Chapter 1: Awakening in a World of Witches

A sharp jolt shot through my body, the kind you feel when you're halfway between sleep and wakefulness and your limbs twitch involuntarily. My eyes fluttered open, but the light of the early morning sun was blinding, forcing me to squint as I groaned in confusion. My head throbbed, as if I had been dropped into this world rather violently, though I couldn't recall how.

Wait. This world?

I pushed myself up from the bed of scratchy linen, still groggy, and scanned my surroundings. The room was unfamiliar, the kind of place you'd expect to see in a museum's exhibit on medieval times. A wooden table, a wash basin, and a stone hearth made up most of the room. There were no modern appliances—no light switches, no charging cables, none of the comforts of the 21st century.

The realization hit me with an eerie, hollow clarity. This wasn't my room. This wasn't even my world.

I swung my legs out of bed, my feet touching the cold, uneven floor. A set of boots lay beside the bed, worn leather that I couldn't recall ever owning. Confusion swirled in my mind as I hesitated, reaching for the small mirror resting on the table. The face that stared back was... vaguely familiar but not my own. Younger, sharper, with features that seemed weathered by hard living but aristocratic in a way that spoke of nobility.

This had to be a dream, right? It wasn't possible—couldn't be possible. And yet, as I stood there, inhaling the musty air, feeling the discomfort of ill-fitting clothes, something inside me screamed that this was real.

I collapsed back into the chair, my heart pounding in my chest. Bits and pieces of my last moments came flooding back—the endless nights of binge-reading Release That Witch, unable to put it down, fascinated by Roland's rise to power, the witches, the politics. Then, an overwhelming exhaustion, a blur of sleep, and now… this.

Transmigration.

It was the only explanation that made sense, however crazy it seemed. I'd read enough novels about it to recognize the signs.

I stumbled over to the window, prying it open. The cool breeze brought with it the scent of damp earth and wood smoke, and below, a small village lay sprawled beneath me. Farmers were already heading out to their fields, and the distant bell tower in the town square rang out the morning hours.

I had to get my bearings. Where was I exactly? What year was it?

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a woman, perhaps in her mid-40s, entered the room. She was dressed in simple maid's garb, but her face carried the weariness of someone who'd been in service to nobility all her life.

"Baron, you're up earlier than usual," she remarked with a respectful bow. "Shall I bring you breakfast?"

Baron? I'm a baron? That seemed like a demotion from my comfortable life as a pharmacy student, but nobility was nobility, I supposed. I gave her a curt nod, trying to act as though I knew what I was doing. As she turned to leave, I stopped her.

Memories of the owner of this body began flooding into me and A chill ran through me as the implications hit: this wasn't just some random medieval world. This was the world of Release That Witch. The world where witches were hunted, where the Church held supreme power, and where Roland would soon arrive to shake the foundations of the land.

Although the memories told me but I wanted to confirm it again.

"Wait," I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "What… what year is it?"

The woman paused, a confused smile on her lips. "It's the Year of Dawn, 1435, my lord."

I nodded slowly as if that made perfect sense, but inside, my mind was racing. 1435. Five years before Roland's arrival in Border Town. Five years before everything I knew about this world would come crashing down. Five years before witches would be liberated and magic would intertwine with science.

Five years to prepare.

As the door closed behind her, I slumped back into my chair, my thoughts swirling. I had been dropped into the very world I had spent hours obsessing over, but not as Roland—the revolutionary prince—but as a minor baron, Adrian Harrow, Ruler of Harrow's Reach, a small town and a few villages. Someone without much power or influence. I would have to start from scratch.

But I had something Roland didn't have. I had knowledge. I knew this world, its future, and its players. More importantly, I had something no one else would expect: the skills of a modern-day pharmacy student. Chemistry, biology, medicine—things that might not match Roland's engineering but could still be revolutionary here. Especially with witches by my side.

I stood and paced the room. Roland's success was largely tied to his alliance with the witches. Witches who were still here, five years before his arrival. Nightingale, Anna, Wendy—they were all out there somewhere, hunted by the Church, struggling to survive. But if I could find them first, form my own alliance, I could prevent Roland's rise and carve out a place of my own.

Hell, I could become king.

The idea solidified in my mind like steel forged in fire. If I played this right, I could take control of this world before Roland even set foot in it. But I would need witches, allies, and power. And I had five years to do it.

The door creaked open again, and the maid returned, carrying a tray of bread and thin stew. As she set it down, I forced myself to eat, my mind already racing with plans.

First, I needed to locate the Witch Cooperation Association. That would be the key. If I could gain their trust, protect them, and offer them a better future, they would follow me. Nightingale, Anna, Wendy—they would become my allies, not Roland's. And with them, I could start building my empire, one step at a time.

Roland's knowledge of engineering might have revolutionized this world, but I had my own expertise. And with the right witches at my side, I would reshape the future before he even got the chance.

This world was mine now. And I wasn't going to let anyone take it from me.