About eighteen years ago—
On the outskirts of Trifas, a city under Romania's domain, inside a Gothic castle held by the Yggdmillennia Clan.
On August 16, 1980, a newborn's sharp cry echoed through the castle's greenhouse. The sound, cutting through the air, brought a peculiar liveliness to the otherwise sinister stronghold.
Within the greenhouse, the child had just been delivered, tiny hands grasping at the air as he wailed. Yet within those dark eyes flickered a wisdom far beyond ordinary infancy. Around him, bizarre midwife golems—certainly not human—scurried busily, never noticing the baby's furrowed brow.
This body… this world… the flavor of its mana is exquisite…
A voice like an incantation rang through the child's mind. With the descent of an overwhelming will, the newborn's innate magical protections were crushed in an instant.
And then, like a ravenous wolf, the ancient spirit of countless centuries devoured the infant's nascent soul in a blink. The fragile existence of a newborn was nothing compared to the immensity of a being that had weathered ages.
Having seized control of this body completely, the spirit from another world felt only a hollow emptiness.
He was no cliché transmigrator bound by lingering obsessions of a body's former owner. To him, inhabiting another's flesh was no different from eating or drinking—effortless, natural.
Yet his perception told him the mana of this world's "Greater Source" was unbearably thin. He couldn't muster a single legendary spell, not even enough power to forcibly accelerate this body's growth. Even drawing his soul back out again would be nearly impossible.
Worse still, the fundamental rules of this world were alien to his own. For a legendary arcanist who had once built countless floating cities—known in his world as Ioulaum—he now found himself unable to cast even the simplest cantrip. In truth, he was utterly defenseless.
What a wretched world. Still, this vessel's body seems to have something like the meridians of magical creatures, pathways that can carry lesser spells… wait. These aren't meridians at all. Could these be the Magic Circuits of the Type-Moon World?
Sensing the strange flow of mana within, he quietly closed his eyes, feigning the weakness of an infant while conserving strength for emergencies. But within his heart surged a tidal wave of revelation.
He had not originally been a native of Faerûn's D&D cosmos. Becoming a Netherese arcanist had been an accident of circumstance. Never had he imagined he might end up inside the very anime world he once admired before transmigrating.
Centuries of tempered will kept him from the panic or euphoria of his first crossing. His mind calculated coolly, analyzing what rare treasures this world could offer.
Magecraft. The Throne of Heroes. The Swirl of the Root. And, of course, the countless dreamlike beauties…
Good. Then let this world, where Mystery wanes with each passing year, witness the true majesty of a complete Arcane civilization.
◇◇◇
"Confirmed?"
In a richly decorated study, a deep, steady male voice, carrying wisdom and weight, filled the chamber. Even the candle flames seemed to bow in rhythm with it.
"Yes, confirmed." This time, the speaker was an old man wearing a monocle. He half-knelt upon the plush handmade carpet, offering reverent respect to the master at the desk. "The newborn of the Frain line possesses extremely thin Magic Circuits—only eight main lines, and sixteen subsidiary."
"And?" The young man at the desk shook his long emerald hair, his commanding tone sharp. "Tell me your decision, Hughes Frain Yggdmillennia."
"Yes, Lord Darnic." The old man's voice dropped even lower. Though visibly ancient, he dared not rely on seniority.
For seated before him was Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, head of the Yggdmillennia Clan. He appeared no older than his twenties, yet in truth he had lived nearly a century.
"I propose we abandon the child. Our Frain line has no need of such a waste. However…" Hughes paused deliberately, his face grave. "He should at least be of some use to the family. I suggest sending him to the Clock Tower, as a symbol of 'friendship' between the Yggdmillennia Clan and the Mage's Association."
"Friendship…" A cold gleam flashed in Darnic's eyes. His reply was measured, deliberate. "An excellent proposal. But give him sufficient support. You mustn't be stingy, nor allow the nobles of the Clock Tower to look down on us. I don't want to hear of that boy meeting some untimely accident."
It wasn't kindness, nor pity. Darnic simply refused to let the family's reputation be tarnished.
"Yes, Clan Head." Hughes bowed deeply. Just as he was preparing to withdraw, a weary voice stopped him.
"You haven't told me his name."
"My oversight, Lord Darnic." Hughes hesitated briefly, as though uncertain, before forcing a thin smile. "Rhodes. His name is Rhodes Frain Yggdmillennia. Though talentless, he is still worthy to carry the Frain name."
"I see…"
◇◇◇
A few days later, on the outskirts of the small town surrounding the Clock Tower near London.
In an unassuming manor, within a modest chamber, a baby suckled on rich, sweet milk. The one nursing him was not human, but a humanoid golem crafted for that very purpose.
The Frain line was famed for their golemcraft. To foster attachment to such constructs, they had their children raised and tended by golems from birth, ensuring their heirs would master the art of control without resistance.
So too with Rhodes. Thanks to Darnic's orders, the wealthy Frain line had not skimped on him. He was suckled not by crude tools, but by a finely crafted humanoid automaton of great expense.
Yet no matter how closely it resembled a human woman, those lifeless eyes and mechanical, frigid tone evoked not the faintest affection—unless one happened to be a deranged doll fetishist.
Unfortunately, though Rhodes was twisted, wicked, and a full-fledged Pleasure-Seeker, he had no interest in these stiff, soulless dolls.
Worthless trash. Rhodes judged silently as he gazed up at the "slender-waisted, pale-skinned" automaton, his senses tracing the countless spells engraved in its frame.
Unsurprisingly, there were layers of detection Magecraft woven within, meant to monitor his condition and report back to the main family in Romania. That only made Rhodes less willing to linger in its voluptuous embrace.
Pathetic tricks. he thought, nestling his head closer and continuing to drink, keeping up the façade of a harmless infant.
He could, in time, refashion the automaton. To him, this thing was no better than an antique relic. But in his current body, his magical capacity was like an outdated 386 computer—whereas once, as a legendary arcanist, his spellcraft rivaled the supercomputer Tianhe-2.
And so, the great archmage could only sigh in silence… and wait for the day he could build his very own Pleasure Golem—his perfect inflatable girlfriend.