Overlord: Wrong World, Can I Change It?

So, here we are. Reincarnated. In another world.

Now, let's think.

Back when I still had the luxury of watching them from a safe distance—behind a screen, bowl of snacks in hand, and life not yet flattened by half a truck. I used to think there were only three kinds of isekai. Simple categories, neat boxes you could drop a story into and feel a bit clever for noticing the pattern.

But standing here—well, lying here, helpless and swaddled like a meat burrito fresh from the womb—I realize just how wrong I was. Turns out, the multiverse is more imaginative than I gave it credit for.

Still, for the sake of my own sanity, I keep trying to frame things. Obviously, I'm basing all this on what I know—just to avoid tricking myself into thinking I'm above fate.

First, there's the kind of isekai everyone secretly hopes for: the cozy kind. You know, the peaceful one, the kind where you reincarnate in a sleepy village with soft lighting, flower fields, and the distant smell of bread. You run a bakery, or you've inherited an inn in some village full of friendly elves. No quest, just good food, warm beds, and a convenient lack of taxes. Maybe there's magic, but it's the kind used to stir soup or make lanterns float—not the kind that incinerates cities. Life is slow and warm. It's the kind of world where people say "blessed be" instead of stabbing you in the kidneys. If you end up there, congratulations—you won the reincarnation lottery.

Then there's the "Chosen One" flavor. Classic. Day one, you're either summoned by a king, touched by a goddess, or struck by lightning that inexplicably leaves you hot and shirtless but very much alive. There's always a quest, a divine mission carved into your soul. Slay a demon lord. Unite the kingdoms. You usually get a sword. Maybe a cheat skill. Definitely a group of loyal companions. It's epic, sure. Dangerous. But it gives you purpose, a path to walk. A reason. You matter. Not exactly relaxing, but at least there's structure.

But the third type? That's the hellspawn of the bunch. The survival isekai. No grand quest, no system, no tutorial pop-up. A world that doesn't welcome you, doesn't explain anything, and doesn't particularly care that you've shown up. The world doesn't care that you're the main character—it's trying to kill you anyway. You're meat. It's not about saving the world. It's about making it to tomorrow. Here, the only thing that matters is staying alive. Everything else is optional.

But now that I'm here thinking, I realize that there's more than just those three.

There's the system world, where reality comes with menus, stats, and cold hard numbers. Everything feels like a video game, even if dying still hurts like hell. You level up, optimize your build, and micromanage your calories like you're living in a spreadsheet. Great for min-maxers. You can even read your trauma levels in a window floating above your head. Efficient? Maybe. Terrifying? Absolutely. And it makes you wonder—are you living, or just being processed?

Then we've got the power fantasy playground, where the protagonist becomes a godlike being in record time. Whether it's through luck, cheat skills, a literal goddess as a sidekick, or just an insane level of plot armor, the world bends around them. Nothing can touch them. Dragons? Crushed. Empires? Toppled. Your greatest enemy? Yourself. It's basically wish fulfillment on steroids. Everyone loves them, fears them, or both. It's a narcissist's fever dream, and sure, it sounds fun… But [if you're not the one pulling the strings], that kind of world can be terrifyingly unfair.

Another one? The reverse isekai, which flips the whole thing on its head. Instead of you going there, "they" come here. That's when the weirdness goes the other way—a demon king ends up in Tokyo and gets a job at a fast food joint, or a goddess rents a studio apartment in Dubai. Not super relevant to me at the moment, since I'm the one who got launched into another world. But still... If a future version of me ends up running a kebab shop in Berlin, I won't be shocked anymore.

There are also the twisted ones—the psychological or horror isekai. The ones that mess with your head instead of your body. You're reborn, sure, but nothing feels right. Maybe the world resets every day and you're the only one who remembers. Those are the worst. Not because they're the deadliest, but because you can't tell when the story ends and the madness begins. You don't just risk dying. You risk not even knowing you were alive. Survival is one thing. Surviving with your mind intact? That's another game entirely.

And finally, there's the parody isekai, where nothing makes sense on purpose. The protagonist is surrounded by idiots, the villain is allergic to anything, and the magic system is powered by bad puns. Everyone is painfully genre-aware, and you get the sense that the gods are just trolling for fun. Even death has punchlines. It's not hell, but it's not exactly heaven either.

So yeah… a lot more than three.

So now the question is: what kind of world is this? Medieval, no magic?

Fine. I can work with this. The Middle Ages weren't all bad, right? They had… alcohol. Mead, wine, beer that tastes like someone strained it through a boot, but hey—it's something.

Now, let's weigh the drawbacks: disease (everything from the plague to dysentery), hygiene (as in, none), famine, nobles acting like gods, riots, crusades, witch burnings… and what else? Oh, right—outside the cities, it was basically Australia on steroids. And not the fun kind with kangaroos and beaches—no, the "everything wants to kill you" version. Except here it's not just snakes and spiders, it's bandits. With swords. And probably tetanus.

And let's not forget the cherry on top of this lovely plague cake—war. Endless, pointless war.

Ah yes, the romanticized, blood-soaked Middle Ages.

So lovely. Kill me again.

They named me Lucien. Yeah. Lucien. Sounds like the brooding antihero in a fanfiction written at 2 a.m. by someone with a vampire fetish. You just know he's got a broody backstory and a tragic love interest queued up for chapter three—maybe four.

The people around me are drinking beer—or something like it. It's yellow, frothy, and warm. And my mother? She's tossing back a whole mug like it's water. I'm not even three minutes old and I've already witnessed my mom outdrink half the guys I knew in college. Medieval women are built different.

There's a midwife hovering nearby. She smells like a mix of sheep and garlic, which is just as lovely as it sounds.

Then there's the priest.

The priest… He struts around like a budget Gandalf, but instead of a staff, he's wearing a six-branched candelabra around his neck like. At first, I thought it was a menorah, but then I remembered menorahs have seven branches. This one has six.

And it's nagging at me. I've seen that symbol before. Somewhere.

It's… familiar. Uncomfortably familiar.

But I'm too busy drooling and trying not to poop myself to focus on theology.

I don't think it could get worse.

Scratch that.

It's worse.

I'm a baby. Like, literally. Can't move. Can't talk. Can't even see properly—everything's just vague blobs and torchlight. My neck feels like it's made of overcooked spaghetti, and I've got the body control of a drunken slug.

Drool, gas, and existential dread. That's my new reality.

It's humiliating.

Still... I'm alive.

Barely.

God help me.

"Well then, folks, I'll take my leave. May the Six Great Gods bless you," says the priest, giving a little bow before disappearing into the cold night air.

"Thanks, William. Without your help, I don't think she would've made it," says a giant of a man with a beard thick enough to hide small animals in and a nose like a battering ram. His clothes are simple—coarse tunic, sturdy boots, a belt that's seen better days.

That's got to be my dad.

"Don't mention it, Erob. Your son is strong and healthy."

My parents look down at me with eyes full of pride and warmth, their faces lit by firelight and joy. It's a moment that should be heartwarming.

But I can't focus on that.

Wait… Six Great Gods?

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

The candelabra… the six branches…

No. No. No.

Truck-kun, why?

You couldn't just hit me a little harder and send me to a plain, boring medieval world with nothing but cows and wooden swords? I would've taken that in a heartbeat. I'd have milked goats and baked bread with zero complaints.

But this?

This world smells like trouble. Heavy, overpowered, world-ending kind of trouble. And I don't like it.