Darkness.
Not the peaceful darkness of a bedroom at midnight, nor the comforting darkness behind closed eyelids. This was heavier. Colder. It pressed against Erwin from every direction, accompanied by a faint, persistent smell of chemicals and something unpleasantly metallic.
His first thought was that he had somehow managed to fall asleep in a particularly uncomfortable position.
His second thought was that he couldn't breathe properly.
His eyes snapped open.
A grey ceiling stared back at him.
For several seconds, Erwin remained perfectly still. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but his thoughts felt sluggish, as though he had just woken from the deepest sleep of his life.
Then he noticed the table beneath his back.
The cold metal.
The stiff sheet covering his body.
And the fact that his chest was rising and falling.
He sat up so quickly that the sheet slid off his shoulders.
"What the—"
His voice echoed through the room.
Erwin froze.
The room was small, dimly lit, and furnished with several metal tables. A handful of lamps hung from the ceiling, casting sickly yellow light across tiled walls. Cabinets lined one side of the room, and a collection of instruments rested on a nearby counter.
There were other tables.
Other sheets.
Other bodies.
Erwin stared at them.
Then, very slowly, he looked down at himself.
He was wearing a white shirt, dark trousers, and a waistcoat that certainly hadn't belonged to him yesterday. His hands were unfamiliar. They were slightly larger than his own, with roughened fingertips and a small scar near the right thumb.
He lifted one hand and examined it.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Let's not panic."
He took a breath.
Then another.
His heart was beating.
That was good.
He was alive.
That was also good.
He was apparently in a morgue.
That was considerably less good.
Erwin swung his legs over the side of the table and stood. His knees nearly gave out, forcing him to grab the edge for support.
A wave of dizziness passed through him.
Along with it came something else.
Memories.
Not his memories.
A narrow street obscured by fog. The rattle of horse-drawn carriages. A cramped office filled with ledgers and ink. The face of a middle-aged woman serving tea. A room with faded wallpaper and a window overlooking a brick courtyard.
And then pain.
Sudden, crushing pain in the chest.
The sensation of his heart seizing.
A desperate attempt to breathe.
Darkness.
Erwin gripped the table until his knuckles whitened.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
He knew that sensation.
Not personally, thankfully, but from the memories that had just flooded into his mind.
He had not merely woken up in someone else's body.
He had inherited the body of a dead man.
A dead man whose heart had stopped beating.
Erwin closed his eyes.
He needed to think. Panicking would accomplish nothing, and there were far too many unanswered questions to waste time screaming at the ceiling.
First, where was he?
Second, who was he?
Third, why did the room look like something straight out of a Victorian horror film?
And fourth—
His eyes opened.
"Where are the other two?"
Three hours earlier, in another world, three friends had been sitting in front of a computer screen.
They had finally finished reading Lord of the Mysteries.
The final chapter had left them with more questions than answers, but all three had agreed that it was an excellent conclusion to an exhausting journey through the story.
Louis had been the first to break the silence.
"So. Who wants to become a Beyonder?"
Abel, who was lying across the sofa with his phone resting on his chest, raised a hand.
"Me. Obviously. Preferably something with teleportation. Imagine never having to pay for transport again."
"That's your first thought?" Erwin asked.
"Of course. What else would I use supernatural powers for?"
"Maybe to avoid dying horribly?"
Louis sat up.
"Personally, I'd take the Marauder pathway. Imagine stealing someone's powers, abilities, or identity. The possibilities are endless."
"The possibilities of getting caught and having your soul eaten are also endless," Erwin replied.
"You're no fun."
"And you have the survival instincts of a particularly stupid pigeon."
Abel snorted.
The conversation had drifted between pathways, sequences, and the various ways they would probably die if they actually found themselves in the world of Lord of the Mysteries.
Erwin had argued that the safest option would be to avoid trouble, gather information, and advance carefully.
Louis had insisted that a sufficiently clever person could exploit the world's factions and supernatural systems.
Abel had mostly suggested finding somewhere comfortable to live and letting the other two handle the dangerous decisions.
It had been an ordinary conversation between three friends.
They had no idea it would be the last one they remembered having in their original world.
Erwin opened his eyes.
The memory faded, leaving him alone in the morgue.
He pressed his fingers against his temples.
"Right. So either I'm hallucinating, or—"
He stopped.
There was only one explanation that made any sense.
It was also the explanation he least wanted to believe.
He was in the world of Lord of the Mysteries.
And judging by the clothes, the surroundings, and the memories buried in his mind, he was somewhere in Backlund, the capital of the Loen Kingdom.
Erwin let out a long, slow breath.
"Wonderful."
He looked at the other tables.
"Now I just need to find out whether my two idiots are here too."
He moved toward the nearest covered body.
His hand hesitated above the sheet.
There was something deeply unpleasant about the idea of uncovering a corpse, particularly when he had only recently discovered that he himself had been one.
Nevertheless, he pulled the sheet back.
A young man lay beneath it.
Erwin stared at the face.
He recognised it.
Not from his memories of this world.
From his memories of home.
"Abel?"
The young man looked slightly different from the Abel he knew. His facial structure was similar, but his hair was darker, his complexion paler, and his features belonged to someone who had spent considerably more time indoors than was probably healthy.
Yet there was no mistaking him.
Erwin reached out and shook his shoulder.
"Abel. Wake up."
Nothing.
He shook harder.
"Abel."
The corpse's eyes snapped open.
"WHO THE HELL—"
Abel shot upright, grabbed Erwin by the shirt, and nearly knocked them both off the table.
They stared at each other.
Abel blinked.
Erwin blinked.
Then Abel slowly released him.
"...Erwin?"
"Yes."
Abel looked down at his own body, then around the room.
His gaze settled on the covered tables.
He looked back at Erwin.
Then he spoke with remarkable calm.
"I have several questions."
"Get in line."
"First question. Why are we in a morgue?"
"Excellent question."
"Second question. Why do I look like someone else?"
"Also an excellent question."
"Third question. Why does my chest hurt?"
Erwin paused.
"Your chest hurts?"
"A little. Like I've been punched from the inside."
Erwin's expression tightened.
"That's probably because the original owner of your body died of a heart attack."
Abel stared at him.
Then he looked down at his chest.
Then back at Erwin.
"...I'm sorry, what?"
Before Erwin could answer, a voice came from the other side of the room.
"IF EITHER OF YOU IS A GHOST, I'M GOING TO BE VERY UPSET."
They turned.
A third figure was sitting upright on a metal table, clutching his chest and staring at them with the expression of a man who had just discovered that the universe had personally insulted him.
Louis.
He looked down at himself, patted his chest, and glanced around the room.
Then he noticed the other bodies.
"Oh."
He paused.
"That's not ideal."
"Louis," Erwin said, relief briefly overcoming his exasperation.
Louis looked at him.
Then Abel.
Then the room.
His expression changed.
"Wait. No. Hold on."
He scrambled off the table and nearly tripped over his own feet.
"You're both here?"
"Unfortunately," Abel said.
Louis ignored him and grabbed Erwin by both shoulders.
"Tell me I'm hallucinating."
"You're not."
"Tell me we're in a hospital."
"We're not."
"Tell me we're not in—"
"A morgue."
Louis released him.
He stared into the middle distance.
Then he slowly raised one finger.
"I would like to formally complain about the circumstances of our transmigration."
"Complaint received," Erwin said.
"And I would like a refund."
"Denied."
"Terrible customer service."
Abel sat back down on the table.
For a moment, the three friends simply stared at one another.
The absurdity of their situation was almost enough to make it funny.
Almost.
They had finished reading a novel about a world where people drank potions to gain supernatural abilities, where secret organisations fought beneath the surface of society, and where the wrong knowledge could attract the attention of things that had existed before humanity.
Now they were there.
Inside unfamiliar bodies.
In a morgue.
And, judging by the stiffness in their muscles and the strange memories surfacing in their minds, they had all died before waking up.
Louis rubbed his face.
"Okay. Let's establish some facts."
"Gladly," Erwin replied.
"We're in a morgue."
"Yes."
"We're in the Lord of the Mysteries world."
"Almost certainly."
"We're all in different bodies."
"Yes."
"And we all died."
Erwin hesitated.
"Apparently."
Louis nodded.
"Right. Good. Excellent. I hate everything."
Abel raised a hand.
"One more question."
"What?"
"Are we actually sure this is Lord of the Mysteries? Because if we've accidentally ended up in some other supernatural universe, I would like to know before someone tries to sacrifice us to an ancient god."
Erwin looked around the room.
"Victorian clothing. Gas lamps. Horse-drawn carriages in the memories I've been getting. The Loen Kingdom. Backlund."
He paused.
"And I distinctly remember a newspaper mentioning the opening of a new railway line."
Abel considered that.
"All right. That's pretty convincing."
Louis folded his arms.
"So, what now?"
Erwin took a breath.
"Now we get out of here."
They spent the next several minutes examining their new bodies and the room.
It was an unpleasant process, but a necessary one.
Their clothes belonged to the period, their hands and faces were different, and each of them had fragments of memories that clearly did not belong to the people they had been before.
More importantly, the memories agreed on one thing.
They were in Backlund.
Erwin's new identity appeared to be that of a man named Osmond Reed, a twenty-seven-year-old clerk employed by a trading company. His memories were fragmented, but he could recall a modest apartment, a workplace filled with paperwork, and a landlord who complained about rent with the consistency of a church bell.
Louis had become Will Acker, a twenty-four-year-old man whose occupation remained unclear. He remembered several streets, a few taverns, and a suspicious number of people who seemed to dislike him.
Abel's identity was Harry Manson, a twenty-one-year-old man whose memories were even more disjointed.
None of them knew enough to draw reliable conclusions about the lives they had inherited.
They did, however, discover something far more concerning.
Their previous bodies had all died from heart attacks.
The details varied only slightly.
Osmond Reed had collapsed suddenly after experiencing severe chest pain. Will Acker had been found unconscious in an alley after complaining that his chest felt strangely tight. Harry Manson had suffered a similar collapse, with no obvious external injuries.
All three deaths had been recorded as sudden cardiac arrests.
There was no clear explanation for why three apparently unrelated men had died within such a short period.
Erwin read the information twice.
"That's a strange coincidence."
Louis leaned over his shoulder.
"Three heart attacks, three dead men, and three transmigrators waking up in their bodies."
"Yes."
"Do you think someone killed us?"
"Possibly."
"Do you think the original owners were killed?"
"Also possible."
"Do you think this has something to do with the supernatural?"
Erwin looked at him.
"Louis, we're in a morgue in the world of Lord of the Mysteries. I think we can safely assume the supernatural is involved."
"Fair point."
Abel, meanwhile, was examining a stack of documents on a nearby desk.
"There's something else."
He lifted a folder.
"These are the death records."
Erwin walked over.
The records contained the deceased men's names, ages, addresses, occupations, and the circumstances of their deaths. Some of the information was handwritten, while other details had been typed onto official forms.
Erwin's eyes moved over the pages.
The information was valuable.
It established their identities, gave them addresses, and provided evidence that their new bodies had officially been declared dead.
It was also dangerous.
If anyone discovered three supposedly dead men walking around, the authorities would have questions.
Uncomfortable questions.
Questions that would become even more uncomfortable if the three of them could not convincingly explain why they were alive.
"We should take these," Erwin said.
Abel looked up.
"Stealing official records? We're certainly making a good first impression."
"They're records of our own deaths."
"That doesn't make them less official."
"It makes them more relevant."
Louis grinned.
"I support the theft. It has a certain poetic quality."
"You're both missing the point," Erwin said. "We need information. These records are the first reliable information we've found about our current identities. We can use them to work out where we live, where we work, and what we need to do to avoid attracting attention."
Abel glanced at the documents again.
"And if someone notices they're missing?"
"Then we won't be here when they do."
Louis gave him a thumbs-up.
"There's the leadership I know and love."
Erwin ignored him and gathered the records.
They carefully checked the remaining papers, looking for anything else that might identify their new bodies or explain the circumstances surrounding their deaths.
They found no obvious explanation.
No confession.
No mysterious note.
No convenient document explaining why three men had died at the same time.
Just paperwork.
And the increasingly unpleasant suspicion that their deaths had not been ordinary accidents.
Erwin folded the records and tucked them inside his jacket.
"We need to leave before someone comes to check on the bodies."
Abel glanced at the door.
"Agreed."
Louis nodded.
"Excellent. Let's go."
He took one step toward the exit.
Erwin caught him by the collar.
"Quietly."
Louis looked offended.
"I am perfectly capable of being quiet."
"You once managed to wake an entire house while trying to open a packet of crisps."
"That packet was defective."
"Quietly," Erwin repeated.
Louis sighed.
"Fine. I shall become the very embodiment of silence."
Abel slid off the table.
"That might be the first supernatural phenomenon we've encountered."
The door opened onto a narrow corridor.
Erwin peered through the gap.
The passage was empty.
A single lamp illuminated the peeling wallpaper and the worn wooden floorboards. Somewhere farther away, water dripped steadily into a metal basin.
He listened.
Nothing.
He opened the door a little wider and stepped into the corridor.
Abel followed, with Louis bringing up the rear.
Erwin closed the door as gently as possible.
The latch clicked.
All three froze.
They waited.
No footsteps followed. No voice called out. Nothing suggested that anyone had heard them.
Erwin exhaled silently and began moving.
The corridor was longer than it had appeared from inside the room. Several doors lined the walls, most of them shut. A staircase stood at the far end, descending toward what seemed to be the main floor of the building.
They moved slowly.
Every creak of the floorboards sounded louder than it should have.
Every shadow seemed to conceal something watching them.
Louis, for once, had stopped making jokes.
Erwin reached the staircase and looked down.
A weak yellow glow illuminated the lower landing.
Beyond it, he could see part of a reception desk and the outline of a wooden door leading outside.
They were close.
Then a voice drifted up from below.
"...I'm telling you, the paperwork doesn't match."
The three men froze.
A second voice answered, muffled by distance.
"What do you mean it doesn't match?"
"The records. Three bodies brought in this evening, all marked as sudden cardiac arrests. But one of the attendants says he thought he heard something from the preparation room."
A pause.
Then the second voice, sharper now.
"He heard something?"
"Probably a rat. Or a loose pipe. I'm going to check the room before the morning shift arrives."
Erwin felt his stomach tighten.
The mortician.
The receptionist.
And a preparation room containing three bodies that were no longer there.
Louis slowly turned his head toward Erwin.
His expression said everything.
We are in so much trouble.
Erwin raised one finger to his lips.
The voices continued.
"Should I call someone?" the receptionist asked.
"And tell them what? That a dead man made a noise? Don't be ridiculous. I'll have a look, and if something's wrong, we'll deal with it."
Footsteps sounded below.
The mortician was moving toward the stairs.
Erwin backed away from the landing.
The others followed, careful not to let their shoes scrape against the floor.
They retreated into a shallow recess beside one of the doors, pressing themselves against the wall.
The footsteps grew louder.
One step.
Another.
Another.
The mortician reached the bottom of the stairs.
Erwin could see his shadow stretching across the wall.
The man muttered something under his breath, then began climbing.
The three friends held their breath.
Louis stood so still that he looked like a statue. Abel's eyes followed the shadow as it crept upward. Erwin kept his gaze fixed on the staircase, calculating distances and escape routes.
If the mortician saw them, there would be no plausible explanation.
They were supposed to be dead.
Three dead men wandering around a morgue would invite questions from the police, doctors, and perhaps people far more dangerous than either.
They had no documents proving they were alive, no money they could access immediately, and no understanding of the supernatural rules governing their situation.
They could not afford to be discovered.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
The mortician appeared at the landing.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his forties, wearing a dark waistcoat and carrying a small lantern. His face looked tired, his expression irritated.
He glanced down the corridor.
For one terrible moment, his eyes seemed to settle on the recess where the three men were hiding.
Nobody moved.
The mortician frowned.
Then he turned toward the room they had escaped from.
"Bloody place," he muttered.
He walked past them.
His footsteps faded down the corridor.
Erwin waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Only when he was certain the man had entered the preparation room did he move.
He leaned toward the others and whispered, "We go downstairs. Slowly. No talking."
Louis nodded.
Abel gave him a thumbs-up.
They crept toward the staircase.
The mortician's voice drifted from the room behind them.
"What in the—"
A chair scraped across the floor.
Then silence.
Erwin's heart hammered.
He did not look back.
"Move," he whispered.
They descended the stairs, placing their feet carefully against the edges of the wooden steps to minimise the noise. At the bottom, they found themselves in a cramped reception area with a desk, several chairs, and a coat rack beside the front entrance.
The receptionist was still there.
She sat with her back to them, writing in a ledger.
A small bell stood on the desk. Beside it lay a telephone and a stack of papers.
The main entrance was only a few metres away.
Unfortunately, the receptionist was looking directly toward it.
Erwin stopped behind the staircase.
Abel and Louis halted behind him.
The receptionist dipped her pen into an ink bottle.
Scratched something onto the paper.
Then turned a page.
They needed to get past her without being seen.
Erwin studied the room.
There was another door beside the desk, partially concealed by a curtain. It might lead to a storage room, or perhaps a rear passage.
He pointed toward it.
Abel followed his gaze and nodded.
Louis mouthed, Seriously?
Erwin gave him a look that promised consequences if he made even the smallest sound.
Louis shut his mouth.
They moved toward the side door.
The floorboards creaked.
The receptionist stopped writing.
Erwin froze.
The woman tilted her head.
"Mr. Hargreaves?"
No response came from upstairs.
She waited a moment, then called again.
"Is everything all right?"
From the corridor above, the mortician answered.
"I'll be with you in a moment!"
The receptionist sighed and returned to her ledger.
Erwin resumed moving.
One step.
Two.
Three.
They reached the door.
It was locked.
Of course it was.
Louis leaned close to Erwin's ear.
"Tell me you have a plan."
Erwin stared at the lock.
"I'm developing one."
"Excellent. Let me know when development is complete."
Abel crouched beside the door.
"Move."
Erwin glanced at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Opening it."
"It's locked."
"Yes. I've noticed."
Abel placed his hand against the doorframe and concentrated.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his outline shimmered.
It was subtle, like heat rising from a road on a summer afternoon. His body seemed to blur around the edges, his features losing their sharpness.
Erwin's eyes widened.
Abel's hand passed through the narrow gap between the door and the frame.
A faint click sounded from the other side.
The lock turned.
Abel pulled his hand back, his expression a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.
"Well," he whispered. "That's useful."
Erwin stared at him.
"You can do that?"
"I didn't know I could do that until approximately three seconds ago."
Louis looked at Abel with renewed interest.
"Can you do it to people?"
"I haven't tried."
"Can you do it to a wallet?"
"Louis."
"What? I'm asking practical questions."
Abel eased the door open.
A narrow passage lay beyond it, leading toward the rear of the building.
"After you," he whispered.
Erwin slipped through first.
Louis followed, taking care not to let the door bang shut. Abel came last, easing it closed until the latch settled into place with barely a sound.
They stood in darkness.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then a muffled voice came from the other side of the door.
"Reception?"
The receptionist answered.
"Yes?"
"Have you seen anyone come through here?"
"No. Why?"
A pause.
"I think we may have a problem."
Louis closed his eyes.
"Oh, wonderful."
Erwin grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.
They hurried down the passage.
The rear exit opened onto a small courtyard surrounded by brick walls. The air was damp and bitterly cold. A pile of rubbish sat beside a wooden shed, and a narrow gate led into an alley.
Erwin pushed the gate open just enough for them to squeeze through.
The hinges groaned.
All three froze.
From inside the building came a sudden shout.
"Someone's been in the preparation room!"
Footsteps thundered across the floor.
Erwin shoved the gate wider.
"Go!"
They slipped into the alley.
The gate swung shut behind them.
For several seconds, they ran.
They did not stop until they had turned two corners, crossed a narrow street, and reached the relative cover of a crowded thoroughfare.
Only then did Erwin slow down.
Abel bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
Louis leaned against a brick wall.
"I would like to point out," he gasped, "that I have never before had to escape from a building because the staff discovered I was no longer dead."
"Neither have I," Abel replied.
"Then I expect a little more sympathy."
Erwin looked back toward the alley.
No one had followed them.
At least, no one they could see.
He straightened his jacket and checked that the death records were still tucked inside it.
They were.
"All right," he said. "We're out."
Louis looked up at the sky.
The clouds hung low and heavy over the city. A thin mist drifted between the buildings, softening the outlines of distant rooftops. Gas lamps illuminated the streets in pale yellow pools, while the smell of coal smoke and wet stone filled the air.
A horse-drawn carriage rattled past.
A newspaper boy shouted headlines from the pavement.
Workers in dark coats hurried along the street, their collars turned up against the cold.
It was unmistakable.
They were in Backlund.
Not a game.
Not a dream.
Not some elaborate hallucination.
The city from Lord of the Mysteries stretched out before them, alive with ordinary people who had no idea what horrors existed beneath their feet.
Erwin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
He knew what this world contained.
Secret organisations. Dangerous rituals. Beyonders who lost control. Monsters wearing human faces. Ancient beings whose attention could turn a person's existence into a nightmare.
And somewhere in this world, the story was beginning.
They had no idea what role they were supposed to play.
They only knew they wanted to survive.
Finding somewhere safe took longer than expected.
The streets were unfamiliar, and while the inherited memories provided occasional flashes of recognition, they were far from reliable. Twice, Erwin led them down the wrong street before realising that the buildings did not match anything he remembered.
Eventually, he found a street that seemed familiar.
A row of modest brick apartment buildings stood beside a small grocer's shop. Their windows were dimly lit, and a few residents could be seen moving behind curtains.
Erwin stopped outside one of the buildings.
"This is it."
Abel looked at the building.
"Your place?"
"Osmond's place. Which, for all practical purposes, is now my place."
Louis examined the front entrance.
"Does your place have food?"
"I don't know."
"Does it have a bed?"
"I don't know."
"Does it have a bathroom?"
Erwin turned toward him.
"Louis, I woke up in a morgue less than an hour ago. I haven't exactly had time to conduct a property inspection."
"Fair enough."
They entered the building and climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor.
Erwin stopped outside a door.
He stared at it.
Then patted his pockets.
Once.
Twice.
His expression slowly changed.
Abel noticed.
"No."
Erwin continued searching.
"Don't say it."
"You don't have the key."
"I might have the key."
He checked another pocket.
Nothing.
Louis leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
"Please tell me the responsible leader of our group hasn't managed to lock himself out of his own apartment."
Erwin closed his eyes.
"I would like everyone to remember that I am currently experiencing the consequences of dying."
"Of course," Louis said solemnly. "A terrible burden. Truly, you are an inspiration to us all."
"I will throw you down the stairs."
"See? You're already sounding more like yourself."
Abel stepped toward the door.
"Move aside."
Erwin opened his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
"Opening it."
"You can't keep phasing your hand through everything."
"Why not? It worked last time."
"Because we have no idea how your ability works, what it costs, or whether someone will notice."
Abel shrugged.
"Then I suppose we'll find out."
He placed his hand against the door.
His body blurred.
For a moment, his outline became indistinct, as though he were standing on the other side of a pane of rippling water.
Then he slipped through the door.
There was a short silence.
A lock clicked from the inside.
The door swung open.
Abel stood in the doorway with a grin.
"Welcome to my crib."
Louis stared at him.
Then he turned to Erwin.
"Why couldn't my new body come with a useful ability?"
"Because the universe knows you would abuse it."
"That's a horrible accusation."
"You tried to convince me that stealing a Beyonder's identity would be a legitimate business opportunity."
"It would be."
Erwin walked inside.
"Lock the door."
Abel did so.
For the first time since waking up in the morgue, they were somewhere they could speak without worrying about being overheard.
The apartment was small but reasonably tidy. A wooden table stood near the window, accompanied by two chairs. A narrow bed occupied one corner, while a writing desk and a battered bookshelf stood against the opposite wall. A cold fireplace sat beneath a framed landscape painting.
There was no obvious sign of anything supernatural.
No hidden altar.
No mysterious symbols carved into the walls.
Just an ordinary apartment belonging to an ordinary man.
A man who had died.
Erwin set the death records on the table.
"All right. We need to establish our priorities."
Louis dropped into a chair.
"Food."
"After that."
"Money."
"After that."
"Food that we can buy with money."
"Louis."
"Fine. Continue."
Abel sat on the edge of the bed.
"He's not wrong about the food, though. I could eat an entire horse."
"Let's try not to eat anything we find in the street," Erwin said.
"That was one time."
"You ate something you found in a gutter?"
"It was wrapped."
"That makes it worse."
Abel waved a hand.
"Focus."
Erwin pulled out a chair and sat down.
"First, we need to understand our identities. We have the death records, but we need to know what our new lives looked like before we woke up. We need money, identification, and somewhere to stay. We also need to figure out whether anyone is looking for us."
Louis nodded.
"And our powers."
"Yes. Our powers."
They fell silent.
That was the other problem.
Their new bodies were not ordinary.
Erwin could feel it.
There was something strange about his perception, an awareness of details he would normally have overlooked. He could distinguish the faint smell of ink from the smell of dust. He could hear the distant movement of someone walking in the apartment above them.
He could not explain it.
But he suspected he knew what it meant.
The Seer pathway.
The thought brought a mixture of relief and apprehension.
If his assumptions were correct, then he had become a Sequence 8 Clown.
Abel had demonstrated an ability consistent with the Apprentice pathway, and Louis's new body seemed to possess the strange dexterity and instinctive awareness associated with the Marauder pathway.
The implications were enormous.
They had supernatural abilities.
They also had almost no experience using them.
"One thing at a time," Erwin said. "We don't drink any potions, perform any rituals, or approach any secret organisations until we know what we're doing."
Louis raised an eyebrow.
"You say that as though I was about to summon something."
"You were considering it."
"I was considering the possibilities."
"That's what worries me."
Abel leaned back on his hands.
"So what's the plan?"
Erwin looked at the death records.
He had spent enough time reading Lord of the Mysteries to understand that knowledge was often more valuable than raw power. The wrong decision could get a person killed. The right decision could keep them alive long enough to become powerful enough to make more decisions.
They had one major advantage.
They knew the story.
Not everything. They were not walking encyclopedias, and neither of them could remember every minor character, every potion formula, or every event in exact detail.
But they knew enough.
They knew the dangers of the world.
They knew the broad structure of the pathways.
And they knew that the Seer pathway offered abilities that would be particularly useful for a group of transmigrators trying to survive in an unfamiliar city.
Erwin tapped the table.
"We prioritise me."
Louis tilted his head.
"That sounds suspiciously self-serving."
"Listen first. The Seer pathway gives us access to divination, spiritual perception, and eventually abilities that could help us gather information and protect ourselves. If I can advance safely, I'll become much more useful to both of you."
Abel considered it.
"You're saying we should invest our resources in one person first."
"Exactly. We can't afford to spread ourselves too thin. We need to secure the resources and knowledge required for advancement, and we need to do it without attracting unwanted attention."
"And once you reach Sequence 5?" Louis asked.
"We reassess. If we can get that far, I'll have significantly more options for helping both of you. Then we can focus on advancing your pathways as well."
Abel nodded slowly.
"That makes sense."
Louis leaned back in his chair.
"So the grand strategy is to turn Erwin into a walking supernatural intelligence network, use him to keep us alive, and then become powerful ourselves."
"That's a simplified version."
"It's a good version."
"It's missing several important details."
"Details are what make plans boring."
Erwin gave him a flat look.
"And this is why you're not in charge."
Louis smiled.
"Because I'm too charismatic?"
"Because you would sell our identities for pocket money if you thought it would be funny."
"Only if the price was good."
Abel laughed.
For a moment, the apartment felt almost normal.
Three friends sitting around a table, arguing about a plan.
Then Erwin looked at the death records again.
Three men.
Three heart attacks.
Three lives that had ended under circumstances they did not understand.
He could not shake the suspicion that their transmigration had not been a random accident.
There was something else, too.
A faint sensation he could not quite identify.
It had been present since he woke up in the morgue: a strange pressure at the edge of his awareness, as though something far away had briefly noticed him and then looked away.
He glanced at the others.
Abel was staring at his hand, testing whether he could make his fingers blur again.
Louis was examining the apartment with the curiosity of someone already planning which rules he intended to break.
Neither seemed particularly concerned.
Erwin decided not to mention it.
Not yet.
He gathered the death records and placed them in the desk drawer.
"Tomorrow, we investigate our identities and figure out how much money we have. After that, we start gathering information about the local Beyonder community."
Louis groaned.
"Tomorrow? Can we not do something exciting tonight?"
"We escaped from a morgue tonight."
"That was stressful, not exciting."
"You were dead less than two hours ago."
"Past tense. I'm trying to move forward."
Abel stood up and stretched.
"Personally, I'd like to sleep before someone discovers that three dead men have disappeared."
"Agreed," Erwin said.
He looked toward the window.
Beyond the glass, Backlund stretched beneath a canopy of fog and smoke. Carriages rattled through the streets, lamps flickered in the darkness, and thousands of ordinary people continued with their lives.
Somewhere out there were the churches, the secret organisations, the hidden gatherings, and the things that humanity was never meant to understand.
And somewhere, in a world that was only beginning to reveal its secrets, a man named Klein Moretti had just awakened.
Erwin had no idea when their paths would cross.
He only knew that they had been given a second chance.
Whether that chance was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.
He turned away from the window.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start surviving."
Louis raised a hand.
"Can we change the name of that plan?"
"No."
"How about Operation: Become Rich and Powerful?"
"No."
"Operation: Avoid Getting Eaten by Eldritch Horrors?"
Abel considered it.
"That one's actually pretty good."
Erwin sighed.
He was going to have a very long life.
Assuming, of course, that they managed to keep it