Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Meeting an Angel in a Medieval Era
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The first memory of my previous life resurfaced when I was around ten years old.
It was inside a slave cart.
The scraping sound of iron chains against the floor. Slaves with lifeless eyes that made it impossible to tell if they were even alive.
I sat among them, deathly still like a cornered mouse, waiting only to be bought.
Then—
jolt.
The cart rocked violently, and my forehead slammed straight into the floorboards.
In that instant, my vision flashed white.
That was when it hit me.
“A guy like me, who earned a PhD in history back in Korea... now just a lowly slave in this other world?”
When I snapped back to reality, honestly, my mind was blank.
I couldn't tell if my forehead had split open or if the world itself had gone insane.
Back on Earth, I'd been a man well past thirty.
I'd set my sights on becoming a historian and poured myself into it relentlessly—undergrad, grad school, all the way through my doctorate.
Research grants were perpetually scarce. TA stipends rarely showed up on time.
My advisor ghosted my emails. My conference presentations got rejected two years running.
I scrapped my thesis topic three times, amassed over a hundred references... and still didn't have a single solid quote to build on.
But I couldn't quit.
I'd already sunk too much into it.
Skipping meals, sacrificing sleep, letting relationships wither... putting off dating, even dodging calls from my parents. I studied like a demon to prove my worth.
“If I push this hard... something's gotta stick, right?”
The payoff? Dying alone.
In a dingy one-room apartment no one ever checked, with nothing but an unfinished thesis file left behind.
Yet when I opened my eyes... this.
A medieval fantasy world where human rights were a foreign concept.
Slave carts. Iron chains. Humans with price tags slapped on them.
“Went from slaving away for a professor... to an actual slave.”
That was my honest sentiment at the time.
Just die already!
This wasn't a life worth rebooting.
About a month later, an angel descended before me.
“A kid this young as a slave... so pitiful! I'll buy you! Actually, I'll buy every slave here!”
Let me say it again: I'm pretty well-versed in history.
My major wasn't history for nothing.
So I knew all too well how empty notions like “class hierarchy” and “human rights” rang in a medieval-style world like this.
Nobles here were practically divine.
Commoners scraped by below them, barely alive. Outcasts? Literal dirt underfoot.
A noble's kid could gut a commoner on the street for offending their delicate sensibilities, pay a token fine, and walk free. Society shrugged.
Laws existed, sure—but they were window dressing to shield the nobility.
And slaves? Forget about it.
Slaves weren't people.
They weren't individuals; they were assets. Not lives, but property.
Records logged prices, not names. What mattered was “loss ratios,” not human welfare.
This wasn't some fantasy quirk or unique to this world.
Earth's history was littered with it.
Ancient slave societies treated them as tools. Even into the modern era, those shadows lingered.
America's still wrestling with racial strife because of an era when Black slaves were deemed subhuman—the scars haven't faded.
In a “medieval” age where it was all taken for granted? No need to belabor the point.
In that world stood a girl who didn't even seem like ordinary nobility at a glance.
Slave traders bowed low, choosing words with trembling care.
A presence that could drown the whole scene in blood with a single word.
Golden blonde hair gleaming like treasure, eyes matching that radiant hue.
A child whose very colors clashed with the drab landscape.
And that child extended a hand to me without a second thought.
“Nice to meet you. I'm Elysia von Valenhardt.”
Her voice rang clear, utterly without hesitation.
“I'll be your master from here on out... but honestly, I'd rather we were friends.”
She paused for a beat, then added with an awkward smile.
“'Slave' just sounds so stiff. We're the same age and all... don't you think?”
That was my first encounter with Lady Elysia.
To be frank, when she took me in, relief washed over me... but so did caution.
In medieval history, an “excessively kind noble” was a glaring red flag.
A lady treating slaves too gently for the times?
Soft words and sweet manners, only to reveal a sadistic streak once the manor doors shut?
Not wishful thinking—this was textbook.
Webnovels and comics overuse the trope for a reason.
Reality birthed it first.
Take Elizabeth Báthory, the “Blood Countess” of medieval Hungary.
Or in France, Gilles de Rais—worshipped as a pious knight, exposed as a child killer.
Over in the East, Empress Wu Zetian preached Buddhist mercy while mercilessly purging rivals and masses alike.
They all hid behind noble shields, monsters who treated humans like toys.
East, West—it didn't matter. History primers warn that “fake-good powerholders” are the deadliest.
So yeah, I sweated through plenty of sleepless nights.
What if she was one of them? Dragged off to some basement dungeon?
But no.
Lady Elysia was exactly who she appeared to be.
No facades. No hidden edges.
If anything, by this world's standards, she was outrageously kind, gentle... recklessly open.
“Lady, it'll be easier to calculate it this way.”
“I-Impressive! Jinwoo, you can do math even as a slave?”
“Best to memorize this part like so.”
“Got it! Following Jinwoo's advice, and homework's flying by!”
“Lady. Those documents you handed me before—they're all sorted now.”
“A-Already?! Kim Jinwoo, you're the best... hehe, my personal butler through and through!”
“You're too kind.”
Conversations like that flowed without a hitch.
She was the first in this world to treat me not as “property,” but as a “useful person.”
Or, to be brutally honest...
Even in a modern society that at least acknowledged human rights, the professors back home never saw grad students as people.
By my metrics, our Lady was the real deal—a true master worth serving.
Someone I wanted to protect.
Someone I'd gladly lend my strength to.
So I began unpacking what I had.
The brain I'd sharpened through that PhD grind, and the habits etched into my bones along the way.
Sorting chaotic data piles. Wrangling deadline crunches on vague assignments. Habitually decoding fuzzy orders into “what do they actually want?”
Not flashy, spotlight talent. But I knew how to steer things from the shadows.
And just like that.
Ten years flew by since I entered the Valenhardt Family as Lady Elysia's personal slave.
After her academy graduation, I naturally stepped into the role of her exclusive butler.
And that's when it started.
The Lady began to fear her family's decline.
It was one day.
“I see... So even you failed to awaken the hero's power.”
A low, sunken voice.
That alone told me who it was.
“I'm sorry, Father...”
Lady Elysia's voice was soft.
But it didn't tremble.
It felt like an answer she'd rehearsed a thousand times.
“No. This isn't your fault.”
Silence hung between them.
“The era has shifted. My failing as your father is not keeping pace.”
It was late into the night.
I'd tidied her bed as usual, but she hadn't returned to her room. It struck me as odd.
Maybe sneaking off for a midnight snack? As her butler, I set out to check.
But she wasn't in her room. Or the kitchen.
She was in the Family Head's chambers.
Joseph von Valenhardt, current head of the Valenhardt Family.
The air seeping through the door felt oppressively heavy.
A rare brand of silence in this household.
The Valenhardt Family was one of the empire's premier ducal houses.
A storied name with its own territory acknowledged.
Yet inside, it was surprisingly... ordinary. A real family.
Father and daughter laughing freely, chatting without pretense.
Which made seeing those two with such grim faces all the stranger.
I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the door crack.
And I heard everything.
“Long ago, the Valenhardt Family earned this land and our current status as reward for holding back the northern dragons—in the name of the Hero's Descendants.”
“Yes... I know, Father.”
“But that power has faded across generations. Now, only the name remains.”
He paused, as if weighing his words, then added quietly.
“A messenger arrived from the north not long ago.”
Lady Elysia's hand twitched faintly.
“They demand it again. Defend the land as before... or offer proof of reconciliation.”
“...Proof of reconciliation.”
Lady Elysia picked up the thread first.
“That would be me, wouldn't it.”
The Family Head's voice dropped lower.
“Yes. They want you handed over... for a marriage alliance.”
Dead silence.
Then.
“I've been prepared for this.”
Lady Elysia's tone was astonishingly steady.
“That's why... until now, you've let me live freely. For this day.”
A breathy chuckle escaped her.
“The academy. Outings. All of it... preparations.”
In that moment, my mind went blank.
Hero's Descendant.
Northern dragons.
A “proof of reconciliation” marriage.
I knew the Valenhardt Family descended from heroes.
But this... this went beyond legend.
This wasn't a choice. It was a sacrifice.
“...No way.”
The words slipped out of me unbidden.
And that's when it happened.
[Hidden condition met!]
[Past life's knowledge resonates with the current environment.]
[Hidden class — Mythic Blacksmith — unlocked.]
[Select?]
[Yes / No]
“...Huh?”
Floating before my eyes... text that didn't belong in this world.