"Ever since Count Haim fell in battle at the Despair Wall ten years ago, every successor to the Haim family has died in an 'accident.'
Now, with no heirs left, the Haim family faces extinction.
I, the sixth patriarch of the Mandala family and Grand Duke of the Mandala Duchy, in gratitude for the three generations of service rendered by the Haim family to the Duchy, hereby decree that my fourth son, Her Mandala, shall take his mother's surname.
From this day forth, he shall be titled Count Her Haim and inherit the Haim estate."
In a golden, resplendent banquet hall, a stern-faced middle-aged man sat upon a gilded throne.
Below him, a black-haired, black-eyed boy knelt halfway before him.
Behind the boy stood rows of men and women in Rococo-style court attire.
"What the hell is going on… am I even still in my own country?"
Hemu stared blankly at the majestic figure before him.
His body, moving as if on its own, accepted a parchment from a waiting servant and stepped back.
He couldn't control any of it — as though this body didn't belong to him at all.
He felt like a spectator trapped inside someone else's skin.
Could this be a dream?
As that thought formed, the scene shifted.
He found himself in a vintage palace corridor.
The setting sun streamed through crystal glass windows, casting long shadows behind him.
In front of him stood a young nobleman in ornate dress, cornering him against the wall.
"My foolish little brother — oh no, I suppose I should call you Count Haim now.
You're finally leaving. Remember this — from today onward, you're nothing but a bastard of the Haim line.
You have nothing to do with our Mandala family.
Otherwise…"
The scene shifted again.
And again.
Hemu seemed to relive the brief life of a boy named Her — fourth son of the Grand Duke of the Mandala Duchy, a vassal of the Seleviss Kingdom.
Unlike his red-haired Mandala kin, Her's hair was pitch black — a color considered an omen of misfortune by the locals.
His fate, indeed, seemed cursed.
The year he was born, his grandfather, Marquis Haim, died of illness.
The once-prosperous Haim family quickly fell into denobles its lands devoured by neighboring nobles.
After much struggle, Her's uncle inherited only a countship — and the very next year, the new Count Haim was sent to the Watchtower Wall, where he was decapitated by an orc during a small-scale siege.
Unable to bear the blow, Her's mother soon followed her husband to the grave.
From then on, Her was branded "the Demon Child."
Fortunately, he still bore the Mandala name.
No matter how vicious the rumors, no matter how much the Mandalas despised him, as long as he carried their family name, his death — accidental or otherwise — would shame the Grand Duke himself.
That alone let him survive until age twelve.
"What a damn cliché political tragedy," Hemu muttered to himself.
The original owner of this body might have accepted it as fate — a "cursed child" doomed to bring ruin to his kin.
But Hemu, armed with nine years of compulsory education and a decade's worth of reading web novels, saw through it immediately.
The root cause of this tragedy was simple —the death of the old Marquis.
Without their greatest pillar of support, neither Her's uncle nor his mother had the influence or strength to defend what rightfully belonged to them.
Power without merit — the old saying fit perfectly.
If Her truly were a bringer of doom, why hadn't any Mandala family member died because of him?
And if his mother hadn't died, who would have made way for the current "Lady of the House"?
Even Zhu Yuanzhang's sons played the same game — if the Chang clan hadn't died, Zhu Yunwen would never have become Crown Prince.
Ancient wisdom really was universal — it even made sense in another world.
Now Her's situation was no different from that of Zhu Yunshuo —stripped of all political capital.
The fact that he hadn't been imprisoned for life was already a blessing.
"Damn, this really is a 'hell difficulty' start."
Still, he had one advantage —
Hemu's vast webnovel knowledge, plus the fact that he knew how to make gunpowder, soap, penicillin, and glass.
Time to bring a little industrial revolution to this world.
Or so he thought — until another surge of memory hit him.
Knights who wielded battle aura.
Mages who controlled the elements.
Clerics who channeled divine power.
And according to those memories, even a beginner mage's Fireball Spell was as powerful as a modern hand grenade.
That was just the entry level.
Above beginner mages were intermediates, then advanced ones — and beyond them, Archmagi and Great Magi.
His dead father, the Duke, had been a Sky Knight — a class equal in rank to a Great Magus.
As for Her himself… he was a mere beginner mage.
"Oh, fantastic. I'm screwed."
In an instant, his "normal difficulty" transmigration became "nightmare mode."
Forget about building kingdoms — he'd be lucky just to live quietly on his little patch of land.
After decades as a wage slave, a peaceful, comfortable life in another world didn't sound bad at all.
Just as Her was planning how to "lie flat" and survive, a clear chime echoed in his mind.
[Ding! You have a new message.]
[Dear Transmigrator, we have detected that you've awakened memories from your past life.
As such, we are sending you one random Transmigrator System.
Enjoy your new world!
— Transmigrator Administration Bureau]
[Analyzing world environment…]
[Analyzing cultivation system…]
[Integrating with world laws…]
[Congratulations, Host! You have received the Entry Plundering System!]
[Congratulations! You've received a newbie gift pack: 3 unrestricted plunder attempts.]
[Congratulations! You've unlocked the following skills: Entry Scan, Entry Plunder, Entry Copy, and Entry Pickup.]
Entry Scan: Examine any object's attributes and entries.
Entry Plunder: Steal entries from beings whose strength is not higher than the host's.
Entry Copy: Copy any entry's quality and effect, depending on host power.
Entry Pickup: Obtain entries from inanimate objects.
Notes:
Plunder and Copy chances replenish once per day.
Ten chances can be combined into one Overlevel Chance,
which allows plundering or copying one level higher than your own.
Max stack limit: 30 chances.
Entry Pickup has no limit, but all skills require physical contact.
"Now we're talking!"
Hemu grinned.
A transmigrator's cheat system — late, but right on time!
"Touch corpses to get stronger? Hell yeah!"
With this, why stop at survival?
Emperor's robes, here I come!
Still, first things first — he had to wake up.
He couldn't wait to see what kind of decadent life awaited him as a feudal count in a world of magic.
Would he get a squad of beast-eared maids?
Or maybe elf maids instead?
Just thinking about it got him a little excited.
From now on, he would be Her Haim.
With that thought, Her slowly opened his eyes.
But instead of a soft bed and gentle maid as the original memories promised, what he saw was a dim, damp dungeon.
The stench of blood and decay filled his nostrils, his stomach churning with nausea — a vivid reminder that this was no dream.
"You're finally awake, little one~"
Before him stood a pink-haired girl in a gothic dress.
Though she wore no makeup, an intoxicating, mature allure radiated from her.
Even in the darkness, her beauty was impossible to hide —despite the bloodstains splattered across her gown and cheeks.
In her gloved hand dangled a mangled corpse.
Her heels clicked softly as she approached,
stopping gracefully before him.
She crouched, tilted his chin upward with her gloved fingers, and smiled.
"As expected of Mandala blood — such a lovely face.
A pretty boy like you would cry for hours after just one lash, wouldn't you?
Ah, how rude of me — I forgot to introduce myself.
I am the Death Witch, Yōu Míng.
You may call me Mistress… or My Queen."
Her lips curved into a dark smile.
"Welcome to my hell.
Now… please, enjoy yourself."