Chapter 1
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 1
[How to Summon □□]
[O thou who standest in □,
Defile the earth with the □□ of the □□□ one.
Draw a circle with thy □-stained hand.
In gratitude, look up and yearn for □.
Make grapes ripen on thorns,
And figs bear on thistles.
□□ and □□.
Welcome the □□ of □□, who shall roam the land and descend upon this world.]
Meow.
* * *
Evangeline Rohanson, the only daughter of Count Rohanson, was dead.
The official story was death by illness. But the servants of the Rohanson estate would never forget the sight of her pale feet dangling from the branch of a cherry tree in full bloom, swaying gently in the wind.
The cherry blossoms had been so vibrant that day, their cloying scent seemed to linger in the air still.
Or perhaps it was because the coffin had been filled with cherry blossoms instead of white lilies.
Since the cause of death could not be made public, the funeral was held at the mansion.
After the ceremony in the annex, a tombstone would be erected in a corner of the back garden rather than burying her at the temple. The temple refused to accept those who had taken their own lives, leaving no other choice. Those ignorant of the truth offered their condolences, praising the Count for his profound love for his child.
The funeral was a modest affair. A noble’s final rites were meant to be grand, but Evangeline’s ceremony was pathetic for the daughter of a count.
Perhaps it was because they had used a contagious disease as an excuse to turn away other nobles, but the only attendees were the estate’s servants and a handful of knights.
Was it the sparse crowd? Or was it the fact that, despite this being a funeral, not a single person wept for the deceased? An eerie silence permeated the hall.
The priest’s prayer was the only thing offering some semblance of solace in the gloom.
The man presiding was a priest of little renown. He looked devout enough in his snow-white robes, but a man of true honor wouldn't have been here, officiating for a pouch of gold.
Once the priest’s prayer ended, the service was nearly complete. All that remained was to cover the coffin and lower the body into the pre-dug grave.
It was just as a few servants, who had been instructed beforehand, were preparing to move the coffin.
Into the hall’s oppressive silence, a rustling sound cut through, jarringly loud.
The priest, protective of his authority, cleared his throat as a warning, but the commotion only grew louder.
The rustle of dried flowers, the grating of ungreased joints, the clatter of bone, the creak of wood. These small, distinct noises began to merge. As a murmur rippled through the attendees, the priest could bear it no longer. He stopped his prayer and opened his eyes.
And there, he came face-to-face with the source of the crowd’s agitation.
Hair as white as frost cascaded down like a waterfall. The soft-looking tresses were less like silk and more like strands spun from gathered spiderwebs.
Her eyelashes quivered. Her lids fluttered open, revealing blood-red eyes—a color that called to mind not a ruby, but a living, beating heart.
Aside from those eyes, which seemed to be made of condensed blood, she was utterly white. Clad in a white dress amidst a sea of black mourning clothes, she looked like a being from another world. Silent, cold, and pale.
The priest finally understood why those small noises had seemed so loud. He was the closest to the coffin. He cried out to God in his heart and began to pray again.
Unfortunately, it had no effect.
The revived corpse began to move. It started by flexing its fingers, then clenching them into fists. It blinked. It turned its head. It looked exactly like something not quite human learning to operate an unfamiliar body.
The creature stared at the chandelier swaying from the ceiling, then scanned the people in the hall. Those who met its gaze flinched, covering their mouths and holding their breath.
When that gaze finally landed on the priest, he understood their terror. It was like being stared at by a masterpiece painting into which human eyes had been embedded—and those eyes were moving, looking right at him. The urge to bite off his own tongue just to escape that gaze was overwhelming.
It was as if a masterpiece had walked out of its frame, or a statue carved with soul-crushing detail had begun to mimic life. Compared to her, a marionette on a string seemed more alive.
“…What is my name?”
Finally, the creature spoke, its voice unnervingly human.
The entity possessing Evangeline Rohanson’s body finished adapting to its new vessel and smiled, looking deeply satisfied.
* * *
Looks like I’ve been possessed.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a magnificent chandelier. It looked expensive, for the record. While I was busy estimating its price, I tried to recall how I died.
Since I was perfectly healthy, it wasn’t illness. I hadn’t even started working yet, so it wasn’t death from overwork, and I didn’t get hit by a truck while saving a kid or a puppy. I never met a god, nor did I run into a suspicious fortune teller. No matter how I thought about it, it seemed I just got possessed in my sleep.
I know possession is all the rage these days, but is it really okay to be this lazy about it? Well, what’s done is done. Not important.
There’s no point dwelling on my past life now that I’m here. What matters is the body I’m in.
Was it because the possession was so half-assed? No memories of the original owner came flooding in. Looking at my hands, I don’t seem all that young… Would it have killed them to put me in a slightly younger body? Since I knew nothing about the original owner, it looked like I’d have to roll with the amnesia trope.
Given the white hair and delicate hands, she was clearly a noble, but no specific character came to mind. Isn’t it standard to get possessed into a book you were reading or your favorite novel?
I didn’t really have a favorite novel, and the last thing I was into was a Murim novel about a regressing Heavenly Demon. The memory was still fresh, but one look at this chandelier told me this wasn't a Murim world. If I’d been dropped into a martial arts novel, I would’ve died some sudden, violent death, so this is actually a relief.
This isn’t working.
I wasn’t going to find the answer on my own. In times like these, you have to get help from your surroundings. I decided to ask the middle-aged man sitting blankly beside me. His robes and the thick scripture in his hands made him look exactly like a priest. If I’d been possessed into a sickly character, it wouldn't be strange for a priest to be nearby. That would make playing the amnesia card even easier.
Come to think of it, where am I? I took a quick look around.
I jumped. Why were there so many people? I had felt a presence nearby, but it turned out everyone in the room was staring at me. Every single one of them was dressed in black, holding their breath in silence. I must be losing my mind to only notice this now.
I was so distracted by the unfamiliar ceiling that I didn't realize I wasn’t even in a bedroom. I thought it was a bed because the surface beneath me was soft, but looking closer, it was covered in flowers. Cherry blossoms? Or maybe plum blossoms? No wonder it smelled so fragrant.
…Wait a minute. The shape of this thing I’m lying in is a little too familiar…
Is this a coffin? Was I lying in a coffin? Then is this… a funeral? Is that why everyone is wearing black?
My head spun.
It’s not unheard of to be possessed into a dead body. If you take over a perfectly healthy, living person, the readers feel bad for the original owner. That’s why it’s a common trope to possess someone who was fated to die or was already dead. But still, what am I supposed to do when I wake up in the middle of my own funeral?
No wonder people were looking at me like they’d seen a ghost!
Couldn't they have at least possessed me right after the body died? This whole thing is so half-assed. At least it's consistently half-assed.
The priest beside me looked like he was about to pass out. From his perspective, a corpse had just come back to life.
I felt like I needed to fix this somehow. What should I say? Ta-da! Thought I was dead? It was just a prank! I had no idea. I’d just have to wing it. Oh, but before anything else, I needed to ask one thing.
“What is my name?”
For the record, since I was clearly a noble, I decided to drop any formalities.
* * *
The name of this body is Evangeline Rohanson.
And yep, as expected, I have no clue who that is.
It’s been two days since I was possessed. On the first day, I was swarmed by a priest and a doctor, and on the second, I focused on gathering information about Evangeline and this world.
From what I’ve gathered, this is a classic ‘Villainess Possession’ story.
The servants bow their heads the moment they see me and tremble when I speak. I even saw one faint when she saw me during a walk. A young maid even begged me to spare her life before being gagged and dragged away. Just how wicked was the original owner for a child to react like that? She should have tried to live a little more kindly.
Furthermore, Evangeline had red eyes.
In the world of RoFan, red eyes are usually reserved for characters with… let’s just say, unpleasant dispositions. Usually, the color is considered ominous, leading them to be abused and shunned until the male lead comes along and tosses out some meaningless comfort like, “I think they’re pretty,” causing them to fall head over heels.
And Evangeline is the only daughter of Count Rohanson. Her mother died when she was young, leaving just her and her father. Their relationship must not be great, since it’s been two days since I woke up and I still haven’t seen his face. He didn’t even come to see the daughter who came back from the dead. The fathers of villainesses are either complete trash or doting fools, and it seems mine is the former.
Other than that, I don't know much.
There’s no fiancé. Since the crown prince is usually the male lead in a RoFan, I checked on him first, but the crown prince of this kingdom is already middle-aged with two kids. There’s no Grand Duke of the North, no Saintess, not even a Saint.
Actually, even that much was just what I’d managed to overhear from the maids.
I searched the room for a diary, but there was nothing. Even if I had found one, I wouldn't have been able to read it. Because I’ve become illiterate.
I can’t even read. What kind of half-assed possession is this? How does it make sense that I can speak just fine but don’t know the alphabet? Since I can’t read the script, gathering information at a library is out of the question.
So, I’ve ended up having to study a second language, something I never even did before my possession.
The maid was completely flustered when I told her I couldn’t read. I never thought I’d see someone’s pupils literally shake in real life. Still, amnesia is a convenient excuse, and she said she would go buy a primer.
The book will arrive tomorrow. That means today is for exploring the house