Chapter 2
[Embercrown 6th (6/8), Year 1356 of the Arcane Calendar]
| 7:30 AM |
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Swish...
The curtains parted, and honeyed sunlight poured through the window beside me—warm as fresh-baked bread against my skin, gilding the dust motes that danced in the air.
"Good morning, Young Master!"
"Mmm... good morning, Charles."
The morning routine unfolded as usual - Charles arriving to wake me while Anna gathered the sheets. Both inquired after my well-being. These two served as my personal butler and maid; Charles at twenty-five, Anna at twenty-three. Dependable and kind, they'd become almost like second siblings to Kyzen.
"Oh, Master," Charles added, "your father wished me to inform you of an important announcement at lunch today. He requested your attendance only if you're feeling well. Otherwise, he said he would visit you later and advised you to rest."
I raised an eyebrow, my gaze locking onto Charles. "Did you inform anyone about what happened at midnight?" My voice carried a curious edge.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Master," Anna interjected, clutching the sheets to her chest. "I told Lady Diana you had a nightmare." Her fingers worried about the fabric. "You looked pale as a ghost this morning. Should I not have told her?"
I shook my head, the motion stirring my white ponytail. "No, it's okay." The lie tasted bitter. Better if they hadn't made a scene about midnight—but I couldn't fault their concern.
Anna hurried out with the sheets, her footsteps whispering against the marble. At the door, she paused.
Charles spoke instead: "The bath is ready, Young Master. I'll bring breakfast to your room today." His hand gestured toward the silk servant cord woven into the wall left of the bed. "Just pull this when you're finished."
With a nod, Anna slipped out, leaving the room in silence. Charles also left, closing the door.r
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone.
I stepped into the bathroom, where steam curled from the copper tub in lazy spirals. Rose petals floated on the water's surface—Anna's doing, no doubt. Ah, this is going to be weird. It's really going to take time to get used to my new... equipment. Before the bath, I gave a quick brush to my teeth.
Sinking into the water, I sighed. Haaa... this feels so nice. I dipped my face under, letting the warmth soak into my skin. When I surfaced, I reached back and tugged loose the ribbon holding my ponytail. Silver-white hair spilled over my shoulders, clinging wetly to my back. The mirror across from the tub caught my reflection—Yeah, I'm going to need a haircut.
As I relaxed in the bath, my thoughts drifted to this world's strange realities. Aristocratic nobles ruled—obviously—but this was no ordinary feudal society. This was a fantasy realm teeming with creatures that would make Earth's mythologies seem tame by comparison.
Elves and dwarves were just the beginning. Giants carved their names into mountain peaks, while mermaids sang in submerged cities of coral. Then came the newer species—at least, new to my knowledge. The infernals, ice tree beasts, and so-called "harpies" that, according to vague descriptions, bore little resemblance to Earth's feathered monstrosities. Then again, Kyzen had never actually met all of them, only a few, and learnt about the characteristics of others through descriptions in books.
The great beasts-These weren't just dragons by another name. Some had classic wyrm-like silhouettes, but others... like Griffins with serpentine tails, and more. Even the ones that sounded familiar defied expectations at every turn.
I found myself in an empire fractured into three distinct kingdoms, each ruling its own territories yet bound under the imperial banner. all worshipping the Fifteen Gods.
First stood Aserath, the Dominion of Man - a kingdom where human ambition had forged cities of steam and faith. Here, both merchants and knights followed the Churches of the Fifteen Gods while serving the King of Aserath. In truth, the kingdom stood on two thrones: one for the king, the other for the divine orator. All laws were written in equal parts faith and blood.
Then there was Zyvaris, home to magical races like elves, dwarves, fox-like creatures, and winged sylphs. Elves practiced magic, dwarves built underground cities, and other fantasy beings lived in their own communities. Unlike Aserath, Zyvaris was governed by the Conclave—a council of representatives from each major race.
Solmordis was ruled by a single queen - the monarch Solara. This demon kingdom was a harsh land of burning deserts and active volcanoes. Poisonous lakes and ash storms covered the region, creating the perfect home for its deadly inhabitants. Black-skinned hellforged roamed the wastes, while winged ashfiends nested in volcanic caves. Tough bloodorcs wandered freely under the scorching sun, and shadowy voidspawn lurked among the dark rock formations. For these creatures, the brutal environment wasn't difficult - it was exactly what they needed under their queen's rule.
All three kingdoms - Aserath, Zyvaris, and Solmordis - worshipped the same Fifteen Gods. This shared belief helped keep the peace between them.
Standing up water falling forming ripples on the tub, yeah, this world is too much.
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After wiping off and dressing, I called for Anna. She arrived promptly, as always, and began drying my hair with a towel—her fingers working with practiced ease.
"Young Master, your hair is so lovely and long," she sighed, almost wistful. "I wish mine were half as smooth. It's like spun silk!"
I laughed nervously. "Haha, yeah..."
Then, clearing my throat, I slipped back into that aristocratic lilt—friendly, but still Young Master enough to remind her of the gap between us. "Anna, inform Mother that I'm feeling much improved. And, ah... could you arrange for a barber?"
Her hands stilled. "A... barber, Young Master?" Her voice pitched higher, scandalized. "But—your hair!"
I scratched my cheek, grinning sheepishly. "Just... a trim?"
She stared at me like I'd asked her to set the manor on fire. Then, with a deeply gloomy nod, she left—shoulders slumped as if mourning the loss already.
Kyzen's mom was more of a problem than his father, truth be told. Better to let her know than make her worry.
I sighed and called for Charles next, using the Servant Cord.
Moving to the full-length mirror, I saw myself in the reflection this time with the sunlight providing a clearer image of my new body.
A smooth, pale, oval face, big blue eyes with soft lashes, finely arched eyebrows matching his wavy ponytail, white hair, a small nose, and calm lips, all coming together to look graceful and elegant.
Yeah... no. This guy is way too handsome. I'm dumb for even thinking I had a chance.
My gaze drifted to the pocket watch on the nightstand. Its tick, tick, tick filled the silence, each second sharper than the last. I picked it up, tracing the silver filigree. Dad would've loved this. The thought drew a bitter smile.
I collapsed onto the royal sofa - an obscenely plush monstrosity that likely cost a commoner's entire annual wages - and stared blankly at the gilded ceiling.
The pocket watch's ticking seemed to grow louder in the silence.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each mechanical click might as well have been laughing at me.
"So," I muttered to the empty room. "What now?"
The question hung in the air, as heavy as the velvet drapes surrounding me. How the hell was I supposed to return?
Frankly speaking, it might not be an impossible task.
Kyzen's memories came to me in fragments, like shards of a shattered mosaic. I needed to learn more about this world's history—though admittedly, Kyzen hadn't been one for scholarly pursuits. But some truths were undeniable: the gods here were real. Not as some abstract faith, but as fact. They rarely answered prayers, but every few years, they would whisper secrets to chosen mortals—the Blessed.
Their gifts were never blessings without teeth.
When the human kingdom began forging its new path—not rejecting magic, but courting steam and gears alongside it—the gods permitted this dance with progress. They watched as pistons coexisted with incantations, as coal smoke curled around crystal mana rather than extinguishing it. A delicate balance.
"The sky is not yours to claim."
No explanation. No room for debate. Just a commandment carved into every royal court's edict stone, its letters seared black as if burned by divine fingers.
The gods made their law universal.
To this day, no one knew why. Yet all obeyed—some out of faith, others from the bone-deep certainty that certain hungers invite certain ends.
They also left little information about the ancient past, not of the Age of Gods, nor the vast period after they departed from the mortal realm.
What fragments remained suggested that in the beginning, countless gods had walked the world, though now only the Fifteen stood as recognized sovereigns. The other deities still lingered in forgotten shrines and shadowed realms, but none wielded power like the 15.
Their discord had once plunged creation into endless war. Scholars theorized the gods ultimately realized their battles would annihilate all life—even their own worshippers.
Instead, each deity chose mortal representatives, gifting them fragments of their many names and imbuing their souls with a sliver of divine power. These individuals - essentially demigods - were called... Inheritors
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After a while, Charles arrived with breakfast—and holy shit, the food here might just be the one redeeming part of this whole transmigration nightmare. It was so exquisite that even Gordon Ramsay would've wept and retired on the spot.
I took one bite and nearly groaned. This wasn't just better than Earth's food. This was unfair.
Fluffy, buttery bread that melted like clouds. Jam so vibrant it tasted like stolen sunlight. Eggs so rich they had to be laid by golden chickens or some fantasy nonsense. Even the damn water had a crisp, mineral sweetness, like it had been filtered through magic mountain springs.
At least I have one thing to look forward to, I thought, already plotting how to bribe the cooks for seconds.
I checked the pocket watch
| 9:37 AM |
I checked the pocket watch- still three hours until lunch. There was something I wanted to check out the most.
My eyes swept over the room: gilded mirrors, porcelain vases that probably cost more than Oliver's college tuition, furniture so pristine it seemed to judge me for existing.
Yeah, outside sounds good.
Better to risk the unfamiliar gardens than explain why the antique wardrobe suddenly had a hole in it.
I stepped into the hallway, where dawn's light spilled through leaded glass windows, gilding the black-and-white marble floors. Beyond the panes, the Barony of Varae unfolded like a living tapestry—hedge mazes carved with military precision,
For all this world's strangeness, it was undeniably, painfully beautiful.
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Behind the manor, the knights' training ground echoed with the clang of steel, but I sought a quieter earth—an unused stretch of grass beside the gardens. The air hummed differently here, thick with something older than swordplay.
THE something I wanted to check out the most—magic. Magic existed in this world, though it proved more difficult to use than one might expect.
I stretched out my palm, feeling the familiar pressure build in my chest. No incantations. No grand gestures. Just the Veyl Organ's silent wakefulness, that coiled tension behind the ribs every noble child learned to recognize.
The grass at my feet twitched first.
Focusing inward, I sensed the Veyl flow within me—a peculiar sensation like warm honey laced with lightning threading through my veins. Like blood through arteries, it surged from my core through invisible channels braided with my very flesh, pooling in the Veyl Organ where it pulsed with a rhythm that vibrated in my molars. Commanding it down my arm to my palm, the energy left phantom currents beneath my skin, raising trails of gooseflesh in its wake.
The air shivered. As the energy reached my fingertips, the space around my hand plummeted into winter, my exhales frosting visibly as the Veyl seized the atmosphere's moisture. With an almost-violent snap, humidity crystallized into a thousand suspended droplets—diamond dust in sunlight—before coalescing into a single, trembling sphere. It glowed cerulean from within, painting liquid light across my cheeks. My lips curled. Success.
Less than a blink. The sphere still hovered as my eyelashes finished lowering.
Fire demanded reversal. I wrenched the Veyl back to my core—a white-hot withdrawal that left my arm prickling with numbness—then forced it into my opposite palm, this time strangling the air itself. Oxygen was compressed until my skin burned. A sulfur bite flooded my nose, pressure mounting until—
Pop.
The spark birthed a flame that flickered violet at its heart, its unnatural glow stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the grass.
The Veyl Organ's response felt utterly natural, as if my muscles remembered motions my mind had never learned. This wasn't just some magical reservoir—it lived and breathed with me, reacting to my intentions with near-sentient enthusiasm. I understood immediately why water couldn't be conjured from nothing—the Law of Conservation still ruled here. Instead, the Veyl worked with existing humidity, forcing vapor to surrender to liquid form with a quiet, kettle-like hiss.
The same fundamental laws governed every elemental manipulation: fire bloomed from aggressively accelerated oxidation (leaving that sharp ozone tang in the air), wind rose from violently carved pressure gradients (making my scalp prickle with static), lightning sprang from artificially polarized atmosphere (staining my mouth with copper-edged adrenaline). The Veyl Organ's placement mirrored Earth's appendix, though here it pulsed with clear purpose beneath my ribs—a warm, living ember I could feel through my shirt after casting, proof of its constant readiness.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments, I felt it—a hum deeper than sound, vibrating in my bones like a second heartbeat.
Veyl couldn't be seen, only sensed. It worked like energy: never created or destroyed, just reshaped. When spent, it left my body as warmth leaves breath on a cold day—invisible but undeniable. At dawn and dusk, I felt it returning, an unseen tide soaking back into my skin. It traveled my veins (if I focused, I could trace its path by the faint warmth under my skin) before pooling again in the Veyl Organ, ready for use.
Through generations of adaptation, people grew attuned to the Veyl surrounding them. But losing the Veyl Organ wasn't like losing an appendix—it was a death sentence for those whose lives revolved around magic. Without it, the body couldn't properly store or regulate Veyl flow. Survivors were left as empty husks, forever sensing the energy around them but unable to harness it—like starving men watching a feast through glass.
That said, even with a damaged Organ, magic wasn't entirely impossible. Practitioners could still channel raw Veyl through direct skin contact, though they described the sensation as "pushing shattered crystal through your veins." I'd need firsthand experience to truly understand—Kyzen's memories provided with textbook knowledge, but not the visceral reality.
The magic system's complexity was equal parts thrilling and overwhelming. Every spell required chanting in that runic tongue, though thankfully at whisper-volume—I'd die of embarrassment if I had to shout incantations like some fantasy trope.
There were different systems of magic—some with entirely different concepts, like elemental magic, which I used: it manipulates the Veyl. Bloodline, Spirit Sync, and Gisa were among the known ones.
They claimed the gods created magic to make life easier. Yet, if they were truly all-powerful, why leave the world only to science? Although science can't do everything, it definitely made life simpler. Unless... they wanted to be worshipped. Unless simplicity was never the goal.
Ugh. My fingers raked through hair still prickling with leftover energy. Why this world? Why me? Stories like these never end well for the transmigrator. With a sigh, I snapped my pocket watch shut and headed for the dining hall.