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.

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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.