Murdered Once
When profound psychological shock and terror tore through my innards, accompanied by dizzying confusion and incomprehension, I was easily driven into a full-blown panic.
"Wait, hah, what in the..."
My cracked, stuttering voice echoed hollowly into the empty air, laying bare the sheer bewilderment adrift in my chest.
Looking around, everything was alien. A bedroom I had never seen before. Unfamiliar furniture. Discarded liquor bottles and hand-rolled cigarettes strewn about. An uncanny, opulent luxury.
"......"
Standing in the middle of that pointlessly vast, lavish chamber, I wiped away cold sweat and desperately tried to pull together a mind consumed by terror, but it was no easy task. No matter how hard I looked, I had no idea where I was.
Even the air felt unsettlingly foreign, while a sixth sense I had never experienced in my entire life prickled in the back of my mind, stoking anxiety and urgency. And once I discovered the bizarre anomalies with my own body, keeping my wits together became entirely impossible.
"Who the hell is this?"
A mirror caught my eye. The stranger reflected within it wore a pale, bloodless face, his expression hardened in rigid shock—a mirror of my current state of mind.
Amazingly, horrifyingly, that man mirrored my movements with pinpoint precision. When I moved my arm, the man in the mirror moved his arm. When I parted my lips, he parted his.
"Ha... Hahaha..."
The unfamiliar naturally breeds fear, but this went entirely too far. Nor was it some cheap, one-dimensional jump scare; this horror brewed deeper and richer the more time passed, the more I turned it over in my mind.
An eerie terror that an entity capable of toying with my very existence actually existed. A dread that even at this very moment, that something might be watching me, deliberating on how to use me. A horror that the life I had worked so hard to build had been wiped away in an instant.
"Gasp... Wheeze... Ugh..."
My mind, pushed past its absolute limit, soon wreaked havoc on my physical body. Severe dizziness, ringing ears, an erratic heartbeat, cold sweats, spasms in my extremities, and suffocating shortness of breath overwhelmed me... and before long, I blacked out.
No matter how violently I denied it, how terrified I grew, or how many times I passed out, reality refused to budge. A strange place, strange air... and an unfamiliar body coupled with foreign sensations. Huddled in the corner of the room, observing all of this through a dazed mind and a lethargic body, a sudden realization struck me out of nowhere: this scenery was somehow familiar. And this altered appearance of mine—I had seen it somewhere before.
"...Ah. So that's what this is."
I had been transmigrated. Just like some cliché web novel trope. This place was a video game brought to life, and I had become one of its characters.
"Ha... fuck me. What a ridiculous joke..."
Gulp.
Swallowing a mouthful of strong distilled liquor from the bottle in my hand, I let out a hollow laugh. Why me, of all people? I had never sent long-winded feedback essays to the developers or GMs, nor had I exploited glitches or bugs for some speedrun stunt, nor was I a god-tier top ranker. I was just an ordinary guy who had played a game called Origin World for a pretty long time and genuinely enjoyed it.
"Why the hell did it have to be me...?"
Origin World was the only game I had clung to and plumbed the depths of for years. Stellar gameplay, explosive action, robust worldbuilding, meticulously detailed lore, a gripping storyline... plus dating-sim elements to top it all off. Having all of that rolled into one, Origin World was practically tailored to my exact tastes. That was why I hadn't just played the game; I had collected merchandise, devoured published short story anthologies, and licked clean every scrap of the fifteen setting books—each spanning over three thousand pages. I was so utterly obsessed that I had read and committed to memory all sorts of overt and covert lore, background trivia unrelated to the main plot, and even scrapped scenario drafts.
"Could that be why...?"
I mulled it over for a second, then shook my head. Origin World was a fairly popular title, meaning rotten hardcore veterans who had dug down to bedrock were a dime a dozen. There were surely players who knew lore and trivia even I had never heard of, so there was no logical reason to bypass them and kidnap me instead.
"Haaah..."
I was bitter, annoyed, and furious, but no amount of complaining was going to change reality. So acknowledging and accepting the change in circumstances—I could swallow that. It made my blood boil, but I could force it down. The real problem came right after.
"What exactly happened to... 'me'?"
If my mind and soul were dragged into Origin World, what became of the real-world me—Kang Han-gil of South Korea? Did I die? Or did my very existence vanish into thin air like in some trashy web novel? Or did the mind and soul of Stanasila Alzen, the original owner of this body, swap places and end up inside mine?
"...Fuck."
A curse spilled from my lips unbidden. I had no real grievances with my real life. Both my parents were healthy and alive, my relationship with my siblings was solid, and I had never suffered from material want. I didn't suffer from mental or physical ailments either; in fact, I had landed a decent job at a good company and enjoyed flirting with my pretty girlfriend... I had been a pretty happy guy.
"And now... you expect me to just live as this guy? Then what was my life up until now?"
Am I never going to see my family, my friends, my girlfriend again? Is the life I built with dedication and enjoyed to the fullest shoved aside this hollowly? So abruptly, so unreasonably? There was no way in hell I could accept this. I could never take this lying down.
"Hah..."
How all those transmigrated web novel protagonists casually brushed off this kind of shock and emptiness was something I would never fathom. This was... murder. I had been murdered. Some unknown entity had stripped away and invalidated my life, my entire existence, in the most irrational and absurd fashion imaginable. Choked by unbearable indignation and helplessness, I let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
"...Hehehe. Why should I live in this body? Why the hell should I live someone else's life?"
Gulp!
With my head spinning from the booze, I downed another swig of the hard liquor and flung the window wide open. Built on elevated terrain, this middle-floor room of the Duke's Castle was easily tens of meters above the ground at a glance. Beyond the fortress walls lay Terabaon, the ducal capital encircling the castle.
"Whew..."
A sixth sense I had never felt before hummed restlessly. An alien energy pulsing inside and outside this vessel... this had to be mana. Instinct told me that possessing even a meager amount of it made this body tougher than an ordinary human's. Even so, falling from this height would kill me instantly.
Crash!
The moment I hurled the bottle behind me, I threw myself out the window. After a fleeting instant of boundless liberation, I slammed headfirst into the stone below, feeling the sickening crack of my skull splintering and cervical vertebrae snapping. I knew instinctively: in just a few seconds, an unbearable tidal wave of agony would crash over me.
"Ha, gkh..."
Fortunately, before that pain could register, my consciousness plunged into pitch-black darkness.
To put it bluntly, I failed. Liberation was thwarted, and freedom remained nothing more than a fleeting pipe dream.
"......"
Gulp!
I had regressed. Right back to the moment I first awakened in this unfamiliar room. Even after jumping a few more times, the result remained identical.
"Heh, haha... hahehe..."
I once read a passage in a book: those who experience murder turn strange, but those who experience death turn even stranger. How profoundly accurate that was. My shattered, fractured consciousness tangled into an unrecognizable knot, eventually blending with viscous, sunken emotions until everything became an incoherent mess.
Gulp!
I suppressed that swelling powder keg inside me with harsh alcohol.
"Haaah... What the fuck... what do you want from me...?"
Muttering through my drunken stupor, I stared up at the ceiling. The suffocating unfairness and rage threatened to tear my sanity apart. Perhaps from catastrophic stress, my viscera twisted in agony, radiating a throbbing pain sharp enough to sober me up.
Gulp!
Downing another swig, I fell into deep thought.
"......"
While every negative emotion pushed me toward the brink of madness, all hope wasn't completely lost. This was a game world made reality, and I had transmigrated into a game character. If I reached the ending, maybe—just maybe—I could return to my real world.
"Pfft, hahaha..."
Even that would probably depend on the whims of whatever entity dragged me here, but sure—if that unknown asshole of an entity had a motive, it had to be reaching the ending. Aside from that, I couldn't fathom a single reason why I'd be abducted. No, there couldn't be any other reason.
Gulp!
"Haaah..."
Then, though I possessed neither drive nor passion, and though every fiber of my being detested the thought, should I give it some serious thought? How to reach an ending as this godforsaken carcass I possessed: Stanasila Alzen.
"...Fuck."
A curse slipped out naturally. It didn't take long to realize that this body was an absolute dead end.
Stanasila Alzen. He had the colossal backing of being the third son of a ducal house, yet his innate talent was rock bottom. Constantly compared to his siblings, an inferiority complex drove him to degenerate into an utter scoundrel. In the game, he had no meaningful connection with the protagonist, merely appearing once as a homeless extra. Ironically, because he was a talentless delinquent, he ended up the sole—no, the second survivor of the ducal family. Handing a quest to the player's party and offering House Stanasila's heirloom, the Star's Sword, as a reward marked his final appearance.
"Hah..."
Of all the people to possess, I had to land in this piece of trash.
"......"
Perhaps because some time had passed and things settled down, memories belonging to Stanasila Alzen began creeping to the surface. Memories concerning the man himself—details that never appeared even in the encyclopedic lore books where every useless scrap was recorded.
"...He really was a hopeless piece of shit."
The drunken scoundrel, Stanasila Alzen. Within this bastard's memories lay only alcohol, violence, and crime. Riding on the coattails of the ducal family's prestige, he had indulged in assault, robbery, fraud... even murder and rape. He truly was scum of the highest order. And now I had to live out this bastard's life in his stead? Bearing every ounce of vile hatred and condemnation meant for him? What a remarkably effective way to drain every drop of motivation.
"Phew..."
The more I pondered it, the bleaker it became. Doing some rough math based on Alzen's memories, there were still three years until the main storyline began—but House Stanasila was slated for total annihilation within a single year. In other words, if I wanted to achieve anything in this talentless body, I had to prevent the ducal family's destruction.
"...Seriously. If the ducal house falls, I'm screwed."
I considered it for a moment: what path could I even take if I let the family fall according to the original plot? Mercenary, adventurer, merchant, mage, alchemist...
"Yeah. That'd be fucking hellish."
Several options crossed my mind, but for someone with zero talent in this body, mercenary or adventurer were the only realistic paths. And even then, rising through the ranks would be a pipe dream; I'd scrape by at rock bottom. If I wanted any fighting chance at all, averting the fall of the ducal house was non-negotiable.
"......"
But saving it posed another crisis altogether. In the original game, the ruined ducal estate had already turned into a dungeon—a crucial hunting ground and loot zone for the protagonist. In short, saving it meant warping the canon. For someone like me who had no status window or cheats, my only weapon was lore knowledge, and that very foundation would be shattered right from the jump.
"Man, how can something suck this hard...?"
Unable to quell the sigh rising from the pit of my stomach, I chugged the liquor.
"Ugh... whatever, to hell with it. Something'll work out. Let's just keep the family alive first."
Laughing like a lunatic, I tipped the bottle back again and again.
Knock, knock.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"L-Lord Stanasila Alzen. M-May I come in?"
A voice trembling with pure dread and terror.
"What is it?"
Perhaps influenced by Alzen's memories, a gruff, abrasive bark slipped out naturally.
Smack!
Sickened and disgusted by that reaction, I punched myself in the face with everything I had.
"Phew..."
It hurt like hell. I was trying to hit Stanasila Alzen, but realizing I had to endure the physical pain myself made my blood boil. Oh, so from now on I'm Stanasila Alzen? What a joke. Eat shit.
"E-Excuse me..."
"Yeah. What do you want?"
The door opened cautiously to reveal a petite, young-looking maid.
"T-The... to clean the room..."
"...Fine. Do it."
"Y-Yes, my lord..."
"Hey, wait."
"Eep! Y-Yes?!"
Terrified beyond all reason, the maid trembled from head to toe, tears brimming in her eyes. It spoke volumes about Stanasila Alzen's reputation.
"What's today's date, and what time is it?"
"Wh-What...?"
"I asked what the date and time are."
"U-Um, well... it is March 12th, 9:00 AM... my lord."
Checking the clock before answering, her words sent me scouring the memories in my head. Origin World, with its massive lore encyclopedias, had meticulously recorded the exact turning point when House Stanasila began its decline, the precise sequence of events, and the date of its downfall—despite having zero bearing on the main game plot. Calling the developers lore geeks didn't even begin to cover it. Though I supposed reading and enjoying every single scrap made me just as bad.
Still, talk about good timing. The timing was ideal... or did the entity that threw me here drop me into this exact point intentionally?
"Right... so that's how it is. Then it's breakfast time right now. The whole family must be gathered in the dining hall."
"Ah, well..."
Her timid, stammering hesitation sparked a sudden flare of irritation.
"Stop spacing out and answer clearly!"
"Eeeek! I'm sorry! Yes! Everyone is having breakfast in the dining hall right nowww!"
"Phew..."
Had Alzen's influence seeped into me? I had yelled before I could catch myself. ...No, while I had his memories, the influence wasn't that deep. Maybe I was just acting out of sheer desperation.
"Clean up properly."
"Y-Yes, right away!"
I didn't bother apologizing for yelling. Staggering to my feet with the bottle gripped in one hand, I lurched toward the dining hall.
Stepping into the immaculate, solemn yet lavish dining hall, the gazes of the Stanasila family, surrounded by a legion of attendants and maids, turned toward me. The patriarch, Stanasila Urtega, watching with an expressionless face. The Duchess, Stanashila Pitra, looking on with worry. The eldest son, Stanashila Berga, and the second daughter, Stanashila Weller, glaring with unmistakable contempt and disgust. And the youngest daughter, Stanasila Vivian, looking up with innocent curiosity mixed with a hint of fear.
Steadying my swaying vision with effort, I scanned their faces.
"Ha. Showing your face without an ounce of shame. Do you have any dignity left at all?"
The second daughter, Weller, pierced me with her sharp tongue. I didn't care. Those words were meant for Alzen, not me.
"Violating your confinement order to show up here—what are you thinking? Have you already forgotten what you did?"
Berga, the eldest son, spat venom into my ears. Naturally, I paid him no mind either.
"Phew..."
If this were a typical delinquent transmigration web novel, I would have offered a polite bow and apologized profusely right about now. And the family would have wide eyes, utterly flabbergasted. 'That trash is apologizing?!' 'The delinquent greeting us with etiquette? The sun must be rising in the west.' 'Has Alzen changed?' Exactly like that.
Every trash-transmigration story I had ever read kicked off that way, steadily renovating their public image. Showing a completely different demeanor, racking up achievements, doing good deeds, saving someone... and the trash reputation would wash away, replaced by respect and awe.
But I had zero intention of doing anything of the sort. Why the hell should I go to those lengths for a piece of shit like Alzen? Even if I cleaned up his image, in the end, it would be credited as Alzen's effort, and any goodwill and admiration would go to Alzen. No one would ever know or appreciate the time, resources, and effort that I, Kang Han-gil, poured into it—so why should I break my back doing all that?
And even if I had a sudden change of heart and tried, what guarantee did I have that whatever higher dimensional being dragged me here wouldn't whisk me away somewhere else again? It was entirely pointless. So all that mattered was saving the ducal family. Whatever happens to my reputation, who gives a damn? If things went sideways, I could just regress and start over again anyway. So I'll just live as a delinquent.
"Shut your fucking trapsssss!!"
My roar, dripping with raw grievance and fury, boomed deafeningly across the cavernous dining hall.