Grand Mage, Possessed (2)
Seventy years. It was a span too short to call a long life, but more than enough to fill one man's lifetime. It was also the time he'd spent on the Eldrion Continent.
A duration even the so-called long-lived races couldn't easily surpass—a length where a small nation might fall to ruin without raising an eyebrow. Having lived through such ages, he prided himself on having seen just about every ordeal life could throw at him. And those experiences were far from ordinary, to boot. Who else tumbled into another dimension out of the blue? Most folk didn't even know other dimensions existed, let alone experience them.
He'd clawed his way up from rock bottom, endured wars and hardships aplenty. To him, the vast majority of worldly affairs felt downright mundane by comparison.
Yet the scene unfolding before him now tested even his ironclad composure.
"Professor. Time to wake up."
"......"
"You'll be in danger if you don't. You might even die, you know?"
A voice whispered in his ear. A young woman's tone—calm and dry, yet oddly soothing, like a balm to the nerves.
And it wasn't just that. Sounds of shattering. Crumbling. Explosions. All of it was light-years from what he'd anticipated after his dimensional shift.
He stared blankly, taking in the chaos.
"...No helping it, then. Make sure you repay me properly later."
The voice's owner hauled his limp body upright from the floor and strode outside. Reality felt distant, unreal. But it was all undeniably happening, and soon enough, he accepted his predicament.
Life...
Nothing ever goes right, does it?
He let out a deep sigh from the depths of his soul.
*
This isn't Earth.
It wasn't a conclusion born of agonizing deliberation—just five minutes of thought. No need for deeper rumination; Earth simply didn't have this much mana floating in the air. A world saturated with ambient mana was the exclusive domain of dimensions like Eldrion. In a place where magic was dismissed as fantasy and mages didn't exist, mana had no business lingering.
This wasn't mere conjecture or hazy memory. It was hard fact, uncovered while developing his dimensional shift spell. To set coordinates, he'd observed and probed countless dimensions, and ones barren of mana like Earth were exceedingly rare.
By the same logic, this wasn't Eldrion either. He'd wandered as a vagabond mage for decades, at minimum; he could tell if he'd returned to his home turf.
Only one conclusion remained: a third world, neither Earth nor Eldrion. Some glitch had hurled him off-course, crash-landing him in the wrong dimension entirely.
That much was manageable. Mishaps happened in magic; he could accept an unscheduled landing.
But then came the real kicker—one that overshadowed everything else.
His current state.
To cut to the chase: this body wasn't his. His soul had slipped into someone else's flesh. In other words, possession.
The elderly form he'd inhabited for ninety years had vanished, leaving his soul to inhabit the fresh, vibrant body of a young man.
What in the world? Why did possession occur?
Folktales and legends brimmed with tales of malevolent spirits possessing the living, but in reality, such events were vanishingly rare. A living being formed from the seamless harmony of soul, body, and ego—three elements with distinct traits and temperaments. Unless all three meshed perfectly, survival was improbable.
For a foreign soul or body to align so flawlessly was astronomically unlikely—a one-in-a-trillion shot.
Temporary overlays are possible... but this is different. I've fully merged with the flesh.
Sight, hearing, smell—all senses fired perfectly. No mere soul overlay could sync senses this thoroughly. It was total, complete possession.
He'd witnessed such perfect possession only once back in Eldrion, and even that required vast resources and months of preparation. The sheer absurdity of this situation hit home.
But possessions usually spark resistance from the host soul. Where did this young man's go?
Tracing the void where the original soul had been provided the answer.
The body's previous owner was already dead when I arrived.
The shell had been empty, allowing seamless integration. Otherwise, no amount of compatibility would have carved out space for him.
Misfortune and fortune intertwined.
Fail either condition, and he'd have ended up a wraithlike specter. The thought of hijacking a promising youth's death left a bitter taste, yet it had spared him the worst fate. A chill ran down his spine.
Knock knock.
The door opened without awaiting a reply.
"You're awake. Looks like you're doing fine."
She strode to the bedside and claimed a chair. Her red eyes fixed on him intently.
"Before we get into the details... don't you have something to say first?"
"Ah, right. My thanks are overdue. So, your name is...?"
"...You forgot my name? I didn't realize that head wound drained your brains too."
...She had a sharp tongue, no two ways about it. Yet there was no malice in it. She'd dragged him to safety, after all. Being dressed down by such a fresh-faced young woman felt odd, but he decided to play along for now.
"Forgive me. The injury's muddled my thoughts a bit. If it's no trouble, might you introduce yourself?"
"...You're embarrassing me. I was only joking."
"I'm not so aged as to snap at my rescuer."
"You really don't look well. And why talk like some old codger?"
Because I am a ninety-year-old codger.
She spoke up.
"Veronica Silverlane. Administrative assistant at the Sacred Academy. We've crossed paths before—you've seen me around. Not close, but we exchanged names."
"Professor? I'm a professor?"
"...Your condition's worse than I thought. Should I fetch a doctor?"
"...No need. Slip of the tongue. Forget I said it."
Professor. Professor. Evidently, the young man he'd possessed was no slouch. Earning a professorship demanded real expertise, even in a niche field. For someone who didn't look a day over thirty to hold the post? Impressive.
Name's... Cain. Surname Dravel. Cain Dravel.
Spotting the name tag on the discarded coat—one he'd overlooked—he offered a silent prayer for the promising soul lost too soon. Tragic end for one so young.
Yet it was opportunity incarnate for him. Professors commanded respect in any society. Landing such status outright? Pure luck.
Why had his early days in Eldrion been such a grind? His talents were modest then, but more crucially, he lacked a platform to prove himself. Thrust into a strange world, he was forever the outsider—shunned, forced to validate every claim.
This identity changed everything. A massive leg up.
And as a professor... I can pursue personal research.
With access to resources bent to his will, reactivating dimensional shift magic might be feasible.
Entirely possible. Unlike starting from scratch, I have ample data now. Isolate this error, and I'll be homeward bound. It's a path I've blazed once—materials needs will plummet.
Yes, one failure, but not without gains. Dimensional shift had worked, albeit off-target, and fate had handed him the foundation for the next leap.
This time, it's different.
He waved off Veronica's offer to summon help and gathered his thoughts. Then she spoke again.
"So, what's your plan? You can't just brush this off after causing such a mess."
"...What do you mean?"
"No use playing dumb. That explosion? Your department was already on thin ice—now this? You won't see good days ahead. Might even get fired outright."
"...Fired?"
Wait. Hold on. That would be a problem.