WeTried Translations

Translator: Joy

Editor & TLC: ZEROSUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Damned Transmigration

Chapter 4

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Yuri (3)

Lee Su-hyeok knew no one else was coming.

It was simple, really. The record he’d set in the Hall of Honour as ‘UrMumSpammer’ was insurmountable.

He'd intentionally held back from claiming the number one spot, even though he could have done it ages ago.

There was no noble reason for the wait. He just wanted total domination, a victory so absolute it would make the second-place score look like a complete joke.

He had a singular, glorious dream. To one day log on and post something like this:

xx_NoobSlayer_xx: So I finally conquered the global leaderboard on this absolute dumpster fire of a game. Thoughts? Prayers?

He was so committed to this bit that he slammed his head against the game’s brick wall multiple times a day, every single day.

He had zero interest in pathetically inching his way up the leaderboard. If a run wasn’t looking like it would absolutely shatter the heavens, he’d just drive his character off a cliff and hit the reset button.

The other four people Su-hyeok interacted with were also perverts who had rage-quit perfectly good number-one records.

A brief taste of the number one spot meant nothing to them. They were all playing to establish a legacy.

That was why, when the top rankers vanished one by one, no one shed a tear or went searching for them. Finally planting your flag on that peak you’d been holding back from was a statement of supreme confidence.

They all knew that begging for another player's secrets would be utterly humiliating. It was only right for the person who took number one to disappear. It was an unwritten rule. The task of beating that record then fell to those who remained.

If the one who had left felt any lingering attachment to their record after it was broken, they were always free to return and reclaim their throne.

But no one ever came back. Not Cat Panties, not FootballGOD, not FUCKINGSEXY, and not USAUSAMI₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎. None of them ever returned to smash their heads against the Hall of Honour again.

And really, why would they?

He figured they had finally found peace. After all, what regret or lingering feeling could possibly be strong enough to drag them back into that special kind of hell?

‘Turns out, they couldn't come back because they were transmigrated.’

He never could have imagined such a truth existed.

“Ah, really! Su-hyeok-nim, do you have any idea how long I, Lorelia, have waited for you??! “When would he finally arrive? Surely he'll come this time? He's already broken the number one record, so why does he keep killing himself?””

It seemed that Su-hyeok’s bizarre habit of committing suicide right before taking the top spot and starting all over again was a known fact even among the priestesses of the Goddess of Order who observed the game.

“And then, at last, today arrived! Su-hyeok-nim’s UrMumSpammer achieved first place with an overwhelming record! You did it!! Congratulations! You may not know this, Su-hyeok-nim, but I, Lorelia, was so deeply moved to be able to meet you like this! To think that I would become the priestess in charge of you… I am truly delighted and honoured!”

Su-hyeok never thought he’d be congratulated for getting transmigrated, and that was his first meeting with Lorelia, who was making a fuss.

After that, he learnt that her actual role wasn't guiding transmigrators, but handling violence.

He had thought he was truly screwed, but now that he was actually in this world, he started to think that having Lorelia as his designated priestess might have been a stroke of luck.

He had only managed to survive the situation where ‘Yuri’ almost died a second time thanks to the training he received from her.

“Su-hyeok-nim, you must know a transmigrator has many enemies! While the best form of self-defence is to avoid meeting adversaries in the first place, unexpected encounters can happen no matter how much you prepare and try to avoid them!”

“This is what I, Lorelia, believe! The most perfect art of self-defence is to possess the strength to not die in any situation! To personally teach an adversary who comes to kill you why a mortal can only ever be a mortal! To trample upon your potential adversaries in advance! That, and that alone, is the most perfect art of self-defence!”

They were violent words no one would believe came from a member of the clergy.

“In our world, where order has collapsed, the law does not fully protect the weak. It is no exaggeration to say that there are no laws to protect transmigrators at all! That is why you must build your strength!”

“Violence is an excellent means of negotiation and dialogue that works in most situations! Trivial violence is not worth discussing, but sufficient violence, in certain situations, holds more value than a mountain of gold!”

It was a eulogy to violence. She believed that power wasn't found in laws or arguments, but in the swing of a sword and the impact of a fist.

To the Lee Su-hyeok from 2023, these words were barbaric, something he couldn't possibly sympathise with.

But that was before he was thoroughly beaten by Lorelia, left tasting the dust on the floor time and again.

It was before he felt the slick wetness of his own knife slicing through Oh Bong-seok's ankle, before he dodged Oh Bong-chun's attack and felt the man's neck snap in his hands.

Now... now he knew Lorelia was right.

‘Power.’

Yuri forced his aching body to sit up.

‘If I have the power to not die, it doesn't matter if they find out I'm a transmigrator.’

He reasoned that even for the locals, this world was lethal. With real power, he wouldn't share the fate of the boy named Yuri.

He pressed a hand to the bandage on his still-bleeding wound and stood before the mirror.

The unfamiliar face of Yuri stared back. It was framed by messy, curly black hair, but the face itself was, he had to admit, a significant upgrade from his own.

“A genetic jackpot, huh?” he mumbled, tracing his sharp nose.

The clothes, stiff with drying blood, came off like bark. Underneath, the body was hard and lean, a far cry from the soft, unremarkable form he’d once inhabited.

That wasn’t just good genes, but he found another excuse.

“No delivery apps in this world,” he decided, nodding sagely. It was the only logical explanation.

His self-congratulatory tour came to a screeching halt when his gaze fell on the less-than-premium features.

The body was littered with... well, jagged, ugly scars from knives were everywhere. On his chest was even a nasty-looking circular burn.

These, apparently, were the trophies you collected for graduating from an orphanage at seventeen and taking a dead-end job with the Black Snake Gang.

‘Still, it’s a relief there are no tattoos besides the scars.’

He craned his neck, trying to get a good look at his back. It too was covered in various scars, but there were no tattoos.

"Alright, moment of truth," he whispered, before cautiously lowering his waistband an inch.

He peered down.

‘Thank god.’

He let out a sigh he didn't realise he'd been holding. No unfortunate surprises lurking below deck.

A body covered in battle damage was one thing, but a tramp stamp would have been a deal-breaker.

Satisfied enough with the inspection of his new body, he moved on to snooping in his own room.

He started with the desk drawer, where he found a few daggers and a stack of books.

A sudden, cold thought struck him.

The memories he’d inherited allowed him to speak the language just fine, but could he actually read it?

For a tense moment, he worried. He grabbed one of the books and relief washed over him; he could read the titles perfectly.

<Basic Introduction to Mana>

<Anyone Can Become a Mage>

<Three Calamities Sword Style>

<Wind Origin Heart Technique>

They were old books, yellowed with age, clearly second-hand copies that Yuri had bought from Oldor's largest bookshop.

He flipped through a few pages, scanning the notes the original Yuri had scribbled in the margins.

“...”

The scam was immediately obvious. If even the original Yuri had been too desperate to see it, the current Yuri could spot it from a mile out.

These books were complete garbage.

The mana introduction and the martial arts manuals were filled with vague, abstract philosophy, offering no real instruction or practical guidance.

He considered, for a moment, that perhaps this was just how such manuals were written in this world, and that his own understanding was what was lacking. But then, Lorelia’s blunt assessment echoed in his mind.

‘The body of Yuri, which you will be transmigrating into, Su-hyeok-nim, is the epitome of incompetence, having not a speck of mana even at his age.’

‘...I, Lorelia, will personally channel Qi into the insignificant, worm-like Yuri. Be grateful, for it is forbidden...’

According to her, Yuri’s body didn’t possess a single ounce of mana. So, even if the books weren't complete scams, they had been entirely useless to him. The original Yuri had gained nothing at all.

<Anyone Can Become a Mage>

This book argued that talent didn't matter, that age was no barrier, and that anyone could achieve their dreams. He could almost hear the pandering tone as he read:

[So you haven't become a mage?

It's not because you didn't try hard enough. It's not because you lack will or talent. No, you are like a cicada, biding its time in the earth.

You are a seed, waiting for the right moment to grow into a mighty tree. Your time to blossom just hasn't come yet!

Your efforts will be rewarded someday. So be patient and dream of that bright future!]

“What the hell is this? A self-help book?”

Yuri let out a hollow laugh, tossing the otherworldly affirmation manual onto the dusty floor.

So that was it.

The twenty-year-old Yuri, an orphan who scraped by as a pickpocket before becoming the youngest member of a pathetic gang, had desperately wanted to be a mage or a martial artist.

He'd collected these cheap, likely fake manuals and poured his efforts into them. And when that failed, he read that awful book for a sliver of comfort.

The memories swirled within him, but they felt like facts, not experiences. The current Yuri was a different person, so the original boy's emotions didn't come along for the ride.

And yet, one feeling did manage to cut through the detachment. A profound bitterness settled over him as he sank to the dirty floor.

He sat cross-legged, assuming the posture Lorelia taught him.

The old Yuri had been powerless, chasing a dream with fake manuals and zero talent. But that was no longer his reality.

But he wasn't the original Yuri. He was a transmigrator, and that meant he'd been given a cheat code from the start: a massive, passive affinity for mana.

All it needed was to be activated, and it was Lorelia who had risked everything to do just that.

Empowering a transmigrator was a forbidden act, a violation of the highest order since no one could predict if they would become a saviour or a monster.

Yet she had guided him, teaching him to sense the 'Qi' and 'internal energy' within.

He knew the terms were interchangeable. Whether it was called mana for a spell or Qi for a strike, it was all the same energy. And now, thanks to her, it was his to command.

“Hooooo...”

It all came down to concentration, to awareness.

This wasn't simple breathing; he wasn't just taking in air. He was consciously pulling the very mana, the Qi, that was dissolved within it into his lungs.

For a transmigrator, that simple act of focused intent was all it took to begin to understand ‘Qi’.

“Keuk—!”

A sharp gasp caught in his throat, not from blood, but from the shock of the foreign energy entering him. It was a presence without taste or smell, yet it was undeniably there.

His mind and posture had to remain perfect. Lorelia’s warnings about the horrors of Qi deviation still rang in his ears.

Following her instructions to the letter, he took that first, real breath of Qi and began to guide it through the channels of his body.

The energy he drew from the world was raw and turbid, but as his heart technique engaged, it began a process of refinement.

With every exhale, the impurities were expelled, and a thin, pure stream of Qi was guided along its path, finally settling in his dantian.

Lorelia had told him the name of the technique: the Heavenly Art of Annihilating Evil.

“...”

When he opened his eyes, the light filtering through the window had changed completely. A significant amount of time had clearly passed.

Drenched in sweat, Yuri pushed himself up and walked to the window.

He forced open the grimy pane, and a cool breeze cut through the stuffy air, soothing his heated skin.

It was dawn.

“...Next time, I'll do this with the window open,” he muttered.

His gaze fell on the pathetic books he'd thrown on the bed, and he turned away with a dismissive glance. That's when he noticed a large chest of drawers in the corner.

An inexplicable, complicated feeling washed over him at the sight.

He hesitated for a moment before approaching.

The upper drawers held miscellaneous clothes and items. But in the bottom compartment...

“Sigh.”

There was a bundle of letters.

He felt his jaw tighten and he bit his lip, already knowing who they were from.

There was only one person the old Yuri ever wrote to.

His childhood friend, Elena.

-Elena Heinderga.

Unlike Yuri, who still had no surname, Elena had a proper one.

She had been a natural, a prodigy born with an innate talent for magic. She could handle mana instinctively by the age of ten, without any instruction whatsoever.

Seeing her potential, the director of the Oldor orphanage wrote to various mage towers in hopes of securing her a future.

His plea was answered by the master of the famed Dersia Mage Tower, renowned for their lightning magic, who took a personal interest and came to visit.

‘Heavenly Thunder, Orca Dersia.’

This was a tower master he’d killed countless times in the game, but unlike the Monstrous Tyrant of the Black Dragon Society, who was now dead and dismembered, Heavenly Thunder Orca was very much alive and still in charge of the tower.

That legendary mage had personally acknowledged Elena’s talent, and just like that, she was welcomed into the Dersia Mage Tower.

Ten years had passed since that day.

They had never met again in person, though they still exchanged letters. However, looking at the small stack, it was hardly what you’d call a decade's worth of correspondence.

He carefully sorted the small stack of letters by the dates written on the envelopes.

The timeline told a familiar, sad story.

In the early days, right after she left for the mage tower, the letters were frequent. But as the years passed, the gaps between the dates grew wider, letting the childhood friendship fade with distance.

Even if he couldn't access the original Yuri's feelings for Elena, as he was just a spectator with a copy of the memories, the memories were clear.

Yuri hadn't been an eager correspondent, rarely sending letters and often leaving hers sitting unread.

A part of him felt a pang of resistance, the guilt of a voyeur reading a dead boy’s mail. But his situation was too desperate for him to be bound by conscience.

And so, he opened the first letter.

It was from a ten-year-old girl, giddy with excitement about her new life.

Elena described her grand new home, the personal attention from the legendary mage, a world away from the Oldor orphanage they had shared.

He couldn't help but wonder what the original Yurimust have felt reading those words.

The next few letters continued the theme.

Elena was thriving.

She wrote of new friends, new spells, a beautiful room in a magnificent city, and the intoxicating feeling of being recognised for her talent.

It was a life beyond anything the orphans could have dreamed of.

Then, at age fourteen, the tone shifted dramatically.

Elena wrote that she had passed her trials at an unprecedented speed, becoming a formal mage and even being granted a private research lab.

The letters became shorter, the excited, emotional ramblings of a child replaced by the dry updates of a busy professional.

And at that same time, while she was reaching new heights of success, the Yuri of his memories was on the streets, committing his first petty theft.

The next letter was from when he was seventeen.

Hello, Yuri.

It feels like it’s been a while since I've written a proper letter. I’m sorry, my research has kept me so busy lately.

You must be seventeen now. If I remember correctly, that’s when you have to leave the orphanage, isn't it? Have you thought about what you'll do? I remember we used to talk about it all the time when we were little. We were so young then, with no idea what the world outside was really like. I said I wanted to eat sweets every day, and you said you wanted to be a legendary adventurer.

I don't know if you still hold onto that dream, but Yuri... the director is very worried about you. And I'm worried about how you might take this, but... I'm doing very well for myself.

Yuri, if you find you have nowhere to go after leaving, it's alright for you to come and find me.

The seventeen-year-old Yuri did not go to her.

He and Elena had not seen each other since they were ten. After leaving the orphanage, he chose to live on the backstreets as a pickpocket.

He vaguely recalled the gist of his reply. It was a short, defensive message, telling her he was fine and that she needn't worry. ‘Just focus on your own life’, he'd written. It was a clear dismissal of her pity.

He looked at the subsequent letters.

Formal greetings.

Dry emotions.

He unfolded the last letter. It was the longest one.

Hello Yuri,

I’ve thought a lot about the reply you sent. You told me I don’t need to send letters anymore, that you know I’m busy. And it’s true, I am. It's not just the research; the Tower Master has been encouraging me to get out more, saying a mage of Dersia shouldn’t be a complete shut-in.

So, I registered as an adventurer recently and did a few simple requests. I told him they were too easy, and he (you know how mischievous he can be) said that if I was bored, I should try something difficult. He arranged a 4th-grade request for me.

Oh, did I mention? I passed my grade evaluation and reached the 4th Circle. Still, isn't it a bit much to throw a 4th-grade request at someone who just got here? The rank might match, but I have no experience!

The letter continued, a cascade of success disguised as complaints.

And... um... I got a house recently. Everyone in our tower gets one as a gift when they reach the 4th Circle. I'm not sure if it's more convenient than living in the tower, though. It's nice having my own space, but they don't bring you meals every day here. I tried cooking for myself, and honestly, it was a disaster. I might be good at magic, but I definitely have no talent for cooking. Should I hire a housekeeper? That seems like such a fuss, and I don't really want someone else in my space.

Then, after the long list of her charmed-life problems, the tone shifted abruptly.

Anyway, that’s what's been going on with me. How about you? Are you really doing okay? You never say anything about yourself in your letters, Yuri. Gordon ahjussi and the director never mention you anymore, either. Are you... are you involved in something bad? You can't live like that forever.

I'll be waiting for your reply.

PS. I’m sorry, I should have said this first, I forgot while I was writing. As I said, I have to leave the tower for that 4th-grade request soon. It will probably take half a year. You don't have to worry about me, though! I’m not going alone because other adventurers are coming with me. I'll send you a reply when I get back from the request.

-Your friend, Elena Heinderga.

By the time he finished the last page, the grey light of morning was filtering into the room.

Yuri stared at the small, heavy pile of letters, lost in thought.

“Tsk.”

Twenty-seven-year-old Lee Su-hyeok saw much of himself in twenty-year-old Yuri. That was why he could so easily understand the toxic cocktail of emotions the letters must have stirred.

Inferiority. Jealousy. And the bitter self-loathing that came from feeling them at all.

Of course, Yuri had never replied to that final letter.

Perhaps the friendship had faded because of Yuri’s own withdrawn attitude, or maybe Elena, caught up in her new reality, had simply outgrown him.

But looking back, one thing was undeniable: Elena had been genuinely worried, and her invitation had been sincere. Even in her last, self-absorbed letter, her concern for his future was real.

However Yuri, with nothing to his name but a fierce, fragile pride, had refused what felt like pity.

And Su-hyeok understood it perfectly. Elena’s letters were dripping with a casual self-aggrandisement, an unconscious disregard for his reality.

It was also true that Yuri was living a life that deserved to be looked down upon. Perhaps that was the real reason he'd clung to those pathetic books, searching for a miracle.

He pushed himself to his feet, patting his stiff back.

His gaze fell on <Anyone Can Become a Mage> still lying discarded on the bed.

“...Time to use the toilet.”

Yuri let out a long, heavy sigh and left the room.

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