No Way, Fuck. Why Didn't I Notice the Gender Reversal?

I stood there, frozen, as the realization hit me like a warhammer to the skull. No, fuck. Why the hell didn't I notice the gender reversal?

Back on the battlefield, when the soldiers were split evenly between men and women, I just assumed that's how this world worked. When a few soldiers from the barracks would grab hands and slip off into the bushes, I didn't bat an eye. It seemed perfectly natural. Sure, it was usually the women doing the leading and pulling the men along, but war's terror doesn't discriminate between sexes. I figured the constant threat of death just sent everyone's sex drive into overdrive. That made sense to me at the time.

When the heads of noble houses—most of them women—came out to congratulate me for my achievements in battle, I brushed it off. The way their eyes roamed up and down my body? I thought they were just sizing up my worth as a warrior. And when female knights invited me to their tents at night, I took it as political maneuvering or attempts to recruit me into their factions. I ignored every last one of them.

Ah, shit. Looking back now, that was all kinds of fucked up.

It's been ten years since I fell into this world. You could call me an idiot for not noticing sooner, but I've got a decent excuse. My life here has been absolute dogshit from the start.

The place I first dropped into was a dense forest where not a single trace of human civilization could be found. For a sixteen-year-old modern kid with zero survival knowledge, it was pure hell. Monsters attacked day and night without mercy. If it weren't for the status window and stat system, I'd have died long ago and become monster chow.

There were times I got so hungry I ate bugs and ended up poisoned, writhing in agony for an entire week. Once I built a shelter only to return and find it taken over by goblins. Those experiences taught me some hard lessons. Boil anything before you eat it. Rub it on your lip or tongue first—if there's no tingling, it's probably safe. And if a monster is chasing you for days on end, it's better to just stand your ground and slaughter the damn thing right there. Oh, and this godforsaken forest was so enormous it might as well have been called a mountain range. The ecosystem was so twisted and chaotic that I never found time to look for an escape route.

After about two years, I got good enough at surviving to not starve, but the loneliness was unbearable. So I left. After spending an entire year massacring a huge portion of the mountain range's monster population, of course. Every time I tried to leave my base, the bastards would go berserk and swarm me. What choice did I have? Besides, I wasn't exactly the type to just take a beating and walk away.

Thinking about it now, I finally understand why people were terrified of me. I was drenched in the stench of blood, radiating killing intent like it was leaking from my pores. I didn't even know how to conceal my aura back then, so if people mistook me for a psychotic serial killer wandering the streets, I couldn't really blame them.

I eventually made it out of the mountains and reached a village... but everything costs money. As an outsider with no proper identification, my options were limited. The only thing I knew how to do was carve up monsters, so becoming a mercenary was the obvious choice.

Two years passed like that. The greenhorn who only knew how to slaughter monsters became a butcher who could mince people just as easily if the pay was right. The killing intent still poured off me like a broken faucet, which was exactly why I never joined a party or mercenary company. It wasn't that no one offered—of course they did. But most of those groups were trash that just wanted to harvest my organs, so instead of accepting, I gave them violence.

By the time the warnings that I'd die alone someday turned into odes praising my solitary prowess, I'd earned quite a few nicknames. Ian the Slaughterer. Ian the Butcher. Ian the Monster. All rather ominous titles, but for a mercenary, even that was something to be grateful for.

The one good thing was that I'd managed to save up quite a bit of money. The bad part was that I'd been treating it as retirement funds and just letting it sit there. I had no immediate use for it anyway. I slept at inns or in the homes of nobles who invited me. Armor was too uncomfortable, so I never bothered getting any. I considered buying a famous enchanted sword, but after breaking several like they were toothpicks and only getting compensation money, I gave up. In the end, I went back to a cheap, heavy lump of iron in the shape of a greatsword.

My body was so absurdly strong that alcohol had no effect on me, making it hard to develop any real hobbies. Women didn't particularly stir my interest either. The only luxury I allowed myself was smoking. At some point my stat growth had plateaued, and after looking for a way to relieve the stress, cigarettes were the only thing that came to mind. Expensive pipes or cigars were too much hassle to maintain, so I smoked cheap hand-rolled cigarettes made from scrap tobacco leaves.

Later, with a recommendation from the guild, I enrolled in the academy. What I received there was nothing but contemptuous glares. I was a commoner, and plenty of nobles had family knights who'd been cut down by my blade. That alone was reason enough. On top of that, my inability to use mana played a big part.

Mana Incompatibility Body. Thanks to that cursed constitution, I failed both Basic Magic Studies and Basic Alchemy. I couldn't use magic at all, and while distinguishing between medicinal and poisonous herbs was as easy as eating cold porridge, instead of proper potions like everyone else, I only managed to produce some kind of herbal mush.

My practical exams in martial arts and swordsmanship always scored perfect marks, but the moment mana came into play, those scores plummeted too. It was unsatisfying. How could my grades be lower than those pathetic fledglings whose heads would split open or who'd be face-down in the dirt like they were searching for a dropped coin the moment our blades met?

When I threw a tantrum at a professor to protest, I was the one who ended up on the ground. It was shocking. I'd been confident that I wouldn't lose to anyone, yet I'd been defeated by a single person. Along with the crushing sense of defeat came an unexpected joy. Was it because I'd found a path for growth? Because I'd discovered a goal? No, none of that.

My stats had gone up.

After that, I went completely insane, challenging every professor I could to sparring matches. I didn't care what weapon they used or what school they followed if I judged them strong. I even ignored the fact that some were mages or alchemists and charged straight at them. Defeat, more defeat, and defeat again. The reason I didn't give up despite the overwhelmingly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠massive sense of defeat was because the rising stats and improving physical abilities were just too ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠damn addictive.

One year passed like that. Even the massive greatsword that most knights could barely swing had become too light in my hands. I commissioned a blacksmith to make me a new weapon. It was a solid lump of iron larger than an adult man. A thick greatsword so massive you could probably balance on its edge and play around. When I first took it out, the swordsmanship professor joked and asked if I'd brought a tower shield instead. No—thinking back, his eyes were shaking violently. It must have been a serious question.

And then came defeat. It was such a ridiculous greatsword that even my raw strength couldn't handle it properly. It took nearly another year of constant defeats before I finally tamed the damn thing.

It was only after I defeated the swordsmanship professor that I learned the old man's true identity—he was the captain of the Royal Fourth Knight Order. It was a tempting offer. Unlike the unstable life of a mercenary, this was a position where I could train in a safe training ground and receive a substantial salary on a regular basis.

But in the end, I declined.

Tsk. Calling a person a beast. He was half right, though. Ever since leaving the mountain range, I'd been wandering aimlessly, but belonging somewhere felt incredibly uncomfortable.

Thinking about it again, I really should have accepted that offer.

It was the only chance I had to cover my fatal weakness of near-zero magic resistance. My relationship with the Magic Tower was uncomfortable at best since I'd made it a habit to go for the mages' heads first on every battlefield. Magic tools that increased magic resistance were strategic weapons that only nobles could purchase. No matter how much money a commoner had, they couldn't even get a glimpse of one. I should have realized sooner that the principle that making shields costs far more than making swords would obviously apply to magic as well.

A mercenary who graduated early from Delan Royal Academy—renowned enough that even other kingdoms sent students there—with top grades. Numerous noble families sent love calls my way, but the royal family remained strangely silent. Most of the offers were in the form of political marriages, which felt off, so I ultimately remained a mercenary. But my status had changed completely from before.

I traveled across countless battlefields. Sometimes I attacked castles. Sometimes I charged into strategically vital strongholds alone. I dueled knights in single combat and spent three days and nights alone slaughtering thousands of soldiers. The commoners who once looked at me like I was a butcher now threw flowers with eyes full of admiration. Nobles planning territorial wars would bow and scrape, bringing both hands full of gold coins just to beg for an invitation.

Well, now I'm a slave.

...A sex slave, to be precise.

My life had been so pathetically devoid of women that I hadn't even recognized how twisted the values of men and women were in this world. After that, I was too busy honing my swordsmanship and martial arts in preparation for when my stats would stop growing again, so I remained completely clueless.

No, to be honest, if there had been some cliché event like getting seduced or assaulted by a woman while walking through back alleys or down the main road alone like in those novels, I probably would have noticed something was off. But in this world, there apparently weren't any women brave enough to flirt with a scarred mercenary carrying a greatsword larger than his own body and suggest spending the night together, even if they were crazy with lust.

The closest thing to flirting I ever got were the gazes from nobles and knights accustomed to killing intent, but those were always during wartime. With my head boiling from being covered in blood, I either saw them as enemies or ignored them completely. How could I have known?

So when the silver-haired woman proudly declared me her sex slave, when the crowd looked at her with envy and jealousy, and when I saw the slave trader nodding as if he approved of her confident demeanor—it was inevitable that I'd be thrown into complete panic.

??????????

My hand, which should have been stabbing toward her heart, floundered without direction. My brain, which should have been issuing commands, froze completely as flashbacks and question marks flooded through it. And then came the slave merchant's voice announcing that the contract was complete.

Ah, fuck, the timing...!

I reached out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠belatedly toward the woman who had bought me, but all strength had left my body. It ended up looking like I was simply placing my hand on her shoulder.

I was screwed. The contract had been completed...

The woman—who had already turned around and was waving to the crowd as if enjoying their envious and jealous gazes—my new master, Terina, turned her head to look at the hand tapping her shoulder.

With a face full of smiles, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into a tight embrace with both arms. With no strength left in my body, I was dragged along. Thanks to that, I ended up being hugged by her in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the most embarrassing way possible—my head barely reaching her collarbone.

Terina stroked my head buried in her chest and the brand on my neck as if they were adorable, then lowered her head and brought her lips close to my ear. Every time she spoke, her warm breath rushed into my ear canal, sending shivers down my spine.

The electricity that had been running down my spine raced all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.