The Ugly Duckling Inherits the Rogue Master's Legacy

I realized this world was a romance fantasy novel when I was five years old, during my first history lesson. My tutor taught me that the empire was born from a contract between Goddess Rabita and the founding emperor. It matched exactly the content of that romance fantasy novel I'd read in my previous life, the one gathering dust on my little sister's bookshelf. Place names, country names, the emperor's name, power structures—too many coincidences to chalk up to chance. I was convinced.

Book possession? Or reincarnation? No smartphones, no TV, no electricity—magic had taken their place instead. Looks like I hadn't been reborn into some past version of Western history. This was a whole different world altogether.

"My daughter. You're mine, sure, but you're so ugly that a standard political marriage is out of the question."

As I could tell from the fact that we'd hired a tutor, our family was loaded. Born as the lady of a marquess's house, I still ended up walking a path far from the classic noble lady route—all because of my hideous face. But my mom was a total beauty, so why did I end up looking like this? Gotta be Dad's mug, right? It's smashed to hell. That was obvious to me, obvious to you, obvious even if we all got together and stared—it was so blatant, the whole neighborhood knew. But no one dared say it to Marquess Confeld's face.

"Becoming a soldier is the best choice for both you and our house."

Basically, this world was like Earth—women physically weaker than men—but at high levels handling mana, that gap narrowed big ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time. So my dad the marquess was dead set on turning me into a swordmaster.

"A pleasure to meet you. I am Erph, the wandering swordswoman who owes a great debt to Marquess Confeld."

My swordsmanship teacher was a stunning beauty. Was it because this was a romance fantasy world? Even the average extras looked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠polished and handsome, without a single rough edge, and a few characters were heart-stopping gorgeous just to look at. Appearance inflation had hit max levels here. And among them, my teacher Erph stood out with beauty that was hard to match—ears clipped short at the tips, a face screaming "I've got a backstory!" She was probably from the fairy folk of the eastern forests. No idea how she'd washed up all the way out here in the western empire.

What a boring-ass world. To someone pickled in modern hyper-stimulating content like me, this place was 90% dullsville and barely 10% intriguing. Sure, ogling hotties was fun, but if they weren't love interests, they were just pictures on a plate I couldn't touch, right? Magic piqued my interest a bit, but without talent, it was off-limits anyway. So I poured about 90% of my day into sword training—the one thing that was at least kinda fun. For ten straight years.

"Good. Once you're of age, head north. Rack up achievements there and prove what you're made of."

Without consulting me, my career path was locked in as soldier. Was it because my face looked like it'd been hit by a meteor? But let me say it again: I took zero after my beauty mom and inherited like 99% of Dad's facial genes. 100% his fault. Not that I hated it. Having lived as a guy in my past life, stomping the standard noble lady route would've pissed me off more. But that didn't mean I was thrilled with this life either.

Serving a full year up north, at war with monsters nonstop? Why the hell should I? They call you "our son" when they draft you. "Your son" if you get hurt. "Who?" if you die. I got out with a herniated disc, half-crippled, and the veterans' affairs office was like, "Proof that's from service?" I swore I'd never go near the military again.

So before my eighteenth birthday, I bolted from the family estate. Don't make it sound so bad, Dad. At least you got a life lesson out of it: don't raise your other kids like this if your daughter's a runaway. Huge thanks for the great teachers, delicious food, and cushy setup! If fate brings us together again, let's grab a drink. Bye for now.

And with that, I headed to the Northern Grand Duke's territory, crawling with monsters and mysteries galore. Why go to such a dangerous spot if I'm not enlisting? I told you—this world's 90% boring and dull. No plans to join the army, but I'd invested in the sword tree, so adventurer it was. Adventuring had way higher mortality than the military. But pay was pure merit-based, and above all, it was free.

I wasn't scared of danger or getting hurt. I just hated being forced into it with zero compensation. If life's gonna screw you, better do it yourself—getting screwed by others is just infuriating.

Snowfall, the northern frontline fortress city right under the famous Great Wall managed by the Northern Grand Duke. That's where I made my flashy adventurer debut.

"Whoa, how can a person be this ugly? Looks like the baker's kid got bored playing with dough and just chucked it aside."

The second I pushed open the wooden door of the brick guildhall, some guy picked a fight. I casually channeled mana into my body, grabbed his collar, and slammed him face-first into the floor with a shoulder throw.

"Gahk!"

"Anyone wanna step up for this idiot's honor?"

I scanned the room as I said it. Pretty impressive entrance, huh? The adventurers drinking in the tavern-slash-guild on the first floor all turned to stare.

"Skills look solid."

"Veteran female warrior? That face has some mileage on it."

"Voice sounds young, though."

"That moron's always picking on newbies—finally met his match."

But the guy had zero fans, apparently—no one volunteered to defend his honor. Maybe my grappling left an impression.

I turned to the guild receptionist lady. "I'd like to register as an adventurer."

"Registration's 15 silver. You got it?"

"Here."

"Fill out these forms, please."

While I paid and filled out the paperwork, three guys approached.

"Another challenge?"

"Hey, buddy. Saw your skills. How about partying up with us?"

"First time in the north? We'll show you around!"

Scouting offer. Compared to your average scumbag adventurer—probably some back-alley brawler turned wanted criminal, fleeing to the north—my ten years under a proper master made my skills a no-brainer temptation. Adventurers were a special job with limited permits due to the north's chronic manpower shortage. Most were thugs. Like, damn near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all of 'em. The real hardcore criminals got drafted into the army anyway, so these were the mid-tier trash.

"I didn't come north to play house."

"Then what'd you come for?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"What a prickly old auntie!"

"Woman?"

"No stick, but I've got a blade that'll poke you till you squeal like little girls. Got it? Scram."

I turned down the scout, then ripped a few quest sheets off the board.

"I'll handle these."

To cross the Great Wall, you needed Gold tier or higher. Starting at Bronze, I had to rank up fast. Another reason I'd come north? To snag some epic opportunity.

Late in the novel, the emperor—already a swordmaster—feels his power lacking after some incidents. Using the imperial intel network, he heads to a dungeon for a power-up. That dungeon was right here in the north. Problem: the novel only says it's beyond the Great Wall—no exact spot. Might be a long hunt. But in this boring world with jack-all to do, what else was there? I'd started down the sword path—might as well aim for world's strongest, right?

"Too easy. Not here either?"

Hitting Gold tier took just two months. Like I said, the adventurer biz was full of randos. My magic talent was third-class trash. But my sword talent? First-class. Still miles from enough, though. Swordmaster needed super-elite talent plus endless grind. Or protagonist buffs like the emperor. I wasn't there yet.

The emperor's power-up dungeon's gotta be swordmaster-level hard—not this kiddie stuff.

Almost a year in the north now. Even after Gold tier let me cross the Wall, no luck finding it.

But this ain't your run-of-the-mill dungeon. Dungeons are usually workshops or tombs, rigged with traps and monsters to keep tomb raiders out. The trap/monster quality tells you how valuable it is. This one had the most intricate traps of any I'd seen. Caught a few without noticing. Without mana-reinforced body, I'd be dead. Yeah, strong body means less brain strain.

"This is bullshit!"

But the end treasure room? Just some worthless junk scattered around. Already looted? Possible, but dodging every trap/monster just for treasure? Slim odds.

What if this isn't the real treasure room? A decoy to fool raiders?

I started thumping every inch of floor and wall for hidden spots. No guarantees. Just hated wasting effort on peanuts. But dumb luck worked. One wall section felt hollow opposite.

Problem: no clue how to get in. Answer might be in this room, or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clues scattered through the dungeon.

"Strong body, less brain strain!"

I loaded my fist with mana and punched the wall to hell. The hidden chamber finally revealed itself.

Not much treasure. Just one tiny ring floating in mid-air.

Floating. In. Mid-air.

"Artifact!"

Obvious jackpot. I leaped in and snatched it. Traps, curses, guardians? Bring it! Best part's dismantling the ones that try to off cocky tomb raiders post-grab.

But... dead quiet. Weird for such a big score. Then a strange voice echoed in my head.

"Rogue Master?"

Never saw that in the novel.

What the hell is this ring babbling? So I'm not human—some beast instead?

"What?!"

And then it felt like my facial bones shattered. Followed by every bone and muscle in my body. You psycho quack! Least give me some damn anesthesia!