Waking up with a headache was nothing new, but this one felt particularly persistent. He groaned as he rubbed his throbbing, pain-addled head, the sensation so intense it made his vision blur for a moment.
It was as if his skull had been used as a drum in some twisted parade. Still, he pushed through it, blinking his eyes open to take in his surroundings. Not that there was much to see in this dark, dingy room. A thin strip of daylight peered through the threadbare curtains, casting a faint light onto the mismatched furniture that screamed "budget wizard."
He stood up, completely uninterested in what might be out of place in this bizarre new reality he found himself in. The room smelled faintly of mildew and something... old. Too old. But again, he didn't care.
His mind was preoccupied with the dull ache in his head, a pulse that seemed to resonate throughout his entire body. He grumbled as he shuffled toward the bathroom, trying to ignore the dizziness that came with the effort.
The mirror above the sink was dirty, and the water basin was cracked in the corner, but none of that bothered him. He didn't bother to check his reflection or even glance at himself. It wasn't important—not yet.
He filled the basin with cold water, ignoring the slight tremble in his hand as the cold faucet clicked on. Without hesitation, he dunked his face into the basin, feeling the shock of cold water seeping into his skin, his hair, and hopefully numbing the pounding in his skull. He stayed under the water for a few seconds, long enough to stop himself from hyperventilating.
Finally, he pulled his head up with a loud gasp, water dripping down his face and neck. But as his dripping gaze moved toward the mirror, his breath caught in his throat.
"Huh?!"
The reflection staring back at him wasn't what he had expected. In fact, it was the exact opposite of what he had imagined. The face in the mirror was that of a man in his forties, sporting a wild mane of white hair and a long, thick beard. The face itself looked... familiar. Very familiar. A meme-worthy face.
Gandalf.
He grimaced. "Great. Of all the people I could look like, I get the old wizard with the 'you shall not pass' gimmick."
He shifted his face in different expressions—grinning, frowning, and then raising an eyebrow. Every movement was mirrored exactly in the reflection. He hummed thoughtfully. "Well, it is what it is."
That was when it happened.
A sudden, explosive pain tore through his skull like a lightning bolt. His body seized up for a moment, the pain flaring, hotter and sharper than any headache he'd ever experienced. And then—just as quickly—it was gone.
But the memories... they didn't stop. They surged through him, faster than a flash flood, cramming decades of history into his mind in an instant. The life of the poor, half-dead wizard whose body he had taken over, his struggles, his regrets, his pitiful, lonely existence.
It was overwhelming. A tidal wave of memories—sights, sounds, and smells that weren't his own. But the instant they washed over him, he suppressed them, forcing them into a corner of his mind. The pain subsided, but the knowledge remained.
"Man, buddy has it rough," he muttered, rubbing his forehead as if that would help. He felt a deep, begrudging sympathy for the man whose life he had inherited. "And to think he's in his forties... looking like Gandalf."
He chuckled to himself, a bit of the old man's bitterness mixing with his own newfound apathy.
The room felt colder now, the air heavier. His eyes scanned the cramped, miserable little house. The walls were thin, cracked in places, and the floor creaked with every step. The furniture was old, faded, and the shelves were lined with dusty jars of herbs and books filled with long-forgotten spells.
This place… it was barely a home. The previous wizard had struggled to even afford the most basic of necessities. The kitchen was practically barren, save for a small bag of stale bread and a jar of some unidentifiable goop.
"Nah, this won't do." He shook his head, turning to the wardrobe across the room.
He walked over to the tattered wooden cabinet, pulling open the door. Inside hung rags—simple, shapeless robes that looked like they hadn't been washed in decades. They were barely enough to cover the frail body of the original owner, let alone the powerful figure that had now taken residence within.
"Nope. No way. Not gonna be a poor-ass wizard."
The original owner of the body had been poor—devoid of wealth, magic, and any semblance of proper care. The few magical reserves he possessed were weak and nearly drained. There was nothing in this body that screamed "powerful wizard" other than his outward appearance.
He eyed the robes again and shrugged. "Nope. I'm not about to do this the old-fashioned way."
He extended a hand toward the cracked window, and with a flick of his wrist, he muttered, "Wingardium leviosa this, Expecto Patronum that. Nah—I cast!!"
A pause.
"Infinite mana reserve!!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, an explosion of mana ripped through the air. The force was so strong that it sent ripples through the very fabric of the room.
The wooden furniture groaned under the strain, the very walls shaking as if the house itself was about to crumble into dust. His skin tingled with the sheer amount of energy coursing through him, raw and unfiltered.
Outside, the sky darkened for a brief moment, the wind picking up as if nature itself was recoiling from the unleashed power. The ground shook slightly, causing dust and debris to scatter.
A kingdom far away—so far it should have been impossible to feel such a disturbance—was rocked by the shockwave. The royal palace's stone walls trembled as beads of sweat ran down the face of the king.
"DID THE DEMON KING AWAKEN?!" he bellowed, his voice full of terror. His advisors scrambled in panic, some suggesting they send scouts, others insisting they prepare for battle. "Someone—find out who is responsible for this! Now!"
Back in the tiny, decrepit house, the new wizard stood, a smirk forming across his face as he felt the immense surge of power flow through him. With a deep breath, he reined in the mana, the energy settling around him in a gentle, invisible hum.
He chuckled under his breath. "Now we're talking."
He adjusted his robes, running his fingers through the wild mane of white hair. His eyes gleamed with a renewed sense of purpose. The poor wizard's body was now his to command—and he would never be poor nor weak again.
---
Now that he has his mana issue fixed how he needs to address his next issue, the financial one of course.
Walking outside to the front yard he noticed he was on a hill of a forrest overlooking a small town, shrugging at a beautiful sight that other's might have appreciated he instead went to the back of his home facing the forest, stretching his hands upward he intones
"I cast!! Mountain of jewelry!!"
A crackling explosion of energy erupts from his hands, and suddenly, the room begins to rumble. The ground trembles as gold, silver, and jewels begin pouring from thin air, flooding the floor in a cascade of riches. The pile grows bigger and bigger, filling the yard until it's practically bursting with wealth.
He looks down at his hands, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. He's already made a mess, summoned all this treasure — but now what? The poor body he's inherited doesn't have the ability to store any of this. There's no enchanted bag or magical vault to put all this stuff in.
MC: "Alright, let's think this through."
He taps his chin, annoyed. The lack of proper magical storage is honestly pissing him off.
He sighs dramatically before raising his hands with a casual flick, as if it's the most basic thing in the world. His magic surges again, the air around him crackling with energy as he mutters to himself, eyes narrowed.
MC: "I cast!! Personal storage inventory space!!"
In an instant, the space around him shimmers with ethereal energy. A glowing grid-like interface appears in the air, with an icon of a tiny chest in the corner, and a storage screen materializes in front of him. It's clean, organized, and more importantly — it has plenty of space for all the treasure he's just summoned.
The mountain of gold, jewels, and precious items begins to vanish from the floor, sucked into the magical inventory space with a few simple flicks of his fingers. As if it were nothing, the entire pile of wealth is neatly packed away in his personal storage, now safely tucked away in another dimension.
MC: "Now that's more like it."
He glances around, looking at the empty space left behind. For a brief moment, it's almost as if he's proud of himself — but then his expression shifts back to indifference.
MC: "Well, time to move on. I still need to figure out how to make this life fun."
With the storage space now fully operational, he walks out of the room, the air around him buzzing with potential. He's got his wealth, his magic, and the means to carry all the loot. What could possibly go wrong?