You Shouldn't Exist
“Is the World Tree over this way?”
To this day, I still don’t get what nerve that question hit.
It was just a question.
No provocation, no threat, not even a strange tone.
And yet,
Why did everything flip the very next second?
One moment, we were being polite.
The next, I was locked at the limbs and dragged away.
I’m just an extra.
Standing in the background in armor. I hadn’t even worn the costume for that long.
First, a bunch of people randomly decided I was some sort of “honored envoy.”
Now, they’ve randomly decided to throw me in an interrogation room.
…What kind of isekai is this supposed to be?
Other people cross over with cheat skills, dramatic intros, affinity meters popping up everywhere, cutting down enemies with one sword swing, steamrolling to the world’s core.
Me?
I don’t even know where I landed.
One minute I was on set, the next, I got pinned to the ground.
So much for reading the source material.
Isn’t an isekai supposed to be: “I know the plot → I use that knowledge to manipulate the story → I become the mastermind behind the scenes”?
Well, I do know the plot. But if this is how that knowledge is helping… I might’ve been better off without it.
No cheats. No skills. No system. No background. Not even a prompt saying “You are here.”
Just confusion, then being dragged away like a wild animal that wandered into a restricted zone labeled “hazardous specimen” before I even had a chance to say anything.
It’s not like I didn’t try to figure things out.
But the moment they took me, everything spiraled.
I saw the White Sand which I could never mistake. It’s a concept unique to the world of The Spellbearer.
I saw it with my own eyes. It was real. Undeniably real.
Which means this can’t be anywhere else.
So where am I?
The original story never spelled it out, but it was obvious: the White Sand is the world’s edge. The boundary of the continent. A catastrophe turned into landscape, an absolute physical and geographical barrier, even the Child of Nature can’t cross.
The White Sand is the end of the world.
Which means, logically, the World Tree should be in the opposite direction somewhere inland, at the center.
I was still trying to work out where I was, when they very helpfully came to “tell me.”
The door opened slowly no knock, no warning.
It was a real door, thick and heavy. Couldn’t tell if it was made of stone or some kind of synthetic alloy. When it opened, it gave off this low, grinding groan, like something alive was clenching its jaw.
First came a faint change in air pressure, then footsteps. Two sets.
Not the metallic stomp of guards, nor the light clip of leather boots.
These were trained steps carefully landing between the cracks in stone tiles. Intentional. Suppressed. Precise to the point of anxiety.
Two people walked in.
One ahead, one behind. Not side by side, just the right distance.
The one in front wore a neatly pressed outer robe. The metal on her shoulder clasp didn’t look like a military rank, but it screamed authority. Her hem didn’t drag, her hands stayed still, and yet her presence made it clear, she was the one in charge.
As for the one behind her? I knew instantly don’t move.
She didn’t speak or do anything threatening, but the way she sat down made it obvious:
If I stepped out of line, she’d end me before I could blink.
The robed woman sat.
No name, no introduction, no formal procedure.
She just looked at me.
And I recognized that look.
It’s the look lawyers give a suspect before a trial.
Except this time, I was the one on the other side of the table.
Then she spoke:
“We’ve examined the object you were carrying.”
“It isn’t a magitech item. No magical components. Unknown material, unknown origin. No response. Risk level: unknown.”
“Your medical report also came back: sapient-class, non-magical, human, female from the Eastern Territory.”
“…On the surface, that all checks out.”
She paused, but her eyes never left mine.
“But your behavior, your reasoning, your entire logic structure none of it matches this land.”
Then came the real blow spoken without emotion, yet more unnerving than anything else:
“What exactly… are you?”
“…”
I hesitated. Didn’t answer right away.
That phrasing, those classification terms, they were so familiar that my brain short-circuited for a moment, overriding my fear.
Sapient-class. Non-magical. Human.Straight out of The Spellbearer’s official setting.
Here, everything alive gets sorted by two toggles:Smart or not. Magic or not.
The magic-born? They’re walking furnaces, heat and power just keep burning on their own.Humans like me? Cold. Empty. If I want fire, I have to steal it from somewhere else.
Simple. Cruel. That’s the line.
I remember it so clearly, those labels were printed on character merch. Cards, setting books, even figurine bases.But that’s the setting. Something I flipped through at a desk.Not something I should be hearing someone calmly recite to my face in real life.
I was still trying to make sense of it when she spoke again, quieter this time:
“The report says you’re from the Eastern Territory, but you lack even the most basic knowledge.”
“No matter which country you’re from, no one is that clueless about the World Tree or the Cataclysm.”
Her voice didn’t rise, but the weight behind it grew heavier.
“…”
“…Human,” I blurted.
The word came out crisp and clean, like an oath.
She paused for a beat, then repeated:
“Human.”
No change in expression, but I knew. That reaction wasn’t “Alright, off you go.”
“Yes. Our report confirms you are ‘sapient-class, non-magical, human.’ Your physical traits match. Your lack of magic also checks out.” She spoke slowly. “But you know the World Tree and not the Cataclysm.”
She tapped her finger on the desk, like marking a rhythm or a warning.
“You said, the World Tree is over that way?”
Her voice stayed calm, almost soft, but her gaze pierced right through me. Cold. Analytical.
“Are you mocking our history? Or claiming this is all the Great Nature’s divine protection?”
She waited, like expecting me to deny it.
But I couldn’t say a word.
What was I supposed to say? I don’t even know where I am.
She continued measured, steady, but with a weight to each word:
“The World Tree didn’t shield us from the White Sand Cataclysm. In fact: ”
“In the face of that disaster, it was powerless.”
“And yet, you stand here and say otherwise.”
Her tone slowed, like she was trying to confirm something.
A quiet tap on the table.
Her fingertip again.
“All things perished. Life was reduced to ash.”
“The White Sand does not argue. It does not warn. It simply exists.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. Her voice remained level.
“It makes no sound. Leaves no sign. And yet it silences every commandment.”
“No divine revelation. No doomsday trumpet. But after it comes everything falls silent.”
My mind was spinning. It felt like someone had thrown a brand-new textbook at me and demanded I recite it in a courtroom.
She looked down, flipped a page, then met my eyes again.
“Just like you.”
“You speak our lingua franca, but your structure is inconsistent. Your pronunciation sounds… fabricated.”
“You know words no one’s ever mentioned, yet you know nothing of common knowledge.”
Her voice didn’t rise, but it hit like a blunt weapon down my spine.
She leaned in slightly. Not hostile, but her voice dropped.
She paused, her eyes sharp, unrelenting.
“As if… you were stitched together.”
My brain stalled.
That was directed at me.
Stitched?
Stitched what? A résumé? A corpse? My gacha pulls?
I almost blurted out “Stitched from what? Like some junk cobbled together off eBay??”
Thank god my throat caught it in time.
Not the moment for sarcasm.
I tried to keep an innocent, bewildered look, but I could feel the heat rising up my neck.
She didn’t press further. Just kept watching me. Waiting for me to slip.
And suddenly I realized, she might not even want me to answer.
She was just observing.
Like a hunter sizing up an unknown animal.
Not sure if it’ll bite.
Not even sure if it is an animal.
The room fell silent again.
So quiet, every sound felt magnified.
Like the boots behind me shifting faintly on the stone floor.
The air froze for a few seconds.
Then finally, the one behind me spoke, her voice low, like reciting a field report:
“…We’ve completed the preliminary analysis of the object you carried.”
My stomach dropped.
They meant the phone.
“Craftsmanship is highly advanced. The metal alloys are unrecorded in known archives. Internal structure is compact. No visible magic slots or array engravings. Outer shell consists of complex composite elements. Precision too fine for any conventional forging grade.”
“No energy signature resembling known magitech. No rune circuits. Operational method: unknown.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“It… is functioning.”
“But we detected no magic circuits. No visible activation glyphs.”
“We tried multiple scanning frequencies. All returned null.”
“Technically, that’s impossible.”
“Any device capable of sustained light and sound should leave behind magic residue. Even sealed glyphs leave traces. A completely ‘clean’ result like this...”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Its mode of existence… deviates from everything we understand.”
“We cannot determine how it works. But one thing’s clear, it wasn’t created by any known magical civilization.”
“We suspect it carries some kind of high-grade masking mechanism. Something that conceals magic flow completely.”
The robed woman gently tapped the table again.
“It shouldn’t exist.”
Me: …
Look, if you said “It looks dangerous,” I’d be okay with that.
But “It shouldn’t exist”?! That’s terrifying.
“You carry an unknown object like this, and you can’t explain it.”
She paused. Her gaze locked on mine again.
“Just like you.”
She leaned in closer, not louder, but like her voice compressed the whole room.
“Do you understand what this means?”
I really didn’t want to know.
But in that moment, I realized
They’re treating me as some kind of abnormality.
The kind that’s not supposed to exist.
But I’m just an extra.
How did it come to this?
