Overlord: Wrong World, Can I Change It?

Let me begin with a simple truth:

The System sucks.

If there were a way to leave a review, I'd give it one star out of five—maybe two if I were feeling spiritually generous. I mean, come on. A transcendent interface powered by who-knows-what kind of divine AI should at least be stable, right?

Requirements? Oh, you know—just become a caricature of a monk for an entire year. No killing. No magic. No gear. No fun. Just... silence. Then it vanished again. Poof. Like it never existed. Magical, huh?

[Special Class Acquired: Hermit]

You'd think an interface managed by a transcendent super-AI from another dimension would be more reliable. At least stick around long enough to let me admire my tragic stats. But nope. Apparently, if I want to see my class screen again, I need to chant forgotten elf hymns while balancing a toadstool on my head under the light of a crimson moon.

In other words: I got a Class, sure, but the System itself? Unreliable. Mysterious. Borderline passive-aggressive. I feel like I've been force-subscribed to a closed beta of existence—no bug fixes, no UI support, and definitely no patch notes.

Do I need to pray? Do a handstand? Sacrifice my remaining dignity? Whatever. At least now I have a class. That's something.

Still. A Class is a Class.

And life… continues.

I've settled into a strange, steady rhythm.

My days follow a routine: I wake up. I cry just enough to seem normal. I eat this weird grain porridge-slop my mom sweetly prepares. Then I meditate—which still just looks like me lying on my back with my eyes closed like a particularly introspective potato.

Being a baby is still deeply humiliating. I'm learning to walk, sure, but my legs have the consistency of warm noodles. I have exactly two and a half teeth. My coordination is that of a drunken squirrel. My favorite possession is a carved wooden fox I've inexplicably named "Tikki."

Life is weird.

Thanks to Adam, my brain still works very well.

The Control ability, though? I love it. It's actually entertaining. Each day brings new revelations. For instance, there's a strange relationship between mana and life force. I haven't fully cracked it yet, but the two seem to move in opposite patterns. My control is still weak—embarrassingly so—but I've made progress.

Every day I practice Control—my self-taught ability to guide mana within my body.

At least I can guide mana through my body. That's something. And I've noticed that, while mana is diffused through my muscles and tissue, the life force follows distinct paths. Not veins exactly, though they run parallel. The densest concentrations sit in three places: the heart, the brain, and the belly.

It behaves very differently. It's not diffuse. It travels along distinct lines—deep channels that feel like a blueprint carved into my being. It doesn't fill space the way mana does.

It fascinates me.

I've spent countless hours simply sensing it, watching the gentle thrum of life through my own form. Mana and life force seem to be opposites—like water and oil. They resist mixing. And yet… they're drawn to each other.

There's a tension between them. A subtle attraction. Like gravity, or magnetism. When I bring them close, they pull—but if I try to force a connection, they recoil violently.

It's like holding two magnets together the wrong way. You can feel the energy, the push and pull—but they won't unite.

Not unless something changes.

– 3 Years Later

What a beautiful day. Birds singing. Giant blobs of cloud and electromagnetic energy in the sky...

Okay, maybe not such a beautiful day after all. That's weird.

Anyway—time really flies when you're having fun. I'm four years old now, and I've finally earned the freedom to move around the village. And honestly? That's been amazing.

I'm four years old now. Finally mobile. I can run, walk, and even explore the village on my own. And I have to admit—having a bit of freedom feels incredible.

By now, I've probably met everyone here. It's a quiet place. Peaceful. A bit too small for me, if I'm being honest. I might be one of the most educated people on this entire continent. Not to brag, but hey—I did make it through a couple of years of university.

The village is tiny—maybe two hundred people. Nestled between the mountain range and the Imperial Capital, it's about a hundred kilometers from the city.

God, I wish I could go there. There's this old wizard—probably the strongest human mage alive right now. I'd love to speak with him. Someday. All in due time.

My parents, bless their rustic hearts, just think I'm "very calm." They tell visitors I have "a wise look." Meanwhile, I'm silently drooling while watching mana particles dance through the ceiling beams.

Speaking of which—mana is fascinating.

I've started cataloging its behavior. It swirls faster near fire, flows toward movement, and pools in stillness—especially around trees. It clings to life, though it isn't alive. Living beings give off a warmer, steadier pulse, in sync with their breath and heartbeat. It's not much, but I'm starting to see the patterns.

Anyway.

My father still works the forge. I've learned he mostly forges weapons for adventurers and the army. There's a quarry nearby that supplies him—basically, a cartload of metal arrives once a month, and he processes and sells it. Simple as that.

Mom, on the other hand, got back into making herbal concoctions about three years ago. I don't think we need the extra money, but she seems happier with her hands busy, and I'm not going to question that.

There are around thirty kids in the village. Apparently, having two or three children is standard here—medieval times, I guess. Gotta have backup spares in case of monster attacks.

Though, funnily enough, in four years, there's only been one incident, and nobody died.

Of course, my parents forced me to "play" with the other kids. Said I was too antisocial. "Make some friends," they said. So I tried.

Trying to socialize with that bunch felt like a personal insult. They're literally a group of weirdos pretending to be adventurers. As proof of their "kills," they collect insect wings and other garbage. I left the moment I could. Disgusting.

Anyway, the biggest change over these last three years hasn't been the village or the people. It's been my mana.

Quick note: The System still hasn't reappeared—believe me, I've tried everything short of a blood ritual.

But back to mana.

I can now control it extremely well inside my body. I'm almost at the point where I can expel it—almost. I'm missing just a small step, but I'm confident I'll get there within a month.

As for life force—that's a different beast. It's alive. It resists movement. Imagine trying to swim through quicksand: the more you struggle, the worse it gets.

Today's the day I finally attempt an experiment I've been planning for over a year.

I've sensed a connection between mana and life force. Every time I move them near each other, there's this subtle attraction. But when they get too close, it flips into repulsion—like magnets with opposite poles.

Today, I'll try something new.

Instead of forcing them to merge directly, I'm going to surround the life energy with mana. Gently. Slowly. Let it settle in and observe the interaction.

There are three major concentrations of life energy in the body: the brain, the heart, and the belly. The brain? Absolutely not. I need that. The heart? No thanks—philosophy aside, I'm pretty sure it's still essential.

That leaves the belly—around the navel, just above. Still dangerous, but comparatively the safest.

For the record, I'm doing this to understand these forces—these phenomena. I hate exposing myself to risk, but I don't have enough mana to cause serious harm. I hope.

And right now, my internal mana control is perfect. Not external—just inside me.

Alright. Let's begin.

I focus. First, I gather my mana—the amount I unlocked thanks to my Hermit class.

Then, I draw mana inward, forming a sphere, carefully guiding it to the area. Not all at once—slowly, deliberately. I wrap it around the vital core like a second skin.

I begin channeling it slowly, not all at once, guiding it toward the life force core in my abdomen. I'll call this area the Vital Core from now on.

As the mana gets closer, it starts to resist. But slowly—very slowly—I keep pushing.

Three hours pass. And finally, I can feel it. I see it. The two energies begin to interact.

They don't merge exactly. It's more like they... consume each other. Or transform. The mana dims, drawn inward. The life force pulses.

My mana starts to drain. I can see it, feel it.

And in the space between them—between the blue of mana and the green of life force—something sparks.

A third energy.

Something new.

Something different.