Once again transmigrated, Sairuis felt utterly baffled. He had no idea why he ended up here. In his memory, just to commemorate his one-year anniversary of arriving in the Star Rail world, he had been borrowing a certain relic's psychological invisibility to cling to a wall built by the Amber King, trying to pry off some gemstones. Then, for no clear reason—his vision went dark, and suddenly he was in this crowded, noisy street.
Where even is this? (Patrick Star voice)
He had a hunch: this must be far, far away from the domains guarded by Qolipoth. When he checked within himself, he found that on the Path of [Trailblaze], he had taken an enormous leap forward.
In that past year, he had been a Nameless Guest, traveled to countless places, even—on a few impulses—ventured beyond the Wall into zones that even the Trailblaze Aeon had never stepped into. Yet back then, even with all that, he hadn't advanced as far on the Path as he had just now.
Unlike the game, real Pathstriders weren't locked to only one Path. Humans were complex—our views of the world were diverse and changeable.
Thus, when someone said "So-and-so is a Pathstrider of ___," it wasn't necessarily the Path they'd first set foot on. Rather, it referred to whichever Path they had walked furthest down—or whichever Path they chose to call themselves.
This also explained why, in taverns, you often wouldn't see a single Pathstrider of Elation.
Right now, the stench of trash mixed with horse dung stung his nose, making Sairuis wrinkle his brow. He tapped his collar; instantly, an invisible bubble formed around his head. The air he breathed cleared at once. Say what you will—Interastral Peace Corporation's wares were overpriced, but what the Intelligentsia Guild made was really handy.
Next, Sairuis pulled a palm-sized, silver, flip-top trashcan out of his pocket. Aside from being a trashcan, it had muscular limbs, its arms crossed firmly over its chest, exuding strength.
Suddenly, a puff of white cloud appeared before his eyes, bearing strange narration text:
[The vertical grooves down its silver body highlight its slender form, like a dancer in mid-spin, drawing every gaze. The mottled gray-black spots and rust adorning its elegant frame reveal a classic beauty—poised and confident, of a kind modern sensibilities can no longer grasp.]
Sairuis ignored the narration. Three days ago, this same thing had suddenly blurted out a flashy [Ciallo～(∠ω<)⌒★]. Since then, it kept popping up like some parasite, desperate to show off its existence.
The little thing first introduced itself as "Little Aha." Sairuis just called it "Erha" (Second-Ha).
The cloud returned again:
[A breeze stirs its dust, graceful as a startled swan, lithe as a dragon in flight. Truly, a trashcan fit only for the heavens—seldom glimpsed upon the earth.]
[Place it by the roadside, and it becomes a glittering treasure chest—the very meaning of Trailblazing itself.]
…Too bad this wasn't the kind of promiscuous treasure chest anyone could just pop open. This was, in fact, a portable space-folding luggage trunk developed by the Genius Society. Sairuis had named it "Bucket Boy."
Of course, the exterior design was his own custom commission. Such "avant-garde" artistry wasn't widely understood, which often left him sighing in frustration.
[Put bluntly, he's just in his rebellious phase—needs some non-mainstream bling to feel badass.]
Sairuis only shrugged. Didn't matter—he had a comrade-in-arms who truly understood him: none other than the legendary Galactic Baseballer.
On the Astral Express, they'd become good friends. Folks even gave them nicknames: General Big Bucket and Corporal Small Bucket.
With a tap of his finger, Bucket Boy obediently unclasped its crossed arms, then used one hand to flip open its lid. Sairuis reached in. As his hand neared the opening, visual distortion warped it smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely, like watching a funhouse mirror trick.
He strolled aimlessly with the crowd, pulling out a pair of deep-blue sunglasses from Bucket Boy. He slid them on.
The lenses weren't smooth glass but mosaics of countless tiny mirrors. Each shard reflected something different—as if time itself had been fractured into pieces.
Through this strange filter, the world broke into dozens of fragments. People, objects—all seemed shattered and disordered, yet linked by hidden threads.
The memories of people, the memories of objects—the world revealing everything it had recorded. Chaotic, but with a strange order.
This was the perspective of [Memory].
[Or Rememberance]
He turned toward a gentleman in a half-tall silk hat. Common-sense memories streamed into Sairuis's mind through the sunglasses, a product of the Reverie Labyrinth.
This was Tingen City, in Aowa County, northern Loen Kingdom. A year had 365 days, divided into twelve months of roughly thirty days each. Today was June 27th. The currency was pence, soli, and gold pounds.
The Loenese mainly worshiped the Goddess of the Night, the Lord of Storms, and the God of Steam and Machinery. The moon of this world was red. Roselle the Great was remembered as history's greatest politician, general, writer, inventor, adventurer…
As all this knowledge flowed in, Sairuis suddenly froze. These settings… he'd seen them before. The names of the gods felt way too familiar. And when "Roselle the Great" appeared in his mind, he halted in his tracks.
He realized the source of that déjà vu: a novel he had once read.
Lord of the Mysteries.
Huh? Why's there water on my hand? Is it raining?
No—it wasn't rain. It was sweat.
So that's it. I'm drenched in sweat already… this suffocating pressure, like a python coiling tighter and tighter…
He even wondered if this was Aha playing a prank on him.
[Hehe! This is exactly what I want to see! The Outer God beating Sairuis to the ground, dragging him off to do work!]
Unlike most novels, where a transmigrator's foreknowledge of the plot let them seize advantage after advantage—this story's world worked differently. Some of its rules were downright hostile to transmigrators. Here, knowledge itself was poisonous.
Like a trashcan full of rotten eggs—even the self-proclaimed Trashcan King, the Galactic Baseballer, would know better than to dig through it.
PS: The early chapters lean heavy on gags. The main plot connects with the original story around Chapter 10. If you're not into the meme-craziness, feel free to skip ahead.
About "Erha": I know some readers may find him annoying—like having some intrusive voice reading your mind, or the sense of being watched. Creepy, right? But let me clarify: Erha is not a system, nor Ahah, nor Tzeentch in disguise. No conspiracy. He's a meme lifeform, born from Sairuis's unconscious wish: "I hope someone will play along with my memes and discuss the plot with me." That desire, combined with the Paths of Elation, Memory, and Propagation, plus his own memories, created Erha. You can think of him as Sairuis's second personality, given shape. Both his memory and his essence are rooted in Sairuis himself. They are one. If you treat it as split-personality schizophrenia… maybe that makes it easier to accept?
(End of Chapter 2)