Prologue
I am the sage Ariel. One of the greatest mages in the empire, and in my brief twenty-four years, I have amassed achievements no one could dare approach. My primary field is alchemy. With all manner of herbs, minerals, and magic, I have brewed countless potions—ranging from those that deliver physical devastation to others that bend minds to utter domination.
And now, after three years of relentless toil, I have created a potion of an entirely new concept. Its effect? Body swap. It exchanges the bodies of two people. Slip it secretly to an enemy officer and swap him with one of our soldiers, and you can not only eliminate the bastard with ease but also slip a spy right into the heart of their ranks. No potion or spell to transplant a soul into another body has ever been developed before. This is nothing short of a revolutionary leap in mental magic.
So before presenting it at the Magic Academy conference, why not have a bit of fun with a harmless prank? Consider it a little gift for the Red Tower Lord, who's always been such a disrespectful prick to me. What the hell gave him the balls to strut around like that when his magic is leagues below mine? Research output? Contributions to the empire? He couldn't even kiss the ground I walk on. Hell, even by looks alone, I'm handsomer, taller. And that flabby, pathetic body of his? Makes excuses about being a mage to skip training—probably has less muscle than most women. Bet my cock's bigger too.
Anyway. I'm dying to see his reaction when he swaps bodies with my slave. Rage? Despair? Or will he grovel and beg to switch back? Who knows. Going from that loserish mug of his to the body of a stunning beauty who turns every head on the street—he might even thank me. Either way, it'll be a nice distraction, like peanuts to spice up my dull life.
·····That was definitely what I thought.
Why me?
How the hell did I end up drinking that potion?
The perfect me couldn't have made such a idiotic mistake.
Did that rude Red Tower Lord figure out my plan? Or was it that slave bitch's doing?
Wait. That's not the point.
One thing's crystal clear: the ominous premonition that's been screaming in my head since earlier is dead accurate.
The sense that she—now in my body—won't give it up without a fight.
And that I'll be stuck in her body forever.