"Quick check. No Warlocks around. Time to open this cache... YES! Legendary!"
"Looking for Mythic+ group. Farming Legendaries. Warlocks need not apply."
Ryan Mercer stared at the chat window in silence.
Then he sighed so hard it deserved its own soundtrack.
It was another ordinary evening. He’d finished work, eaten a quick dinner in his tiny apartment, and settled in for the ritual that had survived six years of adulthood: logging into World of Warcraft.
Unfortunately, he was a Warlock.
Back in Legion, Blizzard had introduced randomly dropping Legendary items. Overnight, Azeroth split into two tribes: the blessed and the cursed.
Warlocks somehow became patron saints of the cursed.
The community’s running joke claimed that a Warlock could go an entire expansion without seeing a Legendary, and that no Legendary item would dare appear within a hundred yards of one.
It was funny.
Mostly because it kept happening.
Ryan hadn’t been invited to serious dungeon groups in ages. Even random heroic queues sometimes dissolved the instant people saw his class. Without dungeons he couldn’t improve his gear. Without gear he couldn’t strengthen his Artifact Weapon. Eventually, pride lost to practicality.
Fine.
He’d buy a carry.
After browsing advertisements, he contacted a boosting team with the wonderfully confident name The SS Never Wipes.
The price was reasonable.
Everything went smoothly until they asked one final question.
"So... what class are you playing?"
"Warlock."
A brief silence.
Then the leader coughed awkwardly.
"...Right. In that case, your fee doubles."
Ryan blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
"Nothing personal. We just don’t want your luck rubbing off on the rest of us."
He sat perfectly still for several seconds.
"I just remembered I have somewhere else to be."
He disconnected from voice chat.
Slowly, very deliberately, he removed his glasses.
Then he slammed them onto the desk.
"THIS IS CLASS DISCRIMINATION!"
He pointed accusingly at the monitor as though the internet itself were on trial.
"You people can’t get your own Legendaries, so somehow I’m the bad luck charm? Raids reject Warlocks. Mythic groups reject Warlocks. Now even paid carries are charging a Warlock tax?"
He threw both hands into the air.
"I hope every single one of you spends the rest of the expansion staring at empty loot windows! May Legendary drops avoid your bloodline for generations!"
His dramatic speech escalated into wild gesturing worthy of an overacting stage villain.
Which turned out to be a mistake.
His elbow clipped the glass of orange juice sitting beside the keyboard.
The drink splashed across the desk.
Into the power strip.
Electricity did the rest.
The following day’s local news included a brief reminder:
Dry weather increases the risk of electrical accidents. Residents are advised to use household appliances safely.
That was the final trace Ryan Mercer left behind in the world.
Death, however, wasn’t the end.
His body vanished.
His consciousness did not.
After an unknowable stretch of darkness, through odds that defied reason, his soul crossed into another world and settled inside the tiny body of an infant who had frozen to death outside the gates of an orphanage.
Moments later, one of the sisters discovered the baby and carried him inside.
The child grew up healthy under the orphanage’s care.
Ryan’s memories did not.
They remained buried for fourteen years.
Until one ordinary night.
Evenson Richter awoke from a dream with two complete lifetimes inside his head.
He spent nearly an hour staring blankly at the ceiling.
"...So I really got isekai’d."
The conclusion was surprisingly easy to accept.
He’d already lived fourteen years in this world. It didn’t feel foreign. The memories of his previous life simply slotted into the life he’d already been living.
After untangling the chaos in his mind, he reviewed the facts.
He lived in the United States.
His name was no longer Ryan Mercer.
He was Evenson Richter, a blond, green-eyed orphan of German ancestry raised in an orphanage since infancy.
"Guess that’s my name now."
There wasn’t much point resisting.
Every legal document he owned said Evenson Richter. Explaining why an American teenager suddenly insisted everyone call him Ryan Mercer would be... difficult.
Standing before a mirror, he examined himself carefully.
"Give me slightly longer ears and I’d pass for a Blood Elf."
His features were finer than most people around him. His green eyes were unusually vivid, almost glowing under the light.
He nodded approvingly.
"Not bad."
Honestly, he couldn’t complain. He’d been reincarnated as a handsome teenager. If appearances opened doors, this face came with a master key.
Once he’d confirmed three important facts...
He was alive.
He was healthy.
He still liked girls.
...his imagination finally escaped its cage.
"All right. Reincarnation means cheats."
He folded his arms with absolute confidence.
"System. Ancient mentor. Talking artifact. Sealed demon king. Mysterious AI. Something."
Every isekai protagonist worth reading had one.
Surely fate wouldn’t leave him empty-handed.
He experimented with increasing desperation.
System?
Nothing.
Meditation.
Nothing.
Cross-legged breathing exercises.
Nothing.
Five-point cultivation poses he’d half remembered from terrible web novels.
Still nothing.
He even tried insulting the heavens.
Silence.
After nearly an hour of embarrassing himself in an empty room, Evenson finally sighed.
"Guess destiny missed my address."
He tilted his head upward at a forty-five-degree angle, trying to look philosophical.
At that exact moment...
...something appeared inside his mind.
Knowledge.
Instinctive and immediate.
He possessed a personal storage space.
And somehow he already knew how to use it.
His disappointment vanished instantly.
"Hah! I knew it! Fate can’t quit me that eas..."
A folded note dropped out of thin air.
"...Wait."
The paper felt impossibly strange, as though it had been crafted by something far beyond ordinary civilization.
He unfolded it.
The message read:
Official Notice
Congratulations! Your reincarnation was awarded through our anniversary promotional lottery and was absolutely not the result of an experimental accident.
All complimentary benefits have already been delivered and are stored in your personal inventory. Please inspect them at your convenience.
Customer complaints, refunds, exchanges, and legal disputes are not accepted.
If you don’t like it... you’re welcome to come bite us.
Signed,The Philia Void Trading Consortium(The word "Unscrupulous" appears to have been aggressively scratched out.)
Evenson stared at the note.
Then stared at the ceiling.
"...You’ve got to be kidding me."
Eventually curiosity won.
He examined the storage space.
His expression froze.
"This..."
It wasn’t a divine treasury.
It wasn’t a legendary inheritance.
It was his World of Warcraft inventory.
"My own backpack?"
So much for premium reincarnation benefits.
He inspected the contents anyway.
1,000 gold.
Ryan winced.
"If I’d bought game time before dying, I’d have twenty times this much..."
Next came a beautifully detailed volume titled National Geographic of Azeroth.
It contained an interactive map of every known region.
Azeroth.
Outland.
Draenor.
Even the recently discovered Broken Isles.
He could zoom in, zoom out, and examine every location in astonishing detail.
That was all it did.
Then came The Great Encyclopedia of Azeroth.
Every famous artifact, creature, race, location, and historical figure recorded throughout Warcraft’s history appeared inside.
It was an incredible encyclopedia.
It was also...
Just an encyclopedia.
No powers.
No magic.
No hidden rewards.
Evenson slowly lowered both books.
For one brief moment he felt as though the universe itself were whispering into his ear.
The reputation of the Philia Void Trading Consortium wasn’t earned by accident.
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