I Shall Pervert the Heavens

After being assigned a chamber in the western wing of the castle, Arkanis expected nothing but stone walls and isolation. Instead, the kingdom gave each summoned "hero" a personal maid—an attendant whose purpose was both comfort and surveillance, after all one can't be too sure of leaving a hero alone especially after forcefully dragging him away from his hometown.

When his own maid curtsied before him, Arkanis froze.

"Greetings, hero. This humble maid is Irene. Please use me to request anything you require."

She was beautiful to the point of absurdity that Arkanis even felt she might be able to rival those top models from Hollywood, with straight-cut black hair brushing her shoulders and a figure that seemed sculpted rather than born. The uniform hugged her body in ways that mocked modesty, pressing every curve into the open.

Arkanis could only stammer out:

"Eh… yes… of course."

He had read of maids in light novels—loyal servants, gentle companions, sometimes the hidden love interest. But this was no trope. Her eyes didn't carry warmth; they carried calculation.

Which shattered another of his fantasy. He knew he might be able to make her sleep with him, but falling in love? Betraying the kingdom and king? That was impossible.

Maybe unless he was strong enough and even that isn't enough, after all women's emotions are like cats, one moment cozy and the next crazy.

"Hero, I will prepare clothing for you, both casual and formal. Combat armor and weapons will also be crafted by tomorrow. Do you require anything specific?" Irene immediately said to him, her tone formal and gentle.

Arkanis hesitated. His mind went blank. "No… I don't know. What do I need?"

Her answer was clinical. "That depends on your class."

He swallowed. "…Compounder."

The word sounded pathetic even to his own ears although he already had a plan on how to utilize the class but that was a plan, a plan not put to use us nothing but a plan.

For the first time, Irene's polite smile sharpened, though it never faltered. "So, you are a useless hero."

The blow landed harder than any strike from a blade. He wanted to argue, to say production classes had value, that in games alchemists could craft potions, items, things warriors relied on. But this wasn't a game. Here, warriors were celebrated. Here, alchemists were hidden behind curtains, forgotten once their wares changed hands.

"…Am I useless?" he asked anyway, knowing the answer.

"More or less," Irene confirmed without hesitation. "But you still hold the traits of a hero. That alone separates you from the masses."

Summoned heroes carried two overwhelming advantages: Titles and Growth.

Titles doubled their stat increases.

Growth halved their experience requirements.

Their bodies were imbued with the ability to transcend limits most mortals died trying to break.

To kingdoms, a hero wasn't a person. They were an investment. A sword that could sharpen itself with every battle.

Even a useless class was still a sword.

But Arkanis wasn't convinced. He thought of blacksmiths forging blades, of villagers farming fields. They all mattered, yes, but did they matter on the battlefield? His existence felt like a cruel punchline in a story that demanded warriors and legends.

Irene's voice pulled him out of thought.

"The greatest strength of being a hero is not your class. It is the ability to change destiny itself. His Highness values this greatly. That is why you must grow stronger."

For a fleeting second, the words warmed him. Change destiny? That sounded like something from the novels he devoured. But reality clamped down again. If destiny was shaped by strength, and strength by combat, then what path was there for someone whose hands were meant to grind herbs?

As if hearing his thoughts, his mind subconsciously went back to his previous plan.

"But… what if..."

"what if I don't just brew for others? What if I brew for myself? A tonic to harden the body… one to sharpen the mind… even one to awaken strength beyond bloodlines?...."

"Hell, if I can dismantle herbs and merge them into something new, what's stopping me from breaking down the essence of monsters or even humans—and remaking it into mine?..."

Isn't that changing destiny? The mere thought of it lighten his mood immediately.

"Now, hero, please strip."

Arkanis blinked. "…W-what?" This was going to fast, was his virginity that has accompanied him for 17 years about to be taken?

"Measurements. The tailors must know your size."

Heat surged to his face. "R-right. Of course."

Piece by piece, he peeled off his clothing, painfully aware of how ordinary—no, how frail—his body looked under her gaze. He had no broad chest, no defined muscle. Just the wiry frame of a boy who had never done more than jog for gym class.

He left his underwear on, praying it was enough. Irene didn't move. Her smile stayed expectant. Reluctantly, he stripped bare, covering himself with his hands.

"Arms up."

Her fingers were cool and professional as she lifted his arms into a T-shape. The tape slid around his chest, his arms, his waist. Every brush of contact made him flinch. By the time she reached his inseam, his body betrayed him, stiffening in humiliating defiance.

She measured it anyway. Without hesitation. Without shame. She even jotted down the size on a notepad.

Arkanis wanted the ground to open up and consume him.

"Hero, that is all," Irene announced smoothly, as though she had just measured a sack of flour. "I will deliver these results to the tailors and have armor prepared. Sword and shield will be provided, as repeated use may awaken skills even without talent. Do you require food?"

"…Yes. Something to eat." His voice was a thin thread.

"Of course. Please rest. The princess may visit later. Do be polite; first impressions weigh heavily in this castle."

With a curtsy, she left him naked and burning in shame. He scrambled to dress, the echo of her words still rattling in his head.

Do be polite.

What was politeness worth in a world that had already judged him?

The kingdom wasn't simply gifting maids out of kindness. Each servant doubled as an observer, a spy, and a handler. They would report everything—their assigned hero's behavior, weaknesses, habits. The Maple Dragon Kingdom didn't gamble blind. They monitored their investments like hawks.

Arkanis understood this instinctively. Irene wasn't his servant. She was his chain.

That night, as he lay on the soft feathered bed, he didn't think about comfort. He thought about cages—gilded, silk-lined, velvet padded—but cages nonetheless.

And in the silence, one question dug deeper than all others:

If heroes were supposed to shape destiny… why had fate cursed him with the role of a compounder and should he carry out the plan on his mind?