Chapter 3: Exploration
After rereading the legal documents one final time, Arthur carefully folded them back into the pink envelope. The initial shock of the situation he had found himself in was beginning to wear off
If he was going to survive in Backlund, he would need to leverage the only real asset this body's estranged, dead father had left him: a hereditary seat in the House of Lords.
But simply signing the papers and claiming the reward would not be enough. He would need to play the game— to dive headfirst into the exhausting drama of Loenese high society. That meant attending opulent gatherings, maneuvering through the tangled circles of the aristocracy, rubbing shoulders with viscounts and earls until he had woven himself a web of reliable connections. Connections that would grant him precious, hard to obtain information about the hidden world of beyonder and mysticism, but also give him the financial and political backing he could fall back on when things inevitably went wrong.
Arthur paused, staring at the envelope. It all sounded so straightforward and easy in his head. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more his confidence crumbled.
Can I really do this? He was no nobleman by upbringing. He had neither the experience nor the instinct for the customs of this era, let alone the faintest idea how to navigate the treacherous waters of high society. What if I made a fool of myself? What if I achieved nothing at all?
Relax, he thought to himself. I need to relax a bit and explore first. No need to rush at everything all at once. Just take one step at a time and just be chill.
With a heavy sigh Arthur stood up and walked over to turn off the pipe valve. He watched the wall lamp gradually dim until its flame extinguished. It was strange but the darkness that swallowed the room did not feel oppressive at all, it felt weirdly serene and calming. His tensed muscles which he hadn't noticed until now unwound themselves as the lingering anxiety and fear of the fire finally evaporated away.
He basked in the deafening and calming silence of the night, something that he could rarely experience back at home unless he ventured far into the countryside.
Lying on his new bed in the comfortable dark, his mind began to wander. Not about the title, the dangers of this world, or the mysterious Beyonders, but about himself and the life he had lost. He missed home. He missed the comforting vegetable stew that his mother used to make, the lazy conversation with his college friends, and his teacher. He missed them all.
But now in this new reality he couldn't even talk to them or ask how they were doing. Everything was taken away from him in a single irreversible moment. His old life was gone just like that.
Arthur closed his eyes, letting the grief wash over him for a few quiet moments before forcing himself to lock it all away. Despair wouldn't help him survive Backlund. He needs to lock in right now.
The first step was claiming his inheritance, which meant getting himself a lawyer. He didn't know how good Mr. Harrison was, but he likely charged an exorbitant amount of fees much more suited for old aristocracy.
At that moment he remembered a character from his fragmented memory of the novel: Jurgen Cooper.
From what he remembered Jurgen was a competent, serious and very professional senior solicitor who from what he remembered earns at least three pounds a week and that is not counting the commissions he might get from the cases he handles, he definitely earns more than two hundred pounds a year. More importantly he lived right here on Minsk Street in Cherwood Borough, alongside his grandmother and a cat.
And, entirely coincidentally, so did Arthur.
Coincidence? Or perhaps a setup?
Coincidence or not he was going to use this fully to his advantage. If he could get on the good side of Jurgen's grandmother and perhaps win over the cat with some treat, he might even be able to secure a good neighborly discount.
Assuming he'd even take the case.
Would a solicitor like Jurgen touch a noble title confirmation at all? It might sit entirely outside his usual scope of work. And even if he did accept, how much would it cost?
As long as it's not more than twenty pounds, I think I can manage
But what if I slip up? What if I say something too strange, act too suspicious, and draw the wrong kind of attention— the police, or worse, the Mandated Punishers, or the Nighthawks themselves?
His mind began unspooling, weaving a thousand different what-ifs scenarios into a tangled mess of exhausting knots, each scenario worse than the last one.
"Stop," Arthur whispered into the dark, forcing the spiral to a halt through sheer will. "I'm doing it again. I need to stop."
He needed a distraction— something to occupy his mind with before it wandered somewhere and encountered knowledge that he couldn't pull it back from.
He took a slow deep breath and shifted his focus deliberately, this time inward, toward the body he now inhabited. He was a Kindred. That much he understood and was sure of. But being a Kindred wasn't just about the aesthetic of being a vampire or battling with the Beast constantly to maintain Humanity.
No… There was more, being a Kindred was also about having some truly supernatural abilities known as disciplines. Disciplines in itself came in many shapes and forms, some esoteric like control over shadows, deads, time, luck, being one with Earth itself, while others were much more tame like enhancing the senses, strength, speed, durability etc.
So, that begged the question what discipline did he possess.
Because he didn't know how to find them or activate them. Maybe some kind of meditation will work?
It was worth a try. Lying flat on his back, Arthur focused on his breathing. Even though his lungs no longer craved oxygen, the familiar, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest served as an anchor, steadying his mind and pushing back the tide of his anxieties.
Gradually, he surrendered conscious control of the rhythm. Left to its own devices, his breathing began to decelerate. The intakes of air grew shallower, the pauses between them stretching longer and longer until, finally, his chest stopped moving entirely. Instead of panic, this absolute, breathless stillness washed over him, permeating his mind with a sharp, otherworldly clarity.
In this deathly quiet state, his internal senses expanded. He could distinctly feel the heavy, dark thrum of his vitae pooling within him. Yet, hovering just beyond that familiar vampiric lifeblood was something else— a distinct, latent energy humming like a coiled spark or a fully charged battery.
Bypassing the steady pull of his vitae, Arthur reached inward and mentally grasped that crackling charge. A wry smile tugged at his imaginary lips as his thoughts drifted to character sheets and EXP. Amused by the sheer absurdity of it, he gathered that reservoir of energy and experimentally funneled it straight into the mental framework of what he perceived as his [Auspex] discipline.
Suddenly, his perception shattered outward.
The world exploded into terrifying clarity. A cacophony of hidden details assaulted him all at once. He could hear the frantic, skittering of the insect from outside and also from somewhere downstairs. He could also smell an acrid, metallic tang in the air, layered perfectly over the fading, powdery scent of old lavender soap lingering on his bedsheets. In the pitch-black room, as his eyes snapped open, it adjusted almost instantly to darkness, granting him an unnatural night vision. He could not only see the room more clearly now, but also trace the intricate, swirling grain of the wooden bedpost with perfect, microscopic details.
He had unlocked the first dot of Auspex— Heightened Senses. He could now elevate any or all of his five senses to superhuman levels, or focus on just one.
Exhilaration surged through him. There were still some sparks left. He reached inward again and poured everything remaining into the node he sensed and felt like represented Presence.
This time the change was much more subtle, there was no sudden explosion of sensation. Instead, fresh knowledge flowed into him, delivered in what he can only assume as the Beast's low, instinctive voice.
Awe.
It was simple but incredibly solid. Once invoked, people around him would feel an immediate, intense pull, either a strong desire to draw closer or a shudder of instinctive fear. He could make them feel whatever he wanted them to. The attraction was powerful yet temporary, never so overwhelming that it stripped away their sense of self-preservation. Danger would shatter the effect instantly, as would leaving his presence. But those affected would remember how they felt, and it would definitely color any future encounters he might have with them.
Best of all, Awe worked beautifully well for swaying groups. It didn't matter what he actually said, the hearts of those listening would naturally lean toward his own opinions.
Arthur lay there in the dark, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
He still had a long way to go. But for the first time since arriving in this world, he didn't feel completely helpless at all. Especially with the plethora of boons he has been given. He could create and generate any abilities or powers, enhance his own skills, perks, appearance and stats as if he is a video game character.
Hehe… Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.
°°°
The townhouse was modest by aristocratic standards but still far grander than anything that he had known in his previous life. Gas wall sconces lined the hallway, their brass fitting gleaming dully even in the darkness. Arthur didn't bother lighting them, his sharpened senses making artificial light almost unnecessary.
He started with the bedroom down the hall from his own, it was remarkably similar to the one he had woken up in, but instead of a king-sized bed, this one had a queen-sized bed, other than that everything else was similar inside and was covered in layers of dust sheets.
On this level there was also a bathroom, positioned just beside the balcony doors, its tiled floor cold and untouched. There also seemed to be an indentation in the ceiling signifying that there might be an attic. But for now he decided to leave it aside.
Downstairs was much more different with the ground floor having an open layout where the living and dining areas flowed together. A comfortable sitting area with two armchairs and a mahogany sofa positioned asymmetrically around a low table, facing an ornate coal fireplace that dominated one of the walls, its dark metal grate was cold and empty from disuse.
The dining area was in the rear portion of the house, with a sturdy rectangular table that could seat six, surrounded by straight backed chairs. A sideboard displayed a modest collection of silverware and porcelain plates, likely part of the inheritance. A single crystal decanter stood empty on a silver tray. Behind the dining space lay the kitchen, equipped with a solid cast-iron range and copper pots, cast iron skillet and a variety of knives hanging neatly above the worktable.
Opposite to the living room was a pretty modest guest, with a small bed, a wardrobe and the basic amenities, this one like the other was also covered by dust sheets. Other than that there was also a cleverly designed two-part bathroom— with an outer section for washing up and an inner toilet area, separated by an accordion door.
Aside from that there also seemed to be a door near the kitchen that lead out to the back yard, the garden overgrown with tall grass bathing in the faint crimson light of the moon, there also seemed to be a rounding staircase that lead down to an underground cellar, it was cool dry and perfect for storing food, it was also pitch black, going upstairs and retrieving a kerosene oil lamp he lighted it up suffered momentarily from the irrational fear of fire before taking it downstairs to investigate the cellar.
The cellar seemed to have various barely from the smell; it seemed like most were alcoholic beverages, but due to light he could also see various ceramic vessels opening them revealing various grain and flour, mostly flax, rye and wheat. This and the baking station he saw earlier outside on the tiled porch it seemed whoever the earlier Arthur had been he was good at baking and likely also made his own bread. Aside from that he also found various herbs most were things that were used for spices but there were some that could be considered to have mystical value back on earth. There also seemed to be various vessels filled with chemical reagents.
At that moment he felt a certain premonition that the previous owner might be into some mystical stuff, and the answer probably lied in the attic. He came to this conclusion because he felt his Spirituality react to some of the items here. Feeling his Spirituality for the first time was rather weird, it was weirdly similar to something he experienced back home whenever something bad was going to happen or when he fell into trance occasionally and would mutter weird stuff. So, the feeling was not that much foreign, but now that he was thinking about it, the mystery about why the previous owner was in a coffin still hasn't been solved.
Picking up one of the items that his Spirituality seemed to react to most, almost pulling him toward it, he found it was a four-leaf clover, but peculiarly, it was silver, and was kept in a rather ornate box.
He had never personally seen such a mutation, even back home in his own lab where he liked to grow illegal plants. Bioluminescence and golden basil were things that could be created, but he had never thought that he would see a mutation like this. If only he could share his findings with his college friend, they would surely be ecstatic.
Shaking his head to clear the wave of melancholy, Arthur ascended the stairs. Before exploring the attic, though, he would need to store his find safely.
Keep this in my room, he thought. And I should also move my coffin to the cellar
He extinguished the lamp, returned it to the kitchen, and then carried the silver clover up to his room, setting it down carefully on the desk just beside the feather. He didn't know why, but that place just felt like the right spot, just beside his hand-crafted quill.
Feeling a bit more paranoid than necessary, Arthur opened the desk drawer and put both of them inside, after which he pulled the thick burgundy velvet curtain shut, dragging it along the rail, until the room drowned in complete darkness.
The staircase leading up to the attic was narrow and tucked behind an unassuming door at the very end of the hallway, easy to miss unless you already knew it was there. The previous Arthur was clearly a frequent visitor to the attic, as evidenced by the lack of dust on the steps— dust that seemed to coat everything else in the house. But he still decided to climb carefully, more out of habit than necessity, his new senses picking up every little detail.
At the top, the door to the attic was small, low enough that he would have to duck down to enter. But as he reached for the handle, he realized something: the door was locked.
Thin small chains wrapped around the handle and the door frame, with a vintage padlock sitting in the middle. He could either go back and search for the key to unlock it, or he could just use his enhanced strength and break it.
He weighed his options for exactly three seconds. Go back down, spend an hour rifling through drawers in the dark like a burglar in his own house.
Or.
He flexed his fingers.
A slow grin creeping across his face, equal parts nerves and something closer to reckless excitement. "Well," he said quietly, to no one in particular, "if I step through this door, there's no turning back. Guess this is my Hail Mary moment."
He grabbed the padlock tightly and twisted it before yanking it. The metal shrieked painfully in his ears before it tore apart and fell to the floor.
The door swung open inward with a groan, and a wave of cold air rolled out to meet him.
Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, lamp-less, breathless, staring at the magnificent thing before him.
"Arthur, you fucking genius bastard…"