If Only I Hadn't Transmigrated
There was a web novel called Haelan Chronicles, the tale of the Flower Devil. The title alone evoked classic high fantasy, so I had expected a rather plain, straightforward story. As promised, the early chapters were simple yet carried an elegant prose that held the reader's gaze. Up through chapter ten it scattered so many juicy plot hooks that even I—who normally despised orthodox fantasy—found myself impressed and eagerly turning pages. That should tell you how good it was.
The blood flower stretched forth. Swallowing villages, devouring cities, and eventually consuming the entire continent—the most vicious and terrible evil of all. The culprit behind it was my childhood friend and my fiancée.
Out of nowhere, my childhood friend had become a devil.
According to the Frost Empress, it was horrific. She had already lost her voice; she resisted until her body shattered, yet she was powerless against the violated souls who had lost their homeland. She ended up in a state where she could neither live nor die. I heard the news and rushed to save her, but she had already been mutilated—eyes, nose, mouth, and all four limbs severed—and was pinned in a corner of the village like a specimen, turned into a toy for vengeful ghosts.
The heroine who had been sweetly flirting with the protagonist suddenly fell to darkness, destroyed an entire kingdom, and then got slapped with abrupt NTR. Naturally, every reader—including me—exploded with rage at this insane development. If it had been a genuinely heartbreaking tragedy I could have understood, but this was clearly the author deliberately screwing with us. The fact that the twist began exactly at the paywall only made it worse. The tags never once mentioned misery or regret, so this was outright fraud. If the writing had been mediocre I would have spat and left, but the author’s infuriatingly immersive style kept me reading even while I cursed them out.
As the story dragged on, every main and supporting character fell, broke, or died. One reader insisted it was the first timeline before a regression, but the extreme latter half completely crushed even that theory. I cursed and dropped it. The novel left countless scars on its audience and finally ended when the author announced an indefinite hiatus right before the finale.
From the outside, it was nothing more than a spectacularly derailed wreck of a story. That is, if I hadn’t come to this world.
'Fuck.'
“What did you just say?”
“Ah, it’s nothing, my lady. I was simply entranced by your radiant beauty. This unworthy servant begs your forgiveness for his rudeness.”
“…Hmph. At least you have an eye for quality.”
She was still a bit young, but her beauty was already so overwhelming that calling it nation-toppling felt insufficient. The very heroine of Haelan Chronicles, the girl who would one day fall and become the Flower Devil.
Philia von Barhen stared at me with open contempt, then turned and walked away.
'I really want to thump her on the forehead.'
Sighing, I quickly slipped into a shadowed corner of the mansion, safely out of her sight.
I had died in a traffic accident back on Earth. Now I was stuck inside Haelan Chronicles as a lowly servant named Ian.
“Hey, Ian! What the hell did you do to upset the young lady this time?”
“Head butler, that’s not—it seems the young lady is simply a little sensitive today.”
“It must have been your mistake. You know how kind she is!”
'I really don’t think that’s the case…'
Philia was famous for her kindness toward even the lowest servants; her reputation was spotless. Yet for some reason she singled me out, constantly picking fights the moment she saw me. At first I thought it was a passing whim, but the provocations kept happening. It was more than a little troubling.
'Was all that kindness in the novel just an act…?'
Before her awakening as a devil she had been portrayed as courteous and warm to everyone, protagonist included. That was why I had felt relatively safe even as a mere servant. I never imagined this kind of twist.
If it was simply because of our difference in status, I could have understood—but she treated the other servants and maids with genuine warmth. That only left me more confused.
'Does she just hate my face that much?'
The body I had possessed belonged to a boy named Ian whose eyes were so narrow the pupils were barely visible. To anyone looking at him, he appeared sly and untrustworthy.
'Even in a medieval fantasy world it’s all about looks. Goddammit.'
Of course Philia wasn’t literally trying to kill me, but this was that kind of world. One word from a noble and a commoner’s life could end with a polite bow. In a place without dreams or hope, I had no intention of dying because I’d rubbed someone the wrong way.
After realizing how much Philia disliked me, I volunteered for outdoor labor despite the extra hardship, anything to stay far away from her. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side today and we crossed paths again. Thankfully I had managed to shower her with every flowery compliment I could think of. Otherwise I might have lost more than just my dignity—perhaps a limb.
When I silently lowered my head, the head butler warned me in a low voice.
“No matter how kind the young lady may be, if you disturb her mood one more time… it won’t end with a simple scolding.”
“…Understood. I’ll be more careful.”
I gritted my teeth. Anger burned in my chest, but of course I was in no position to talk back.
The city I currently lived in was Catabel, ruled by the Barhen family—Philia’s family.
When I first realized I had transmigrated as a servant of the Barhen household, I had been overjoyed. Not only had I returned from death, but after understanding this was the world of the novel, I couldn’t help but expect certain things.
Status windows, systems, special perks, hidden talents, secret knowledge—anything.
But contrary to all my hopes, there were no such cheat abilities whatsoever. The only thing I earned was a reputation among the other servants and maids as a lunatic. And after Philia took a personal disliking to me, absolutely no one wanted to get close.
'…No matter how I look at it, I’m screwed.'
Recalling the original story, the future of this world was hopelessly bleak. It was already a place where dreams and hope had died long ago, but five years from now, when the heroines all lost their minds, the current era would feel like paradise in comparison.
Five years from the present, various “demon realms”—called the very manifestation of hell—would begin corroding the world. Nearly all their masters would be the main and supporting cast of the original story.
If I had at least possessed the original protagonist I might have seen a sliver of hope, but the body I ended up in was a nameless extra who didn’t even appear in the novel. If I had to guess, my only “scene” would have been dying as innocent servant number one during Philia’s demonic awakening.
At this rate the world was doomed. I couldn’t simply sit back and watch.
My original plan had been to earn some favor with Philia and carefully leak pieces of the original plot, but that door had slammed shut from the very first day.
'…It looks like I’ll have to make my presence known at the upcoming ball whether I like it or not.'
It was a high-risk move I had been avoiding, but now I had no choice.
'Just why does Philia hate me so much?'
The place where the Flower Devil dwelled was known as the flowerbed of corpses. A man walked silently down its blood-drenched streets.
Though called a flowerbed of corpses, paradoxically not a single body could be found amid the blood and wreckage. The great city of Catabel had been annihilated the instant the devil awakened. At the time there had been only one survivor.
Everyone else in the city was presumed dead, yet where had all those countless corpses gone?
Just as the man began to wonder, a rustling sound rose from beneath the ground.
Countless “hand-flowers” bloomed from the depths.
They clasped one another, overlapping, merging. Even faced with such a grotesque sight the man did not flee or panic; he simply watched in silence.
The innumerable hand-flowers fused together until they formed one colossal bloom the size of a grown person. From within that giant hand, a human shape began to emerge as though life itself were sprouting.
The Flower Devil. The continent’s public enemy. The Blood Flower—Philia von Barhen.
She stared at him with empty eyes. No curiosity, no hesitation, no questions. She simply extended her hand as though performing a familiar task.
At her gesture the earth began to tremble.
Boom—
The flowers, grown by using every soul in the city as fertilizer, blossomed all at once. Grotesque monsters that fused flower, human, and demonic beast erupted from the ground.
Faced with countless blooms that could crush a person without effort, the man first offered her a respectful bow.
He lowered his arm and crossed his legs in a disciplined yet somehow foreign greeting. Then he drew his sword.
……
After that day, the Flower Devil vanished from the continent.
The few races still remaining in the world cheered and rejoiced, if only for a brief moment.
And soon after, strange rumors began to spread.
Absurd tales of a lone man traveling the world and destroying demon realms by himself. Wherever he passed, it was said, lilac flowers always bloomed in his wake.