Getting Possessed

Transmigration has never been the sort of thing that bothers with logic. Setup, context, cause and effect — none of it tends to apply.

Back in the day, there was at least the old "5,700 characters" cliché.

These days? You get transmigrated for reading a novel. You get transmigrated for leaving a compliment. You get transmigrated for reading alone. Hell, you can even get transmigrated because your friend read something.

At that point, you might as well just chalk it up to absurdly good luck — or absurdly bad.

Truly, the Great Age of Transmigration.

And the current situation is: I got hit too.

Fuck.

It didn't take long to figure it out and start making sense of things.

The moment I opened my eyes, I knew I was somewhere wrong.

Weird ceiling. You don't see this kind of thing in Korea. Medieval Europe, maybe? Not that I'd know — I never paid attention in history class.

The ceiling was absurdly high, covered in all sorts of ornate decoration. I'd never been to Europe, so I couldn't swear it was European — but it sure as hell wasn't anything you'd find in a twenty-first-century Korean building.

So, rough working theory: either someone had hauled my sleeping body off to Europe, or something completely unreal was going on.

Except there was no way I'd ended up in Europe.

Kidnap a thirty-year-old day laborer who's never even been on a date and drag him all the way to Europe? Getting a second life after dying would honestly be more realistic.

So, not a kidnapping. Decision made.

Going by current trends, this was more likely one of the classic three — regression, possession, or reincarnation.

After turning it over from every angle, I landed on the most fitting conclusion: I'd been transmigrated into someone else's body.

Thank god web novels were my hobby. At least that let me stay calm enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to reason it out.

So whose body am I in? I was reading web novels like always, so odds are good I got dropped into one of them.

Having read web novels the way most people breathe, I'd worked out a few rules of my own.

The novel you transmigrate into is almost always one that has something to do with you.

Most of the time, anyway.

Please let it be one I'm connected to. And which novel is it, anyway? Better start with the ones I read most recently.

In an age overrun by advanced AI, even the trashy web novels always came packaged with illustrations. Anyone could whip up art these days.

Put positively: if a heroine left any kind of impression, you remembered her whether you wanted to or not.

"Hmm…"

I checked both hands. Small, for starters. Small and pale.

Anyone could tell these were a child's hands. And judging by the pink pajamas, a girl's.

With a sinking feeling, I pushed the blanket aside — and found a pretty little skirt underneath.

I almost checked between my legs on pure reflex, then stopped.

…Maybe we just skip that part for now?

Something about it felt morally wrong. But it had already happened, so what was I supposed to do? Yeah. Exactly.

Better to just accept it than go poking around for confirmation.

"First things first — I need a mirror."

The thin, childish voice that came out startled me a little, but checking came first.

I climbed down from the bed as carefully as I could. This suddenly tiny body felt so alien that one wrong move and I'd be flat on the floor.

Hop.

Clutching the blanket in little sprout-like hands, I jumped down feet-first. Both legs hit the floor. Standing: success.

"…"

I spread my arms out to either side and took one slow step at a time. I looked completely ridiculous, but this was the best I could manage.

One careful step after another, I made my way toward the mirror I could see ahead of me.

It was way farther than I'd thought.

From the bed, it had looked like three steps at most…

Feels like I've walked more than ten meters and I'm still not there.

Short legs. That was the problem. Of all the bodies to land in, it had to be a little girl's. Just my luck.

"Haa… Made it somehow. Alright — time to see who I've become."

I planted both hands flat against the mirror and leaned in to study the face looking back.

About ten years old, give or take. Crimson eyes. Red hair. Skin so white it didn't have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a single blemish. And against all of that, a sharp set of eyes.

At a glance she looked like an elementary schooler, but the looks were already exceptional. The kind of face that would grow into a cool-type beauty — or, put in more Korean terms, the pretty, high-status mean girl you always saw ruling middle school.

"Is there even a character like this…?"

The trashy web novels that specialized in the vulgar, the underground, and the niche almost never put little kids in their illustrations. Cute-girl gender-bender petting stories were the exception, sure — but that was a completely different genre.

Not that I ever read that stuff, so the odds of it being one of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those are basically zero.

If I had to name my specialty, it was adult-rated harem novels. Add a spoonful of overpowered protagonist and a splash of cathartic payoff, and you had my ideal recipe.

But the last web novel I was reading…

I tried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to dig through my memory. Whether it was a side effect of transmigration or not, the novel I'd been reading right before this was fuzzy and indistinct. Either way, it had been a Joseon-era historical transmigration story — nothing like this atmosphere. This place was unmistakably Western, medieval in feel.

"Haa. I've got nothing. Back to bed for now."

I pulled my hands off the mirror and made my way back to the bed, a little more steady than before.

"Nngh… hup!"

I'd only gone a short distance, and already my chest was heaving. I flopped onto the bed in a full sprawl, breathing hard.

"Just need to rest a second…"

That was when it happened.

Creeeak…

At the sound of a door opening, I rolled my eyes toward it without moving my head.

A maid stepped through. Not the kind of outfit where fabric and bare skin took up roughly equal real estate — something very proper and modest. So, confirmed: not an adult-rated world.

The maid swept a quick glance in my direction.

"Whew…"

She let out a breath of relief, then grabbed her cleaning tools and got moving in a hurry. Sprawled out on the bed the way I was, she clearly hadn't realized I was awake.

"I need to finish this and get out as fast as possible."

She darted around the room at top speed, cleaning as she went. She looked a bit like a squirrel.

I'm bored anyway. Might as well watch the show.

I slowly pushed myself up and sat on the edge of the bed.

"…"

Whether from pure nerves or because she simply couldn't stand to look at me, the cleaning was done in a flash. From the floor under the furniture to the top of the bookshelf — she attacked every surface like she refused to leave a single speck of dust behind.

Looks like a soldier scrubbing the barracks because the commander's coming. Am I that high up the ladder? Don't tell me I'm a princess. Well, if I am, my life's about to take a serious turn for the better.

If I was stuck as a girl anyway, the higher the rank, the better. In a medieval setting like this, a woman of middling status was just merchandise on the marriage market.

"Hmm…"

The sound slipped out along with the thought.

"Ah— ah— ahh…"

The maid heard my voice and looked at me. Clearly she hadn't expected it at all — her mouth hung open, producing nothing but idiot noises. Both eyes were trembling hard enough that anyone could see it.

The cleaning tools clattered loudly to the floor, and only then did she move.

"I-I'm so sorry, Young Lady! I know you hate being woken early in the morning — this was my mistake! I'll do anything, just please don't dismiss me! No — just let me live! Anything, Young Lady, anything you order, I'll do it!"

I hadn't said a single word, and the maid was already plastered flat against the bare floor. The way she was pressed down — pitiful enough that I almost felt bad for her — started painting a pretty clear picture.

Obviously a villainess, then.

Had the original been that brutal to the servants on a regular basis? Nothing short of that would explain a reaction this extreme.

Should I try being reasonably nice to her?

If there was a classic cliché for villainess transmigration stories, it was turning over a new leaf. Suddenly becoming kind, then watching everyone go, "Our young lady has changed…" — that was the foundation of the genre.

A little tired as tropes go, but it's probably the safer play. Better than trying something weird and locking in a villainess ending.

Decision made, I looked at the maid and started to speak.

"Hmph… You know who I am, don't you?"

I leaned back slightly against the bed and looked down at her. My voice came out with a strangely condescending edge. I hadn't meant it that way — the words just left my mouth in that tone, with that delivery.

"Y-yes! I know! One of only two ducal houses in the Empire — and of those, the great magical lineage of the South! You are the young lady of House Lucilla! The sole blood of the great Duke himself, and one of the most powerful people in the entire Empire — Young Lady Lucy!"

Oh. Without even trying, I'd just gotten my name and my family handed to me.

So my name was Lucy Lucilla.

Tsk. This is seriously bad.

The second I heard the name, I remembered exactly who she was.

Lucy Lucilla.

If someone asked me to name the number-one web novel of my life, I would pick this one without a second of hesitation.

The Regressed Sword Saint Conquers the Rofan.

Genre: regression, harem, overpowered protagonist.

Lucy Lucilla was the young lady of House Lucilla, the Empire's foremost magical lineage. Outstanding magical talent. Outstanding looks. And, as it happened, the hidden final boss.

In the end, the protagonist's party delivered a righteous beatdown, and she was used as a breeding vessel for monsters in their experiments. Fitting for a hidden boss, she had absurd amounts of mana and a body so unnaturally durable that she spent the rest of her life being forcibly bred by monsters, giving birth over and over.

At least I'm still young. If I start fixing her behavior now, I should be fine.

The reason Lucy's personality had twisted in every possible direction was simple: no mother.

Not a "yeah, your mom" joke — she actually died. After giving birth to Lucy, her body weakened, and she passed away around the time Lucy turned fifteen. That drove her father, Otto, completely off the deep end into an obsession with resurrection magic, and Lucy — raised without either parent's love — went mad for affection in turn.

The cruelty toward the maids was, in short, that.

Pay attention to me.

She was still so young that crying and lashing out were the only tools she had, so she used them however she could to grab someone's notice.

Judging by this age, her mother probably hadn't died yet.

Either way, the solution was the same.

Be kind. Don't get jealous.

"It'…"

It's fine.

The moment I tried to say those two words, my breath locked in my throat — and a semi-transparent window appeared in front of my eyes.

Ding.

I read through them slowly, then got to the last one.

Oh, for fuck's sake.