1 Crimson

Ouch!

It hurts so much!

My head is killing me!

The bizarre dream filled with murmurs shattered instantly. Zhou Mingrui, still asleep, felt a throbbing pain in his head as if someone had hit him with a pole—again and again. No, it was more like a sharp object had pierced his temple, twisting it in the process!

Ouch… In his stupor, Zhou Mingrui tried to turn over, hold his head, and sit up, but he couldn't move his limbs. They refused to budge, leaving him completely immobilized and helpless.

It looks like I'm still not awake, still dreaming… Maybe in a short while I'll think I'm awake, but I'm still sleeping… Zhou Mingrui, used to such disorienting experiences, struggled to focus and break free from the shackles of darkness and confusion.

However, while half-awake, he tried to focus his will that felt as insubstantial as a wisp of fog—there one moment and gone the next. His thoughts refused to be controlled or examined. No matter how hard he tried, his focus kept slipping away as random notions and images bubbled up unbidden.

Why would I suddenly get such a terrible headache in the middle of the night?

And it's so painful!

Could it be a cerebral hemorrhage or something?

F**k, am I going to die young like this?

I need to wake up! Now!

Huh? It doesn't hurt as much as before, but it still feels like a blunt knife is slowly slicing through my brain…

Looks like I can't go back to sleep. How am I supposed to work tomorrow?

Why am I even thinking about work? With a headache like this, I should take the day off! No need to worry about the manager's nagging!

Hey, putting it that way, it doesn't seem too bad. Hehe, I can end up getting some spare time for myself!

The throbbing pain allowed Zhou Mingrui to gradually gather immaterial strength. Finally, he straightened his back and opened his eyes, fully breaking free from his reverie.

His vision first blurred, then was tinged with a faint crimson. He saw a wooden desk in front of him with an open notebook in the center. The pages were coarse and yellowed, with an eye-catching sentence written in deep black ink at the top.

To the left of the notebook was a stack of neatly arranged books, numbering about eight. The wall to their right had grayish-white pipes and a wall lamp connected to them.

The lamp had a classic Western style, about half the size of an adult's head, with a transparent glass inner layer and a black metal grid on the outside.

Diagonally beneath the extinguished wall lamp was a black ink bottle bathed in a pale red glow. Its embossed surface formed a blurry angel pattern.

In front of the ink bottle, to the right of the notebook, lay a dark-colored pen with a rounded body. Its tip shimmered faintly, and its cap rested next to a brass revolver.

A gun? A revolver? Zhou Mingrui was stunned. Everything he saw was so unfamiliar and looked nothing like his room!

In his shock and confusion, he noticed that the desk, notebook, ink bottle, and revolver were covered in a layer of crimson "veil" from the light shining through the window.

Subconsciously, he lifted his head and his gaze slowly moved upwards.

In midair, against a backdrop of 'black velvet curtains,' a crimson moon hung high, shining silently.

Wh— Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably terrified and stood up abruptly. But before he could straighten his legs, his head throbbed with pain again, causing him to lose strength and fall back heavily onto the hard wooden chair.

Thud!

The pain did little. Zhou Mingrui propped himself up with his hands on the table, stood up again, and turned around in a panic, examining his surroundings.

It was a small room with a brown door on each side and a wooden bunk bed against the opposite wall.

Between the bed and the left door was a cabinet with two open doors on top and five drawers below.

Next to the cabinet, at about the height of a person, was another grayish-white pipe connected to a strange mechanical device with some exposed gears and bearings.

In the right corner of the room near the desk were items resembling coal stoves, along with soup pots, iron pots, and other kitchen utensils.

Across from the right door was a dressing mirror with two cracks. Its wooden base had simple and plain patterns.

With a quick glance, Zhou Mingrui caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—the current him: black hair, brown eyes, a linen shirt, a thin build, average features, but with a rather deep outline…

Wh— Zhou Mingrui gasped, his mind flooded with helpless and confused thoughts.

The revolver, the classical Western decor, and the crimson moon different from Earth's moon all indicated one thing!

C-could I have transmigrated? Zhou Mingrui's mouth slowly opened.

He had grown up reading web novels and often fantasized about such scenarios. But when it really happened, he found it hard to accept.

Almost a minute later, Zhou Mingrui muttered to himself, trying to find some humor in his situation, This is probably what it means to love a fantasy1?

If it weren't for the persistent headache keeping his thoughts sharp, he would have definitely thought he was dreaming.

Calm down, calm down, calm down… After taking a few deep breaths, Zhou Mingrui tried hard to stop panicking.

At that moment, as his mind and body calmed down, memories began flooding him, slowly appearing in his mind!

Klein Moretti, a citizen of the Northern Continent's Loen Kingdom, Awwa County, City of Tingen. He is also a recent graduate from the Department of History at Khoy University…

His father was a sergeant in the Imperial Army who died in a colonial conflict on the Southern Continent. The compensation money allowed Klein to attend a private grammar school, laying the foundation for his university admission…

His mother was a devotee of the Evernight Goddess. She passed away the year Klein passed the entrance examinations to Khoy University…

He also has an elder brother and a younger sister. They live together in a two bedroom apartment…

Their family is not wealthy, even struggling. They are currently supported by his elder brother who works as a clerk at an import and export company…

As a history graduate, Klein had learned the ancient Feysac language—considered the source of all languages in the Northern Continent—and the Hermes language often found in ancient mausoleums related to rituals and prayers…

Hermes language? Zhou Mingrui's mind stirred. He reached out to rub his throbbing temples and looked at the open notebook on the desk. The text on the yellowed paper went from strange to alien, then from alien to familiar, until it became readable.

It was text written in Hermes language!

The dark ink said: "Everyone will die, including me."

Hiss! Zhou Mingrui felt inexplicably horrified. He instinctively leaned back, trying to distance himself from the notebook and the text on it.

He was so weak he nearly fell, but managed to grab the edge of the table in a panic. The surrounding air felt turbulent, with faint whispers echoing around him. It reminded him of hearing horror stories from his elders when he was young.

He shook his head, telling himself it was just an illusion. Zhou Mingrui steadied himself, shifted his gaze from the notebook, and took deep breaths.

This time, his gaze landed on the shimmering brass revolver. A sudden question popped into his mind.

With Klein's family situation, how could they afford or even get a revolver? Zhou Mingrui couldn't help but frown.

While deep in thought, he suddenly noticed a red handprint on the edge of the table. Its color was deeper than the moonlight and thicker than the 'veil.'

It was a bloody handprint!

A bloody handprint? Zhou Mingrui subconsciously turned over his right hand that had been holding the edge of the table. Looking down, he saw his palm and fingers were covered in blood.

At the same time, the throbbing pain in his head continued. Although it had weakened a little, it was still persistent.

Did I smash my head? Zhou Mingrui wondered as he turned around and walked towards the cracked dressing mirror.

A few steps later, a medium-built figure with black hair and brown eyes came into view. The person had a distinctly scholarly air.

Is this me now? Klein Moretti?

Zhou Mingrui paused for a moment. Due to the dim light, he couldn't see clearly, so he moved forward until he was just a step away from the mirror.

Using the crimson moonlight, he turned his head to check the side of his forehead.

The clear reflection in the mirror showed a grotesque wound on his temple, with burn marks around it. The area was stained with blood, and grayish-white brain matter slowly wriggled within.