With the sound of a key turning in the lock, the door slowly opened.
A man staggered in from outside, too lazy to even wash up. He returned to his room and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep immediately.
Maybe it was because he had a bit to drink, but in his dazed state, random fragments of memory kept flashing through his mind.
The images were blurry, as if covered by a thick layer of mosaic, making them inexplicably confusing.
But gradually, the images became clearer, and his perspective began to rise, higher and higher.
Eventually, it felt as if he had become someone else, observing his entire life from an omniscient, godlike viewpoint.
Starting from his first cries as a newborn, scenes from his life kept unfolding, and the baby in the images kept growing older.
Some of these events he had long forgotten, yet tonight they appeared vividly in his mind.
This frightened him a little because he had heard that only when people were dying would their past memories continuously flash before their eyes.
"This… shouldn't be possible, right? I only had a few beers at the company party. How could I die from that? Could it have been fake alcohol? That's impossible, right? It can't be!"
This thought suddenly crossed his mind, and the images before him finally froze at the moment he walked into the room and collapsed onto the bed.
His vision continued to rise, the distance growing farther and farther. Darkness began creeping inward from the edges of his vision, gradually engulfing everything.
The scene before his eyes grew smaller and smaller, until it finally turned into a tiny speck of light and disappeared into the endless darkness.
Yet he could feel his consciousness continuing to ascend. At the moment the speck vanished, it felt as though his awareness had broken free from some kind of restraint.
It began to accelerate, climbing faster and faster. He had no idea how much time had passed—after all, in this pitch-black world, the concept of time seemed nonexistent.
Just as his consciousness was on the verge of vanishing completely, he suddenly noticed something above him—a series of milky-white halos descending from above.
This startled him. Could it be that he was about to wake up?
He wanted to look up and see what it was, but found that he couldn't move his eyes or turn his head.
He could only rely on the changes in the environment below to confirm that he seemed to be getting closer and closer to the source of that light.
Ever since the halos appeared, the boundless darkness around him had begun to recede, gradually fading until light once again filled his vision.
With a soft "plop," he felt as though he had plunged into a sea of light.
Milky-white halos surrounded him, bathing him in a warmth that felt like the gentle sunlight of a winter's day—comforting and soft.
However, the awakening he had imagined didn't happen. Instead, his consciousness began to dissipate rapidly, finally sinking into the vast ocean of light.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at a group of people with golden hair and blue eyes. He was completely dumbfounded.
What was going on? Could he still be dreaming? The people around him seemed to be observing him, muttering something in a language he didn't understand.
Then he felt a sharp pain on his bottom and instinctively began to cry out loud.
This left him even more bewildered. Feeling the people around him constantly fiddling with his body, he gradually realized—had he transmigrated?
No way, no way! He'd just had a few beers—how could he have transmigrated?
Could it really have been fake beer? That couldn't be right. Could drinking a few bottles of fake beer really kill someone?
As for the fact that he had transmigrated, he wasn't particularly bothered. After all, as a modern youth of the 21st century, what kind of transmigration dramas hadn't he seen?
But what really got to him was the manner of his transmigration. What was this?
Dying from drinking fake beer? It felt like he had contracted some terrible illness. How utterly low-class. No flair at all. He had disgraced the entire transmigration community.
Suddenly, he seemed to recall something. His pupils widened sharply, and his uncontrollable crying abruptly stopped.
He remembered—he had left his browser history!
It was over. Completely over. His innocence was gone.
The crying, which had just stopped, suddenly resumed, louder and more miserable than before.
It was a long time before he managed to recover from the intense shame and slowly began to take in his surroundings.
That's when he noticed the people around him were dressed in styles reminiscent of the 18th or 19th century.
Could it be… that he had transmigrated to the past?
Then he noticed a few people dressed like priests, their expressions solemn as they murmured something incomprehensible. This suddenly made him a little excited.
Could it be that he had transmigrated into a world of the supernatural?
[Sadly, even after many years had passed, he found no trace of the supernatural at all.]
This world seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary one—so ordinary it couldn't be more mundane. This realization left him somewhat disappointed.
After all, without the supernatural, this world was simply too backward in his eyes.
The most advanced invention at the moment was the steam engine, and the most popular forms of entertainment were opera, dancing, and horse racing. It made him miss his 21st-century smartphone, computer, and Wi-Fi terribly.
Suddenly, he began to understand why his father in this life was so enthusiastic about "procreation."
He already had twelve siblings, and rumor had it that two more mistresses were currently pregnant. Adding them, that would make a total of fourteen.
The only thing worth celebrating, however, was that his family's conditions this time were quite excellent. He was practically born with an "extraordinary" life, full of talent and privilege.
His father was a duke of the Holy Chris Empire, with his own fiefdom. So, from the moment he was born, he was a noble through and through.
And he didn't have to worry about his siblings competing with him for the family inheritance.
According to the laws of this world, illegitimate children had no right to inheritance.
He, on the other hand, was a legitimate child, born to the official duchess—a true heir to the duchy.
The golden throne might as well have been welded to his seat—no one could take it from him.
But then again… wait a minute. Didn't he have a full-blooded older sister?
Eh, whatever. That little brat thinks she can compete with me? Utter nonsense.
Thanks to the perks of being a transmigrator, he could fluently speak the common language of the Chris Empire by the time he was just seven months old.
At the age of three, his talent in mathematics left the duchy's top mathematicians in awe.
By the age of five, he was already making useful suggestions during the duchy's council meetings.
And as for his so-called sister—or rather, that bratty little girl? Back then, she was probably still playing in the garden, messing around with mud pies.
Now, his reputation as a genius had spread across the entire duchy. Even in the Empire, there were plenty of people who had heard of his brilliance.
This heir position? Completely welded in place. Solid as a rock.