Geniuses reincarnated in another world use their modern knowledge to carve out destinies of their own.
They create soap and bring about a hygiene revolution, or use modern theories of capital to transform a medieval fantasy world into something resembling the modern age in an instant.
What about me?
I graduated from an all-boys middle school and high school, served in the military, graduated from university, and got a job.
I dated a woman, and we even started talking about marriage, but we broke up because of our practical circumstances.
—Oppa, is this really all there is? Is this all the money you’ve saved? ...Oppa, did you only meet me because you wanted to have sex? Were you approaching me because you were after my body? This is rape! Aaaah!!
It was a common story.
If I posted the tale online, it might get a few recommendations, but a few weeks later it would be reposted on some humor board in a state of image degradation.
A ridiculous story I didn’t want to remember. An ordinary story, the sort that could be found among one or two people in anyone’s circle even without being posted online.
So I threw myself into my work.
There had been feelings of inferiority, and my pride had been wounded.
There were even times when I urgently needed money.
But I was an ordinary man.
No, I wasn’t even a talented person whom geniuses could mock as an ordinary man.
Just one average office worker.
The sort of person who would correspond to the mean or median if the government compiled statistics.
The company had even cut me loose, firing me and holding me responsible before the results were even in.
What did I do after that?
I had no family to grieve for me, so I was alone when—
‘I don’t think it was suicide.’
I died while doing something.
My memories of that part are hazy, but at least it seemed that in my final moments, I had done something I wasn’t ashamed of before others.
If such a man were to fall into another world—and if that place were a fantasy world where magic and elves existed—what kind of future would await him?
Nothing happened.
Well, something did happen, but it wasn’t particularly successful.
There was no soap.
I tried racking my memories to develop it, but all I could recall was something like solidifying oil in a milk carton.
I failed to make good-quality paper.
Even when I chopped up wood, soaked it, and tried to make thin sheets of paper, such crude paper was no different from trash compared to the high-quality mass-produced goods sold on the market.
Nor was mine a family that could afford to make such attempts several times.
I had only read about farming families having many children and raising them as laborers in books. In reality, the family I had been born into—
Correction.
It wasn’t even a family.
I was the child of a peasant household that was dirt-poor yet had children one after another, making them pick up shovels or needles instead of spoons as soon as they were old enough to run around. We weren’t from a noble family, nor were we descendants of nobles who had fallen into ruin generations ago. We were simply commoners.
If I had one talent to speak of, it was making tools out of the things around the house.
If I had to give it a name, it would be woodworking, and that skill proved to be far more helpful than I had expected.
My so-called parents possessed enough basic humanity to pour thin soup into a bowl I had made, using a small carving knife to whittle the wood and produce even one more dish.
If I hadn’t done even that, I would have been sold off.
I learned later what had become of the brothers and sisters who had been sold away, but even at the time, when I had sensed something was wrong, I worked harder at carving wood to prove my usefulness.
As a result, well, I sometimes ended up making things that were useful for married couples.
I carved a rolling pin for grinding berries into powder, and someone actually used it to do something quite outrageous.
Anyway.
Other than that, there wasn’t anything I could do.
The most I was capable of was plowing the fields and training my body during my free time after puberty.
Physical strength was one thing, but mercenaries would sometimes visit our village.
There were also those who lived by the sword, clad in gray armor.
Through them, I learned that monsters like goblins existed in the world, and that there was such a thing as a Demon King.
At first, I laughed.
No matter how powerful the Demon King was, surely some hero would kill him with a single blow.
Surely he would have his head severed by something like a holy sword.
At least, because of the Demon King, I probably wouldn’t die right away.
Still, I thought I ought to train my body at least a little so I could survive if something dangerous happened, so I learned some simple swordsmanship from the mercenaries who visited the village.
Thanks to that, I survived.
As the entire village was slaughtered in a goblin raid and my family was wiped out, I barely managed to kill a goblin using the swordsmanship taught to me by an old mercenary.
I lost my home in an instant, and I became a mercenary.
I became a camp follower for the mercenary band that had visited the village, then drifted into an adventurer’s town and learned about the world.
A world with a Demon King.
A world with dungeons.
Adventurers conquered dungeons and enjoyed rewards of gold and silver, and among them were those who called themselves a “Hero’s Party.”
I fought desperately to live.
I couldn’t use magic, had no particular talent with a sword, and couldn’t bring myself to kill people. I was an ordinary porter and mercenary who could barely protect his own body with the skills I had honed to survive.
Someone who had not achieved enough to receive a mercenary badge made of expensive minerals such as silver or gold.
At most, I could possess a mercenary badge made of brass.
Perhaps that was why.
With my brass badge, the daily wages I earned, and the time I spent drinking with the men in the mercenary band, I sometimes spent money on pleasure.
I bought the services of prostitutes.
For a man like me, too ambiguous to marry and not quite suitable for dating, there were only two ways to relieve my sexual desire.
If there was one advantage I had, it was that my modern knowledge was of some small use when it came to sex.
—Oh, him? Unlike the other mercenaries, he’s pretty good in bed.
I became something of a celebrity among the prostitutes.
A strange rumor even spread that I had sex romantically, as though I were treating the woman as someone I loved.
I had merely used a few techniques I had seen in porn before my reincarnation.
I had only recalled and practiced the techniques and grooming methods taught by a familiar-faced adult-film actor who had started appearing on YouTube at some point.
I had merely used a few safe tools that didn’t chafe the skin.
I had simply had sex step by step, the way I had back on Earth. But in this medieval fantasy world, that kind of sex seemed to feel quite exotic.
They were things sex experts said, so they certainly weren’t wrong.
Unless they had merely been flattering me to make me a regular customer, it seemed that in this world, at least when it came to sex, I ranked somewhere around an ordinary man.
But what did that matter?
I couldn’t conquer dungeons in a single day and make a fortune like mercenaries with gold badges. I had no talent for magic that would let me conjure flames from my hands. I wasn’t born a noble, able to live in luxury on the strength of my status alone.
Could I really go on living like this?
Was it all right to live a life where female adventurers and prostitutes praised me by saying, “He’s good in bed, at least”?
I was twenty-three years old after reincarnation, and my name was Jax.
I was fucked.
I had thought I was following along on an ordinary dungeon expedition, but it turned out to be a dungeon operated by one of the Demon King’s commanders.
We fell into a trap, were teleported by magic, and ended up imprisoned somewhere.
Those who resisted were killed.
Locked in a cell with only one window through which I could tell whether it was night or day, I suffered every day as I listened to the sounds of the mercenary band’s members dying one by one.
And on about the third day.
Just as I had slowly begun to be consumed by the fear of death and had started to accept it—
I was forced to kneel before a woman seated on a black throne in a vast hall that could only be called “the Demon King’s castle.” She had white hair, red eyes, and wore a black dress.
“I shall ask you.”
“I heard you are exceptionally good at sex. Is that true?”
“......Pardon?”
Fangs showed between her red lips.
Long, pointed ears stretched out to either side.
Her skin was pathologically white, as though she had lived for so long without sunlight—or as though she must never receive any.
“I hold your skills in high regard. I hereby appoint you as the ‘Rapist’ of our dungeon. Refusal means death, and incompetence means death as well.”
“......May I dare ask a question?”
“You are a polite human. I grant you permission.”
“What is a Rapist?”
One of the four commanders of the Demon King’s army, she was known by the title Bloodsucking Princess.
“A rape trainer.”
She threatened me.
“Train the female heroes and adventurers captured in the dungeon. Make them truly side with us and become slaves capable of fighting of their own accord.”
“.......”
“In other words, you need only use the nighttime techniques you are best at to subjugate human women. The method is irrelevant. Subjugate the ‘enemies’ we capture with sex, turn them into slaves of the cock, and make them kneel before me.”
If I wanted to live, I had to rape.
No—sexually subjugate them and make them follow the demons rather than humanity.
“For the past dozen or so years, the Demon King’s army has done nothing but kill the humans it captured. But our ‘legion’ is different. We shall corrupt human women into female slaves, turning them into slave soldiers who willingly serve our legion and fight for it.”
Why pleasure?
Why sex?
“If you succeed in training the prisoners as females and corrupting them, I can turn them into vampire soldiers stronger than any other troops.”
Because for this Bloodsucking Princess, that was the most efficient way to create a powerful fighting force.
“Do I only need to subjugate them with sex?”
“Indeed.”
“Whether I use tools or drugs, do I simply need to turn even virgins who have never known a man into filthy bitches who can’t live without a cock?”
“Yes. The men before you could not accomplish that. Can you?”
To abandon my humanity, submit to demons, and betray the human race.
“Hah.”
At the time, I was a little crazy.
“Just give me the order. I’ll turn them into females so thoroughly that you’ll be proud of the result.”
Sex or anything else—what mattered was the simple fact that there was somewhere that needed even someone like me, with such an ability.
What difference did it make whether they were human or the Demon King’s people?
“I’m quite the sex machine, you know.”
The Bloodsucking Princess smiled sweetly at my words, her legs crossed. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen—
To be honest.
‘I want to have sex with her.’
She was the kind of beauty that made me think I’d like to have sex at least once before dying, even if death came afterward.
“Good.”
The Bloodsucking Princess smiled.
“If you fail, you die.”
Now I had to train women through rape with my life on the line.
In order to survive.
For me, rape was survival.