"Brother, your hand...?"
The crimson blood trailed down the mottled wall as a sweet, pure voice from behind snapped Roy back to awareness. His stern expression softened into a gentle smile as he quickly turned around. "...Sorry, I scared you, Laura! I was just feeling a bit agitated by the contents of that book earlier, and before I knew it, this happened."
Roy gestured with his lips toward the book on the table—The Book of 777.
As an older brother, he couldn't let his troubles affect his sister. He was the type who flawlessly fulfilled the responsibilities that came with his role.
That book was an original grimoire of extreme toxicity, almost like a tome recording the "essence of an evil god." Foolish people who only skimmed its surface-level occult knowledge remained unharmed, but the more intelligent one was, the deeper they could delve into Aleister's thoughts embedded within the text—and the more they would be corroded by its insidious venom.
"Aleister Crowley..."
Laura Stuart's eyes, as blue and pure as the ocean, darkened slightly as she read the author's name on the cover. Even her sweet voice grew low and heavy. "...Brother, you really shouldn't read things written by such trash. It'll poison you."
Ever since childhood, Laura had always spoken Aleister's name with deep-seated hatred. Back then, Roy had assumed she resented Aleister for abandoning them, leaving the siblings to fend for themselves. But after hearing Aiwass's words, Roy suspected there was something far more profound behind Laura's loathing.
"Ah—oh no! Brother, your hand is still bleeding..."
The somewhat airheaded girl seemed to finally snap to attention. Seeing the blood still slowly dripping from Roy's hand, she hastily rummaged for a roll of gauze.
With the First World War just ended, military supplies like these were surprisingly easy to find in London. Laura fetched scissors and carefully cut a length of gauze, wrapping it around Roy's right hand with gentle precision.
Roy lowered his head, breathing in the faint orchid-like fragrance emanating from the girl. He watched as Laura's gorgeous golden hair spilled messily onto the floor, her delicate face focused in concentration. Her slender hands, pale and smooth like warm jade, meticulously bandaged his wound. Except—
"Laura, I strongly advise you to hold onto your kindness and never, ever take up nursing as a profession."
Roy looked at his now-bloated hand with a mix of amusement and exasperation. The way the gauze was wrapped made him feel like his arteries were being strangled—if anything, it was more likely to worsen the bleeding than stop it.
If this had been on the front lines, soldiers would probably have survived enemy fire only to be finished off by Laura's suffocating bandages.
"Eh? Is my skill really that bad? But I was taught by someone..."
Laura's eyes darted around, avoiding Roy's gaze. A faint blush spread across her delicate cheeks as she looked thoroughly guilty, her silly, awkward smile making her resemble a clueless goose.
"Who taught you how to bandage?"
"Sister Ella from the Anglican church nearby."
"I trust Sister Ella's bandaging skills. She wouldn't have taught you to wrap like this."
Roy glanced once more at his right hand, which was wrapped in bizarrely arranged gauze, and teased.
"Is my bandaging really that terrible? You're not joking, brother?"
Laura's mouth fell slightly open, her face showing genuine surprise.
Roy rolled his eyes outright. He had to admit his sister Laura Stuart could be such an airhead sometimes—so much so that it was beyond comprehension.
"The bread's getting cold. Once it hardens, it won't taste good. I'll go bring it over."
Perhaps embarrassed by Roy's expression, Laura gathered her long skirt and stood up to fetch their dinner. However, having knelt for too long, her legs had gone numb from poor circulation. As she rose, she accidentally stepped on her own hair—which was nearly as long as she was tall—and stumbled. Had Roy not caught her, Laura would have face-planted right onto the floor.
Watching Laura clumsily scamper into the tiny kitchen, Roy couldn't help but chuckle.
This was the sister who had lived with him for over a decade—a girl whose only redeeming quality was her impossibly beautiful face. She seemed incapable of doing anything right. Perhaps the only thing she excelled at was flashing her adorable smile to charm others.
Dinner began on the old table in this warm atmosphere. Calling Laura "useless" wasn't meant as malicious mockery—she genuinely struggled with most tasks. Even this simple meal she had prepared was mediocre at best, the homemade jam far too sour for Roy to swallow without effort.
Still, he didn't complain. This wasn't the 21st century. In post-World War London, two poor children being able to eat jam at all was a blessing. Over a decade of hardship had taught Roy to appreciate simplicity.
After dinner, Laura busied herself with cleaning. Though diligent, she was as clumsy as ever, knocking things over in her haste. Roy didn't dare let her handle plates or bowls—if she broke them, they'd be eating with their hands for a long time.
During their post-dinner leisure, Roy walked to the bookshelf and randomly pulled out a book.
As if remembering something, he called out to the busy Laura, "...Any news today?"
Rubbing her knee where she'd bumped it while wiping the table, Laura thought for a moment before answering, "...Sister Ella said the warring countries might be holding a meeting."
Having received much care from the church in their childhood, the siblings were devout followers, often volunteering there in their free time to help others.
"Paris, huh..."
Roy muttered under his breath.
At this moment, Roy was already contemplating whether he should find a way to emigrate to North America. If there was one place that could be considered the safest during the first half of the 20th century, it would undoubtedly be there, as other countries were more or less embroiled in wars.
However, there were still over ten years before the war would begin. By then, he might have already become a powerful mage, capable of protecting both himself and his sister during the conflict. So, Roy wasn't in any particular hurry.
He flipped through the book in his hands for a while longer before closing it and turning to the cover to see the author's name—Aleister Crowley.
This book wasn't a grimoire but rather an outright erotic novel.
From Roy's limited memories, Aleister Crowley was a figure shrouded in layers of mystery, a final boss who seemed to manipulate the entire world from behind the scenes. But in reality, Aleister Crowley was nothing more than an extremely repressed and perverted middle-aged man—one might even say he was outright lecherous.
Aleister's life was chaotic, filled with numerous lovers, a penchant for strange jokes, and a habit of flitting between women.
However, Aleister held no respect or reverence for the concept of "love." In this very room, there were letters Aleister had written to Roy's mother. From the fragments of those letters, it was clear that Aleister's attitude stemmed from one simple fact: he was too handsome.
That's right—Aleister was so good-looking that he could effortlessly win over women with his appearance. For him, seducing women was as easy as eating or drinking, which was why he cared so little about them. He didn't even know he had illegitimate children.
[Author's Note: This isn't something I made up—this is how Aleister Crowley was portrayed in the original work.]
"What a tragic, hateful world that judges people by their looks!!"
Roy let out a lament. Before his transmigration, he had struggled just to find a girlfriend. Now, he was practically drowning in envy.
But after catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the lemon in Roy's heart quickly turned from sour to sweet. Having inherited Aleister's superior genes, he realized he had no reason to be jealous.
"Even Aleister had his limitations of the times. What kind of trashy novels are these? They can't even compare to the Chinese web novels I've read. Even if I wrote one now, it'd be better than his."
Roy shook his head and stuffed the novel back onto the bookshelf. Aleister loved writing bizarre little stories, but his works were truly subpar. No publisher was willing to take the risk of printing them, so in the end, Aleister had to fund the publication himself.
After steadying his emotions, Roy returned to his workbench. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out a book from the very bottom of his desk.
This book was a true forbidden text—one that struck fear into the hearts of all religiously devout mages.
Roy's gaze fell upon the title on the cover—
"The Book of the Law" (Liber AL vel Legis).
***
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