A sinister and foreboding magical swamp lay before them.
The air was heavy with damp, choking fog. Even in the light of day, the dazzling sun could not pierce the oppressive clouds and murky mist, leaving this place bereft of any warmth or solace. Filthy, stagnant pools of fetid water were scattered everywhere—not deep, but teeming with strange, parasitic creatures. Whenever an outsider ventured here, this desolate silence would erupt into a haven for carrion-loving and bloodthirsty beasts: vampiric vines, scavenger crows, swamp crocodiles, and grotesque hag-like apparitions, each one a horror from which passing traders fled in terror.
And yet, at the very heart of this uninhabitable marsh stood a solitary, nightmarish tower that reached a hundred meters into the sky.
It was a stone tower, its foundation constructed entirely of dense, solid greenstone. As night fell, the entire structure would emit a faint, ghostly glow, cold and serene, irresistibly attracting the attention of wraiths and restless spirits. Overgrown with rampaging enchanted vines adorned with wood-like spikes that gleamed like polished metal, the tower's base showed signs of long neglect. Any ordinary person ensnared by these vines would have their blood drained within moments, joining the pile of bleached white bones at their roots.
As dusk settled, faint candlelight flickered to life inside the tower. The dim glow seeped through narrow windows, offering no comfort but instead stirring an unshakable chill deep within one's heart.
Grimm, who had just turned fifteen, sat upright at a rickety wooden desk. A heavy tome on magical theory lay open before him, and he was painstakingly transcribing its contents. Though two years had passed since he arrived in this new world, the lingering dissonance in his soul still left him prone to bouts of debilitating headaches.
In moments of mental fog, flashes of scenes from his past life on Earth would invade his mind, causing his quill to falter, leaving a large blot of ink on the coarse parchment.
“Damn it, another failure,” Grimm muttered, his brows furrowed deeply. His fists clenched with frustration as he fought the urge to vent his anger aloud. But after a long pause, he forced himself to swallow the rage.
This was no longer the Earth he knew. The body he now inhabited had once belonged to a young wizard’s apprentice also named Grimm. To be precise, he was merely a trespasser, a soul from another world who had claimed this vessel the moment its original owner perished in an accident.
Empty-handed, he had traversed from a low-magic Earth to a high-magic realm overrun by monsters and ruled by wizards—a grueling adjustment that had brought him to the brink of despair. Thankfully, the fragmented memories left behind by the previous Grimm allowed him to adapt to the basic language and script of this alien world. Otherwise, the complex grammar and runic script alone might have driven him mad.
Still, the frequent headaches persisted, haunting him like a curse.
Here, he dared not reveal his true identity. He had to bear the name of Grimm and struggle to survive within the confines of this wizard's tower.
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To the outside world, being an apprentice under the great Master Anderson was an enviable honor. But only those within the tower knew the truth: it was less an honor and more a relentless torment.
As an apprentice, his duties were to attend diligently to Master Anderson's needs, clean magical equipment, maintain the tower’s hygiene, care for the enchanted flora and fauna outside, and occasionally serve as the master’s experimental subject.
Though such misfortune was rare, whenever the slave or prisoner deliveries were delayed, the restless and irritable Master Anderson would order one of the apprentices to act as a substitute test subject.
Rumor had it that Mary, an apprentice from Ant County, had been chosen for one such experiment just last month. Though she survived, her body was horrifically mutated. Since then, she had cloaked herself in heavy robes and never left her room. Many whispered that Mary had likely perished.
But Grimm knew otherwise.
In the stillness of the night, he often heard muffled groans of pain and the scratching of sharp claws against stone from her chamber. Driven by a fleeting sense of compassion, he would secretly leave food outside her door, even as his own existence teetered on the edge of survival.
Today’s sudden bout of migraines had struck at the worst possible time, interrupting his transcription work and wasting an entire sheet of parchment.
To the common folk, this rough parchment, worth two silver coins, would be a small fortune. In this world, the standard currency was wizard gold coins, where one gold equaled ten silver, and one silver equaled ten copper. For the average villager, five copper coins were enough to feed a family for a day.
Yet here, this precious parchment was nothing more than a disposable tool for wizard apprentices.
In the wizard’s tower, nothing came for free. Apprentices were required to earn their keep, paying for food, lodging, and magical studies through their own efforts. To earn money, Grimm had no choice but to venture outside the tower, feeding vicious magical beasts, tending eerie plants, gathering materials, and cleaning perilous magical zones.
Despite wearing protective talismans crafted by Master Anderson to neutralize the tower's magical traps, absolute safety was never guaranteed. Every few months, an unfortunate apprentice would either be devoured by the creatures they cared for or succumb to the lingering magical radiation.
Within this system, the most desirable and safer jobs were monopolized by senior apprentices, leaving the weaker ones with only the riskiest tasks. These hardships made earning both gold and the highly coveted "knowledge points" a constant struggle.
Knowledge points were the only currency accepted for borrowing books from the tower’s library. Each tome was meticulously priced in knowledge points, and apprentices were granted only a brief borrowing period. Unable to fully absorb the knowledge in such a short time, most resorted to feverishly transcribing the texts for future study.
This relentless cycle of earning, spending, and learning left Grimm perpetually exhausted.
And now, a familiar chime suddenly echoed in his mind.
Ding! Bio-energy threshold reached. Auxiliary biochip ZXJ9521 is now activating.
Grimm gasped in shock.
A biochip!
In his early, desperate days in this foreign world, he had often fantasized about wielding some divine artifact to become an unstoppable force. Yet, this cursed chip had done nothing but burden him with debilitating headaches.
But now, finally, it had awakened.
As a smooth, androgynous voice echoed in his mind, his heart raced with anticipation.
Host detected. Initiating data modeling. Please wait.
It could quantify his current physical state? In this world teeming with elemental particles—earth, fire, water, wind, light, and darkness—such a function could be a game-changer.
For the first time in years, a flicker of hope ignited within him.