A heavy pain pounded in his skull, each throb like a hammer striking flesh. Rael groaned, rolled slightly onto his side, and tried to sit up. His left arm pressed against the mattress, but his right hand fell onto something warm.
Not a sheet. Not a pillow.
Something round. Firm and soft at once.
The texture sank gently under his palm. It was warm, supple, unmistakably alive. He pressed reflexively, just to be sure of what he was feeling. A faint movement answered beneath his fingers, almost imperceptible, and his hand sank a little deeper into that delicate shape.
Huh? What is—
— "Aaah…"
The sound shot through him like a jolt. A moan. Faint, trembling, but undeniably human.
His brain lit up all at once.
He lifted his head, and his breath caught.
In front of him, in the white morning light, three elven women lay half-asleep on the tangled sheets. Their pale skin gleamed under the sun, their silver or flaxen hair spilled over bare shoulders. One of them, the one he had apparently just touched, had her chest partially uncovered—round, full, and with a softness he still felt on his hand.
The second lay on her stomach, hips covered by a thin sheet that hid almost nothing. The last slept half on her side, lips slightly parted, an elven silver necklace sliding between her collarbones.
Rael felt the blood rush to his face.
No. No, this isn't what I think it is.
He opened his mouth, ready to shout, "Why are you naked in my bed?!"… But when his voice came out, it was steady, sharp, icy:
— "May I know why you are still occupying my bed, ladies?"
Silence.
Even he couldn't believe his own ears. Huh?! No, no, I just wanted to ask a question, not… not be that aggressive!
All three elves started at once.
— "F-forgive us, Lord Rael! We didn't think you were awake yet!"
Rael raised his hand when he saw the three elves scrambling to leave the bed. They snatched up their clothes in a hurry, visibly panicked, almost fleeing.
Wait! Don't leave like that! I just want to understand what happened! he thought, panicking.
— "Stay."
A single word, spoken with glacial, almost royal assurance. His voice thrummed through the room, deep, measured, laden with authority.
The three elves froze at once. Their shoulders tensed, their heads bowed almost of their own accord, subdued by that tone that allowed no argument.
Rael, for his part, remained rigid, mouth slightly open.
… Excuse me?! I said "stay"?!
But… I meant "don't leave like that," not bark a damned military order at them!
A cold sweat slid down his back. He tried to recover, awkwardly.
Okay, calm down, be nice. Explain yourself, be human, for god's sake!
But his voice, once again, took on a tone he didn't control—deep, composed, almost sensual in its restraint. What he meant to say was a simple "I hope you're all right." What came out was far worse.
— "I wish to make sure, ladies, that… the night was pleasant for you in every respect."
A heavy silence fell over the room, thick as lead.
The words lingered for a moment, elegant, polite… and yet charged with an innuendo impossible to ignore.
The three elves went still, as if petrified. Their eyes widened, their cheeks flushed bright pink. The closest lowered her head, voice trembling:
— "Y-yes, Lord Rael… everything was… perfect."
— "We… we thank you for your… consideration," stammered the second, clutching her dress to her.
The youngest turned crimson, mumbled a barely audible, "p-perfectly, my lord," then almost fled, stumbling.
The door closed softly.
He was alone. Bare-chested. Frozen.
His brain took a few seconds to reboot, as if every thought had to push through a thick fog before it reached consciousness. What the hell just happened?
He wanted to rub his face, slump down, tear out a sigh. But instead, his body straightened slowly, rigid as a blade, and his hand slid to his temple with a grace that wasn't natural. Every movement was controlled, measured, almost theatrical.
An incomprehensible discomfort tightened his throat. He felt tense, trapped inside his own skin—as if his body refused to let him look tired.
What… is this? Why can't I move the way I want?
Around him, the room looked like it had stepped out of a period novel: pale stone walls, columns carved with ancient symbols, and purple velvet drapes trimmed with gold. A canopy bed stood in the center, veiled in white silk, the sheets still rumpled and stained in places with dried wine. An ebony dresser sagged under snuffed candles, and several empty bottles lay on the floorboards, exuding a heavy scent of alcohol and melted wax. On the nightstand, a shattered glass completed the tableau of a clearly wild night.
His gaze lingered on the bottles.
A bitter certainty took hold: at least I know where this headache came from.
He tried to massage his head, but his arm only folded back slowly, with the precision of a noble gesture. His back stayed straight, his jaw clenched. The discomfort climbed a notch. Good lord… even my pain has poise?!
Rising, he took a few steps on the cold floorboards. His movements were too calm, too elegant. Not a misstep, not a hesitation. Everything about him radiated a confidence he didn't feel.
Nothing here looked like his apartment. Everything reeked of wealth: the sheets, the furniture, even the air itself, perfumed with incense.
Let's think…
My last memories… He frowned. I was at my screen, reading a webnovel. I'd just written another rage paragraph about the ending—"Pathetic ending for a pathetic hero"… And then? I fell asleep, right? And now I wake up here?
Three naked elves, a castle room, and they're calling me "Lord Rael." Seriously?
He sighed inwardly. His face, however, remained impassive.
His gaze slid to a large mirror at the far end of the room. The silver-carved frame caught the morning light and threw it back in pale reflections. Rael approached it slowly, each step perfectly straight, regular, without him truly willing it.
He stopped in front of the glass.
The reflection facing him was nothing he recognized.
A young man. Slightly tousled black hair, fair skin, crimson eyes. A cold beauty, almost otherworldly, with a haughty tilt of the head, an innate presence. The slim body betrayed little training, but every movement seemed studied, assured.
That's not me.
He stood still for a moment, studying his reflection.
Every detail felt too sharp to be an illusion: the constant headache, the texture of skin—thinking back to the elf's breast—the light, the slow but steady breathing. No, impossible. I'm not dreaming… so what is this? His gaze slid back to that unfamiliar face in the mirror. No. That can't be. I didn't get reincarnated… did I?
A wave of unease rose in his chest—immediately smothered by an even straighter, prouder posture imposed by this body.
His gaze returned to the mirror. But they called me "Lord Rael"… This body, this room, this luxury… Maybe I have status? A system? Something like that?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, a bluish light flared in the air before him. Symbols appeared, forming floating letters.
A translucent screen had materialized.
[STATUS]
Name: Rael von Lichtfall
Race: Cursed Human
Age: 18Title: Northern Trash, Shame of the Lichtfall
Affiliation: House Lichtfall
Elemental Affinities: Blood (SS), Shadow (S)
[Stats]
Strength (F): 39
Speed (E): 51
Endurance (E): 53
Mana (E): 70
Mana Control (F): 19
Mental Resistance (B): 205
Intelligence (C): 158
Charisma (B): 287
[Skills]
Noble Ego (Rank SSS), Royal Shadow (Rank S), Blood Obedience (Rank F), Black Blood Blade (Rank F).
Rael stared at the screen, speechless for a few seconds. Von Lichtfall… Right, that was it. The family name of one of the novel's heroines: the archduke's daughter who ruled the North of the Empire.
A memory surged to the surface—a passage he'd read years earlier, almost word for word:
"The Northern Trash, Rael von Lichtfall," who was crushed by the hero before disappearing from the story.
He closed his eyes, burdened. Great. I'm a second-rate villain. A sigh slipped out of him, then he clenched his fists. Well… at least I know the novel's info. That's something.
He resumed reading. Cursed Human? He squinted. I don't remember that parameter existing in the original work…
His eyes slid down to the stats, and his smile froze. … Seriously? Strength: F. Speed: E. Endurance: E. Mana: E. Mana Control: F.
A long silence settled. Rael frowned. Okay. So I've got monstrous SS and S affinities, but larva-tier stats. Just how much of a trash heap was this guy to end up like this?
He moved to the next line.
Mental Resistance: 205. Not bad. In the novel, that was a stat even the hero struggled to raise without help from his allies. Good, at least one positive.
Intelligence: 158. He allowed a small smile. Decent. Probably influenced by my presence, considering how the previous owner of this body ended up. Otherwise, I honestly don't see how he'd have survived his own ridiculousness.
Charisma: 287. Rael lifted a brow. Not bad, but I'd have preferred a combat stat instead.
He stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating the screen hovering in the air. Well… maybe my skills will make up for the rest. I hope so, because right now I'm the textbook extra doomed to an early death.
[Noble Ego (Rank SSS)] — An innate skill imposing absolute dignity upon its bearer. A noble does not bend. A noble does not apologize. A noble is superior. Greatly increases Charisma and Mental Resistance. Prevents any sincere display of fear, humility, or weakness.
Rael went still, back straight, eyes locked on the glowing screen. He felt his stomach slowly twist. … You're kidding me, right? Inside, panic was rising, but his face remained perfectly calm, almost majestic. So earlier… that tone, those gestures, that stuck-up noble behavior—that was this?
A slight tension gripped his neck. This isn't a skill. It's a prison.
He remained motionless, grave despite himself.
All right. Breathe. Maybe the next one will be a bit more… useful.
[Royal Shadow (Rank S)] — Power inherited from the cursed Lichtfall bloodline. Converts anger and ambient mana into a murderous aura. The bearer is perceived as a sovereign shadow, instinctively imposing terror and submission. When a noble's anger rises, even the light falls silent.
His eyes moved slowly over the lines. Hm. At least it sounds good. He hesitated a moment. But if my anger triggers this, and my "Noble Ego" stops me from losing control… how am I supposed to use it? A breath slipped out of him, imperceptible. Great. A skill I probably can't even activate.
His gaze slid lower, already resigned.
[Blood Obedience (Rank F)] — Ability stemming from the cursed Lichtfall line. Allows the bearer to control and strengthen his blood through pain and discipline. Each mastered wound increases the power and docility of the blood.
Control my own blood, huh… that could be useful. But having to suffer to progress…
He sighed, even more resigned than before, lowering his eyes to the last skill—as one lowers one's weapons before the obvious. Part of him already knew he wouldn't find a miracle there, just a silent confirmation of his defeat in this new world.
[Black Blood Blade (Rank F)] — Ancestral sword art of the cursed Lichtfall line. Allows the summoning of Sentences, spiritual attacks formed from the bearer's blood and shadow. Each movement consumes mana and blood, manifesting the black aura of the accursed.
Rael read the final line, then let his shoulders drop—very slightly—the maximum relaxation this body seemed to tolerate. He stayed quiet for a while. In the mirror, his face remained impassive, almost noble, while his mind reviewed everything with methodical slowness.
If I sum it up… Trash with catastrophic stats, skills that are useless or Rank F, from a cursed lineage… and, cherry on top, condemned to act like a condescending aristocrat with everyone?
Is it even possible to make it out with this? His gaze slid over his reflection, over that face he still struggled to recognize. The real miracle in this webnovel isn't that the hero managed to defeat the seven Demon Kings… it's that this guy lasted ten chapters.
Despite the SSS-rank skill, his lips moved on their own. And for the first time, the words that came out were anything but noble.
— "Author-san… I was joking! Your novel is a masterpiece, a monument of genius, a blessing for humanity, okay?! I'm begging you, send me back to my world! Please! I swear I'll never write rage comments again! Ever!"
A heavy silence fell over the room. The air seemed to thin. Then, as if in answer, the [STATUS] window flickered—once, twice—before displaying a new line, cold and immutable:
[Main Mission: Save the world from the hero — Failure = Your death and that of 60% of the population]
Rael felt his blood turn to ice. Inside, he crumpled under the pressure, but his body stayed upright, constrained by a dignity he didn't want."Save the world from the hero…" he murmured inwardly, as a wave of dizziness stole his breath. Either he succeeded, or it was annihilation—for him, for millions of souls.
The noble reflection in the glass didn't move. But inside, everything was on high alert.