In the haze of his slumber, Lance dreamt a dream.
In the dream, he lived in a world not unlike the Middle Ages. His parents were scholars of ancient history, wandering between the world's various ruins, while he was left in the care of an old professor. Word eventually came that his parents had vanished. Lance grew to manhood under the professor's watch, and influenced by the research his parents left behind, he too became a scholar of antiquity.
But before Lance could graduate from the academy and begin the search for his parents, a letter was delivered into his hands.
The messenger was an old man who called himself a steward. His frame was stooped and his face gaunt. He wore a pair of battered, round-rimmed spectacles, and though his clothes were old, one could still glimpse the faded glory of nobility in them. For some reason, his rictus grin gave one the terrible feeling of a corpse freshly clawed from its grave.
He brought tidings from a branch of the family I had never known. A distant, noble kinsman had passed away, leaving a handsome inheritance and sprawling domains awaiting my succession.
Just as I began to marvel that such good fortune could befall me, a strange mark on the letter's wax seal filled me with a creeping unease. It was a half-arc, bisected by five short lines. I dredged the depths of my academic memory, but found no recognition.
Despite my misgivings, some impulse compelled me to break the seal, hoping to learn more of this distant relative, and of the estate.
And then, I saw the first line.
"Ruin has come to our family..."
I remember. I remember it all! In that moment, I comprehended the terrifying truth of this world. (Virtue: Martyr's Crown)
"Damn it! This blasted game won't even leave me be in my dreams."
Lance awoke with a jolt, as if from a nightmare. But the sight that met his eyes was not his familiar room, and a violent lurching reminded him that he was in constant motion. By the weak, yellow glow of a swaying lantern, Lance saw he was inside a dim, wooden carriage. Seated before him were two others.
One was a man in the full plate of a medieval knight, a longsword resting against him. The cross emblazoned on his tabard spoke of his faith. The other, a man in a worn greatcoat of hardened leather, his face half-obscured by a kerchief wrapped about his neck. At his hip, a dirk on one side, and an archaic flintlock pistol on the other.
So similar... far too similar...
The strange dream and the scene before him gave Lance a terrible premonition. He looked down at his own attire: a tailored, medieval-style coat over a fine linen shirt, with narrow trousers and riding boots. He turned his head to the window, but saw only a black void. The glass reflected back the image of a handsome, dark-haired youth, with the somewhat fragile air of a scholar.
The light from the carriage lamps was swallowed by the darkness only a few meters out, but he could still make out the gnarled, twisted trees and haphazard gravestones along the roadside.
It can't be!
Seeing this, Lance already knew what had happened, but he forced himself to search his person for the letter, seeking one last sliver of comfort. When he saw the first line, he could do nothing but accept reality.
He had transmigrated. And he had crossed over into the world of a game.
One second ago, he was Lance, an ordinary man playing a game before his computer. The next, he was Lance the Heir, hurtling down the Old Road.
This discovery birthed a profound terror. An unspeakable pressure settled upon him like a great stone, making every breath an exhausting labour. He was on the verge of heart failure. If he were truly on his way to claim a noble's legacy, he would have died laughing. Though the medieval age was chaotic, inheriting an estate meant leaping from commoner to nobility. He could spend his days exploiting the peasantry to his heart's content! How could such a prize fall to him?
The problem was that the world of the game he had crossed into was one steeped in despair and darkness.
The main plot involved an Ancestor who, weary of his profligate lifestyle, glimpsed an ancient evil beneath the family estate. He began to excavate, to explore, to research, and in the process, created or unleashed innumerable horrors. After witnessing the sealed god in the depths, the Ancestor began to scheme for his own apotheosis. He left a letter, passing all his troubles to the game's protagonist, bidding him to crusade in the family's name, so that every life taken upon these lands would fuel the Ancestor's ascension.
The player had to battle unimaginable foes, famine, disease, and the ever-encroaching Stress that gnawed at the mind, to finally slay the Ancestor and prevent the awakening of a world-ending evil.
In this place, no one knew better than him that he was not inheriting some noble domain, but a meat grinder, a charnel house that devoured flesh and blood. Here lurked foes, beasts, the unholy, abominations, the blood-mad... all manner of fiends and monsters. And one must also contend with famine, curse, pestilence, and the frailty of the human mind.
In the game, suffering at least came with the chance to restart, to accumulate experience and power. But to truly live in a world so steeped in despair, so fated for destruction... it was a death sentence.
At this thought, Lance couldn't help but clutch his head, his hands buried in his thick, black hair.
I want to go home...(Affliction: Tormented)
"Ding! The service you subscribed to is now online. Please review."
A voice, from a source unknown, swept away his agitation, replacing it with a wave of sheer ecstasy.
Looking at the panel that had appeared before his eyes, he understood. The cheat had arrived.
......
Name: Lance Hamlet
Class: Otherworldly Scion
Level: Traveler
Equipment: Empty
Skills:
[Sacrifice]: Offer a foe in sacrifice to an unknown entity to receive a boon.
[Bestow]: Consume a boon to grant an enhancement.
Traits:
[Aegis]: Your soul is shielded by an unknown entity, protecting it from corruption.
[Ancient Bloodline]: The blood that flows in your veins grants you Insight far beyond that of a mortal man.
[The Heir]: Your station as a noble heir makes you a convincing leader.
[Prodigy]: Your formidable talent increases the efficiency of your learning.
......
"So, I really am Lance now, hmm?"
Living in the information-saturated modern era, his ability to accept and process new data was strong. He quickly accepted his new identity, even as he distilled the key points from the panel.
[Otherworldly Scion] was a class he'd never seen in the game. From the word "Scion" and the description of the [Sacrifice] skill, it clearly involved a powerful, unknown entity—likely the key to his transmigration and his newfound power.
Level was a quantification of his strength. In the game, Traveler was level 0, a blank slate. Above it were Apprentice, Veteran, Elite, Master, Champion, and finally, Legend.
The difference between skills and traits was that of active versus passive. Traits also revealed something of one's fundamental nature. [Aegis] and [Prodigy] seemed to correspond to stress immunity and bonus experience, respectively.
And then there was [Ancient Bloodline], which pointed to the unique nature of Lance's lineage. In a tale steeped in cosmic horror, possessing too much Insight is never a blessing.
There was likely a secret hidden within this family's blood. It was probably why the Ancestor himself displayed such inhuman traits, and how, with the help of his blood-brews, he was able to glimpse the seal of the great evil buried deep beneath the earth.
But all that could wait. His first, most urgent task was to find a way to survive in this blighted world.