The "servants' quarters" are better than I expected—especially after my brief stay in the dungeon.
The small room at the end of the hall has a narrow but comfortable-looking bed, a wooden chest for belongings (not that I have any), a wash basin, and a small window that looks out over part of the gardens. Simple, but clean and private.
A skinny young servant named Tib brings me fresh clothes—simple brown pants, a white linen shirt, and leather boots that actually fit pretty well.
"You're lucky," Tib tells me as I get dressed. "Most new slaves sleep in the communal quarters. Private rooms are for higher-ranking servants only."
"So what did I do to deserve the VIP treatment?" I ask, pulling the shirt over my head.
Tib shrugs. "Lord Derek specified it. And when Madame Rosalind saw you..." He trails off, with a look that's part envy, part warning.
"Let's just say she usually takes a personal interest in the more... impressive male servants."
Great. I've somehow landed in a fantasy porno scenario.
"What exactly does Lord Derek do?" I ask, trying to get some useful information before the inevitable happens.
"Besides rescuing naked men from execution, I mean."
"Lord Derek is the king's spymaster," Tib whispers, looking over his shoulder like saying it too loudly might summon demons.
"He collects information, secrets, rare items. They say nothing happens in the kingdom that he doesn't know about eventually."
Well, that explains his interest in me. Random guy appears out of nowhere with strange knowledge—of course the guy in charge of intelligence would want to claim him.
Tib gives me a quick tour of the essential areas:
the kitchens (run by a terrifying woman named Cook who wields a ladle like a weapon), the dining hall (where servants eat in shifts), the laundry (where I'm explicitly told not to disturb the "laundry witches"), and the main halls I'll need to know to perform whatever duties are assigned to me.
The mansion is massive inside, with multiple wings and what seems like endless corridors.
Servants bustle everywhere, cleaning, carrying, and generally keeping the place running.
Unlike the dour guards, most of the household staff seem reasonably friendly, though they all eye me curiously as the newcomer.
"Lord Derek has requested your presence in his study after dinner," Tib tells me as we return to my room.
"Madame Rosalind will come for you before then to... prepare you."
The way he says "prepare" makes it sound ominous. Or promising. Possibly both.
I'm just getting used to my new quarters when a sharp knock comes at the door.
I open it to find one of the senior male servants, a stern-faced man named Gareth who'd been pointed out as Madame Rosalind's assistant.
"Lord Derek wishes to outline your duties," he says without preamble.
He leads me through the mansion to a wood-paneled study where Lord Derek sits behind a massive desk, reading from a stack of papers. He doesn't look up as we enter.
"The new slave, my lord," Gareth announces before backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Derek continues reading for a full minute, completely ignoring me.
Just as I'm considering saying something, he finally speaks without looking up.
"You will not speak of Earth or your origins to anyone in this household," he says, his voice cool and matter-of-fact.
"As far as anyone is concerned, you are a commoner who got himself into trouble and now works in my service."
I blink in surprise. "So you know about—"
"I know many things," he interrupts, finally looking up. His gray eyes are unreadable. "Including the fact that you are not from this world, nor are you in your original body."
Well, shit. That saves a lot of awkward explanation.
"How do you—"
"You are not the first," he says simply. "Though the others arrived through more... conventional means."
Others? There are others from Earth here?
"Your duties will be light, initially," he continues, returning to his papers.
"You will assist in the library, help the stable master, and perform whatever tasks Madame Rosalind assigns to you.
In return for your service, I will investigate how you came to be here and whether a return is possible."
That's surprisingly reasonable for a guy who just claimed me as a slave.
"Thank you," I say, genuinely meaning it. "But if you know I'm not from here, why did you claim me as a slave instead of just, I don't know, inviting me to stay as a guest?"
Derek looks up again, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Because a man appearing naked in a noblewoman's chambers doesn't get invited anywhere as a guest.
He gets executed. Be grateful for your current status—it keeps you alive and under my protection."
He has a point.
"You're dismissed," he says, returning to his work.
"Madame Rosalind will oversee your integration into the household. I suggest you cooperate fully with her methods, unusual though they may seem."
As I'm escorted back to my room, I wonder exactly what "methods" he's referring to. Something tells me I'm about to find out.
After a simple dinner in the servants' hall (where I'm the object of undisguised curiosity), I return to my room, exhausted from the day's events.
The reality of my situation is finally sinking in. I'm in a medieval fantasy world, in someone else's body, serving as a "slave" to a mysterious spymaster who apparently collects people from Earth.
I strip off my shirt and examine my new body more carefully in the small mirror hanging on the wall.
Definitely an upgrade from my original model—broad shoulders, defined muscles, not an ounce of the flab I'd been carrying around before. I flex experimentally, then feel ridiculous and stop.
The face looking back at me is handsome in a classical way—strong jaw, straight nose, intense blue eyes.
I wonder who this body belonged to originally and what happened to the poor bastard's consciousness when I took over. Is he floating around in my body back on Earth, just as confused as I am?
I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of it all.
One moment I was on my couch scrolling through my phone, the next I was standing naked in Lady Vivienne's bathroom. No warning, no magical portal, no summoning ritual. Just... poof.
And yet Lord Derek doesn't seem surprised. "You're not the first," he said. How many others have come through? And what did he mean by "more conventional means"?
At least I've landed in comfortable circumstances, all things considered. Lord Derek seems reasonable, if cold.
The servants' quarters are clean. The food is decent. And then there's Madame Rosalind...
Just thinking about her makes my body react. That body is a miracle of nature—curves that defy physics, an ass that deserves its own religion, and breasts that could smother a man to death in the most pleasant way possible.
The way she looked at me, touched me... there's no mistaking her intentions.
"If she could just sit her ass on my face," I murmur, remembering my earlier comment that earned me a cuff from the guard. In this world, that fantasy seems entirely possible, maybe even imminent.
As I stretch out on the bed, I feel strangely energetic despite the chaos of the day. This body seems to recover quickly—another upgrade from my original model, which needed a nap after climbing stairs.
I close my eyes, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Just as I'm drifting off to sleep, something unexpected happens.
A translucent blue window suddenly appears in my field of vision:
[STATUS]
Name: Daren
Level: 1
Class: Transmigrated Soul
[ABILITIES]
Enhanced Physique (Active): Your physical body exceeds normal human limits.
Natural Charm (Locked): ???
Pleasure Touch (Locked): ???
[QUESTS]
Survive as Lord Derek's slave
Discover your purpose in this world
The window hangs in the air for a few seconds, then fades away as quickly as it appeared. I sit bolt upright, rubbing my eyes and looking around the room. Nothing else has changed.
"What the actual fuck was that?" I whisper to the empty room. "Am I in some kind of RPG?"
I try to call the window back, concentrating on wanting to see it again. After a moment of focus, it reappears, floating before me like a holographic display only I can see.
"This is insane," I mutter, reaching out to touch it. My hand passes through it like it's made of light—which it probably is. "I've been isekai'd with a status window? Seriously?"
The status is simple enough. I'm level 1 with something called "Enhanced Physique" as my only active ability.
The other abilities are locked, with no indication of how to unlock them. And I apparently have two very vague "quests" to complete.
No health bar, no mana, no stats like strength or dexterity.
Just a basic status window that confirms what I'd already figured out—I'm in a different body with enhanced physical capabilities.
I wave the window away, watching it dissolve into blue particles.
This adds a whole new dimension to my situation. If I have a status window and abilities, does that mean I can level up? Gain new powers? Is this why Lord Derek is interested in me?
I lay back down, my mind racing. Between being transported to a fantasy world, nearly executed, becoming the slave of a royal spymaster, meeting the most voluptuous woman I've ever seen, and now discovering I have some kind of RPG interface, it's been quite a day.
Whatever's happening, I have a feeling things are about to get a lot more interesting. As I finally fall asleep, my last conscious thought is of Madame Rosalind and what her "orientation" might entail.
I don't have to wonder long. The next morning, I'm awakened by a sharp knock at my door.
Before I can even respond, it swings open to reveal Madame Rosalind herself, looking even more magnificent in the morning light. Her dress today is a deep emerald that makes her hair seem even more fiery, and her corset seems designed to test the limits of both fabric and flesh.
"Good morning," she purrs, her eyes taking in my bare chest with obvious appreciation. "I hope you slept well. It's time for your proper inspection, new slave."
She closes the door behind her and approaches the bed with predatory grace. Her hand trails slowly down my chest, sending electricity through my every nerve ending.
"Lord Derek has given me full authority over your... orientation," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And I believe in being very thorough."
As her hand slides lower, my status window briefly flashes in my vision:
Whatever this world has in store for me, it's definitely starting with a bang.