My consciousness swam up from the depths of nothingness, dragging itself through layers of thick, syrupy darkness. The first thing that registered was pain—a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed through my skull with rhythmic intensity. It felt like I'd been used as a punching bag by a heavyweight boxer, or maybe struck repeatedly with a sledgehammer. Was this the worst migraine of my life? Or... something else?
I tried to piece together my last memories. Had I been working late again? Maybe I'd fallen asleep at my desk. But this pain... this was different. It felt deeper, more fundamental, as if my very soul had been rattled.
With great effort, I forced my eyes open. For a split second, I saw... something. A gray mist? Or maybe it was just my vision blurring as my eyes struggled to focus. The phenomenon vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving me to wonder if I was starting to hallucinate from whatever was causing this headache.
As my sight gradually cleared, my chest tightened with a sudden, inexplicable anxiety. The bed beneath me was enormous—far larger than my modest double bed back home. And luxurious? That was an understatement. The deep mahogany of the four-poster frame gleamed in the faint light, and when I ran my hand across the sheets, they felt unnaturally smooth, like silk but heavier.
This... was definitely not my room.
I pushed myself up slowly, my movements cautious as if expecting the world to dissolve around me at any moment. The room sprawled out before me, spacious and opulent in a way I'd only ever seen in period dramas or movies about the lives of the ridiculously wealthy. Everything was foreign, from the intricately carved wardrobe against the far wall to the heavy velvet drapes that partially obscured the window. Nothing was familiar from my life on Earth. In fact, it looked like a scene straight out of a movie about the life of a spoiled conglomerate heir!
"Something feels... off about my clothes too?" I muttered, still dazed. The pajamas I wore weren't mine—the fabric was too fine, the cut different. It was truly bizarre; not only had this bed suddenly become incredibly lavish, but the clothes I was wearing had transformed along with it.
I decided to get up and try to sit properly on this strange bed. I really needed to figure out what was going on. As I moved, my body felt different—heavier, yet somehow more substantial. I looked down at my hands and froze.
These hands... weren't mine.
They had the pale white skin typical of Caucasians, were slightly plumper than my own slender fingers, with smooth, perfectly manicured nails. These weren't the hands of a civil servant who spent his days typing reports and occasionally helping his juniors with their work. These were the hands of someone who had never done a day of manual labor in their life.
A cold dread began to creep up my spine.
In the midst of my confusion about what was happening, my head suddenly throbbed even more violently than before. This time, it felt like being hit by ten bricks at once! I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of these foreign hands against my temples as waves of pain washed over me.
When the pain finally subsided to a manageable level, I pressed my temples, trying to calm myself down about what had just happened. To me, everything happening now was utterly absurd and downright weird, but staying calm was probably the best course of action, right? Panicking wouldn't help me understand whatever was going on.
Unconsciously, I looked around again to reassure myself of my situation. But everything remained the same: a fairly large room filled with items resembling a classical Western aesthetic. The more I took in my surroundings, the more a sinking feeling grew in my stomach.
The room contained a wall clock that looked like an expensive one I'd seen on shopping apps on my phone—ornate with brass fittings, its pendulum swinging with a steady tick-tock that seemed to measure the beats of my rising panic. The clock showed it was 4 a.m.?
In the corner of the room was a normally sized door with exquisite carvings that I guessed would be incredibly expensive even at a modest price. The craftsmanship was impeccable, with swirling patterns that seemed to tell stories of their own.
On the left side of the room was a fairly large rectangular window, casting that pale red light from outside into the room. Wait... wasn't the moonlight a strange color? It wasn't the usual silvery light I was accustomed to; it seemed... more like a pale red glow. Did that make any sense?
"I guess... I'm in some weird dream?" I muttered to myself, but the voice I heard was completely unfamiliar—deeper, more resonant than my own. Yet, I was fairly sure it had come from my own mouth.
Huh?
The moment I realized my voice had strangely changed, I immediately looked down at my hands again and confirmed they had changed too! The reality of my situation began to sink in, and with it came a fresh wave of panic.
My changed voice, my changed hands, probably my entire body had transformed. Then, waking up in a strange, large room without a clue. All of this pointed to only one possibility. The most ridiculous and previously unbelievable possibility, yet everything I saw screamed that this absurd thought was likely the correct one.
I... seem to have transmigrated into another world, haven't I? I thought this with a truly strange and mixed-up feeling.
I'd grown up reading novels and web novels about this sort of thing! I was even in the middle of reading about transmigration just before I unknowingly fell asleep while browsing the Wiki about the Visionary pathway in Lord of the Mysteries!
If not for the lingering headache, I would have thought this was just some absurd, nonsensical dream I was having.
Calm down... the best thing in a confusing situation like this is to think calmly and try to find a solution objectively. At least, that's what the protagonists in such stories usually did upon arrival, and it seemed reasonable to me. Though I had to acknowledge I was no protagonist—just an ordinary civil servant who happened to read too many web novels.
Just as my mind and body had finally started to calm down about what was happening, a stream of memories suddenly flooded my head. The sensation of receiving these memories was incredibly odd—like watching a movie at high speed while simultaneously living every moment. Faces, names, places, emotions—all crashed into my consciousness with overwhelming force.
John Lynch, a citizen of the Loen Kingdom. Northern Continent, Hillston Borough District, Backlund City. This man was also an economics major at King's University, seemingly just a month away from graduation.
My father... No! His father. Charles Lynch, was the owner of a thriving shipping company in Backlund. He also owned several steel and textile factories, making his name known as an owner of numerous industrial properties. The man dearly loved his children but had repeatedly urged John to take things more seriously, reminding him that he was the heir to the company.
Eleanor Lynch, his mother. She was the daughter of a fairly large mining company owner in Loen. She adored John and his younger sister. She was also a devout follower of the God of Steam and Machinery.
He also had a younger sister who had just turned 16 recently, and it seemed she was very fond of John. Viola—her name was Viola, with green eyes that sparkled when she talked about her latest art project or the novels she was reading.
Their family was extremely wealthy, overflowing with money, and not in any kind of financial difficulty. In fact, as a family with numerous industries, they could be considered one of the key players in the business world.
As an economics student, John mostly had knowledge of economics itself, which, frankly, wasn't too impressive to me since I knew more advanced modern economics and had studied it myself. John was also proficient in several languages he had mastered, such as Ancient Feysac, Hermes, and Loenic. John was a history enthusiast, which led him to self-study Ancient Feysac and Hermes. He also admired Emperor Roselle?
Wait! All of this... I'm deeply familiar with all of this. Isn't this... the terminology from Lord of the Mysteries? I'm certain my memory of that novel isn't wrong, even though, strangely, there's a lot of fog in my memories.
But... it's obvious! All of this is from Lord of the Mysteries! Loen, Backlund, Hermes, Ancient Feysac, Roselle. Everything connects me to that novel.
Moreover... the moonlight shining on me earlier was the characteristic moon from LoTM, wasn't it? Red and full of unknown mystery.
But, what's really going on? Huh? How did I end up inside the world of LoTM and randomly enter this new body?
"I haven't even finished reading the web novel!" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, my new voice filled with wonder and frustration. "And if I recall correctly, there's even a second book that would give me more details." The realization that I was inside the world of a novel I was in the middle of reading, and wanted to finish but hadn't, filled me with a peculiar sense of irony.
No! Actually, I feel like I'm missing some character names that I think are quite important in the story I know. What the hell? I'd only read up to chapter six hundred and two, occasionally checking the wiki, and now even my memories are disappearing in some aspects? So unfair!
What am I even thinking? This isn't about fair or unfair, but why am I in the world of LoTM? I really need to answer this. Did I do something before, or during the month leading up to this?
Unconsciously, I touched my chin and started tapping it with my finger—a habit I didn't recognize as my own, but which felt natural in this body.
Over the past month... my life was normal! Seriously, I hadn't encountered anything strange or even remotely unusual in the last month. Almost nothing that should have led to me suddenly ending up in another world, especially the world of a 'novel'.
I mean, come on, for the past month I'd just been working my usual, fairly mundane job as a civil servant. I hadn't even bought any weird books. Well, I was trying to finish LoTM but had only reached chapter 602 because I kept re-reading volumes one and two, since I sometimes got confused by the plot.
But... well... last night I did do something a bit odd, now that I think about it. I performed the luck-summoning ritual, just like Zhou Mingrui did before entering the world of LoTM.
Hah... I did it as a joke, to feel the vibe of the novel and make it more real. Not to actually get sucked into it!
But seriously... after the ritual, wasn't everything normal? I didn't immediately get transported to another world or anything. I even read the Wiki about the Visionary Pathway before eventually getting drowsy and falling asleep in front of my computer!
Besides... aren't rituals supposed to be performed with solemn focus? Hah! I was even holding my smartphone to read the text Zhou Mingrui recited for the ritual. And I didn't even read it in Chinese because I'm not Chinese!
Wait... Does this mean... my original family is gone? My father and mother... my friends, my colleagues, my juniors. They're... gone? I won't be able to contact them anymore, touch them, or even look at their photos again.
My body suddenly turned cold, as if I'd been plunged into ice water. The thought of my parents, my friends, my old life—it had all evaporated just like that. A profound emptiness gnawed at my chest, followed by a wave of panic that made my breath catch. Gone? They're all... gone?
I remembered my mother's cooking—the way she'd always make my favorite dish on my birthday. My father's proud smile when I got my civil service position. The junior at work who always brought me coffee and whose smile made my day brighter. The inside jokes with friends I'd known since university. All of it... gone in an instant.
I never expected something like this. I never expected to actually be transported into the real world of LoTM.
"Damn it!" My voice, which was finally starting to feel familiar as if it had always been mine, rang out in the luxurious room. I unconsciously rubbed my face with both hands, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. I was truly unprepared for all of this. I might have been more prepared if they had died, rather than just vanished from my existence.
But... I need to calm down again! Hey, there might be a way back home. Right, maybe I can return to the real world.
I tried to comfort myself with that thought, but deep down, I was also aware that there might be no way back at all. I mean, I've read up to chapter 602, and there wasn't a single clue suggesting such a path exists. In fact, it might be... more feasible to become a 'god' in this world than to return to Earth. Even Roselle didn't succeed, right? From all the texts Klein read, Roselle never showed any signs of finding a way back to Earth.
Unconsciously, sadness and anger welled up inside me. I truly didn't understand why this had to happen to me. Hadn't I lived a life without doing anything truly evil? I paid my taxes, helped my colleagues, donated to charity occasionally. I was a decent person! Why did I get chosen for this absurd situation?
No. Anyway... who is John Lynch? I genuinely don't remember this name from all my reading of the novel. Is he an important character later? Hah. Probably not. Even though I've mysteriously and strangely lost parts of my memory, like the name of someone who wore glasses that... well, anyway, one of the lenses was a monocle. Or the names of some deities. Sure, maybe John Lynch is an important character in a later chapter or volume. I'm sure I'm not stuck in some completely insignificant extra in this story, haha.
But... still, a deep discomfort settled in my mind. I really don't like the idea that I'm not an important character in the novel. Because that means I could die more easily. No... actually, even important characters die easily in that novel.
"Damn it! I don't want to think about this!"
I pressed my temples again, to the point where I thought it might become a new habit of mine in this new world. A truly odd thought in an equally odd situation.
But I decided to get up from this four-poster bed with its high posts and canopy. My feet touched the cold, polished wooden floor, and I took a moment to steady myself. The room seemed to sway slightly, whether from my emotional state or the disorientation of waking up in a new body, I couldn't tell.
I then walked softly towards the mirror in this bedroom. Since the room was quite large, I walked over while trying to observe everything. A mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity swirled in my head. It felt utterly strange and illogical—knowing things about this room and this body that weren't my memories, yet feeling them as my own.
Then I reached the mirror and looked at myself. Reflected was a fair-skinned man with green pupils, black hair, and wearing a white shirt. His height was probably average, but he looked fairly muscular and actually quite handsome. The face staring back at me was completely foreign, yet when I moved, it moved with me. When I raised my hand, the reflection raised its hand. The disconnect between what I saw and what I felt was dizzying.
"Hah… At least… the body is good-looking." The words came out as a weak attempt at humor, a defense mechanism against the rising panic.
A good-looking body meant nothing compared to the one fact that made my blood run cold: I was trapped in a novel I hadn't finished reading, and one wrong move could mean altering the plot and dying because of it. In Lord of the Mysteries, death wasn't always the end—sometimes what came after was far, far worse.
I stared at my reflection for a long time, watching as the green eyes that weren't mine stared back with a mixture of confusion, fear, and dawning resignation. This was my reality now. John Lynch's body, John Lynch's life, John Lynch's family.
But my mind, my memories, my consciousness—those were still mine. For now, at least.
The pale red moonlight continued to stream through the window, casting long, strange shadows across the room. Somewhere in Tingen, maybe even at this very moment, Klein Moretti was either about to transmigrate or had already done so. The thought was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.
I was alone in a world of mysteries, gods, and horrors beyond comprehension. And the only advantage I had was partial knowledge of a story I hadn't even finished reading.
"Okay, John Lynch," I said to my reflection, testing the name on my tongue. It felt foreign, wrong. But it was mine now. "Let's see how we survive this."
The face in the mirror didn't respond, but the green eyes held a glimmer of determination that I didn't yet feel. It was a start.