch-black hair was pulled back neatly, and a short, meticulously trimmed beard framed his stern, unyielding expression.

Creak…

Suddenly, an event that not a single soul inside the sacred sanctuary anticipated occurred: the massive, heavy oak doors of the church slowly groaned open.

Every head in the hall snapped around, faces twisted in utter confusion.

They expected a guard captain reporting a successful lockdown, but they were greeted by a lone figure standing roughly 180 centimeters tall, his simple countryside clothes heavily stained and dripping with fresh, warm blood.

In his left hand, he loosely held a steel sword; in his right hand, he held the severed, leaking head of a high-ranking knight.

What?! I stationed at least forty of my personal knights directly outside! An ice-cold chill shot down Duke Viremont’s spine as the horrific reality of what had transpired outside instantly dawned on him.

“Knights! Prepare yourselves!” the Duke roared, pointing a finger at the intruder.

The young man slowly raised his chin, allowing the bright rays of the stained glass to illuminate his face. He revealed a pair of terrifying eyes—pitch-black sclera framing glowing purple irises that burned with an unhinged, absolute wrath.

“I don’t have the time to play games,” Noa spoke, his voice cutting through the holy atmosphere like a serrated blade. “Stop whatever the fuck it is you're doing right now, before every one of you is erased from this world.”

The duke was taken aback by the youth's boldness. Though unease crept into his chest, he remained calm, surrounded by his best knights and priests.

“You must be here thinking you can save the children. I advise you to turn back,” the duke said, spreading his hands sideways. “This is a divine oracle for a god’s descent. It is a tragic necessity for our survival—a few sacrifices cannot compare.”

A heavy, dead silence filled the massive hall. Then, Noa took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“I don't give a fuck about your god, or whatever, and I don’t care if you take every single child in here or anyone else.” He took another step. Then another. “But don’t try to touch people inside my world.”

“What…?”

The Duke flinched. Looking into Noa's eyes, he found absolutely no hesitation, no righteous fury, and no standard heroic hypocrisy. It was just a cold, immovable boundary.

The Duke had expected the young man to deliver some grand speech about justice and saving the innocent, but the man walking toward him was more selfish than that.

The fallen star wouldn't have cared if the entirety of the heavens collapsed into ruin. But after a warm light had ignited its flames again in a different way, it had drawn a line between its own heaven and the rest of the world. Those who resided inside its heaven would receive salvation—while everyone outside remained nothing but a stranger.

As Noa’s heavy steps accelerated into a sprint, the priests’ frantic chanting intensified to a deafening roar. A massive, radiant magic circle inscribed with ancient sacred text materialized in the center of the altar where an artifact was placed, spinning as a torrential flood of white light completely engulfed the chamber.

Thus, the descent of a god had begun.

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