Dorian awoke with a start, his eyes flickering open to a world of hazy morning light.

‘At least I slept well’

Stretching his limbs, he glanced at the weathered mirror hanging on the wall. As he locked eyes with his reflection, he couldn't help but notice the similarities between himself and the original Dorian.

His features bore a striking resemblance, with tousled chestnut hair that framed his face and eyes the color of stormy seas. A strong jawline spoke of determination, while a smattering of freckles added a touch of youthful charm. Despite the transmigration, it seemed that Dorian and the original shared a common physical essence, lacking the scar above the original’s right eye.

‘He’s about a few inches taller than me though.’ Frowning slightly, Dorian's thoughts turned to the task at hand. He needed to organize the jumbled memories left behind by the original Dorian. This merging of consciousnesses was like navigating a labyrinth, with fragments of another life intermingling with his own.

In the depths of Dorian's mind, the memories of the old Dorian’s past began to coalesce, revealing a glimpse into the life he had left behind.

‘While we share the same first name, his last name is Blackwood while mine is Dirac.’

‘Seems like he had a family. How troublesome. I’m not tryna take care of random people I don’t know. ’

‘Blackwood’s dad died when he was 6 years old.’ William, a hardworking blacksmith, had tragically passed away when Dorian was six years old. There wasn’t much memory of him as Dorian was too young to remember.

.

Dorian's sister, Emily, was a vibrant and caring soul. Her hazel eyes sparkled with kindness, reflecting the love she held for her family. She possessed a contagious laughter that could brighten the darkest of days, and a smile that could melt away any worries. While she occasionally teased Dorian in good-natured banter, there was an undeniable bond of love and protectiveness that she held for her brother. Despite the hardships she faced, she found solace in her work as a nurse, a testament to her selflessness and unwavering dedication to helping others.

‘This only makes things more complicated.’ Dorian, however, felt a sense of complexity within him, torn between not wanting to be attached to these "strangers" and acknowledging the familial connection that bound them together.

Dorian's mother, Elizabeth, had a frail and delicate appearance due to her declining health. Her eyes, once vibrant, now showed signs of weariness and illness. Her pale complexion reflected the toll her condition had taken on her body. Despite her weakened state, she remained a caring and devoted mother to Dorian and his sister. Elizabeth relied on the treatment provided by an alchemist, as they could not afford a proper healer or priest, although the lack of a proper diagnosis left Dorian skeptical about the effectiveness of the remedies.

‘He might be scamming me,’ Dorian couldn't help but scoff inwardly, knowing that such tricks wouldn't deceive someone back on Earth, but perhaps they could fool some unsuspecting peasants in this unfamiliar world.

‘Looks like I need to look into this guy.’

The cost of Elizabeth's treatment weighed heavily on the family's finances, leaving them in a constant state of financial strain. To make ends meet, they had to be frugal in their everyday expenses. Instead of fresh loaves of bread, they settled for stale ones at a reduced price. Dairy and beef were only purchased when they were on the verge of expiration, taking advantage of the discounted rates.

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"It's also why I need to collect herbs for the alchemist, Aldwin," Dorian muttered with a hint of annoyance. One of the herbs he often gathered was called Sylvestra, a common plant found on the edge of the forest. Sylvestra had broad, serrated leaves that were a vibrant shade of green. Its delicate white flowers bloomed in clusters, emitting a faint, herbal scent. The herb held medicinal properties, although its exact uses were unknown to Dorian.

‘Why was I in the river?’

‘Although Blackwood lived a hard life, he wasn’t suicidal!’

‘I need to investigate and plan accordingly in order to find my killers, and either avoid them or get revenge if possible’

‘The last thing this guy remembers is taking a nap a bit further upstream’

‘Let’s head there’

Dorian embarked on a journey towards the location where his last memory resided—the riverside upstream where he had taken his fateful nap. As he ventured further along the path, the landscape began to change, revealing the distinct characteristics of the surroundings.

The path meandered through a dense forest, with towering trees reaching for the sky. Their lush green leaves created a canopy overhead, filtering the sunlight and casting enchanting patterns on the ground below. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves and soft moss, creating a cushioned path for Dorian's footsteps.

As Dorian continued along the winding path, he eventually emerged into a small, sunlit clearing. The dense foliage gave way to open space, allowing rays of golden sunlight to pour down upon the forest floor.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the tranquility of the clearing. The air was filled with a gentle breeze, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and the distant sound of birdsong. In the center of the clearing, a weathered stone caught Dorian's attention. It was a place where he had laid his head to rest during his last visit to this spot.

Approaching the stone, he noticed something out of place. Upon its surface, dried streaks of crimson stained the rough texture. His heart skipped a beat as the realization struck him—this was his blood. The memory of a sharp pain resonated within him, the sensation of his head connecting with the stone.

‘Looks like I was right. Who could it have been though?’ Dorian's mind raced, his thoughts intertwining with the mystery that surrounded his own existence. Who had attacked him? Why had he been left for dead?

Dorian's mind raced as he stood there, contemplating the possible culprits behind the attack. According to his memories, there were three potential suspects. The first were the Brutes gang, who often collected fees from him for "protection." However, Dorian found it unlikely that they would turn against him, as he was a constant source of income for them and had never antagonized them.

Another possible suspect was the other boy who collected Sylvestra, Peter. In a moment of heated competition, he could have made a split-second decision to eliminate Dorian as a rival.

Lastly, there was the Baron's son. Dorian had seen him with a girl other than the one he was supposed to marry from the Grier noble family, another barony. But the Baron's son had never seen him, leaving Dorian puzzled as to why he would be targeted.

Dorian subconsciously raised his hand to the back of his head, his fingers brushing against the caked blood on his hair. As he rubbed it between his fingers, a fine powder of dried blood fell, leaving no trace of the injury. His head felt fully healed, as if there had never been a wound there in the first place.

Dorian frowned as he contemplated the perplexing turn of events. The memory of his head injury and the subsequent healing left him puzzled and suspicious. He couldn't dismiss the possibility that there was more to his transmigration than met the eye.

"It doesn't make sense," Dorian muttered to himself, his voice tinged with frustration. "How did I suffer such a severe head injury, only to have it completely healed?”

‘Let’s start with Peter’

‘I need to eat first though’