Strange. Why do I feel oddly relaxed all of a sudden?
The irritation still sitting in Lucien's chest was suddenly undercut by a calm that did not match his mood at all.
Have I lost my mind from the transmigration?
Or did the stress actually turn me into a "Monster"? He pressed both hands to his head, not entirely sure.
No. I'm fine. This world is the problem. It's just a fictional world from a novel. I'm not a monster. It's this world that makes me look strange.
"This world is too barbaric, too backward. Having thoughts like this is perfectly normal."
To distract himself, Lucien went back to the mysticism documents.
Ritual magic. Charm crafting.
"All of it sounds like a pain."
Sitting on a speeding train, there was no way to experiment with any of it.
He couldn't even mutter to himself too loudly. It was early morning, and there were sleeping passengers all around him.
He kept flipping through the documents until he landed on a word he recognized.
Meditation.
Pretty much the same as meditation back in my old world, Lucien thought as he read the description.
"Let's give it a try." He glanced around, saw nothing unusual, and began meditating according to the instructions.
"First, picture an object in your mind." Lucien imagined the revolver he had just bought.
He pushed the fact that he was currently on the run to the back of his mind, and his attention finally started to converge. The scattered thoughts gradually fell away, until all that remained in his head was that black revolver.
"Then forget it. Replace it with something that doesn't exist in this world."
Lucien remembered the document saying this step was crucial. Only by following this rule could one slowly merge with the transcendent "I," the infinite "I," the cosmic "I," and gain insight into truth.
He did not fully understand the terms, but he followed the instructions anyway.
Imagine. Imagine what, though?
Would something from my old world count? He started recalling the object he had used most back there. A smartphone.
But no matter how he tried to recall it, no matter how he tried to picture it, he could not sharpen his focus any further.
"Strange. Why isn't it working? Don't tell me this world has smartphones too." Lucien was puzzled. Mysticism in this world was real, after all. Some things were hard to rule out.
"Or maybe there's something similar to a phone here. Or is a phone just too much like a small mirror, so it doesn't count as something that completely doesn't exist in this world?"
With no other choice, Lucien pushed his imagination harder. Using a liquid-metal robot from a sci-fi movie he had once seen as a template, he pictured a twisted, humanoid shape, like layers of shadows gathered into one form.
Before long, he felt his mind and body settle into calm. A layered, hazy sense of depth appeared before his eyes, just like when he had first drunk the potion.
His spirituality stretched out inch by inch, unfurling. Lucien observed it quietly, feeling it out.
Once his mind and body had fully calmed, he slowly opened his eyes.
"What is this?"
Strange colors had appeared in front of him. He reached out to touch them, and his hand passed straight through.
It was as if the whole world had been fitted with an odd filter. He turned to look at the other passengers and saw that their bodies were not only covered in various colors.
There were also strange, swirling masses piled together yet constantly shifting, like whirlpools of something he could not name.
"What on earth is going on?" Lucien rubbed his eyes. It took several minutes for his vision to gradually return to normal.
He flipped through the documents at hand, trying to find an explanation for what he had just seen.
Spirit Vision.
Another word caught his eye. He quickly started reading the section on Spirit Vision.
The non-physical part of every person was divided into four layers. At the core was the "Spirit Body." Outside the Spirit Body was the "Astral Body," the means by which the former communicated with the spirit world and the starry sky, and its outward manifestation.
Certain colors were outward characteristics of the Ether Body. Areas involved in movement, like the hands and feet, appeared red. The head and the surface of the brain appeared purple.
Spirit Vision also allowed one to directly see certain spirits, ghosts, and vengeful wraiths.
"So that's what those colors mean."
"Put simply, Spirit Vision lets you see someone's soul directly through your eyes? No, it's more like seeing their aura."
"But what are those strange little whirlpools? The document doesn't say. Could they be vengeful spirits? But how could every single person have one?"
Then a piece of knowledge from the "Monster" potion surfaced. Monsters can see what others cannot. "Is this something only the Monster pathway can see? But what is it?" The potion's knowledge offered no detailed explanation, and he could not guess.
He closed his eyes and tried meditating several more times. When he opened them again, he noticed the whirlpools did not appear every time, though the aura colors were always clear. After enough tries, he could reliably find the state for Spirit Vision, though free control was still a little beyond him.
Woo!
A massive whistle sounded, and the great steam train gradually swallowed its roar, slowing to a stop.
We've arrived? Has time really gone that fast?
He had been experimenting with Spirit Vision and studying mysticism the whole way. "Last time I studied this seriously was in high school," he said with a self-deprecating laugh.
Meow…
He opened his satchel and let the orange cat poke its head out. Back in the light, it wore an almost human expression of grievance, then turned its head away and refused to look at him. At a loss, Lucien gave it a couple of gentle pats, gathered his documents, shouldered his bag, and stepped off the train with his suitcase.
"So this is Tingen." He looked around. "The air really is a bit fresher than Backlund's."
Unlike Backlund's perpetual grey haze, Tingen felt crisp, without the thick tar smell or the dust hanging everywhere.
"I remember Tingen is supposed to be called a university city. Lots of universities." And in outsiders' impressions, Tingen's people were clever, something to do with a count from ancient times and some kind of universal education.
The original L had not been strong on history, so Lucien had no more to go on than that. Still, the idea of universal education left a favorable impression. "Universal education. That sounds like something only a transmigrator would do. Roselle? No, he was from Intis. Is there another one?" He could not rule out a far-sighted count with exceptional ideas, but would anyone really have thought that way centuries ago? He was not sure.
Lucien hauled his luggage out of the station and climbed into a carriage waiting at the curb.
"Sir, headed to a hotel?" The driver took in the bags and asked with the easy familiarity of a man who had asked this a thousand times, flicking the reins as he spoke.
"Mm." Lucien nodded without denying it.
"Then how about 'Red Tail Alley'? Out-of-towners love it there." He used the kind of suggestive tone that every man understood.
"No. Not that." Lucien was on the run. He did not have the time or the inclination.
"Take me somewhere quiet. Uh, out of the way."
"Out of the way?" The driver was puzzled, but he did not press. He just flicked the reins and got the carriage moving.
Lucien turned to the window as they rolled along, trying to let the scenery settle his nerves.
Twenty minutes later, the carriage pulled up outside a hotel.
"One soli."
Lucien handed over a note and climbed down with his luggage.
Azure Hotel.
He studied the sign, glanced around at the thinly populated street to make sure the driver had not dragged him to some random establishment to fleece him, and only then carried his suitcase inside.
"Hello. What do you need?" The front desk looked up at the traveler in front of him.
"A single room please." Lucien checked the price list. "I'll take it for a week to start."
"Alright. Ten soli."
Lucien handed over a ten-soli note.
"Innermost room on the second floor." The clerk passed him a key.
Upstairs, Lucien opened the door and looked around.
"Not bad. Bed, cabinet, washroom." He set down his suitcase and bag, then dropped straight onto the bed and sprawled out in a star shape.
He was exhausted, body and mind. It was not a good time to sleep, but a crushing drowsiness had already rolled over him. He had been up all night waiting for the train.
Can't sleep. Can't…
A short nap should be fine, right?
Just a little while.
Just a moment…
The mattress was soft under him, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Soon, even breathing filled the room.
Backlund.
The silver-haired witch, Irene, was still basking in the afterglow of her digested potion.
As a newly advanced Demoness of Pleasure, she had far less experience in these matters than the seniors who had brought her into the fold. The clearest sign was that she still could not withdraw the allure and charm she radiated at every waking moment.
She was in a good mood today. Another newcomer was about to join them.
Another newcomer with fantasies about the 'Assassin' pathway. Just like she once had.
He, not she. Because a'Witch' changes your gender. Drink the potion, and even a man becomes a true witch.
If her past self had known that Sequence 7 of the 'Assassin' pathway was 'Witch', he would have fought to the death before choosing it.
Assassin. Such a dashing, such an alluring name. Who would have guessed it had anything to do with Witch?
As a formerly innocent young man, he too had been seduced by her superior, the witch who brought her into the fold. He had muddled his way into drinking the 'Assassin' potion and set foot on a road of no return.
That experience was exactly why she was so keen on recruiting promising newcomers for the organization.
She loved watching them joyfully become 'Assassins', advance step by step, and finally, hehe.
As the saying goes: if you've been soaked by the rain, you should tear up someone else's umbrella too.
It was eight o'clock in the evening, and she was on her way to find that newcomer. Irene was confident the young man would not be able to resist the temptation of the extraordinary. Just like she once hadn't.
"Though he did manage to resist my charm to some extent." Recalling Lucien's behavior, her smile brightened.
"Good talent. Advancement should be easy for him."
"Looks like I'll have another sister soon. I really want to see the look on his face the moment he becomes a 'Witch'. It's bound to be entertaining."
Mentally debating a suitable new name for the newcomer, Irene arrived at the agreed alley.
To her surprise, the alley was completely empty.
"Am I early?" She pulled out an exquisite ladies' pocket watch and checked.
"No, this is the right time."
"Could it be that he was so excited about gaining extraordinary power that he forgot the time."
"A newcomer. And a future sister, at that. Understandable." Irene paced back and forth in the alley, muttering to herself.
Another half hour crawled by. Still no one.
A shadow crept over Irene's exquisite face.
"Haha." If anyone had been there to see it, they would have recognized a smile that did not reach her eyes. The rage was written plainly across her features.
Good. So that's how you want to play it. You want to play dirty with me.
"Hmph." She drew a single strand of hair from her pocket, and the smile returned.
When she had leaned close to press the potion into Lucien's hands, she had quietly plucked one of his hairs.
She had not believed her judgment could be wrong, but she had also considered the possibility that he might do something unexpected. Like this.
"Little brother, you're too naive. A witch is not so easily shaken off." A cold smile curved her lips.
Her previous sequence had been "Witch," after all. Witches was the best sequence for black magic and curses.
But just then, a sudden gust of wind tore down the alley. Grit and sand flew into Irene's eyes. She reached up on instinct to cover them, and her grip loosened. The hair lifted into the air on the wind and vanished into the night.
"What?" Irene was startled.
"It's fine. Even without a curse, divination is still not that big of a deal." Witches were skilled at divination too. Without the hair, she was still confident she could easily pinpoint him.
After all, what could a mysticism novice possibly know about counter-divination?
She pulled a small mirror from her coat and wiped it lightly. Then, eyes narrowing.
"What!"
Irene froze, staring at the shattered mirror.
"The divination failed."
Lucien forced his sticky eyelids apart. He tried to roll over on instinct, and found his whole face smothered in something furry.
A damp, wet sensation brushed across his cheek, and his nerves snapped taut again.
"Ah!"
"What is it."
He stood straight up on the bed. Nothing looked out of place.
He turned. The orange cat was crouched on the crumpled pillow, its squashed face still carrying the imprint of their recent closeness.
"It's you." Lucien looked down at the cat, which seemed just as dazed as he was.
"Wait. It's the next day already?" He checked the mechanical clock and was startled to see he had slept for over ten hours.
He rubbed his eyes, opened the window to let in some fresh air, and stretched.
Actually, the view here is pretty distinctive, he thought, sticking his head out to look around.
The house next door, for one. It had a big red chimney. Impossible to miss.