Chapter 1: Who?

With an abrupt THUD, a young man jolted awake, disentangling himself from the cozy book he'd been using as a pillow. With concentrated effort, he blinked away drowsiness, his amber eyes squinting at the sight of an immense box overflowing with old books. Across the table loomed a blonde man, his smirk carrying an air of malice. Meeting the gaze of the smug vermin, the recently roused young man retrieved a pair of gilded circular glasses. With a deliberate motion, he slid them onto the bridge of his nose.

"Done with your beauty sleep, princess?"

"... You're insufferable, Jake," the bespectacled young man retorted, stretching his limbs.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty, another decrepit bag of bones has kicked the bucket, and you know what that means."

"Ugh, seriously? I had an exam at 7:00 this morning, as I am sure you already know."

"Exactly, Lucas. I also happen to know it was your final one for the semester."

"So?”

Eyeing the small mountain of books between them, he continued. “ Did we get a new donation or something?"

"More or less, some rich old fogie bit the dust, and apparently, in their will, they bequeathed the entirety of their massive collection to their alma mater. And since you're the only person free, I have gifted you the task of organizing this mess."

Lucas rolled his eyes, reaching for a nearby book and flipping it open absentmindedly. "How many more boxes are we expecting?" he asked, more to distract himself than out of genuine curiosity.

Jake chuckled. "This was just the starter, my friend. The old chap had a library that could rival the size of this entire building. This is gonna be your life for a while."

Lucas let out a groan of disbelief. "And I thought my post-exam celebration would involve sleeping for a week straight."

"Welcome to the real world, Sleeping Beauty," Jake teased as he left the back room of the library.

Suppressing the urge to retort, Lucas stood up and started sorting the books. Three hours of tedious work passed exactly as you'd expect it would.

Lucas pushed the books aside and leaned back in his creaky chair, sighing deeply. Jake's insufferable smirk was etched into his mind as he surveyed the towering heap of dusty volumes. The library room felt much smaller, with the box occupying most of the table space.

With a yawn, Lucas adjusted the shiny glasses on his nose. "Couldn't they have hired more people or at least given me a heads-up?" Lucas grumbled, his gaze drifting over the sea of antique covers. In that moment of exasperation, Lucas's gaze fell upon something peculiar.

Amidst the mundane assortment lay a unique book, its appearance starkly different from its kin. The cover boasted an ornate design of gleaming ivory intertwined with an unknown pearlescent dark grey material. Embellished with intricate patterns reminiscent of entwined ivy and serpents, it possessed an otherworldly allure. It’s edges, gilded in a rich hue, caught the sunlight streaming through the dusty library windows.

Drawn by an inexplicable magnetism, he reached out his fingertips, hovering over the surface of the book. The intricate details seemed to shift and weave, as if reacting to his touch. Grasping the cover firmly, Lucas eased the book open, eliciting an audible creak that resonated through the air. Its pages unveiled a densely packed, impeccably handwritten script that appeared to be a form of early Latin. Although Lucas possessed a modicum of familiarity with Latin through his studies in Taxonomy, his grasp of the language was entirely inadequate to read a text like this.

With a sigh, he reluctantly closed the book, his fingers brushing against the embossed relief on the cover. Lucas carefully raised the mysterious book, cradling it in his hands to examine its intricate craftsmanship. The closer he inspected the tome, the more his astonishment grew—it was undeniably a masterpiece worthy of display within a museum.Yet, as that thought crossed his mind, a subtle shift in his demeanor emerged.

He glanced around cautiously, his eyes scanning the library's dimly lit corners. Those familiar with Lucas understood his inclination, his penchant for succumbing to the allure of shiny objects. He wasn't inherently malicious or driven by greed; rather, it was an insatiable fascination, a subconscious inclination that often led to objects "accidentally" finding their way into his pockets. He cast his gaze around yet again, double-checking that no one was around. Then with deft hands, he slipped the alluring book into his backpack, covering it with a spare jacket [Just in case] .

Resuming his task of sorting the books, Lucas couldn't shake off the nervous energy coursing through him. Each passing minute felt like an eternity, with his heart drumming a nervous rhythm in his chest. [I'm just borrowing it, I'll return it after I figure out what it says. Just think of it as an early checkout.] He lied to himself.

As his shift ended and he made his way out of the library, trying to keep his composure, he collided headlong with Jake, who was sauntering down the corridor, an amused grin plastered across his face, cocking an eyebrow as he peered at Lucas. "You seem a tad jumpy today. What's got you all wound up?"

Lucas struggled to maintain a facade of casual indifference, his mind scrambling for a convincing reply. "Oh, just the usual post-exam fatigue," he managed, forcing a weak smile. "Got to get some fresh air, you know?"

"Ah, of course, Enjoy your stroll. Just make sure to come back early tomorrow; you have a looot of work to do." Jake chuckled

With an awkward half-nod, Lucas hastily made his escape. He navigated the corridors, his steps quickening as he put distance between himself and the University Library. Once outside, he took a deep breath, then cast a short glance to ensure he wasn't being followed and quickly melted into the crowd.

The tall young man nervously strolled through the campus, navigating the well-trodden thoroughfare and trying to blend seamlessly into the bustling crowd his dark curls dancing in the gentle afternoon breeze. As he deftly made his way through the sea of students, and an unexpected tap on his shoulder jolted him. Startled, Lucas spun around his glasses, reflecting a bright smile from a young woman, an acquaintance of his. Her short, blonde hair bounced playfully around her with an infectious energy enveloping her petite frame.

"Lucas, fancy meeting you here," she chirped.

Lucas offered a smile, racking his brain for her name, but as usual, it eluded him. The fleeting nature of introductions left him in a precarious position, as Lucas had always possessed an uncanny knack for forgetting names. Adding to Lucas's predicament, he sensed a rapid and deliberate attempt by the young woman to draw closer to him.

He had been trying to avoid her, sensing her attempts to "accidentally" encounter him become more and more frequent. Today was no different, as she sidled up to him, encroaching on his personal space, and contaminating it with her cheerful demeanor.

“Good afternoon,” Lucas greeted her trepidatiously.

“Hey, how about lunch?" she suggested.

Lucas's amber eyes glimmered with hesitation momentarily. "Uh Lunch… sounds good?"

It was then that something tugged at his thoughts—a peculiar pull on his mind. He recognized it instantly; it was the weight of the book nestled in his backpack, somehow making its presence known.

"...Hey, actually, on second thought, I've got something to do right now. Can we maybe do this tomorrow?"

Disappointment flitted across her features, her demeanor shifting into a playful pout. "Why do I get the feeling that you've been avoiding me recently?".

Not entirely focused due to his mind being still enthralled by the bizarre pressure of the book, he spoke without any real thought behind it. "Lets go out tomorrow, promise,"

"Did you just ask me out on a date?" she questioned mischievously.

The word 'date' lingered in the air for a solid half-second, but in the end, Lucus snapped back to reality. "I guess… I did?"

“Wonderful, We'll meet up after your last class. Should be ~3:00 right? Make sure to be wearing something semi formal. The place I'm thinking of has a dress code.”

After a moment of contemplation he capitulated to the whims of this persistent puppy of a woman. The conversation continued for about 5 minutes hammering out the minutiae of their date plans after which she gave an energetic wave goodbye.

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Lucas continued his walk alone entering the public park on the edge of campus. The bustling throng of college students dispersed unnoticed by Lucas as his thoughts consumed him. During the long walk he couldn't restrain his growing curiosity and had taken the book from his bag, flipping through its pages. Abruptly, he felt a sudden, forceful impact on his back. Stunned, he turned to face a figure he vaguely recognized—a short, stocky man who seemed to erupt with anger.

"Lucas, you motherfucker!" the assailant bellowed.

Confused and alarmed, Lucas shielded the book instinctively, clutching it as if it were worth more than his life and demanding, "Who are you? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The assailant's fury boiled over. "You know Emily is mine!" he roared.

Confused, Lucas asked, "Who? ..Oh, Wait, Was that her name?"

Perceiving the question is some form of insult he quickly passed his boiling point. The assailant lunged forward, aiming a furious haymaker Lucas's way. Reacting uncharacteristically swift, Lucas evaded the attack, maintaining a safe distance. Like a mother bear with her cubs, the book seemed to imbue him with some sort of protective ferocity, and with a sudden, instinctual move, Lucas delivered a devastating kick to the assailant's family jewels. He crumpled to the ground in agony. Looking down upon his reeling foe, Lucas found himself perplexed. [Since when had I been able to move with such decisiveness?] Gasping for air and clutching his throbbing injury, the assailant's mind became a turbulent sea of fury.

‘Click’

The air turned frigid as he recognized the chilling, distinct, and familiar noise. Before he could react, his assailant moved with unexpected viciousness. At first, all he felt was a slight pressure—a pinch that swiftly transitioned into a wet tearing sensation accompanied by an immense surge of pain. It dawned on him—he had been stabbed.

His assailant's face blanched, as his adrenaline faded he succumbed to panic, only now aware of the gravity of his actions. Startled, he instinctively let go of the pocket knife and bolted away, his escape as urgent and swift as a coyote fleeing a hen house.

[Damn it, damn it, damn it!"] Lucas cursed inwardly, applying pressure to the wound and keeping the knife embedded to stave off excessive bleeding. With trembling fingers, he retrieved his phone and dialed the emergency services.

In a surprisingly calm state, he responded to the dispatcher, "Yes, this is Lucas Thane. I've been stabbed. I'm at Willington Park, south of Campus, near 14th and High Street. Please, hurry. A lot of blood is coming out; I think an artery's been hit."

As the seconds turned to minutes, the puddle of blood pooling under his back grew into a small sea. Despite the dispatcher's assurances, his certainty of his impending demise only solidified. Lucas mumbled to himself as he felt his body turning ice cold, "Shit, this is how I die, huh?"

In that dire moment, amidst the haze of pain and the growing realization of his mortal wound, Lucas's gaze shifted to the book nestled against his chest. Despite the seeping blood and the weakening grasp of his fingers, an inexplicable pull urged him towards an action that defied reason—to open the book.

[No. I'm not going out like this. I won't accept it.]

Survival instincts screamed within him—a primal urgency that contradicted the logic of his situation. With the last vestiges of strength, he yielded to the compelling force, prying open the cover.

As the cover parted, the blood, once soaking his clothes to saturation and pooling around him, surged like a torrent, filling the intricate grooves etched upon the book's surface. As the blood flowed, it caused the most peculiar sight. The text was alive; the script weaved, writhed, squirmed and danced with an otherworldly fluidity as it wandered the pages. While the book continued to greedily absorb the crimson tide, as a parched horse would stumbling across an oasis. The blood-soaked garments that clung to him, heavy and drenched moments before, now appeared untouched, as if they had been meticulously cleansed by unseen hands.

As his sight faded, enveloped by a profound blackness, the book started to liquefy, seamlessly dissolving into his flesh. Gradually vanishing, into his body like a sugar cube in hot tea. As it merged with him, a transformation took place—a surge of overwhelming relief flooded through his entire being, eclipsing any emotion he had ever experienced. An inexplicable sense of security settled deep within him.

In the midst of agony, a serene smile blossomed across his face. This was the moment that Lucas Thane died.

***

As consciousness trickled back into his senses, Lucas found himself in a state of disorientation, his vision hazy and bewildered. Thoughts raced through his mind like unbridled stallions as he took in the unfamiliarity of the canvas ceiling draped above him. Panic tinged his thoughts as he scanned the tent's interior, hastily discerning the makeshift structure. [Where the hell am I, this definitely does not look like a hospital.]

Fingers trembling, he traced the contours of his abdomen, expecting a searing reminder of his dire wound, yet found nothing but unblemished skin. A jolt of surprise coursed through him, an odd blend of relief and confusion. His hands, once familiar to him, were now foreign—rough, weathered, and stained with traces of toil.

Perplexed, he surveyed the rest of his body finding unfamiliar attire adorning his body—a white buttoned linen shirt paired with faded blue canvas pants. Casting his gaze around, he found an archaic blue military uniform neatly floded at the base of his cot allong with a musket adorned with a polished, razor-sharp bayonet.

A wave of recognition washed over him, a comprehension derived not from reality but from the realms of webnovels. [I've transmigrated! Holy shi-]

His train of thought abruptly halted as the thunderous clap of gunfire and frenzied shouts shattered the air, a discordant cacophony that propelled Lucas into immediate action. Swiftly, he clenched the musket and launched himself upright, only to be confronted by a familiar sensation.

Looking down, he witnessed a bayonet protruding from his chest. Horrified, he glanced backward, to see a grizzled soldier thrusting the weapon into him. Acting fast, Lucas swung the musket clutched in his right hand, plunging its bayonet into his assailant's neck. Collapsing into darkness once more, Lucas feels his life slip away, consumed by the sensation of bleeding out for the second time.

Yet, just as swiftly, his eyes flicker open to a world that felt paradoxically recognizable yet profoundly alien. The first sensation that gripped him was a peculiar feeling against his skin—wet, slimy, and thick like honey. He cast his gaze around only to find himself encased in a semi-transparent green fluid, floating within a glass tube reminiscent of a prop from an '80s sci-fi movie.

He reached out, pressing his palms against the glass, as he peered through and to behold countless similar tubes suspended by vein-like hydraulic carbon fibers, hovering some 10 meters above a cold, dark metallic floor.

Suddenly, the 'glass' tubes slowly descend, triggering a sense of imminent danger within Lucas. As they drew about 2 meters from the floor, the base of his tube opened like an iris, causing him to gracelessly tumble onto the frigid surface.

Wiping the residual fluid from his eyes he quickly realized he's not alone. Surrounding him are hundreds of identical naked individuals, all bearing a noticeable resemblance to his original appearance. Only that they were over 100kg heavier, bulging with pure muscle. However, Lucas made an interesting observation [These people appear rather dumb.] Their actions were akin to infants flopping onto the floor, displaying no discernible awareness. [But they were physically robust with high muscle mass and well-distributed fat akin to that of elite Strongmen.]

He could hear the sound of metal on meatal echoing from the distance. Recognizing the potential danger of the situation, Lucas decided not to draw attention to himself. Opting instead to blend in with the clones. Remaining prone on his stomach and observing the bizarre scenario unfolding around him with a sense of bewildered fascination. The glass' tubes quietly ascended taking with them most of the ambient light.

It was then, a thunderous sound reverberated through the chamber.

Ears pricked in alarm, he froze, dread seizing him as the cacophony multiplied into a odd structured rumble, akin to an approaching stampede. [Footsteps?]

The earth-shaking rumble drew closer… closer… and even closer still, until whatever was coming was just out of sight.

With a growing sense of horror, he braced himself for the impending sight.

Emerging from the shadows, he beheld a living cataclysm, a natural disaster given flesh, a grotesque avalanche of viscera, and unbridled violence.

It was like nothing he had ever imagined before. Looking around at the trembling clones, an image flashed through his mind—that of a slaughterhouse full of well-fed cattle lining up for slaughter. [FUCK, SHIT, FUCK! ]

With a surge of adrenaline, Lucas sprung to his feet, sprinting away for dear life as fast as his legs could carry him. Panic coursed through his veins as he raced for his life, a primal instinct to survive propelling his every step.

Abruptly, darkness envelops his vision, and when he awakens, he finds himself amidst a calm forest.

Overcome with a whirlwind of relief and exhaustion, Lucas allowd himself to collapse onto the forest floor. "Holy fuck! What the fuck was that? How would you even fucking describe it? ”

After taking a moment to reorient himself, Lucas drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes, a sudden idea springing to his mind. Sitting up and pondering his peculiar predicament, he rubbed his hand over his non-existent beard and muttered, "I've come to the realization that I might be immortal, at least in some kind of half-assed way. I have died three times and come back to life afterwards. So either I have nine lives like a cat or we have some kind of immortality here, although each time I died almost immediately after I resurrected. Either I have the worst luck at this kind of thing or we have a "monkey's paw" situation going on here. That would mean, "

With a jolt akin to a startled hare, Lucas sprang to his feet, his eyes surveying his surroundings with vigilance. Sparing a quick glance at his attire, his expression soured. [Fantasy outfit, check. Frilly French dress shirt check. Based on tropes, I must be some kind of noble character. So what's it going to be—an assassination plot, a horrific monster attack, brutally gored by a boar, or Goblins, perhaps? They won't pull a 'Slayer of Goblins' on me, right? I might be pretty attractive if I do say so myself, but, it would cause the novel to be tagged 18+; there is no way the author would want to restrict their meager audience. Can't have that, right?]

Clinching every muscle in his body ready for the fight of his life Lucas noticed something squishy in his left hand. Curiosity piqued, he opened his hand, and after a confused tilt of the head and a half second of thought, he burst out in laughter.

"HaHahaha ha... What an idiot! I may not be an outdoorsman, but even I know what not to eat.” With a chuckle, he tossed the vibrant, glittery, pink mushroom dripping with poison into a nearby bush. [ I think I have it figured out. Whenever I revive I am put into a situation in which the original owner of the body is about to die. No matter if it is a battlefield ambush or the moments before ingesting poison bothe seem to be valid for this power. So if I am able to overcome whatever was going to kill them I’ll be safe?]

Wiping his hand through the dirt, Lucas muttered to himself, "Ugh, glitter. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it just gets everywhere"

After about 7 minutes of thorough scrubbing, "Phew, crisis averted. Now, what to do?"