Chapter 1: Crimson
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Pain!
Such intense pain!
My head hurts like crazy!
The chaotic, whispering dreams shattered in an instant. Zhou Mingrui, still half-asleep, felt an excruciating throbbing in his head, as if someone had smashed it with a club—no, more like a sharp object had pierced his temple and was twisting inside!
Hiss… In his groggy state, Zhou Mingrui tried to roll over, clutch his head, or sit up, but his limbs wouldn't obey. His body felt completely unresponsive.
I must not be fully awake yet, still stuck in a dream… Maybe I'll even think I've woken up, only to realize I'm still sleeping… Zhou Mingrui, no stranger to such experiences, struggled to focus his will, desperate to break free from the shackles of darkness and illusion.
But in this half-awake, half-dreaming state, his will was like smoke—elusive, impossible to grasp. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts scattered, and random ideas flooded his mind.
Why the heck am I suddenly getting a headache in the middle of the night?
And it hurts this bad!
Could it be something serious, like a brain hemorrhage?
No way, am I going to die young just like that?
Wake up! Come on, wake up!
Wait, it doesn't seem to hurt as much now? Still feels like a dull knife cutting through my brain, though…
Guess I can't sleep anymore. How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow?
Work? With a headache this real, I'm calling in sick! No need to deal with the manager's nagging!
Heh, maybe this isn't so bad after all. A half-day off to catch a break!
Wave after wave of throbbing pain slowly gathered a faint strength within Zhou Mingrui. With a final surge of effort, he jerked his back upright, opened his eyes, and broke free from the half-sleep state.
His vision was blurry at first, then tinged with a faint crimson hue. As his gaze settled, Zhou Mingrui saw a wooden desk in front of him, its natural grain clearly visible. At the center lay an open notebook, its coarse, yellowed pages inscribed with strange, alphabetic text written in bold, black ink that seemed almost alive.
To the left of the notebook, near the edge of the desk, was a neat stack of seven or eight books. On the wall to the right, a grayish-white pipe connected to a wall-mounted lamp.
The lamp had a Western, classical charm, about the size of half an adult's head. Its inner layer was clear glass, while the outer frame was crafted from black metal in a lattice design.
Below the unlit lamp, a black ink bottle shimmered faintly under the crimson glow, its surface embossed with a vague angelic pattern.
In front of the ink bottle, to the right of the notebook, sat a dark fountain pen with a rounded body, its nib glinting faintly. Next to it rested a brass-colored revolver, its cap placed beside it.
A revolver? Zhou Mingrui froze, stunned by the unfamiliar objects before him. None of this resembled his own room in the slightest!
Shock and confusion washed over him as he realized the desk, notebook, ink bottle, and revolver were all bathed in a layer of crimson "veil"—light streaming in from the window.
Instinctively, he lifted his head, his gaze inching upward.
In the air, against a backdrop of black "velvet," a blood-red full moon hung silently, casting its serene glow.
This… Zhou Mingrui's heart raced with panic. He shot to his feet, but before his legs could fully straighten, another wave of pain pulsed through his head. His strength gave out, and he collapsed back onto the hard wooden chair with a heavy thud.
The pain didn't faze him. Pressing his hands against the desk, Zhou Mingrui stood again, frantically turning to survey his surroundings.
The room was small. To his left and right were brown wooden doors. Against the far wall stood a wooden bunk bed.
Between the bunk bed and the left door was a cabinet with double doors on top and five drawers below.
At about chest height near the cabinet's edge, another grayish-white pipe was embedded in the wall, connected to a strange mechanical device with exposed gears and bearings in some areas.
In the right corner near the desk, a pile of items resembling a coal stove sat alongside kitchen tools like a soup pot and an iron wok.
Beyond the right door was a full-length mirror with two cracks, its wooden base adorned with simple, unadorned patterns.
As his gaze swept the room, Zhou Mingrui caught a vague glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, his current self:
Black hair, brown eyes, a linen shirt, a slender frame, average features, and sharp contours…
This… Zhou Mingrui sucked in a sharp breath, his mind swirling with helpless and chaotic guesses.
A revolver, Western-style furnishings, and a crimson moon so different from Earth's, all of it pointed to one undeniable truth!
Did I… Did I transmigrate? Zhou Mingrui's mouth fell open slightly.
Having grown up reading webnovels, he'd often fantasized about such things. But now that it was happening, he could hardly accept it.
Is this what they call loving the idea of something but balking when it actually happens? After a few dozen seconds, Zhou Mingrui gave a wry, self-deprecating chuckle.
If not for the persistent pain in his head, keeping his thoughts sharp and tense, he'd probably think he was still dreaming.
Calm down, calm down, calm down… After a few deep breaths, Zhou Mingrui forced himself to steady his nerves.
Just then, as his body and mind began to settle, fragmented memories surged forth, slowly piecing themselves together in his mind.
Klein Moretti, from Tingen City, Ahova County, in the Loen Kingdom of the Northern Continent. A recent graduate from the History Department of Hoy University…
His father, a sergeant in the Royal Army, died in a colonial conflict in the Southern Continent. The pension allowed Klein to attend a private grammar school, paving the way for his university admission…
His mother, a devotee of the Evernight Goddess, passed away the year Klein passed Hoy University's entrance exam…
He had an older brother and a younger sister, living together in a two-bedroom apartment…
The family wasn't wealthy, far from it. They relied on his brother's job as a clerk at an import-export company to get by…
As a history graduate, Klein was proficient in Ancient Feysac, considered the root of the Northern Continent's languages, as well as Hermes, a script often found in ancient tombs and used in rituals and prayers…
Hermes? Zhou Mingrui's heart stirred. Pressing his throbbing temple, he turned his gaze to the open notebook on the desk. The strange text on the yellowed page shifted from unfamiliar to oddly familiar, then to something he could understand.
It was written in Hermes!
The bold, black ink declared:
"Everyone will die, including me."
Hiss! Zhou Mingrui's heart seized with inexplicable fear. His body instinctively leaned back, as if trying to distance himself from the notebook and its chilling words.
He felt weak, nearly stumbling, and quickly grabbed the desk's edge for support. The air around him seemed to grow restless, faint whispers echoing in his ears, like the creepy stories his elders told him as a child.
Shaking his head, he realized it was just an illusion. Steadying himself, Zhou Mingrui shifted his gaze from the notebook, gasping for air.
His eyes fell on the brass-glinting revolver, and a sudden question struck him.
"With Klein's family situation, how could he afford a revolver? And where would he even get one?"
Lost in thought, he noticed something else at the desk's edge: a red handprint, darker and thicker than the crimson moonlight.
A bloodied handprint!
"Blood?" Zhou Mingrui instinctively checked the hand he'd used to grip the desk. His palm and fingers were smeared with blood.
At the same time, the throbbing pain in his head persisted, slightly weaker but unrelenting.
"Did I hit my head?" he muttered, turning toward the cracked full-length mirror.
A few steps later, a medium-built figure with black hair, brown eyes, and a scholarly air appeared clearly in the reflection.
This is me now, Klein Moretti?
Zhou Mingrui paused, the dim midnight light making it hard to see clearly. He stepped closer until he was nearly touching the mirror.
Under the faint, veil-like crimson moonlight, he tilted his head to inspect his temple.
The mirror reflected a gruesome wound at his temple, its edges scorched and surrounded by bloodstains.