Chapter 1: Transmigration? (Not the Middle Ages!!!)

The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed as the door slowly creaked open.

A man staggered in, too tired to even bother washing up. He collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but in his drowsy state, fragmented memories began flashing through his mind. 

The images were blurry, as if covered in a thick layer of pixelation, leaving him utterly confused. 

But gradually, the scenes became clearer, and his perspective began to shift, rising higher and higher, as if he were viewing his life from a god-like vantage point.

Starting from the moment he was born, the memories played out like a movie, showing him growing from a crying infant into an adult. 

Some of these memories he had long forgotten, yet tonight they resurfaced with startling clarity. 

This frightened him—he had heard that when people are about to die, their life flashes before their eyes.

"No way, right? I just had a few beers at the company party. How could I die from that? Could it have been fake alcohol? No way, right?!" 

The thought crossed his mind just as the final image froze on him entering his room and collapsing onto the bed.

His vision continued to rise, the distance growing farther and farther. Darkness began creeping in from the edges of his sight, slowly consuming everything.

The scene before him shrank until it became a tiny speck of light, vanishing into the endless void.

Yet, he felt his consciousness still ascending, faster and faster, as if breaking free from some invisible shackles. 

Time seemed meaningless in this dark abyss.

Just as his consciousness was about to dissipate completely, he noticed a series of milky-white halos shining down from above.

His spirits lifted. Was he about to wake up?

He tried to look up, but found he couldn't move his eyes or turn his head. 

All he could do was watch the environment below him change, confirming that he was getting closer to the source of the light.

As the halos grew brighter, the darkness around him began to recede, replaced by a warm, glowing light.

With a soft plop, he felt as though he had plunged into an ocean of light. 

The milky-white glow enveloped him, warm and soothing like the winter sun.

But instead of waking up, his consciousness began to fade rapidly, sinking into the depths of this luminous sea.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself surrounded by a group of blond, blue-eyed people.

He was utterly baffled. What's going on? Am I still dreaming? The people around him seemed to be examining him, muttering words he couldn't understand.

Then, he felt a sharp pain in his buttocks and began to cry uncontrollably.

This only confused him more. As he felt the strangers fussing over him, it slowly dawned on him—had he transmigrated?

No way, no way! He had only had a few beers! How could he have transmigrated?

Was it really fake alcohol? But even then, could a few bottles of fake beer really kill someone?

He wasn't too bothered by the idea of transmigrating. After all, as a modern 21st-century guy, he had seen plenty of transmigration dramas.

What bothered him was the way he had transmigrated.

Dying from fake alcohol? That was just embarrassing. No style, no flair—utterly lame compared to other transmigrators.

Suddenly, he remembered something, and his pupils dilated in horror. His crying stopped abruptly. 

He had left in such a hurry that he hadn't deleted his browser history!

It was over. His reputation was ruined.

The crying resumed, louder and more pitiful than before.

…

After what felt like an eternity, he finally calmed down from the sheer embarrassment and began to take in his surroundings.

The people around him seemed to be dressed in 18th or 19th-century clothing. Had he traveled back in time? Then he noticed a few men dressed like priests, murmuring solemnly. His excitement grew.

Had he transmigrated into a world of mysticism and magic?

[Unfortunately, many years later, he would find no trace of the mystical.]

This world seemed utterly ordinary, which left him disappointed.

Without any mystical elements, this world felt far too backward.

The most advanced invention was the steam engine, and the most popular forms of entertainment were opera, dancing, and horse racing. He missed his 21st-century life—his phone, his computer, his WiFi.

Suddenly, he understood why his father in this life was so obsessed with procreation.

He already had twelve siblings, and now two more were on the way from his father's mistresses. That made fourteen in total.

The only silver lining was that his family was incredibly wealthy.

His father was a duke of the Holy Chris Empire, with his own territory. From the moment he was born, he was part of the elite. No more 996 or 997 work schedules for him!

He didn't have to worry about his siblings competing for the inheritance either.

According to the laws of this world, they were illegitimate children with no claim to the family fortune. 

He, on the other hand, was the legitimate heir, born to the duke's wife.

The throne was practically welded to his backside—no one could take it from him.

Wait, actually, he did have an older sister, born to the same parents.

But whatever. Did that brat really think she could compete with him? Ridiculous.

Thanks to the advantages of being a transmigrator, he could fluently speak the empire's common language by seven months old.

By three, his mathematical talent had astounded the empire's top mathematicians.

By five, he was already offering valuable suggestions at the duchy's council meetings.

Meanwhile, his sister—pfft—was probably still playing in the mud.

Now, his reputation as a genius had spread throughout the duchy, and even the empire had heard of him.

His position as the heir was rock-solid. This was the best start he could have asked for.