《Your Typical Transmigration Story》 A Generic Start (1) As it turns out, Instant Ramen could go bad. Dan stared at little green pieces of mold dotting the surface of the rock-hard noodles and cursed his decision to go for the cheap kind. He''d recently found out that a few brands of questionable quality catered to those either too stingy or too poor to afford even basic cup noodles. Overjoyed, he¡¯d bought them instantly, given that he was about fifteen cents worth of rent from being evicted. A terrible decision, obviously. He cursed his stupidity and collapsed onto the littered apartment floor, a couple of discarded plastic cups wheezing under his weight. Everything reeked a combination of alcohol and dirty clothes, which was convenient, as the stench overpowered countless other god-awful smells lingering in the worn carpet. He¡¯d never bothered to clean it, and now that he was living alone, nobody picked up for him. A rackety, half-collapsed wooden table, a Panasonic Television made in 2001, and a dinky fridge he¡¯d salvaged from the dump were the only things he owned of any value. They stood out like beacons of purity compared to the mounds of garbage terraforming the apartment into post-apocalyptic terrain. Now, lying in his own filth, he contemplated what to do. The electricity hadn¡¯t been cut yet. Maybe he could play Counterstrike a couple of hours and watch his favorite NBA team, the Cleveland Cavaliers, continue their historically long losing streak (31 games!) before the internet and water and cable went too. But none of those provincial concerns came close to his current predicament. The blinds were half-drawn, and little rays of sunlight burst through, hitting him directly in the face. He tried moving an inch to the left to avoid it, but his body would not budge. Instead, he resorted to hissing furiously and attempting to use the Force to move the sun sideways. Or at least, to close the blinds. Ten minutes of lying there later, he decided that he might as well just go blind from solar exposure and claim the medical insurance. Crap¡ª did he have medical insurance? His eyes closed mid-blink, and he could not muster the force of will to open them again. ¡°Why the hell was I born into this lame-ass world?¡± he wondered aloud. ¡°If I had one wish, it would be to be born into some sort of fantasy world, like in those cultivation novels. Someplace interesting, for once.¡± He would be a kickass martial artist. Reborn into some kind of noble family, he¡¯d learn all their secret techniques and wow all of the girls. Maybe collect a cute little tsundere from the clan, and then some sort of fire-element hottie, and then win a big tournament and get some crazy overpowered master who would make him the best martial artists in the world. No, scratch that-- the galaxy. Or the universe. Whichever was bigger. The red-tinted light streaming through the shades faded to the black of waning dusk. He groaned. So did his belly. He was reminded of the story of the frog in hot water, and how the frog would stay in the pan as the temperature incrementally increased, eventually succumbing, never jumping because the change was so gradual. He supposed he did appear somewhat toad-like in reflections, and his empty stomach would eventually cause his death. Maybe that¡¯s how he would go. Eventually, he¡¯d grow weak and fall asleep and die of malnutrition, never bothering to save himself. Then he¡¯d find himself in some sort of summoning ritual to be the hero of some other world. An hour into his suicide-by-inertia attempt, he overcame his laziness and, with a herculean effort, forced himself to his feet. He was too goddamn hungry. Who knew death by hunger strike would be so difficult to accomplish? Grumbling to himself, he fetched a rusted yet, yanked his door roughly open, stepped out, and shut it again in one smooth motion. He thought about locking the door, but decided it didn¡¯t matter. What would a thief want with his house anyways? His growing collection of potato chip bags? The street lamp outside his apartment building had broken a while ago, so he felt his way across a path in almost sheer darkness. A fluorescent light beamed in the distance-- the local supermarket. This would be a quick operation-- in, grab cup noodles, out. A rising, almost guttural noise emerged from the distance. Two headlamps, like saucers, burst onto the road, steadily growing closer. Dan stopped in the middle of the road and watched. This was, he thought, almost a carbon copy of every reincarnation novel he¡¯d read. Otaku NEET stands in middle of road, gets hit by truck, reincarnates into another world. If only it were that easy. He sighed and stared as the vehicle approached. It would stop, and the driver would get out and shout at him for blocking the round, but he didn¡¯t care. And if it didn¡¯t stop-- even better. He was getting tired of this life anyways. It was closer now. The sounds of gravel screaming under chrome tires lanced his ears. He took a step back involuntarily. It would stop, wouldn¡¯t it? But the thing showed no sign of slowing down. Fuck. Fuck! He tried to move his legs, tried to flail his arms, tried to scream, but his body would not obey. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°No! Fuck! God, I was joking! Please let me go! No! Fuck!¡± he roared. The beams of light were upon him now. Two giant, cruel eyes ready to devour him in body and soul. And yet, a deer in headlights, he could not bring himself to move. God, I¡¯ll change! I swear! I¡¯ll go to church on Sundays! I¡¯ll actually do work! I¡¯ll go to university and get a job and everything oh please dear god please don¡¯t let that thing hit me! Everything became viscerally real. The tusks of the fender of the truck, jutting out in monochrome silver, perked up, ready to gore him. It was over. With his meager athleticism, attempting to jump out of the way at this point wouldn¡¯t save him from death. He¡¯d been such a fool. He didn¡¯t want to die. Of course he didn¡¯t. What could he have possibly been thinking, with his insane, stupid dream of transmigration? He screamed. Then it hit him. *** He awoke to a vast, blank realm. There was no sound nor movement, nor anything, and yet the world seemed to shimmer, as if pulsating beneath the thin fabric of the world. ¡°Is-- is this heaven?¡± ¡°No,¡± a voice boomed. It was everywhere and nowhere at once. ¡°But, to your insignificant species, I suppose it¡¯s the closest approximation.¡± He¡¯d felt something missing, and not until now did he realize what it was. He did not need to breathe. He looked down and yelped when he found his whole body a translucent white. ¡°Relax,¡± the voice continued. ¡°You¡¯re a spirit.¡± ¡°Did-- did I die?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± He wasn¡¯t quite sure what to say. Some part of him couldn¡¯t understand what was happening, or didn¡¯t accept what had happened. He was still back on that dark road, watching the bus grow closer. ¡°I-- I don¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°Typical. Your kind never do. Some people go weeks before accepting it. Hell, some have been dead for years without accepting it.¡± ¡°Um.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± They stayed there, neither speaking, for some time. Time as a concept didn¡¯t appear to exist here; or, if it did, it manifested in nothing. ¡°So what happens now?¡± ¡°Now, I grant your wish.¡± ¡°Sorry-- are you God? I¡¯m still-- I don¡¯t really--¡± ¡°For all your intents and purposes, I may as well be. My name is Atulhu. I am 50,000 years old, and a minor deity. It was no accident that you were hit by that truck. I froze your limbs and disrupted the truck driver¡¯s senses into not seeing you.¡± ¡°Excuse me? I don¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°Ah, still in some sort of post-trauma shock, are you? Very well. I¡¯ll lay it out for you. I¡¯m bored. Monumentally bored. Have you any idea how long 50 thousand years is? A lot of deities break and commit suicide after 2,000. 50,000 years is enough to experience almost everything there is to experience a hundred times, and then some. The monotony is unbearable. So I¡¯ve decided to rummage through the mortal planes, pick one interesting mortal per world, and screw with them for entertainment. This is one of a simultaneous 50,000 experiments done by my soul-incarnations across a multitude of the lower realms.¡± ¡°... what?¡± ¡°Forget the terminology. It¡¯s unimportant. What matters is that for this world, you are that mortal. You wanted to be hit by a truck and transmigrate, right? Here¡¯s your chance.¡± A figure materialized robed in a brilliant white fabric. Crystal-blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, gemstones studding an exquisitely beautiful face. He appeared young-- 17, 18 at the most-- with long, flowing hair and perfect, clear skin. ¡°I have assumed the appearance of the new body I¡¯ve selected for you. Leonidas Mayhew, heir to clan Mayhew, a generational talent in cultivation. Truly, a chosen among chosen. Given a hundred years, he would rise to the Star plane and blossomed into one of the dominators of the realm. Transmigrating you into his body took a serious toll, even for me. His destiny is almost limitless.¡± Dan blinked. ¡°Are you serious? I¡¯m not dreaming, am I? Or hallucinating?¡± Atulhu smirked. ¡°Another idiosyncrasy of your species. If you have the mental faculties to ask yourself the question, you should know if you are dreaming or not.¡± ¡°... there must be a catch. Is this some sort of¡­ monkey¡¯s paw or something? You¡¯re not setting me up, are you?¡± A radiant smile spread across Atulhu¡¯s--, or Leonidas¡¯s-- face. ¡°You needn¡¯t worry about that. The game wouldn¡¯t be so fun if I¡¯d rigged it, now would it? Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve simply made a series of predictions. I¡¯ll throw you into the world and see how well they bear out.¡± ¡°... what predictions?¡± ¡°Oh, that you won¡¯t survive three years. Maybe two. It¡¯ll be fun to see how it goes.¡± ¡°Wait. What?¡± ¡°Perhaps the most interesting trait of your species-- an inability to admit fault. Tell me, why are you the way you are?¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°You are lazy, unmotivated, callous, and an utter degenerate.¡± Atulhu said matter-of-factly. ¡°Whose fault is that?¡± ¡°That¡¯s unfair. My world is incredibly boring. The people there are boring and there¡¯s no magic or any cool stuff. You just sit around and grind out grades and go to college and it¡¯s all a huge--¡± ¡°You do know that I am thousands of times more intellectually capable than you are, correct?¡± Atulhu interrupted. ¡°You are feeding mortal excuses to an immortal god.¡± ¡°Hey! That¡¯s--¡± ¡°We¡¯ve covered everything you need to know. Good luck!¡± ¡°Wait-- you can¡¯t just drop that on me and not--¡± He blinked out of existence. Somewhere, in a plane of existence an immeasurable distance away, Leonidas Mayhew awoke with a start. A Generic Start (2) He¡¯d thought about transmigrating so much that the act itself occurring should not have fazed him. But somehow, sitting in a rattan cot in the middle of an entirely unfamiliar, wooden room, staring down at too-perfect, snow-white hands, he couldn¡¯t process what was happening. Did he really transmigrate? Everything the Deity-- Atulhu, was it?-- had said remained a hazy splotch in his memory. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. ¡°This could just be some sort of elaborate illusion my mind¡¯s constructed,¡± he said aloud. ¡°I¡¯ve heard crazier things happening in near-death experiences.¡± He stood, and instantly noticed how little effort it took. Previously, even mustering the will to stand required monumental effort. Now, his muscles reacted as if his body weighed nothing. He made his way across the square, austere room to a small mirror and rudimentary stone sink on the opposite end. The face staring back at him was that of the impeccably handsome Leonidas-- a far cry from his own subpar looks. ¡°Is this real?¡± he whispered, touching the cool mirror. There was a pitter-pattering of approaching footsteps. He looked over as his door was thrown violently open, a pale, sallow man gasping on the other side. ¡°Young master!¡± he cried, his gold-trimmed robes heaving with his body. ¡°Thank goodness you¡¯re fine!¡± ¡°Er¡­ who are you?¡± Dan wondered. The man froze. ¡°Sir! You must be joking,¡± he chuckled, voice rising in a nervous pitch. ¡°It¡¯s me, Harold! I¡¯ve served you as your advisor and tutor for the past ten years!¡± ¡°Huh.¡± He frowned and cursed Atalhu. Couldn¡¯t he have inherited some of his predecessor¡¯s memories? Now he had to come up with an excuse for his ignorance. ¡°We were all so panicked when you went into that coma! Nobody could figure out why or how, and your father and mother were both worried sick!¡± Harold babbled on. ¡°But you seem fine, so that¡¯s good.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember anything,¡± he said, smiling helplessly. The old ¡°transmigrator gets amnesia¡± trick was silly, but he couldn¡¯t come up with anything better. Harold stared. ¡°Sir, what do you mean by anything? Surely it can¡¯t mean everything. You remember your Martial Uncle and your Martial Grandfather, don¡¯t you? You at least know how to talk, so it can¡¯t be that bad, right?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± he said honestly. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are, and I certainly don¡¯t remember having any relatives. I also don¡¯t quite know how I can talk. I just¡­ am.¡± An awkward silence filled the room. ¡°I¡­ I must inform your Martial Uncle about this. Please stay here, sir.¡± He bolted back down the hallway. This appeared to be a fairly large, aristocratic cultivation clan. If he had to guess, this ¡®Martial Uncle¡¯ would be some higher-up elder of the clan, or even perhaps the clan leader. Several minutes later, a middle-aged maid entered dressed in customary dark clothing. ¡°The Martial Uncle will see you now,¡± she said. Then she left in the same direction as Harold down the hallway. Dan supposed he should follow. Several short, wood-planked hallways later, they entered a large garden. A picturesque river flowed from the left, curling in wisps to a large, thick tree with sparkling white leaves. Beneath the tree¡¯s branches sat a stern-looking, thin, gray-haired man on a stone chair, arms crossed. ¡°Leave us,¡± he beckoned to the maid. She curtsied and closed the door with an unsatisfying thunk. The two stared at each other, neither speaking. ¡°You¡¯re not him,¡± the Martial Uncle finally said. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not Leo. I don¡¯t know who you are, but you¡¯re not him.¡± Dan balked. ¡°What are you talking about? I¡¯m--¡± ¡°Now I¡¯m even more certain. Not only does your soul signature not mask your body, you have no memory of past events. You don¡¯t know who I am. It¡¯s almost as if someone stuffed a discarnate soul into Leo¡¯s body.¡± A stony silence stretched between them. Dan wasn¡¯t sure what to do. This hadn¡¯t happened in any of the novels he¡¯d read. He was supposed to be welcomed into the clan, taught the skills, and to rise up in the rankings. ¡°So¡­ let¡¯s assume you¡¯re right,¡± he said cautiously. ¡°What now?¡± The Martial Uncle hummed in thought. ¡°I have a proposal for you. I want you to work for us. In exchange for training hard and fighting for us in our half-yearly Family competition, we will provide you the highest quality food, lodging and resources.¡± Dan blinked. He¡¯d been expecting the man to summon a thunderbolt and wipe him from the earth or something. ¡°Uh¡­ sure. I guess. Is there a catch?¡± ¡°Only that you agree to be subjected to medical tests. I shall send for the best doctors in the country. They¡¯ll examine you over the next several months. Hopefully, we can find a remedy to this¡­ problem.¡± ¡°... so, say you find a way to return this Leo-guy¡¯s memories. What happens to me?¡± ¡°Leo would not have asked such a stupid question,¡± the Martial Uncle harrumphed. ¡°You are Leo for all intents and purposes, albeit with amnesia. Memories make a man. Once you recover your memories, so, too, shall your personality return. Your original personality.¡± ¡°I thought you said I was a discarnate soul?¡± ¡°I said you were like a discarnate soul,¡± the Martial Uncle said crossly. ¡°But removing a soul without damaging a body and replacing it with another, especially a body with as great a destiny as Leo¡¯s, is near impossible. It¡¯s certainly impossible in this realm. And what kind of stupid celestial being would waste so much resources to do the procedure on a mortal?¡± *** He was given free reign to explore the elders¡¯ section of the Mayhew family compound, but not beyond into the outside world. It was a large space-- equivalent to a mansion in his former world-- made chiefly of durable, flame-resistant wood. Spacious courtyards like the one he¡¯d seen before were spread throughout, and some even had trickling waterfalls with beautiful roses. This was the ¡°elders¡± section. The regular clan members and students were insulated behind a large, clad-iron gate around 20 feet tall. He hadn¡¯t seen anyone his own age for the day he¡¯d been in this world, and was expressly forbidden from having any contact. He guessed they didn¡¯t trust him yet, what with the whole memory loss business. Dinner was a solemn affair. Given that only around 10 sect elders lived in the elders¡¯ compound, and that often several were absent in missions or hidden in secluded training, they ate alone in their own rooms. The meal the servants had prepared, though, made the whole transmigration worth it. The unidentifiable yet succulent brown meat and the noodles soaked in a black, savory broth amounted to more flavor than everything he¡¯d eaten in the past 2 years combined. Hell, even the vegetables tasted amazing. The only directive he¡¯d been given was to appear in the same courtyard as last time early next morning. Thank goodness the time measurement systems they used were similar, given that it was heliocentric and season-based. The general structure of this world appeared similar to Earth, luckily, like some sort of medieval Asian country, but with magic systems. He was told to wake up at 6 for morning training. He woke up at 8. In his past body, he woke at 12, and never left his room. Agreeing to this meet was already a large concession. If he¡¯d been given a computer and electricity-- or anything at all to do, for that matter-- he probably would have ignored the Martial Uncle and instead choose to screw around in his room. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. But he had literally nothing to occupy his mind. Leonidas¡¯s room was a bare meditation room. A cabinet contained some ointments and weird-looking, shimmering substances arrayed in neat rows, but Dan didn¡¯t care enough to poke around in them. He proceeded to leisurely don his clothes, get ready, and saunter over to the compound, where the Martial Uncle sat, legs crossed. ¡°You are late,¡± he said. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know,¡± Dan replied cheerfully. ¡°Must have overslept. Oh well. So, what are you teaching me?¡± The Martial Uncle¡¯s left eye twitched, the most emotive expression Dan had ever seen on his stony face. ¡°That is not acceptable,¡± he growled. ¡°You will be on time. Furthermore, you will address me as Martial Uncle.¡± ¡°Wow. Cranky much?¡± A sharp sting whipped him across the face with so much force that he was sent flying back, his head striking the ground with a loud crack. That should¡¯ve killed him instantly, but his new body was more durable. Instead, he merely felt as though hit in the head with a baseball bat. Black spots blinked across his vision, and he screamed in pain. ¡°What the hell was that for!?¡± ¡°You are impudent. Leo was not. Is this some sort of joke to you?¡± the Martial Uncle growled. ¡°You have agreed to represent the elders¡¯ branch in the Mayhew clan tournament. If you do not secure first place, you will lose your status as an elder, and will be cast out into a branch family. Furthermore, I will personally lose face, even with the excuse of your amnesia.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t have to hit me,¡± Dan hissed. Another crack struck him upside the head, and he almost lost consciousness. ¡°You do not talk back,¡± the Martial Uncle spat. ¡°And especially not with your tone. You are late. You are disrepectful. You are incompetent. If not for Leonidas¡¯s body, I would have killed you already.¡± That shut Dan up. ¡°Follow me. I will perform the most basic of the Movements of the Twelve Dragons. This is the most basic cultivation exercise.¡± He descended into a yogic pose, hands outstretched, and began contorting them in strange angles, his body moving in a rhythmic harmony. The air about him shimmered, blue rays gathering around his palms. ¡°This is mana. This exercise, Rising Tiger, is the most superficial way to grow stronger, to channel the mana directly into the body. Try it.¡± Somehow, Dan clearly remembered every minute detail of the movements with only a glance. He shifted his body, and was surprised to find it reacting accordingly. He produced an almost perfect replica of the movements, complete with mana appearing on his palms. ¡°Well. At least you¡¯ve retained Leo¡¯s talent,¡± the Martial Uncle grumbled, though some hope shone in his eyes. ¡°That exercise would usually take months to master. Luckily for you, Leo has been spending his time focusing on increasing his cultivation base of late. His is already sufficient to best every other youngster at the Family tournament many times over, even with a several-month deficit. We shall focus on martial skills. By the time of the tournament, you shall hopefully have caught up to your past body.¡± The next thirty minutes saw exercises of increasing complexity. By the time the Martial Uncle got to the Eight Form of the Movements of the Twelve Dragons-- an offensive strike aptly called ¡°Striking Tiger¡±-- each movement became strenuous. Beads of sweat appeared on Dan¡¯s head as he tried to replicate the movements, a quick yet ferocious strike out with a mana-infused fist. The movement, although seeming simple, had myriad complexities that the Martial Uncle said took many decades to master for ordinary folk. On his third try he gave up. ¡°I refuse to do it,¡± he declared. The Martial Uncle raised an eyebrow. ¡°And don¡¯t think about hitting me to get me to do it, anyway,¡± Dan said hurriedly. ¡°I¡¯m not going to do it.¡± ¡°Explain,¡± the Martial Uncle growled. ¡°First, I hate doing work. I¡¯m a lazy person. I¡¯ll admit it,¡± Dan said casually. ¡°Sure, this move might be able to vaporize big boulders in a punch. That did sound pretty cool, but the amount of effort it takes to get there isn¡¯t worth it at all!¡± ¡°You cannot be serious,¡± the Martial Uncle said incredulously. ¡°You have given up after 5 minutes of attempts?! Many take years before--¡± ¡°Yeah, blah, blah, blah. I¡¯m not many,¡± interrupted Dan. ¡°And you know what else I¡¯ve figured out? You need me.¡± The Martial Uncle¡¯s eyes flared. ¡°You had best choose your words carefully,¡± he whispered. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry,¡± Dan smiled cheerfully. ¡°What will happen if you kill me or cast me out or starve me? I won¡¯t be able to participate in that family tournament you¡¯re care about so much. And if you hurt me in any way, I just won¡¯t try in the fights and let them beat me up.¡± ¡°What?!¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t just about my position as an elder, or about you losing face, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ll bet that if I win, you get some serious benefits from the clan. Maybe some sort of potion that ends up helping your cultivation through a bottleneck or something?¡± he guessed. In truth, he was already familiar with the systems cultivation clans used to reward its members. It happened in every tournament arc, after all. Not only would the victor get rewards, but so would the branch to which he belonged. And it appeared he hit the nail directly on the head. The Martial Uncle¡¯s face turned white and then red before returning to its usual placid state. ¡°You are correct, in part,¡± he said evenly. ¡°It has been a long time since someone has attempted to blackmail me.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll bet that even if I don¡¯t do jack shit, I¡¯ll still win that dumb tournament with this kickass body,¡± Dan continued. ¡°So why don¡¯t you just let me stay here and eat that awesome food. You can go mind your own business. I¡¯ll win the tournament for you in the meantime. It¡¯s a win win situation.¡± ¡°And what about the tournament after that, then?¡± challenged the Martial Uncle. ¡°If you continue to slack, you will surely be surpassed.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you were having doctors examine me, or something? Surely the best experts in this world can cure something as simple as amnesia. By the time the tournament¡¯s over, I¡¯ll have recovered my memory and work ethic. Everything will work out.¡± ¡°... fine,¡± the Martial Uncle gritted out. ¡°But you had better deliver the results.¡± ¡°Oh, and one last thing. I¡¯m the blackmailer, right? I want to make some demands.¡± The Martial Uncle¡¯s face turned so red he looked as though he might explode. ¡°What.¡± ¡°Oh, just a big room with a big comfy bed with nice views and all the luxuries you¡¯d expect from an aristocratic household. Also, send me a stack of the most popular novels of this world. Oh, and a hot servant girl too.¡± ¡°You are going to spend the next several months¡­ lazing around and reading novels?!¡± ¡°Yep!¡± ¡°If you fail, I will kill you,¡± said the Martial Uncle. Dan could tell he meant it. *** This world didn¡¯t appear all it cracked up to be, Dan thought, reclining on a plush, gold-rimmed sofa. The room he received was a significant upgrade from the monk¡¯s dormitory he had before. This one had gold everywhere-- lining the clear marble floors, lining the ornate desks, even rimming his clothes. Furthermore, it was bright, illuminated through mana from all angles. Marvelous tapestries filled up the walls, and a large bookshelf stood in a corner, filled with all of the latest fantasy novels. Apparently, there were also fantasy novels in transmigrated fantasy worlds. How ironic. A full-length mirror stood directly on the opposite side of the room, so that he could marvel at his own appearance whenever he chose. The sofa had no back, and he lay on it horizontally. To the right was his sumptuous room, but to the left was an utterly breathtaking city through a large, window, arrayed beneath the large hill on which the Mayhew estate stood. When he felt like taking a break from his latest book, he could marvel instead at the stretching spires, the large rivers, the bustling dots of cultivators below. Large, white buildings stood out from small, boxy ones, each filled with life-- the whirring of gears, or the occasional sparks of mana. ¡°What¡¯s that one?¡± he said, pointing at a high riser in the center of the bright city. A dark-haired, beautiful, voluptuous girl stood beside him, dressed scantily, a plate of grapes in hand. It was cliche, he knew, to request this. Didn¡¯t make it any less fun. He shot a brilliant smile at her. She blushed. He never got tired of that. There was something invigorating about having a girl who¡¯d never pay attention to him before catering to his every whim. ¡°That¡¯s the Martial Association building. Every city has one. They rank cultivators and give out missions. A kind of governing body. Ish. Would you like another grape, sir?¡± He opened his mouth. Giggling, she threw it in. ¡°Come over here,¡± he said, grinning lecherously. Let''s try something more¡­ fun.¡± *** Afternoon turned to night, and he was alone again. A plate of meat scraps and used utensils sat outside his door, ready for the servants to collect. He looked out at the city at night, filled with its mana-lights, and wondered how he could have been so stupid before. Slaying dragons? So much effort. Considering the amount of pain he¡¯d had to endure thus far on only offensive moves, actual combat was far beyond what he was willing to do. Plus, he might get hurt. No way. Gathering a harem? Sounded nice in his other world, when he daydreamed and didn¡¯t think about the effort involved. Sure, he was hot now, and had more physical charm. But he would rather read novels. It was all the same old boring system, but instead of studying to get grades, people trained to grow stronger. Martial Association, his previous world¡¯s society¡­ it was all the same, but with different names. Everything seemed so rose-tinted when it was out of reach. Given the power to actually pursue the cliched path of transmigration, though, he lost all interest. It was one thing to read about a protagonist overcoming obstacles and achieving great power. It was another to actually do it. Plus, he had a severe aversion to obstacles of any sort. The only thing that really changed from one world to another was that he had more money to screw around with. A light knocking noise resounded through the room, and he looked left. A girl with fiery red hair, an angelic face, and subtle curves in a dark jumpsuit was perched on the windowsill, knocking. She smiled when their eyes met. Dan blinked in consternation. How¡¯d she even get up here? His window was nearly 10 feet off the ground, on the second floor of an edge of the compound. ¡°Come on, Leo! We''ve got to get you out of here!¡± she called. Oh, balls. One of his predecessor''s friends, or girlfriend, probably. ¡°Look, lady,¡± he said. ¡°You''ve got the wrong guy.¡± ¡°Come on, Leo. Quit screwing around. Just break this window and we''ll go! We''ll be fine before those pesky elders find out.¡± ¡°I don''t know you,¡± he said. ¡°What the hell, Leo! Are you serious? Did they do something to you? Why are you pretending not to remember who I am? Drop the act. Just come along. Whatever they''ve got on you, we can figure it out together.¡± He paused. Wasn''t this what he always wanted? Running away with a hot potential harem member and going on an adventure? No. That''s what he thought he wanted, before all of the transmigration business. Would he really abandon this cushy life with a hot servant for a marginally hotter potential waifu? Especially when, with all of the money and looks he had, he could get all of the hot girls he wanted? Hell no. ¡°I honestly don''t know who you are, lady. And don''t you think this is trespassing?¡± She looked crestfallen. ¡°You''ve changed, Leo.¡± She left as quickly as she came. He didn''t see her again until the day of the Tournament. A Generic Start (Final) Months later¡­ He passed through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. As if there was some kind of invisible yet powerful force field around him, diverting the stream of people around him, silencing their voices to hushed whispers. Leonidas Mayhew, the youngest elder, king of the Inner Court, had emerged from a reputed six-month-long seclusion. Some speculated that he was perfecting some killer technique. Others decided he was raising his cultivation. Maybe he was even in the King realm-- though he¡¯d be the youngest in four hundred years to achieve it. He¡¯d done nothing of the sort, of course. The only things he¡¯d accomplished were burning through half the stack of books and spending some quality time with his servant. The clan tournament was about to begin. Mayhew members from all side branches and the main branch gathered for this twice-per-year event, often which decided the fates of each branch in the near future. It was also how some ambitious side branches wished to ascend to the main branch. Through defeating the main branch¡¯s representative, they¡¯d gain both prestige and valuable resources, sometimes enough to catapult them over the top. Dan could feel the eyes, some in admiration, some in hunger, roaming his body. He smiled casually and shrugged them off. The tournament was held in a desolate campground, with sixteen raised platforms for the participants. They would be whittled from 32 to 16 to 8 and so on until the victor emerged. ¡°Platform one. Leonidas Mayhew, first seed. Against: Jonathan Mayhew, thirty-second seed.¡± And so it began. His opponent was thin and timid-looking. Unsurprising. Even so, he had a weird sort of determination on his face-- almost as though he believed he could win. ¡°I, Jonathan Mayhew, have prepared 6 months to take you down!¡± he screamed shrilly. ¡°Prepare yourself!¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of you,¡± said Dan. ¡°Begin!¡± the referee cried. Mana came to his fingertips like another limb, and he loosed a bolt of sheer force directly at his opponent. Jonathan screamed, pulling up a weak, translucent shield. Dan¡¯s bolt punched through it, ramming straight into the boy¡¯s body. With a sickening crunch, Jonathan was blasted off the stage. Dan yawned. He didn¡¯t know how to fight with any technique, but brute force was easy to grasp. Nobody seemed particularly astonished by the result, except his opponent. Jonathan stared at the ground, eyes dull, coughing up blood as his side branch¡¯s attendants healed his injuries. The round of 16 and 4 went almost as easy as the first. His mana blast was so pure and so powerful that nobody managed to block or even dodge it. Every fight ended instantly. No skill was required with overwhelming brute strength. His first issue came during the semifinals. Immediately after the fight began, his opponent, a defensive specialist from a side branch, constructed a mana shield. Surprisingly, it not only blocked his attack, but imbibed it into the shield itself. Dan watched the growing white barrier with mild amusement. He supposed now was a good time to attempt that move he¡¯d given up on. Although months had passed, his memory of it was as pristine. Fist curl. Mana gathers. A lash like a viper¡¯s strike tearing through in a wide arc. Blood spurted into the air and stained the ground crimson. *** ¡°Final battle. Leonidas Mayhew against Ivory Mayhew. Begin.¡± His opponent was the red-haired girl that had come to his windowsill a week ago. She looked determined, her jaw set and eyes flashing. The platform they would fight on was only around 30 feet by 30 feet, and he didn¡¯t fancy having to flee if close combat occurred. He would just blast her straight off the stage, he decided. ¡°Well?¡± she suddenly said, her cheeks red with anger. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say anything?¡± ¡°What is there to say?¡± he shrugged, smiling. ¡°I guess-- goodbye?¡± A bolt of high-powered mana, faster than any he¡¯d shot before, whipped at the girl. Surprisingly, she managed to dodge it through a quick leap to the left. She didn¡¯t manage to avoid it completely, though -- bits of hair descended slowly to the ground, sliced off cleanly by the attack. She advanced on him with blinding speed. His eyes, much sharper than any normal cultivator¡¯s, however, tracked her every movement. Another three mana bolts filled the air, but she dodged all of them, allowing them to strike ineffectually against the ground below. He gritted his teeth. Perhaps he shouldn¡¯t have gotten her so angry. Her quick reflexes rendered his one-hit-kill shots useless, and his crude attacks drained mana fast. He switched tactics and stopped firing. All he needed to do was to land one clean hit. Focusing his energy on his palms, he prepared to execute the same strike he¡¯d used to win the semifinals-- that whiplike, lightning punch. She raced in just before the apex of his preparation and threw a ball of qi straight at his face. Nobody had attacked him the whole tournament. Hell, nobody had hit him since that crazy Martial Uncle. He reacted on instinct and, instead of attacking Ivory, he smacked the attack away. It was akin to killing a mosquito with a gun. He regretted it instantly. He¡¯d run out of bullets. ¡°You¡¯re low on mana, aren¡¯t you?¡± Ivory whispered. ¡°Stupid mistake, falling for a feint. You¡¯re out of practice.¡± She advanced on him, fists blazing with red mana. ¡°But then again, how could you have time to practice? You were too busy spending the last four months cheating on me with that servant slut!¡± He was right, unfortunately for him: She was his previous body¡¯s girlfriend. Oh, shit. He couldn¡¯t even attempt to dodge as she threw a blazing fast hook at him, catching him squarely on the jaw. Thrown several feet into the air, he struggled to maintain his balance, but she was upon him in an instant, raining down more blows. It was like being run over by a freight train, if the freight train backed up repeatedly only to crush him over and over and over again. He blacked out. *** He came to in a dark and slimy room. The floor was crusted over with a tar-like substance which crept up to the walls and into the ceiling. Everything smelled like shit. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. He scrambled to his feet and tried to move, but his limbs would not budge. There was a loud clanking sound as he lifted his foot, and he looked down. Two large iron manacles chained both his ankles and his wrists to a wall. His head felt as though it were on fire, as though some vindictive blacksmith had taken it, submerged it in a forge, and was now pounding the living shit out of it. ¡°Finally awake, are you?¡± a voice grumbled. He jumped up and looked around. A dark-haired, blue-eyed, muscular man, strikingly handsome, lay with his back against the opposite wall. ¡°Wh-where am I? I was at the tournament and then blacked out¡­ what¡¯s happening?¡± he murmured. ¡°You¡¯ve been sold.¡± ¡°What do you mean, sold? Is this some cellar in the Mayhew compound? Where¡¯s the Martial Uncle?¡± ¡°You got a screw loose, boy? Your Martial Uncle sold you for resources to slavers. Now you¡¯re a slave. Like me.¡± ¡°Wait. I lost one fucking tournament and he sells me?! And why the hell--¡± ¡°You do know who he sold you to, don¡¯t you?¡± the man continued. ¡°The Black Circus.¡± ¡°... what the hell does that mean?¡± ¡°You live under a rock or something? The Black Circus is the largest underground slaving ring in the country. They sell to the middle class, but they make most of their money from the elites. Like us. Say some middle-aged aristocrat wants some action, or a young deviant princess wants a fucktoy. Or beyond that, if they want to practice dual cultivation with a partner of¡­ higher stock and mana purity. They go to the Circus. First time I was here, they sold me an obese, middle-aged county governess.¡± He shuddered. ¡°You¡¯re in for some pain if that happens, kid. They¡¯re the ones with the money, usually, too.¡± A section of the wall pulled back, and a severe-looking man with a cane stepped into the room. Three more men followed him with lashes and black masks. They gagged both of them and hauled them roughly to their feet. ¡°Alright, boys,¡± the man said. ¡°Show starts in five. Out you go. Muscles--¡± he nodded to the slave across from Dan-- ¡°you know the drill.¡± Two hard, beady eyes fixed onto Dan¡¯s lithe body. ¡°You there. Pretty boy. You struggle, you try to escape, I hit you with this.¡± He held up a small, black device pulsating with electricity. Little angry sparks flew out unbidden, fizzling black marks into the concrete floor. ¡°Out you go, you two! Move!¡± Stumbling, head aching, Dan forced himself to his feet and out of the cell. He trembled at the harsh cold air. How did this happen? How did he lose? Was this real? One moment, he was relaxing in the highest luxury this world could afford. The next, he was being sold for resources as a sex slave. A sharp crack stung him in the back and he yelped, collapsing. A boot pressed his face to the ground. ¡°When we say move, we mean move!¡± one of the guards barked. ¡°Careful!¡± the severe man cautioned. ¡°Don¡¯t damage the front or the face.¡± Tears welled up in Dan¡¯s eyes, but he blinked them away. The boot came off, and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet again. ¡°Move.¡± They were led down a dark hallway, a bright light shining at the end. The three guards followed behind him and the other other slave, ready to act should they try to escape. Murmers of feminine voices grew louder as they approached, which only intensified as they stepped into the light. They stood in the center of a lavish building reminiscent of an opera hall. Two bright lights were fixed to them, all but blinding them. Dimly, Dan could make out a throng of people on two balconies, though he couldn¡¯t see their faces. By smell alone, though, he could tell this place catered to the rich. Even the ambient air smelled of citrus and other perfumes. ¡°Ladies!¡± a deep voice boomed. ¡°May we present our final items for the night! Two of the highest quality we¡¯ve ever offered. Both are exquisitely handsome, talented, and-- of course-- exceptionally well-endowed.¡± A billowing cheer rose from the crowd. ¡°To the right¡­ the dashing hero of the northern tribes, Ka Shen! Once a mighty rebel leader, he still retains his martial arts prowess! Literate and a talented magic user, Shen is a powerful bodyguard outside of the bedroom. Inside, he is said to be a voracious, experienced lover, having had sixty-two wives. Let the bidding commence!¡± ¡°Four hundred thousand ren!¡± ¡°Five hundred!¡± ¡°Six hundred!¡± Dan¡¯s stomach twisted and he wanted to puke. Ka Shen, meanwhile, appeared to have accepted his fate, his head bowed. The number finally settled on 1.2 million. ¡°Very well! Bidder 61, your item shall be delivered to your residence within two days.¡± A guard came up and shifted the voltage on the black, taser-like device to maximum. Then, he drove the device straight between Ka Shen¡¯s ribs. Ka Shen convulsed briefly for a second before collapsing, completely limp, clearly unconscious. More men came to load the body onto a coffin-like shipping container and haul it away. ¡°And now, our final item¡­ Former king of the Chosen and heir to clan Mayhew, Leonidas Mayhew! An extremely talented chosen, Leonidas became the youngest Dragon level cultivator in this continent¡¯s history! With his current cultivation level, approaching that of the King realm, he has the highest cultivation base of any slave we¡¯ve sold. Not only is he talented, he is also a magnificent physical specimen, as you can clearly see. An excellent choice for dual cultivation! And don¡¯t worry about any control issues, ladies: we¡¯ve imprinted a custom, double-strength slave seal to ensure nothing untoward happens. Bidding starts at one million ren!¡± ¡°One point two million!¡± ¡°One point four!¡± Dan caught a glimpse of the woman who said that, a large woman with too many chins to count. She grinned lecherously when their eyes met. He didn¡¯t know if it was the physical pain or the harsh lights or the prospect of having to screw that pig for the rest of his life that did it. He broke. Tears burst from his eyes. He collapsed, chest heaving. What was he doing here, in this weird world, in front of these insane people? He had no one here. He should¡¯ve never made his wish. What did he expect after screwing around for months? To breeze through the rest of his life, one-shotting everyone? His body was extremely talented, but his soul and mind were his limiters. From day one, he¡¯d staunchly refused anything that threatened his debauchery and procrastination. No martial arts training. No cultivation. Too hard. He didn¡¯t take seriously the amount of pain and effort it would take until he began doing it. He¡¯d much rather screw around. Exactly like his previous life. Atalhu¡¯s comments were so clear. His prediction that Dan would survive a mere one year seemed generous now. It was never the world at fault. With his personality flaws, no matter what world or what body or what circumstances, he¡¯d be fucked. Too bad it took fucking up two lives to realize that. A cacophony of voices burst into the air. ¡°Two point five million!¡± ¡°Two point eight!¡± ¡°Three million!¡± His tears seemed to only fuel the bidding. ¡°Ten million,¡± a voice cut through. Silence. He looked up. An extraordinarily beautiful young lady in a dark dress smiled at him, amused. ¡°No other bets? Leonidas Mayhew goes to Bidder 16!¡± The mana taser struck up upside the head without warning. He fainted instantly. *** ¡°Wake.¡± His eyelids fluttered open and he bolted upright. The first thing he noticed was that the headache that had been hounding him had completely disappeared, and so had the restriction on his mana. He sat in a small cot in a little wooden hut, crisp morning air stinging his nose. It smelled of pine and oak and mountain forests. The girl who¡¯d won sat on the only other furniture in the room, a rickety wooden table with a metal ladle and bowl. ¡°Good morning! Would you like some soup?¡± ¡°Er¡­ sure,¡± he said slowly. As she ladled broth into a bowl, he studied her face. She really was quite beautiful, with thin dark lashes, large, jewel-like eyes, and rose-red, soft lips. Perhaps this wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all. ¡°I¡¯m not going to have sex with you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about,¡± she laughed. He stared. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Tell me your name.¡± ¡°Um. Leo- Leonidas.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t believe that, do you?¡± For the umpteenth time since his arrival to this world, he didn¡¯t know what to say. So he didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°You are not Leo. Leo is dead. Your name is Dan, Daniel Walker, and you come from Earth.¡± He perked up. ¡°What the--¡± ¡°Atalhu can be a jerk, can¡¯t he? Throwing someone like you into the cutthroat world of cultivation. It¡¯s practically setting you up for failure.¡± she smiled. ¡°I am the minor deity Reiyna. You can call me Rey. I¡¯m here to help.¡±