Pungjin Becomes Miwol's Slave
Even through the haze of pain, as Miwol’s voice rang out in what sounded like fury, Pungjin found himself thinking—with complete and utter innocence—that her voice was beautiful.
The very fact that someone so beautiful would do this to him… it felt so incredibly… precious.
Objectively speaking, Miwol wasn’t some goddess-tier beauty with an impossibly perfect face and body. It was simply that Pungjin, who had spent most of his life barely seeing any women at all, perceived her that way.
Even as the blows kept landing, he wondered if it was because he was both a loser and a masochist… because Pungjin actually began to smile faintly.
The truth was… Pungjin had convinced himself that winning the lottery and being transported to another world was all just a dream.
And honestly, that made sense. How many people could face a situation like this and truly believe it was reality instead of a dream?
So there he was, curled up with his arms wrapped around his head to shield it as much as possible from the flying staff—no, club.
Soon the barrage of strikes stopped.
Oh… is it over now?
The moment he let himself feel relieved, the beauty pressed her hand against his forehead.
Pungjin’s heart hammered wildly in his chest.
When he cracked his eyes open and looked up, their gazes met.
Her large, round eyes with slightly upturned corners gave her a spirited, fiery look. Her nose was perfectly balanced, neither too high nor too low, and the moment he noticed how plump and inviting her lips were, he found them undeniably sexy.
The beauty began to mumble something under her breath, and then a massive impact slammed into his skull like a hammer, followed by blinding pain.
Unable to endure the agony, Pungjin let out a horrific scream and passed out.
Mysteriously, when he regained consciousness, the beauty’s words sounded exactly like Korean.
“Hey, hey… Snap out of it. You conscious yet? What’s your name? What’s your name?!”
“Ah… ugh… ugh… It’s… Pungjin… I’m Pungjin…”
“What? Pungjin? Okay, okay, got it. My name is Miwol. Archmage Miwol. Hehehe…”
It was an utterly bizarre experience.
The language the beauty used wasn’t something he had newly learned. It was the Korean he had always spoken, and it felt as if she were speaking Korean too.
But that was impossible.
Some kind of magic must have completely rewritten the language he used. The words of this other world were simply being delivered to him as the Korean he already knew.
Even the name “Miwol” would have been pronounced differently in the native tongue of this world, yet to Pungjin it sounded exactly like Miwol.
Was there some kind of automatic translator plugged into his ears? And his mouth as well?
It was hard to imagine and incredibly strange, but he could at least guess that the words reaching him were entirely different from the actual sounds being spoken.
In other words, every word was being converted into something he could understand.
This was the moment Pungjin should have realized something was wrong.
If it had truly been a dream, there would have been no need for such a complicated and painful process.
But because it had all happened so quickly and naturally, the foolish, dim-witted Pungjin still believed everything was part of a dream.
“So, Pungjin. Want to be my slave?”
Her voice was so calm and casual it sounded like she was simply asking if he wanted to grab coffee.
Was becoming a slave such a trivial thing?
Ahh… to become the slave of someone this beautiful…
Pungjin nodded, as if under a spell.
He suddenly remembered seeing SNS posts about men and women doing slave roleplay, enjoying each other sexually without restraint.
Ahh… could I… play like that too? In a dirty, filthy way?
Still convinced this was all a dream, Pungjin wanted to spend just a little more time with the beautiful woman.
When would I ever get the chance to even exchange a single word with a woman this gorgeous?
Just a little longer… please don’t let me wake up yet…
That thought came first.
Beyond that, even if it was only a dream, he harbored a small hope that he might be able to enjoy the special, intimate pleasures that existed between men and women with this beauty.
And that decision Pungjin made on this day—though his life had been nothing but a series of regrets—would become the single greatest and deepest regret of his entire existence.
The instant Pungjin nodded, Miwol began muttering a spell at terrifying speed.
“…And thus, let Pungjin become Miwol’s kin…”
It was the slave magic, the enslavement spell that would bind him to her as a slave. Pungjin would only learn that much later.
How dangerous it was to reveal his real name… how catastrophic a single nod could be…
Pungjin learned it so thoroughly that it was carved into his bones.
After that day, he never told anyone his real name again.
What it truly meant to become someone’s slave—especially through magic—was something a Korean citizen like Pungjin, with zero common sense about this world, could not have known.
Through painful trial and error, through experiencing it with his own body, he eventually came to understand it roughly like this.
First, his private thoughts and inner monologue remained completely free.
But the moment he tried to resist one of her orders or act against any established rules, an overwhelming pain would surge through him, strong enough to paralyze his entire body, leaving him unable to move for a long time.
It wasn’t that his actions or words were directly puppeted like a robot. It was simply that defiance brought pain and immobility.
All of it, Pungjin learned the hard way.
One night, while Miwol slept, he tried to sneak out of her residence. The moment he opened the door and broke into a run, he fainted on the spot and only woke up the next morning.
He had deliberately tried rejecting her words in various ways more than once or twice, only to writhe in agony each time.
If he had possessed even the slightest bit of common sense about this world, he wouldn’t have had to learn everything the painful way.
At the very least, if Miwol had bothered to explain things in detail, it would have been different. But she never showed him even that small courtesy.
The first two weeks after he became her slave were hazy in Pungjin’s memory.
It had taken him quite a while to realize this wasn’t a dream. On top of that, for some reason Miwol kept casting strange spells on him, testing magic after magic, and forcing him to drink bizarre concoctions.
There were painful moments, but most of the time he felt drowsy and hazy, as if he had taken heavy drugs, drifting back and forth between fantasy and reality.
Then came the period when he fully accepted that this was real life and tried to escape from Miwol. That lasted roughly a month.
He endured countless different kinds of pain, surviving on a single piece of bread and a sip of water each day. Without a bed, without even a single blanket, he spent night after night shivering on the dirt floor, tears streaming down his face.
They say necessity is the mother of invention.
The former hikikomori gradually regained his senses.
Somehow, he would survive. He would get revenge on that terrible witch Miwol for everything she had done to him. That purpose—that goal—slowly began to take root inside him.
He rummaged through the trash-filled warehouse and found a ragged blanket to cover himself, then fashioned a makeshift pillow.
Using the piled-up wood along with a saw, hammer, and nails, he built himself a bed.
He had never studied carpentry, but he had watched plenty of woodworking videos on YouTube, so he understood the basic principles.
He scavenged half-rotten canned goods and other preserved foods from the trash heap to quiet his hunger.
It made him no different from a complete beggar, but since Miwol refused to feed him, he had no choice.
Strangely, Miwol hardly ate at all, and even when she did, it was only tiny amounts. Perhaps as an archmage she sustained herself through magical power.
This other world was still full of wonders to Pungjin.
It was around that time that Miwol suddenly began calling him over and assigning him tasks.
Cleaning the warehouse, assisting with her magic experiments, doing chores, fetching water… the list of things she ordered him to do kept growing.
Of course Pungjin carried out every task diligently, without a single word of complaint.
In fact, he went overboard, working even harder than necessary, asking if there was anything else she needed, sticking close to her side and showering her with flattery.
Yes. It was nothing short of voluntary submission. Voluntary slavery.
She gave him no food and he couldn’t escape her residence. If he didn’t want to starve to death, his only option was to impress her somehow and beg for the smallest amount of sustenance.
Whenever Pungjin worked hard like that, Miwol would head to the nearby village as if bestowing a great reward, returning with bread, vegetables, or fruit.
Then Pungjin would beam with boundless joy, as if he had won the lottery, repeatedly bowing deeply to Miwol, thanking her over and over in the most servile, pathetic display imaginable.
It was around that time that Miwol’s drug experiments began.
She would lure him with plausible names—recovery potions, nutritional supplements—and force him to consume horrific substances.
The moment he stopped starving, as if jealous of even that small relief, she would inflict tremendous pain on him.
Pungjin genuinely wanted to kill himself. The agony was that unbearable.
But thanks to the slave magic, even that was not easy.
He desperately wanted to know exactly what she was feeding him and what kind of damage those drugs were doing to his body, but Miwol never told him.
He sometimes wondered if his lifespan had already been shortened by decades.
He wouldn’t have been particularly sad to die. But dying without taking revenge on Miwol felt far too unfair.
So Pungjin began to steel his heart with darker and darker resolve.
He could not die like this.
