A Clichéd Time-Travel Scenario

A Clichéd Time-Travel Scenario

A biting cold wind swirled through the pitch-black night sky. It was already deep into the night, yet the master bedroom in the lord's castle of Lakeheart Town remained brightly lit.

On the large bed lay a chubby black-haired boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen, unconscious and unresponsive. Not far from the bed, Butler Philip watched anxiously, glancing from the boy to the priest working beside him.

At last, the priest stopped. Unable to suppress his anxiety any longer, the butler immediately asked, "Father Anderson, how is the young master?"

The priest turned around with an apologetic expression. "Butler Philip, unfortunately, the herbs we applied earlier and the Holy Water we just gave Young Master Paul do not appear to have worked on his condition. I have only one method left. I wonder if you would agree to let me try it?"

"What method?"

"Blood Therapy. I learned it from a traveling physician. According to him, this treatment has become widespread throughout most of the Gabella Empire and the Rollman Kingdom, and it has remarkable effects on certain unusual illnesses."

"Bloodletting?" Butler Philip's vision went dark at the word.

He pondered for a moment before finally gritting his teeth. "All right, Father Anderson. Do as you suggest."

"Very well. May the Lord of Light bless Young Master Paul."

The priest raised both hands and prayed to his god. Then he instructed Philip to fetch a copper basin and place it beneath the bed. He took a sharp little knife from the case he carried, pulled the boy's arm out from under the covers, and prepared to cut him.

Just as the priest pressed the knife in his right hand against the skin of the boy's arm, the hand holding the boy's arm felt his pulse twitch once. Then it began pounding steadily and strongly. Sensing something strange, Father Anderson put down the knife and continued observing him.

The boy's pulse gradually settled, and then his eyelids slowly opened.

"Lord of Light be praised!" Father Anderson and Butler Philip cried out in delight at the same time.

"Damn, what smells so awful?" The first words out of the boy's mouth left the two men before him completely baffled.

Once his vision fully returned, the boy sat up, utterly bewildered.

Zhao Kai was an ordinary programmer from the Celestial Dynasty who usually enjoyed reading all kinds of web novels. What annoyed him greatly was that the novels he followed were always extremely niche. Their unmotivated authors often updated fewer than a hundred chapters before daily updates became monthly ones, monthly updates became yearly ones, or they simply abandoned the story altogether. Meanwhile, the "mindless novels" in his eyes were everywhere.

There were certainly some masterpieces that were both popular and suited his tastes, but there were too few of them, and their content always carried one regret or another.

Finally, one day, he decided to write a novel himself. He made up his mind that even if no one read it, he would keep writing to make up for all those past regrets. As for the genre, as a devoted believer in the Celestial Dynasty's industrialist school of thought, naturally he would write about using science-side muskets and cannons to crush the trash of a magic-side fantasy world.

He did not want his cheat to be too obvious, so he had no choice but to let the protagonist climb the technology tree from scratch. Thus, he spent a great deal of effort gathering those legendary books and materials said to be essential for time travelers: the Barefoot Doctor's Manual for winning people over, Practical Farmland Water Conservancy for filling granaries, the Militia Training Manual for bringing peace to the realm—he collected as many as he could.

After studying them carefully for over half a month, he finally planned to start writing.

But to his surprise, after years of working, his writing ability had deteriorated beyond recognition. Just writing an opening made him rack his brains for half the day.

"I used to look down on people for writing mindless novels! At least they can actually write them!"

Zhao Kai felt thoroughly ashamed. He decided that he would finish the first chapter even if it meant staying up all night. After barely piecing the chapter together sentence by sentence, he could no longer endure his drowsiness and fell asleep at his computer.

In his haze, a pungent smell struck him and pulled his consciousness out of sleep. But when he opened his eyes, the entire world had changed.

Zhao Kai—or rather, Paul Greiman now—looked around with a head full of questions.

Luxurious carpets, furniture obviously made from precious wood, artistic wall decorations, and the soft mattress beneath him—wasn't this the protagonist's bedroom he had described in the first chapter of his novel? What had happened to him? He pinched the flesh on his face. It hurt. This did not seem like a dream.

"Young Master, you are finally awake. Please rest assured, this is absolutely not a dream." Butler Philip hurried over.

Only then did Paul notice the other two people in the room. The man who had just approached had slightly graying hair, was tall and thin, appeared to be in his forties, and wore a black tailcoat like the sort of butler often seen in movies.

What was strange was that although the man was clearly speaking an unfamiliar language, he could understand it. The other man appeared to be around thirty and wore loose robes with wide sleeves, seemingly some kind of clergyman.

"Where am I? Why does my body feel so sticky?" Only then did he realize that he was speaking that same unfamiliar language.

"Young Master, you are in your bedroom. Father Anderson's ointment has been applied to your body, so please do not move around too vigorously."

"Young Master? Who are you people?"

Seeing that the young master did not recognize him, Philip was at a loss. He could only look toward the priest, hoping for an explanation.

"Butler, do not worry. Temporary memory loss after falling unconscious is not uncommon. As long as he gets plenty of rest and regains his health, and you guide him carefully at his side, he will slowly recover."

"Whew... you scared me to death. Well, waking up is already a blessing beyond measure."

Anderson continued examining Greiman. "There should be no serious physical problem now. Let Young Master Paul get a good rest today. Keep applying the ointment and clean it off tomorrow."

"Yes, thank you for your trouble today. I am truly grateful."

"You are welcome. It is my duty. I will take my leave for now, and I will come examine Young Master Paul again tomorrow."

"Very well, this way, please."

Paul was beginning to clear his head. He recognized the reality that he had already traveled to another world. What was going on? He had merely gone to sleep—how had he ended up here? Which god was playing this joke on him? He lay down again and forced himself to calm down. The priority now was figuring out how to survive in this new world.

Judging by what he had just seen, the identity of this body was not low. Food and clothing should not be a problem in the future. And although he had lost all of his previous memories, fortunately he could still speak this world's language. With "amnesia" as an excuse, he should be able to muddle through. Thinking this, he felt slightly reassured.

After a while, the butler returned and straightened his blankets. "Young Master, please rest well tonight. If you need anything, pull the bell rope beside the bed. I will be in the next room." With that, he placed a hand over his chest, bowed slightly, and left.

Paul curled up beneath the covers and began carefully considering his future life...