The first thing that clued him in to the fact that he was no longer a severely overworked project manager was the smell. It didn't smell like cheap office coffee or stale air conditioning. It smelled like burnt sulfur, melted silver, and incredibly expensive cologne.
With a groan, Mikey cracked his eyes open, only to immediately shut them against the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier. He was lying flat on his back on a plush, velvet rug that was currently smoldering.
Directly above him, etched into the high ceiling of what looked like a Victorian-era master bedroom, was a charred, violent-looking intricate circle.
A mechanical voice chimed directly inside his skull and a full window box appeared before him.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Soul transfer complete.
Welcome to the world of 'The Crimson Crown', User. You have successfully transmigrated into the body of: Lucianne von Goetia. Congratulations!
Current user status: Stunned.
Mikey froze. Did I just?.. Reincarnated? Mikey Allister, a project manager and an only son of a disfuntional family did a quick recapped of his last memory. It was about a deadline closing in, rents due for the last 2 months, his alcoholic debt-ridden father banging on his front door for money. The loudly couple beside his apartment banging till 3am in the morning and the countless night that reminded him of his lonely broke self.
Confusion found him, then morphing into understanding and settled to acceptance. He absorb it, let it evaporate and start back to square one.
With a sigh, he return his attention back to the floating window box above him. Lucianne von Goetia? His tired, overexposed brain to manwha and manga furiously flipped through the mental files of the trashy, high-fantasy web novel he had read during his late-night commutes.
Lucianne von goetia was a textbook minor villain. A vain, insecure, magically incompetent second son of a count who spent the first half of the book harassing the protagonist—Theodore Sully, the hardworking 3rd son of a small Baronry in the country side—just to prove his superior noble blood.
Eventually, Lucianne's attempt of killing Theodore caught the attention of Duke Solomon aldric Ivanov, the Empire's terrifyingly cold Commander. The man who already seen the value of Theodore's abilities, swiftly and ruthlessly stripped of his Goetia family title, leaving Lucianne to die a miserable, penniless death in the northern trenches in the attempt to restore his Goetia family name.
Great, Mikey thought, pushing himself up onto his elbows. I'm a stepping stone for the protagonists climb to the top. I need to pack my bags, fake my death, and move overseas immediately.
He stood up, brushing ash off his ridiculously ruffled sleeves, and decided to check his magical condition. According to the novel, the original Lucianne had failed a forbidden ritual to forcefully widen his pitifully narrow mana circuits. The ritual was a total failure, leading to a massive mana collapse but not lethal.
So what the heck happened here? Why am I inside lucianne's body right now?
Setting those thought aside, Mikey closed his eyes and looked inward, as the novel goes concentrating within oneself is how mages gauge their own mane core. So Mikey did as the novel written it, he was expecting to find a shattered, empty puddle of magic.
But instead, he found an ocean.
An endless, roaring, blindingly bright galaxy of pure, unadulterated magical power was crammed inside his chest. It was so dense that just looking at it gave him a psychic headache.
[SYSTEM ERROR]
Soul-fusion anomaly detected.
The original host's broken magic circuits malfunction during soul integration and had encountered a system bug. Current Mana Output Capacity: 999,999. 9% above normal parameters.
Current Rank: Grand Archmage (Tier 12).
Warning: If the World Narrative detects a character breaking the power balance, core correction protocols will be initialized. Counter parameters will be implemented to balance the world.
Mikey's jaw dropped. Grand Archmage?!
The entire Empire has two Archmages, and both of them were ancient, bearded recluses living on top of holy mountains. Mikey was supposed to be a Tier 1 loser who couldn't even light a candle without a match.
But Grand archmage was three steps higher than the empires top two magical users.
"Okay, don't panic," Mikey muttered to himself, his voice shaking. Restraint. That was the absolute new rule he will have to enforced with himself.
Its no biggie at all. He can do it. If he can resist buying premium gacha roll worth of at least 300 dollars every paycheck, surely he can control mana overuse.
"I'll just use the tiniest mana able to me. That should work, right. I can still fake it. I'll just cast a simple, tiny spell to test the waters. A basic Tier 1 Spark." He pointed a finger at a nearby, unlit candle.
He concentrated, trying to squeeze out the absolute smallest drop of mana he could find. He thought of a tiny, harmless ladybug-sized ember. "Spark"
Snap.
A pillar of blinding, white-hot plasma erupted from his fingertip.
It didn't just light the candle; it instantly vaporized the candle, the silver candlestick holder, the mahogany side table, and punched a perfectly round, smoking hole clean through the reinforced stone wall of his estate, revealing the sunny gardens outside.
A gentle breeze blew through the newly created tunnel. Mikey stared at the hole, his finger still raised.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Spell 'Spark' cast successfully. Output adjusted by glitched core. Damage type: Incandescent oblideration.
"I am a walking fucking nuke," Mikey stared agaped, and whispered with horror washing over him.
If anyone found out about this, he can kiss his chances for a quiet peaceful life goodbye. The Emperor would draft him into the vanguard to fight the demon kingdom.
The Magic Tower would kidnap him for human experimentation. And worst of all, Duke Solomon aldric Ivanov—who was known for scouting the capital for potential threats and talented individual—would put Lucianne at the very top of his watch list.
Mikey rushed to a full-length gilded mirror in the corner of the room.
The face reflecting back was undeniably beautiful, but incredibly pale, with sharp features and silk-like silver hair. Perfect. He looked naturally sickly.
"If the world expects Lucianne von Goetia to be a weak, pathetic loser... then I will be the most pathetic loser this kingdom has ever seen," he resolved fiercely.
He grabbed a sheer, lightweight silk shawl from his wardrobe and draped it dramatically over his shoulders. He deliberately messed up his hair, rubbed a bit of residual ash under his eyes to look like dark, exhausted circles, and practice-coughed into a lace handkerchief.
"Alas," Lucianne(Mikey) rehearsed in the mirror, pitching his voice to a delicate, trembling whisper. "The failed ritual has completely shattered my frail body. I am but a breathless ghost walking the earth. Please, do not ask me to cast magic, for a single breeze might blow my soul away."
He nodded in satisfaction. It was theatrical, it was embarrassing, and it was entirely cringe worthy. It was perfect.
It would keep Theodore Sully away from him, and more importantly, it would ensure Duke Solomon wouldn't look at him twice. Right on cue, a panicked knocking rattled his bedroom door.
"Young Master!" a hurried frantic voice, shouted from the hallway. "We heard an explosion! Are you alright?!"
Lucianne quickly collapsed onto his plush chaise lounge, draping an arm elegantly over his forehead, and let out a soft, miserable sigh.
"Enter," Lucianne wheezed. "But softly... my ears can no longer bear the weight of loud sounds..." The curtain was going up on his new life, and Lucianne was determined to win an Oscar for Best Dying Extra.
The heavy oak doors to Lucianne's bedchambers burst open with a resounding bang.
"Young Master Lucianne!"
The Head Butler Harrison scrambled into the room, flanked by five heavily armed estate guards and two pale-faced maids clutching brooms like makeshift weapons.
They were entirely prepared to fight off an assassin, a rogue magical beast, or even a rival noble's strike team.
Instead, they froze, taking in the sheer absurdity of the scene.
A perfectly cylindrical, smoking tunnel was drilled clean through the reinforced, three-foot-thick stone wall of the manor, framing a lovely view of the morning sky.
The exquisite mahogany side table was gone, reduced to a fine layer of gray ash. And in the center of this destruction lay Lucianne, draped elegantly across his velvet chaise lounge, wrapped in a pale silk shawl, looking like a discarded mannequin.
"Harrison..." Lucianne wheezed, weakly lifting a single, trembling hand to his forehead. "Close the door... the drafts in this house... are too aggressive..."
"Young Master!" Harrison dropped his dignified butler persona entirely, rushing to the side of the chaise lounge.
"What happened? A magical explosion—the wall! Were you attacked?!"
"No," Lucianne sighed, letting his hand drop onto his chest with a soft, theatrical thud. He forced his eyes to dull, projecting the ultimate aura of a defeated man.
"The forbidden ritual... it was a catastrophic failure. The mana backfired entirely. It exploded outwards, destroying the wall... and taking my entire magic core with it."
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Deception Skill: Active.
Acting Quality: Highly Oscar-worthy. The butler looks like he's about to cry. Keep it up.
"Your core?!" Harrison gasped, his face draining of color. In this world, a shattered magic core meant permanent disability. "Dear heavens..."
Before Harrison could spiral into total panic, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Two men strode through the oak doorway, and Lucianne's internal database immediately supplied their profiles.
The first to enter was Lukarys von Goetia, Lucianne's older brother and the heir to the County. Lukarys was tall, handsome, and possessed a naturally warm disposition.
Despite the original Lucianne being an arrogant, envious brat who constantly threw tantrums over Lukarys's superior talents, Lukarys had always remained a fiercely patience and protective older brother.
And behind him came the storm clouds. Count Aurelius von Goetia.
The patriarch of the family was a stern, rigid man with severe features and eyes like chipped flint. The relationship between Lucianne and his father had always been icy. Aurelius expected absolute perfection from his bloodline. He tolerated Lukarys because he was a model heir, but have only cold disdain for the original Lucianne's mediocre magic and desperate, loud attempts to gain attention.
Ever since their mother had passed away five years ago from a sudden, incurable illness, the Count's demeanor had shifted from strictly demanding to completely frozen. He had buried his grief in imperial politics, leaving his sons to navigate his impossible standards alone.
"Lucianne!" Lukarys rushed forward, completely ignoring the giant hole in the wall to kneel beside his brother's lounge.
He grabbed Lucianne's hands, his expression frantic with worry. "Are you alright? We heard the blast from the training grounds! Are you hurt? Speak to me!"
"Brother..." Lucianne muttered, offering Lukarys a faint, fragile smile. "I failed. The forbidden ritual to widen my mana. I live. But Barely. Do not grip my hands so tightly... I feel as though my bones have turned to glass."
Lukarys immediately loosened his grip, his eyes welling with genuine distress. "What were you thinking, performing a high-tier ritual alone? You could have killed yourself"
"He was thinking what he always thinks," a cold, cutting voice boomed from the doorway.
Count Aurelius stood by the vaporized wall, inspecting the smooth, melted edges of the stone with a dark frown. The damage inflicted was clean. Too precise. He gave Lucianne a sharp, questioning look before turning to something else.
He didn't look at Lucianne with worry; he looked at him with profound, exhausting disappointment.
"Foolishness," the Count sneered, stepping into the room. "You grew desperate because your peers at the academy outshone you, so you resorted to forbidden arts to inflate your pitiful mana. Look at this room. You have disgraced the Goetia name with your reckless vanity."
The original Lucianne would have screamed back. He would have smashed a vase, thrown a tantrum, and would have demanded his father's respect.
The new lucianne, however, saw this as absolute absolute jackpot. If his father thought he was a talentless, ruined failure, the Count would completely strip him of his social obligations, stop forcing him to attend imperial galas, and leave him to rot in a peaceful, quiet corner of the estate.
Lucianne let out a hollow, bitter laugh, closing his eyes dramatically.
"You are right, Father," Lucianne whispered, his voice dripping with tragic acceptance. "I was vain. I was foolish. And I have paid the ultimate price."
The room went dead silent. Julian blinked in shock. Even Count Aurelius stiffened, clearly expecting a explosive argument, not total submission.
"What do you mean?" Aurelius demanded, his brow furrowing.
"My magic core... it's gone," Lucianne lied smoothly, resting a weak hand over his chest where a galaxy of mana was currently throwing waves of magic.
"The backlash completely burned through my circuits. I can no longer feel a single drop of mana. I am... a crippled. I have become... magically impotent."
Julian gasped, covering his mouth. Looking over at his younger brother in quiet mourning. "No... Lucianne, that can't be..."
"It is," Lucianne sighed, adjusting his silk shawl with a weary groan.
"I have no strength left to fight with the lower nobility, nor do I have the magic to stand proudly as your son. I am a broken man. I wish only to retire to the quietest, most isolated villa on the estate and live out my remaining, miserable days in absolute seclusion."
Count Aurelius stared at his second son for a long, agonizing moment. His eyes flickered with a complex array of emotions—anger, disbelief, and a brief, deeply buried shadow of grief that looked remarkably like the day his wife had died five years ago.
"A cripple," Aurelius repeated slowly, his voice dropping to a low, heavy register. "A Goetia son without a single drop of magic. Do you have any idea what the Imperial Court will say?"
"Let them say what they wish," Lucianne wheezed, coughing delicately into his lace handkerchief. "I no longer have the energy to care about high society. I am too frail to even hold a sword, let alone a wand."
"Father, please," Lukarys pleaded, standing up to shield lucianne. "He is in shock. His health is ruined. We must call a high priests, look for a cure—"
"There is no cure for a shattered core, Lukarys," the Count interrupted coldly. He turned his back on them, looking out through the hole in the wall.
"If he wishes to hide in disgrace, let him. Effective today, Lucianne's allowance is cut by half, his attendance at the royal Imperial Academy is canceled, and he is confined to the estate until further notice. I will not have a powerless invalid embarrassing this family in front of the Emperor."
With those harsh words, the Count swept out of the room, his cape billowing behind him. Harrison, the guards and the maids parted like the red sea as the count exited.
Lukarys turned back to Lucianne, his face filled with profound pity and affection. "Don't listen to him, Lucianne. I will find a way to help you. I will protect you."
"Thank you, brother," Lucianne said, squeezing Lukarys's hand with the exact amount of frail pressure from a dying man would use.
But internally? Lucianne was absolutely ecstatic.
No School? Sweet! Allowance cut? Fine! Confined to the estate? It was a dream come true. He didn't have to see the protagonist, he didn't have to deal with the terrifying Duke, and he could spend his days reading books and eating pastries.
His plan for absolute survival was going perfectly. He just had to make sure nobody ever discovered that his "shattered core" could accidentally level a mountain range.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Plot Divergence Detected!
By claiming complete invalidity, you have successfully avoided three future duel events with the Protagonist, Theodore Sully.
Narrative deviation: Increased to 25%.
Warning! Further plot divergence will result to narrative incohesion. Corrective parameters will be implemented.