"My lord... ah, yes... right there... harder, please, my lord!" A golden-haired girl cried out with pleasure in her voice.
"Is this what you imagined, little Baroness?" Renard's voice was a low, rough growl, strained with exertion. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her soft skin, holding her in place as he drove into her from behind. "When you looked at me across the banquet hall? Did you picture yourself like this, spread open for a Vyre?"
Her answer was a broken moan, her head falling forward, her hair spilling over her face.
"Look at you," he panted, leaning over her, his chest against her back. His gray eyes watched her face in the mirror positioned across the room. "So desperate for it. Your father would be so proud to see what his daughter has become. Whoring herself out for a taste of power."
The words were cruel, but they only made her shudder and push back against him, seeking more. He smirked and sped up, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin filling the chamber. This is what he was born for. This dominance. This conquest. To take, to possess, to break.
Then, it started.
A spike of pain, sharp and sudden, lanced through his skull. His rhythm faltered. A thrust that should have been powerful landed weakly.
"My lord?" Evelyne's voice was a breathy, questioning whine, lost in her own pleasure. She pushed back against him, trying to reclaim the intensity he'd just lost. "Don't stop... please..."
Renard gritted his teeth, trying to push past it. It was just a headache. A flicker of strain. He focused on the feel of her, the tight body of her, the sight of her submission. But the pain didn't subside. It bloomed, a sickening, painful flower of agony. The room began to tilt, and his vision started to blur.
My head, what is this?
Another wave of pain, far worse than the first, crashed over him. His vision swam, the light of the lamps smearing across his sight. The hands gripping Evelyne's hips lost their strength. His thrusts became erratic, clumsy.
"My lord? Are you alright?" Her voice was sharper now with genuine concern and a growing thread of fear. The pleasure was gone, replaced by the unnerving stillness of the man inside her.
Renard couldn't answer.
"Ren-"
His name on her lips was cut short by a strangled cry as his entire body went rigid. His hands slipped from her hips, and he collapsed, the full, dead weight of him pinning her to the mattress. His face was buried in her hair, his body still joined with hers, but he was gone.
Evelyne squirmed, trying to get out from under him. "My Lord? My Lord Renard!" Her voice rose to a panicked scream that echoed off the stone walls. "Help! Somebody, help!"
But inside, Renard heard nothing. There was only the pain, the screaming, violating pain, and a single, coherent thought that looped endlessly in the maelstrom.
What's happening to me? What is happening to me?
The question looped, a broken record in a dying mind.
Nearby guards heard Lady Evelyne call for help, so they started pounding on the door. "My Lord! Open up!" a muffled voice boomed.
Evelyne's own screams had subsided into choked sobs. She was trapped. The weight of him, moments ago a source of pleasure, was now a suffocating tomb. Her struggles were useless; she could barely twitch a finger, let alone push him off.
"My Lord! Answer us, or we're breaking down the door!" The guards lost their patience and decided to break down the door.
Two of Renard's personal guards, men clad in the black armor of House Vyre, stormed in with their swords drawn. Their faces, usually stern and impassive, were masks of shock and horror at the scene before them.
They saw the Marquis's heir, naked and still, atop the trembling Baron's daughter. They saw the tangled sheets, the disarray, the sheer inappropriateness of it all.
"By the ancestors... Get him off her!" the captain of the guard, a grizzled veteran named Roric, barked.
The second guard, a younger man named Fenris, sheathed his sword with a sharp click and rushed to the bed. He grabbed Renard's shoulders, straining, his muscles cording with effort. "He's... he's dead weight, Captain. Like a fucking boulder."
"Together!" Roric commanded, holstering his own weapon and joining Fenris. With a concerted grunt, they managed to heave the taller, broader Renard off Evelyne and onto his back on the mattress.
The young woman scrambled away, dragging a sheet around herself. She huddled in a corner of the room, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on Renard's motionless form.
Roric was already at Renard's side, his fingers pressing against the nobleman's neck. "He's alive. Strong pulse. Breathing is shallow."
"What's wrong with him?" Evelyne's whisper was a fragile thing.
Roric didn't answer her. He turned to Fenris. "Inform the Marquis of the situation. And don't tell anyone else. No one must know the heir was with a lowly noblewoman."
The younger guard nodded, his face pale. "Yes, Captain." He paused, his gaze lingering on Evelyne for a moment. "What about... her?"
Roric's gaze swept over her, assessing. "Get her dressed and then take her to one of the private chambers. If anyone asks, the Lady Evelyne felt unwell and retired early. Understood?"
Evelyne flinched at the casual dismissal, at the way they spoke about her as if she were an inconvenient object. But she was too terrified to argue. She just nodded, clutching the sheet tighter.
As Fenris rushed out to carry out his orders, Roric gently slapped Renard's cheek. "My Lord Renard? Can you hear me? My Lord?" There was no response.
The heir of House Vyre lay utterly still, like a dead man. But inside his mind, a different kind of struggle was unfolding.
He floated in the darkness like a small ball of white mist. The only thing he was thinking was, "Where was he? The last thing he remembered... what was it?"
Suddenly, a blue light seared through the darkness.
[Soul Displacement Confirmed]
[Host Body: Renard Vyre – Status: Unstable]
What… is this?
Why can't I remember anything?
A sudden, unbearable pain exploded inside his mind.
"AHHHHHHH—!"
[Previous Host Soul: Dissolved]
[New Host Integration in Progress… 12%]
[Integration 27%]
[Integration 69%]
The text burned brighter.
[Integration 100%]
[Soul Displacement Confirmed]
Roric was leaning closer when Renard's fingers twitched.
"My Lord...?"
Renard's eyes snapped open. He sucked in a sharp breath, as if he was drowning. He jerked upright. The movement was sudden enough that Roric took a step back.
"My Lord?" Roric repeated cautiously.
"Where... where am I?" The words were slurred, unfamiliar. "What happened? Am I... am I in the hospital?" Panic began to prickle at the edges of the confusion. He tried to get off the bed, but a strong, calloused hand pressed him back into the bed.
"Easy, my Lord. Take it easy," the guard said, his tone calm but firm.
"My Lord?" Renard echoed, breathing heavily. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the armored man before him. "Who the hell are you, old guy?"
Roric blinked, clearly taken aback.
"My lord… I am Roric, your personal guard. I was appointed by your father, the Marquis."
"My what?"
Renard froze.
A sudden thought flashed through his mind.
"Wait?! Where's my lottery ticket?!"
He immediately began patting his clothes and looking around the room in growing desperation.
Roric frowned, utterly baffled.
What in the ancestors' name is the young lord talking about?
"My lord," Roric said carefully, "I believe you struck your head. You are clearly confused. It would be best if you rested. I will summon the court healer at once."
Renard's head snapped toward him, anger flashing in his eyes.
"Don't mess with me, you old fart!" he snapped. "You're the one who stole my ticket and dragged me here! Didn't you?"
With a sudden burst of reckless fury, he lunged at Roric.
Roric sighed.
Then he raised his hand and struck Renard cleanly across the side of the neck.
Renard's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed instantly onto the bed.
Unconscious.
Roric rubbed his temple wearily.
"...The ancestors help me," he muttered.
The heir of House Vyre had always been arrogant, cruel, and sharp-tongued but never insane.
Lottery ticket? Hospital? What in the hells was he talking about?
Roric exhaled heavily and turned toward the door.
"Fenris!"
The younger guard appeared almost immediately, as if he had been waiting just outside.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Run to the court healer. Tell him the young lord has regained consciousness… but something is very wrong."
Fenris hesitated. "Wrong... how?"
Roric glanced back at the unconscious Renard. "He asked me where the hospital was."
Fenris blinked. "The what?"
Roric said grimly. "Just go and do as you've been told."
Fenris didn't ask further questions. He turned and hurried down the corridor.
Roric remained beside the bed, watching the young lord carefully.
Renard's breathing was steady now, but his face twisted occasionally as if fighting something in his dreams.
Inside Renard's mind, a war of memories raged.
One moment, he saw himself walking along a crowded city street. The sign of a convenience store hung above the sidewalk. In his hand was a crumpled lottery ticket, his hands trembling as he stared down at the numbers printed across it.
The winning numbers.
His heart had nearly burst from his chest when he saw them.
He remembered laughing in disbelief, checking the numbers again and again, afraid it might all vanish if he blinked.
He was so happy that he didn't even notice himself stepping into the middle of the road. When he finally looked up, he saw Truck-kun rushing toward him as if coming in for a hug. The next moment, everything went black.
In the darkness of his mind, glowing words reappeared.
[Host Integration Stabilizing]
[Memory Synchronization: 32%]
The white mist that was his consciousness trembled violently. More memories flooded in. Memories of banquets, duels, political games, countless nights of indulgence and pleasure surged forward like a relentless storm. They did not belong to him, yet they filled his mind as if he had lived them himself.
A reputation feared across the capital.
The infamous heir of House Vyre.
The mist shuddered.
"…Wait."
The thought formed slowly.
"…Did I just…"
Another line of blue text appeared.
[Identity Confirmed]
New Host: Otherworldly Soul
Body: Renard Vyre
Status: ACTIVE
The mist froze.
"…Did I just get isekai'd?"