It wasn't supposed to end like this.
MC had always prided himself on doing the bare minimum to get by while still excelling at whatever caught his interest. He wasn't a genius in the traditional sense—he didn't memorize books or master academics—but if he actually tried? He could pick up skills stupidly fast.
Unfortunately, there was one skill he never quite mastered: basic survival awareness.
Which was how he ended up dying in the dumbest way possible.
A Few Hours Earlier…
It was supposed to be a normal day. Wake up late, binge some anime, play a few games, maybe read some manga, then pass out at 3 AM. The perfect cycle.
But hunger had struck. And when hunger strikes, even the laziest must act.
Dragging himself away from his screen, he barely spared a glance at the pot of instant ramen boiling on the stove. Steam curled up lazily. The scent of miso broth filled the air.
Then, like an idiot, he forgot he was holding his phone while standing too close to the edge of the counter.
His fingers slipped.
"Ah—"
Plop.
His precious phone fell right into the boiling water.
In a panic, he grabbed for it without thinking.
Electric shock.
Then nothing.
Drifting in the Void
MC's consciousness floated in an endless black abyss.
"…Huh?"
No body. No pain. Just… nothing.
He wasn't even scared. Mostly just annoyed.
"Did I seriously just die? Over instant ramen?"
The sheer stupidity of it made him want to scream. He always thought if he died, it'd be something epic—like getting hit by a truck and reincarnating into a fantasy world. Not electrocuted by a wet phone.
"Unbelievable."
A low chuckle echoed through the void.
"Oho… now this is interesting."
MC turned—if turning was even possible here. The darkness rippled, shifting like liquid, and from it emerged a figure sitting on a floating throne.
A man? A god? A being beyond reason? MC wasn't sure.
The stranger grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I haven't seen a death this ridiculous in centuries."
MC squinted. "…Are you a god?"
The being tilted his head. "God? Demon? Cosmic entity? Meh. I'm just a bored observer."
MC felt a weird sense of deja vu. "Wait. This isn't gonna be one of those 'I'll reincarnate you for entertainment' things, is it?"
The entity snapped his fingers, and a massive roulette wheel appeared behind him.
"…Well, shit."
"…Well, shit.")
The massive roulette wheel behind the entity spun lazily in place, covered in an overwhelming number of glowing symbols, runes, and logos that MC vaguely recognized from various anime, games, and movies. His gaze flickered from the wheel to the being on the throne, who was watching him with the same amusement as a cat toying with a particularly stupid mouse.
MC sighed. "Let me guess. You're about to give me some overpowered ability and throw me into a random world for your entertainment."
The entity chuckled. "See, this is why I like you. You catch on quick." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and smirked. "Most people freak out, beg for their lives, or cry about fairness. You? You're already expecting a power-up."
MC crossed his arms—or at least, he felt like he did, despite not being sure he even had a body right now. "I mean, what else would you do? Leave me floating in this void forever?"
The entity grinned wider. "Tempting. But no. That would be boring." He snapped his fingers again, and a second roulette wheel materialized beside the first. This one was labeled with various worlds—fantasy realms, sci-fi universes, dystopian hellscapes, all spinning together in a chaotic blur.
MC stared at the wheels. His gaming instincts kicked in. "So, I spin these, get some random power set, and then you drop me in a random world?"
"Exactly!" The entity clapped his hands. "See, you are a fast learner." He gestured toward the wheels. "Since I'm in a generous mood, you'll spin both at the same time. One will determine your power template, the other will decide where you'll be reborn."
MC eyed the glowing wheels suspiciously. "And what's stopping you from rigging this?"
The entity gasped in mock offense. "Me? Rig it?" He placed a hand on his chest like a wounded noble. "I may be chaotic, but I'm not unfair."
MC wasn't convinced. But honestly? This was already more interesting than the life he left behind. Even if this deity was screwing with him, it was better than nothingness.
He sighed. "Fine. Let's do this."
The entity snapped his fingers again, and a lever materialized in front of MC. It felt solid in his grasp, despite the whole floating in a void without a body thing.
MC took a deep breath. If I get something terrible, I'm gonna scream.
He yanked the lever.
The two wheels spun wildly, symbols and worlds blurring together in a chaotic dance of fate. The entity leaned back on his throne, eyes glittering with excitement.
"Come on, give me something good..." MC muttered.
The first wheel slowed. The glowing runes flickered one by one, eliminating possibilities until only one remained. The symbol flashed brightly, then expanded into a massive glowing inscription:
[Guardian of the Great Rift – Yunan]
MC blinked. "Wait… Magi? Isn't that—"
Before he could finish his thought, the second wheel clicked into place.
[The Witcher – Year 1270]
MC's brain stalled.
"...Oh, shit."
The entity let out a full-bodied laugh. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
The void trembled, and suddenly, MC felt something he hadn't felt since his death—gravity. A force yanked him downward, pulling him into the abyss like he was being sucked into a black hole.
"Try not to die immediately, yeah?" the entity called out, waving.
"Wait, WAIT—"
MC plummeted into darkness.
And then—
Cold.
Pain.
Snow.
He gasped, lungs burning, as he crashed onto something solid.
The first thing he felt was the icy bite of winter air.
The second thing? The dull ache spreading across his body.
The third?
The distant howl of a wolf.
MC groaned, face buried in a thick layer of snow.
"...Goddammit."
He was in The Witcher.
And judging by the ancient fortress looming in the distance, standing like a silent sentinel against the backdrop of a frozen wilderness…
He had landed near Kaer Morhen.
MC shivered and pushed himself up, snow clinging to his skin. His body felt strange—not weak, but different, as if he had too much energy flowing through him.
His fingers twitched, and for the briefest moment, he felt something pulse beneath his skin. Not pain. Something else.
Magic.
A sudden crunch of footsteps in the snow made him freeze.
MC's head snapped up.
Two figures stood a few meters away, half-hidden in the falling snow.
One was broad-shouldered, a scar running down the side of his face, Eskel. His eyes, cat-like and piercing, studied MC with a silent wariness.
The other, slightly leaner but no less dangerous, had an almost perpetual smirk on his face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Lambert. His gaze flickered between MC and the surrounding area, as if expecting a trap.
Both were clad in Witcher armor, their hands resting near their swords.
Neither spoke.
MC swallowed.
The cold suddenly felt a lot less dangerous than the two men staring him down.
Eskel's POV
The biting wind of the Kaer Morhen mountains howled as Eskel and Lambert trudged through the snow-laden path. The ancient keep loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. Their journey had been uneventful—until they stumbled upon an unexpected sight.
A young man lay sprawled in the snow, his dark hair a sharp contrast to the white blanket beneath him. His attire was peculiar—unsuited for the harsh winter, lacking the furs or cloaks typical of the region. Despite the cold, he appeared remarkably unperturbed.
Eskel's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. Lambert, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp and questioning.
The stranger did not seem concerned.
No panic. No shivering. No desperate plea for help. Just a slow, deliberate push off the ground as if he had all the time in the world. He brushed the snow from his clothes lazily, shook a few flakes out of his hair, and finally glanced at them with mild curiosity—like someone who had been interrupted from a particularly comfortable nap.
"Yo," he greeted, his tone so casual it was almost insulting.
Eskel exchanged a glance with Lambert.
Yo?
Lambert scoffed, breaking the silence. "The hell are you supposed to be?"
The man stretched, rolling his shoulders in slow, deliberate movements. "Name's Yunan," he replied simply.
No further explanation. Just a name.
Eskel's grip on his sword tightened slightly. He had encountered many—peasants, nobles, mages—but this man's demeanor was different.
Too calm.
Too detached.
Too unbothered.
People lost in the mountains were usually either desperate or dead. This man was neither.
"Not a common name," Eskel remarked, voice steady.
Yunan shrugged. "Probably not."
Lambert's patience was already wearing thin. "Care to explain what you're doing here? Nearest village is miles away. You lost?"
Yunan exhaled like even talking was a hassle. "Something like that. I was in the middle of an... experiment. Things went sideways, and next thing I know," he gestured vaguely around, "poof. Here I am."
"Experiment?" Eskel's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah," Yunan nodded. "I'm a Magi."
Eskel frowned. "A what?"
"A Magi," Yunan repeated. "In my world, a Magi is someone chosen by the Rukh—the essence of life. We guide and protect, wielding magic to maintain balance."
Lambert raised an eyebrow. "Your world?"
Yunan nodded again. "Yeah. I was performing a ritual, and something went wrong. Now I'm here."
Eskel studied him closely. The man's story was insane. But his demeanor? He wasn't fidgeting, wasn't nervous, wasn't trying to convince them. He simply said it as a fact.
Which made it even harder to tell if he was telling the truth or lying through his teeth.
"You're saying you're from another world," Eskel stated flatly.
"Pretty much," Yunan replied. Unfazed.
Lambert chuckled without humor. "And we're just supposed to believe that?"
Yunan met their gaze evenly. "Believe what you want. I'm just telling you how it is."
Eskel didn't like this.
His instincts told him this man was hiding something.
But not in the way normal people did. Most liars showed emotion—nervous twitches, tells, something. This guy?
Nothing.
No fear, no defensiveness, no irritation.
Just calm acceptance.
Eskel turned to Lambert. "Geralt's still out here. We need to check on him first."
Yunan visibly perked up at the name.
Too quick.
Too subtle.
Eskel caught it. For the first time, Yunan's reaction wasn't completely controlled.
"You know him?" Eskel tested.
Yunan blinked, then gave a slow shake of the head. "No. Just… a unique name."
Eskel didn't buy that.
But he didn't call him out—yet.
They moved through the snow, and soon enough, they found him.
Geralt lay half-buried in the snow, unconscious but breathing. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, his armor battered, his Wolf medallion half-frozen against his chest.
Eskel swore under his breath and knelt beside him, checking his pulse. Weak, but steady.
"He's alive," Yunan muttered, watching from a few steps away.
Eskel glanced at him. There was no concern in his tone, no rush, just a simple observation.
The man was hard to read.
Lambert crouched down, scowling. "Looks like something big got him."
Eskel nodded. They needed to get him back to Kaer Morhen fast.
He looked at Yunan again, debating. The man was a mage—allegedly. Maybe he could help.
"Can you heal?" Eskel asked bluntly.
Yunan sighed, tilting his head slightly. "I could, but…" He waved a hand vaguely. "Not a fan of wasting energy."
Lambert scoffed. "Lazy bastard."
Yunan smiled. "You have no idea."
Eskel exhaled. Whatever this man's deal was, he didn't seem eager to cause trouble—just avoid effort.
Eskel stood. "We're heading to Kaer Morhen. You can come with us."
Lambert shot him a look. Eskel ignored it.
Yunan stretched again, cracking his neck. "Fine by me."
Eskel turned away, but he could feel Yunan watching.
That calm, lazy expression was a mask.
Eskel knew it.
And he intended to find out what was underneath.
Vesemir's POV
The cold wind howled through Kaer Morhen's ancient walls as Vesemir stood near the main gate, arms crossed, watching the distant figures approach through the snow.
Eskel and Lambert.
They moved steadily up the path, boots crunching over the ice-packed ground. Their movements were familiar—wary but controlled. But what wasn't familiar was the third figure walking between them.
Vesemir's eyes narrowed.
The stranger's appearance was unusual.
Long dark-green robes lined with gold, flowing lightly in the wind. Jewelry—rings, bracelets—made of fine metal. Not something a mage of the Continent would wear. No thick furs, no boots suited for mountain terrain.
And yet, the cold didn't seem to bother him.
His face was young, framed by dark hair, and his expression was… relaxed. Almost bored.
Vesemir's frown deepened. Not the look of a lost traveler.
No tension in his stance. No hesitance in his stride.
Like he belonged there.
That bothered Vesemir more than anything else.
By the time the group reached the courtyard, Vesemir had already made his decision—he didn't trust him.
Eskel stopped first, nodding in greeting. "Found Geralt half-dead in the snow. He's inside now, resting."
Vesemir exhaled slowly. Geralt would recover. That was the important thing.
His gaze shifted back to the stranger. "And him?"
Lambert crossed his arms. "Says his name's Yunan. Claims to be a 'Magi.'"
Vesemir's brows furrowed. "A what?"
Yunan himself finally spoke, voice smooth but lazy. "A Magi. A special kind of sorcerer from… let's say, somewhere else."
His tone was too calm.
Vesemir had spent his life reading people—this one wasn't normal.
Eskel glanced at him. "He says he got here because of a magical accident."
"A teleportation mishap," Yunan added lazily, waving a hand as if it were nothing. "I ended up here by mistake."
Vesemir let the silence stretch.
The stranger was lying.
Or at the very least, he wasn't saying everything.
A mage lost in the mountains was already suspicious. A mage dressed like that, walking through the snow without discomfort, showing no concern about his situation? That was something else entirely.
His eyes flicked to Yunan's jewelry. Intricate. Detailed. Too fine for any ordinary mage.
Lambert had clearly noticed too. "You some kind of noble, or do you just like dressing like a royal court jester?"
Yunan smirked. "I like to look good. Is that a crime?"
Lambert scowled. "It is if you make me look at that ridiculous robe for too long."
Eskel ignored the banter, turning to Vesemir. "What do you think?"
Vesemir didn't answer immediately.
His instincts told him to be careful.
Even if Yunan wasn't openly hostile, he wasn't normal.
Not many people could stand in front of three Witchers and act as if they were mildly inconveniencing him.
Finally, Vesemir sighed. "He can stay. For now. But we keep an eye on him."
Yunan put a hand over his heart, mock-offended. "I feel so welcomed."
Vesemir shot him a sharp look. "Don't get too comfortable. You're an unknown, and unknowns bring trouble."
Yunan's smirk widened just slightly.
Vesemir didn't like it.
Lambert's POV
Lambert never trusted mages.
They were always too smug, too secretive, too damn full of themselves. Even the ones that acted nice, like Triss, always had their own games to play.
And now? They had a new mystery mage sitting comfortably in Kaer Morhen, acting like he belonged there.
Lambert scowled as he leaned against the main hall's stone wall, arms crossed. Eskel sat at the long table, sharpening his sword, while Vesemir stood nearby, watching the fire. The old man had been thinking too long, which meant he was debating something serious.
Finally, Vesemir broke the silence. "We need to contact Triss."
Lambert rolled his eyes. "Great. More mages."
Eskel sighed. "Geralt's condition isn't improving fast enough. And we need a second opinion on him."
At that, all three turned their gazes to the far side of the hall.
There, sitting cross-legged in a chair like he had no worries in the world, was Yunan.
He had his arms lazily draped over the chair, his golden-embroidered robes looking out of place in the grim, stone interior of Kaer Morhen. His long hair was slightly damp from a recent wash, and he was idly flipping through a book he had stolen from their library.
Not reading it. Just flipping the pages slowly, like he wasn't even trying to understand it.
Lambert grit his teeth. The nerve of this guy.
Vesemir finally spoke. "He's powerful."
Eskel nodded. "Yeah. Too powerful to just ignore."
Lambert scoffed. "Then let's throw him out before he starts trouble."
Yunan, without looking up, let out a slow sigh. "You do realize I can hear everything you're saying, right?"
Lambert's scowl deepened. This bastard.
"Good," he said. "Then maybe you'll get the hint and leave."
Yunan finally closed the book with a thud and leaned back in the chair. "I could leave," he said lazily, tilting his head. "But where's the fun in that?"
Lambert's fingers twitched toward his sword. He wanted so badly to wipe that smug expression off his face.
Vesemir ignored the exchange. "We send word to Triss. She'll know how to handle this."
Eskel stood, sheathing his sword. "I'll take care of the message."
Lambert just grumbled under his breath. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
A Few Days Later…
The winds howled outside Kaer Morhen as a portal split the air, crackling with magic.
Triss Merigold stepped through, her red hair flowing behind her, green eyes sharp and already suspicious.
Her gaze swept across the room before landing on Yunan.
He sat in the exact same chair, unchanged, looking just as lazy and unbothered as he had the first day.
Triss narrowed her eyes. "So… you're the mystery mage?"
Yunan stretched, yawning slightly. "And you must be the mage they trust. A pleasure."
Lambert sighed, rubbing his temple. This was gonna be a long day.
Triss's POV
The portal snapped shut behind her with a soft whoosh, the lingering energy crackling against the stone walls of Kaer Morhen's hall.
Triss took a deep breath, immediately scanning the room.
Her eyes landed on the man the Witchers had been talking about.
He was exactly as Lambert had described.
Lazy. Unbothered. Suspiciously untouched by the harshness of the world.
His green and gold robes looked like they belonged in a noble court, not a frozen wasteland. His wide-brimmed hat cast a slight shadow over his sharp yet strangely youthful features. His long blond braid rested neatly over his shoulder, not a single strand out of place.
And, most annoyingly—he was lounging.
Not tense, not wary, not even mildly concerned about the fact that a sorceress and three Witchers were staring him down.
He was sitting in a wooden chair by the fire, legs crossed, one hand lazily propping up his head, like he was simply waiting for this conversation to end.
Triss narrowed her eyes. "So… you're the mystery mage?"
The man—Yunan, she reminded herself—gave her a slow, almost theatrical stretch, yawning slightly.
"And you," he replied, voice far too casual, "must be the mage they trust. A pleasure."
Triss didn't return the pleasantries. She crossed her arms.
"You're rather comfortable for someone in a precarious position."
Yunan blinked lazily, as if considering that. "Yeah."
…That was it.
Not even an excuse. Just 'yeah.'
Triss resisted the urge to rub her temple. Is he serious?
Lambert muttered under his breath, "See what I mean?"
Eskel simply watched quietly, his unreadable golden eyes flicking between Yunan and Triss. Vesemir stood beside them, arms crossed, waiting.
Triss exhaled sharply, turning her full focus to Yunan.
"They told me you called yourself a Magi."
Yunan nodded once. "I did."
She frowned. "That's not a title I recognize."
"Not surprising." His lips curved into an almost-smile. "You wouldn't."
That set off alarm bells in her head.
She had spent decades studying magic, learning from the best sorcerers and scholars in the world. The idea that there was an entire magical discipline—one powerful enough to teleport someone across realms—that she had never even heard of?
She didn't believe it.
Triss took a step closer. "Then why don't you educate me?"
Yunan sighed, stretching his arms above his head. "Fine. I suppose I could explain."
His tone made it sound like he was doing her a favor.
Triss clenched her jaw. Just be patient.
Yunan sat up slightly, though his posture was still absurdly relaxed. "A Magi is someone chosen by the Rukh."
"The what?"
"The Rukh," Yunan repeated. "The fundamental essence of the world. Light Rukh guides fate, maintains balance. Dark Rukh… well, that's a different story."
Triss's frown deepened. "You're talking about an unknown magical force that supposedly governs fate?"
Yunan nodded. "More or less."
"That sounds a lot like Nilfgaardian propaganda," Lambert scoffed.
Yunan gave him a flat look. "I assure you, it's older than Nilfgaard."
Triss held up a hand, silencing Lambert before he could continue. "You said you were chosen by this force?"
Yunan hummed in agreement. "Yes. The Rukh chose me to be a Magi. Magi guide, protect, and sometimes…" He tilted his head slightly, as if debating how much to say. "…intervene."
Triss didn't like that pause.
She also didn't like that she couldn't tell if he was lying.
The way he spoke—so effortless, so confident—he wasn't trying to deceive her. He was simply stating facts, whether she believed them or not.
Which made this even more frustrating.
"So you claim to be from another world," Triss said slowly.
"Yes."
"And you were brought here by accident."
"Yes."
Triss folded her arms. "That's quite the convenient excuse."
Yunan shrugged. "Convenient or not, it's true."
Triss glanced at Vesemir. He didn't react, but she could tell he was carefully observing. Eskel was doing the same.
Fine. If he wanted to act like this was casual, she'd push a little harder.
"If you're so powerful, why don't you prove it?"
Yunan smirked.
And just like that, the air changed.
The playful laziness in his eyes didn't disappear, but there was something else lurking beneath it.
Something deep. Something vast.
Lambert, who had been standing casually with his arms crossed, suddenly straightened slightly. Eskel's fingers twitched toward his sword.
Yunan leaned back again, tilting his hat forward slightly. "What would you like me to do?"
Triss didn't flinch. "A simple spell will do."
Yunan chuckled. "Simple? Oh, I don't really do simple."
Triss raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you do?"
Yunan grinned.
"I was thinking of summoning a Dungeon."
The hall fell silent.
Eskel blinked. "…A what?"
Yunan waved his hand. "A Dungeon. Magical constructs filled with treasure, trials, and knowledge. They appear when a Magi calls them forth."
Triss's mind raced. There were no records of anything like that in any magical research she had ever studied.
And yet…
Something in the air told her he wasn't bluffing.
Vesemir finally spoke. "You're saying you can summon an entire structure?"
Yunan nodded, then lazily gestured to the floor beneath him. "Right here, if you'd like."
Lambert scoffed. "You're full of shit."
Yunan tilted his head. "Am I?"
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Triss's spine.
For the first time since stepping through that portal…
She felt like she was standing in front of something far beyond her understanding.
And that terrified her.