Not Possession — They Actually Transferred Me?
Not even possession — they straight-up transferred me?
Paat—
A sky as blue as a painting. And splitting through the very heart of it, a red glow poured down, redder than blood.
"Oh my, what is that?"
Adorable pink hair, paired with sapphire eyes that glittered like jewels in contrast. A woman as lovely as the heroine of a novel trembled in fear.
And then—
"Have no fear, my lady. The same goddess who cherishes me will protect you as surely as she cherishes you, my lady."
"If you want to know what it is, contact the Magic Tower — they'll tell you at once. The Tower knows every secret in the world, after all."
"Whatever that thing is, if it frightens you, my sword will show it no mercy."
"As long as the Empire stands, no harm will ever come to you. Even if it costs us the Empire itself, I will protect you."
"I shall defend you, my lady, with the Holy Sword the goddess granted me."
The men who had been circling at her side swarmed around her in an instant, offering their reassurances — like dogs scrambling over at the wag of their master's finger.
At the men's comforting words, the woman turned her gaze away from the crimson light and filled her eyes instead with nothing but the brilliant blue sky. Who cared about some red glow, anyway? Not when such handsome, capable men were practically begging for her attention.
At the devotion of her loyal men, flowers bloomed at the corners of her mouth. That warm, world-brightening smile made the hearts of the men surrounding her pound in their chests.
And her innocent, carefree laughter rang out across the flower-filled garden of the Imperial Palace.
The only ones still giggling away, despite witnessing the eerie red light, were the airheaded heroine and her pack of men.
"Surely that light isn't...!"
"Surely? What are you talking about?"
The terrified man turned to his friend.
"You know it too. The legend of the Demon King sealed away a thousand years ago...!"
"The one about the sky raining down red light on the day the sleeping Demon King revives? You believe that?"
"I never said I believed it... but look at that light! How else do you explain that?"
"It's probably the Magic Tower or the Serna Church pulling something. It's not like this is the first or second time they've pulled stunts we can't make sense of."
"Still... I've never seen a red light like that before..."
"A legend is just a legend. What kind of idiot actually believes a thousand-year-old legend?"
"...Right. Yeah, you're probably right..."
The man who'd brushed off his friend's worry dragged him off to go drinking instead. Doing his best to avert his eyes from the red light, his friend went along and tipped back glass after glass. One drink, two drinks — the two of them drank themselves stupid, until their noses felt ready to bend.
But no matter how much they drank, the same unease settled in both their hearts — in the man who remembered the legend, and in the man who'd dismissed it.
The Demon King might have returned.
Cutting their drinking night unusually short, the two went home and did exactly the same thing: packed bags for a quick escape, just in case. Believing a thousand-year-old legend was a foolish thing to do — yet the red light carried something so chilling that they couldn't quite bring themselves to ignore it.
They weren't stupid, far from it. And their worry wasn't wasted effort, either.
Why?
Because the legend was true.
The crimson light they'd witnessed really was the herald of the Demon King's revival.
The only problem, you might say, was that the resurrected Demon King happened to be me.
"You have awakened, Demon King."
"The Demon King has returned!! Let's go smash in those humans' skulls right now!!"
"Ah, for fuck's sake — did you just shove me?"
"What? I said move, so why're you standing there blocking the way, you idiot?"
"Who died and made you Demon King? We go when you say so?"
"Humans have me pissed off enough already. If you've got a problem, come at me, bastard!"
"You think I'm scared to? Let's spill some blood for the first time in ages, you piece of shit!!"
After a blisteringly short exchange like that, what spread out before me was a goddamn war zone. Horned ones, winged ones, one with a bull's hind legs instead of two feet, another with fangs longer than his face — monsters of every description were swinging fists and feet, spewing profanity at each other.
All I'd done was open my eyes.
Is this a dream?
Watching fights was the most entertaining thing in the world, sure, but there was no way in hell I had the presence of mind to spectate right now. Having fallen asleep dicking around on forums and woken up to this battlefield, the only way I could possibly process it was to retreat into the idea that it was a dream.
"Die, you bastard!!"
A horned one whipped out an axe and buried it in the winged one's shoulder. Blood gushed up with a wet shluck and spattered down at my feet.
"You call that dying, with one arm left, you fuck?!"
The winged one, one arm hanging limp, swung a hammer he'd dredged up from somewhere toward the horned one's head. A lightning-fast block meant it struck his elbow instead of his face. The horned one snickered at the winged one for failing to land a hit on his skull.
The blood streaming from an elbow bent at an unnatural angle splashed onto the back of my hand. The scarlet droplets were scalding hot, as if to remind me of the warmth still coursing through the veins they'd left moments ago. Even without wanting to, the stench of blood seeped into my nostrils.
Not a dream, huh...
Over a hundred monsters, at a glance, were waging battles no different from the horned one's and the winged one's, right in front of me.
Escaping into a dream, apparently, requires a certain measure of composure. Faced with an absurd, impossible scene, my brain kicked into survival mode.
"S... Status Window."
I had no idea why I'd been dropped into this position, but if I fell asleep in one place and woke up in a place like this, there was only one explanation. Like a drowning man clutching at a rope, I made the desperate call — and with a cheerful ding, a window popped up before my eyes.
It exists!
Tears of gratitude welled up, as if I'd seen my deceased parents again.
But... this is all I get?
I scoured the window thoroughly, enough to forget the slaughter unfolding behind it, yet no matter how many times I looked, all it displayed was eleven characters' worth of text.
Stay calm.
First, the good news: there was a level. If a level existed and a Status Window existed, then leveling up was probably possible.
The problem was everything else, level's existence aside.
I'm supposed to be the Demon King — why is my level 0? Why are my stats just this? It's not even Strength-Agility-Stamina, and what the hell is 'Forces'?
Everything was baffling, but strangest of all was this:
Why is my name showing up?
Kang Yu-hyeon was my name. The name of a man whose entire life fit inside a 300,000-won-a-month goshiwon room. A man surviving on the mercy of the goshiwon owner's free ramen and grinding gold in games. A man with not a single friend who'd file a missing persons report if he vanished off the face of the earth. A man who'd never once spoken to a woman, whose hobby was over-investing emotionally in romance fantasy novels, and whose only social life was shitposting on forums.
Me, Kang Yu-hyeon. So why was that name floating in the Status Window?
My anxious eyes rolled around in search of answers, darting frantically through the gaps of my pitch-black uniform for a clue. And at last—
My gaze stopped on the back of my hand.
Right beside the horned one's splattered blood sat a squashed little circle — the mark I'd stared at my entire life. A scar from childhood, made when I rode my bike down a hill without touching the brakes and clipped a rock. It was proof that this body was Kang Yu-hyeon's body.
The back of my hand was all I could see, but I was certain. There was no way I could fail to recognize a shape that entered my field of vision dozens of times a day.
These bastards... not possession — they actually transferred me?
They supposedly had a plan to resurrect the Demon King — so how did they screw it up badly enough to skip possession entirely and just teleport my whole body over?
My eyes drifted toward the monsters still raising hell with their brawl. About a third of the fighters were sprawled on the ground, another third were grinding their hips over the fallen ones, and the remaining third were cackling, still beating each other bloody.
Well, no wonder...
I'd been the Demon King for all of a few minutes, but it wasn't hard to gauge exactly what caliber the demon forces were at.
"Hah-ya!"
An enormous, orc-looking brute let out a rousing bellow. The fight was just about winding down, and naturally every eye turned toward him.
Wait — why is that bastard looking at me?
Shaking the blood off his fist, the orc began walking toward me. Stride by stride, without giving me so much as a second to process the situation, he planted himself in front of me.
"Demon King, did you see that? The way I tore that bastard clean in half."
The orc grinned, baring crooked teeth. On an ordinary person, that face would have provoked a scream.
Does the winner get a reward from the Demon King?
That didn't seem right — none of the other victors were saying a word.
Does he want praise? Am I supposed to pat him on the head?
On an orc smeared head to toe in blood, snorting like a bull? I got lost in the deliberation and forgot to manage my expression.
And I, after all, was just an ordinary person too.
"Demon King, why is your face like that? It's almost as if... you're afraid of me..."
The orc stared hard at me, lips frozen mid-scream, unable to tear them apart. One second in that state... two... three...
Three seconds — an eternity — passed, and still I couldn't find anything to say. You've been randomly teleported to the Demon Realm, the demons are running a slaughter-fest, and the victorious orc is bragging about his win to your face — exactly what are you supposed to say to play the part of the Demon King? I'd let anyone carve my wrist open if they could answer that question in under three seconds.
So I just stared at him. That's all I did.
"..."
And somehow, the orc's complexion was going steadily blue. As if he were trembling in terror.
The orc's skin was darker than mine, his hide far thicker. And yet I could plainly see the color draining from his face, leaving it deathly pale.
Why?
Confused by the reaction, my head tilted slightly. It was a slow, lazy movement — like a serpent gliding through the undergrowth.
"...!"
The orc flinched, startled, and quietly lowered his eyes.
Is he scared?
At level 0, I couldn't be radiating any kind of aura or presence. Was it because he believed I was the resurrected Demon King? Since when did monsters who ran wild slaughter-fests in front of the freshly revived Demon King spook that easily?
Don't tell me... is it my eyes?