Transmigration (Seeking Collection)

The desolate path lay under a crimson sun, which radiated light and heat across the heavens, illuminating the world below.

In a place where the vegetation grew lush, a faint sound gradually drifted from up ahead.

Click!

A long caravan was moving forward, the wheels of the carriages clattering against the stones on the road from time to time, causing the vehicles to jolt repeatedly.

The coachman driving the lead carriage was a middle-aged man with calloused hands. After noticing the carriage jolting over the stones, he glanced back at the carriage behind him with great caution, seemingly afraid of waking the person inside.

In the back of the carriage, a boy lay quietly on golden hay. His body was covered in several gaping wounds; although they had been crudely bandaged, fresh blood continued to seep out, staining the soft hay beneath him a deep red.

Perhaps affected by the jolting of the carriage, the boy's wounds were aggravated, causing his previously calm face to contort suddenly, as if he were enduring intense agony.

"What's wrong?"

A low whinny of a horse came from behind, followed by the deep voice of a burly man.

A knight escorting the caravan noticed the carriage had stopped and rode over to question the coachman.

"My lord, the carriage axle seems to be broken. It will take some time to repair."

The coachman looked at the knight before him with a troubled expression and spoke in a low voice.

Hearing this, the knight's brow furrowed instantly: "How troublesome."

It happened to be noon. The knight looked up at the sky, feeling the scorching temperature and the faint, weary panting of the men around him. Ultimately, he ordered the caravan to halt and rest in a shaded area, taking the opportunity to eat.

As the order was given, the surrounding soldiers revealed expressions of excitement, eager to find a place to rest for a while.

However, even though they were impatient, their vigilance never wavered. After stopping, they specifically dispatched several knights to scout the surroundings to rule out any potential dangers or traps.

But following that last jolt of the carriage, the person inside had begun to wake.

Stimulated by the pain in his body, Chen Ming gradually opened his eyes.

Exhaustion! Agony! Discomfort!

Once his consciousness cleared, the pain and fatigue from his body surged into Chen Ming's mind, sharpening his senses and causing him to gasp sharply.

"Where... am I?"

Feeling the exhaustion and pain, along with the burning sensation radiating from his various wounds, this question rose in Chen Ming's heart. Then, a massive influx of memories flooded his mind, completely overwriting his current thoughts.

This was the life memory of a thirteen-year-old boy named Arthur.

In these memories, Arthur was born into an ordinary baronial family, the sole heir to a landed Baron. Because he had shown great talent for knighthood from a young age, he had been sent two or three years prior to the castle of his father's kinsman, Count Polia, to undergo training.

In this region, Count Polia was the absolute authority. As a kinsman to the Count, Arthur's father naturally sought to align himself closely with the nobleman, sending his heir to the Count's castle early on—partly to receive better training and education, and partly to demonstrate his loyalty.

Some time ago, scattered Orc Warrior tribes from the north suddenly moved south to harass the territory of the Kingdom of Arius. As the leader of the northern lords, Count Polia dispatched troops alongside neighboring lords to resist the Orc invasion. Thirteen-year-old Arthur had marched with the army, but he had charged too far forward during the battle and was surrounded and wounded by several Orc Warriors. He had breathed his last, and Chen Ming had taken over this body.

As the memories reached this point, the fatigue that had been pulsing in his mind gradually receded, replaced by a cooling sensation that emerged after the heat, allowing the tormented Chen Ming to regain his clarity.

"As expected, I've transmigrated again."

Feeling the fragments of memory surging in his mind and the intense pain radiating from his wounds, Chen Ming struggled to lift his arm and touch his face.

Something congealed was stuck to his skin. Arthur wiped hard and discovered it was all dried, clotted blood, running from his right ear all the way down to his chin, making him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

It wasn't just his face; his chest, left arm, and right thigh all bore deep wounds that throbbed with intense pain. His entire body was practically covered in blood, and it hadn't been cleaned at all.

This discovery startled him. Instinctively, he wanted to stand up, only to find he had no strength left. He could only use his relatively intact right hand to grip the edge of the carriage and struggle to sit up.

"Damn it... what is wrong with this world? Even a thirteen-year-old child is sent to the battlefield to fight those Orcs, who clearly aren't something an ordinary person can handle."

Clinging to the edge of the carriage, Chen Ming barely propped up half his body, feeling the maddening pain and exhaustion, and thought helplessly.

In his memories, the scenes of the body's original owner fighting those Orcs remained, and because they had happened so recently, they were vivid.

In his memory, although those Orcs lacked proper steel armor and had faces as savage as beasts, they were all muscular and burly, generally standing two meters tall. Their mere appearance was a terrifying deterrent.

In fact, the combat power of these Orcs truly lived up to their size and appearance. Even without training, their strength and physique, which far exceeded that of ordinary humans, allowed them to rival fully armored soldiers while wearing only crude leather armor. If not for their small numbers, they would be impossible for an ordinary army to contend with.

However, even such terrifying Orcs were not invincible, according to Arthur's memories.

Arthur's horrific wounds were sustained while being besieged by several Orcs, but before that, he had killed at least several of them, only falling when he charged too far and was surrounded by a group of Orc Warriors.

The root of all this was that this world possessed the pinnacle of power: the Knight Breathing Technique.

"Knight Breathing Technique..."

Carefully recalling the memories, a unique training method surfaced in Chen Ming's mind, causing him to whisper.

"Lord Arthur, you're awake?" A voice suddenly came from the front, filled with surprise, breaking Chen Ming's train of thought.

It was a middle-aged man wearing shining armor, sporting a beard and hair that was tied up in a messy, greasy bun, as if it hadn't been groomed in a long time. Seeing Chen Ming sit up, he called out in pleasant surprise.

He seemed to be the leader of the caravan. Seeing Arthur's pale face and slightly reopened wounds, he hurriedly directed several others to come over, carefully lifting Arthur and helping him climb down.

The people here were either soldiers or coachmen, and naturally, none of them were delicate or gentle. Their rough handling caused the wounds on Chen Ming's body to pull painfully.

"Hiss..."

Feeling the sharp, stabbing pain, Chen Ming gasped, his consciousness—which had been sluggish due to exhaustion and blood loss—instantly sharpening once more.

He struggled to lift his head, standing with the help of the others, and looked around.

There were several carriages nearby, all resting quietly under the shade of the trees to avoid the direct glare of the sun.

Behind these carriages, figures resembling corpses lay silently, each covered in copious amounts of blood, motionless and terrifying to behold.

Among these figures, Chen Ming recognized several people from Arthur's memories; they were either noble scions like himself or young Rookie Knights. While none could be considered truly significant, they were certainly not ordinary commoners.

Observing this situation, a faint realization dawned upon Chen Ming.

The mission of this convoy was likely to transport those who, like him, possessed a status that was not too low but had sustained heavy injuries on the battlefield.

Chen Ming also observed that, apart from the carriage he was in, the surrounding carriages were generally loaded with several wounded individuals each.

This was also good news; at the very least, it indirectly indicated that his status among this group was likely among the top tier.

"Arthur. From now on, I shall go by this name."

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Chen Ming repeated the name twice in his mind before making this decision.

Up ahead, several warriors took some dry rations from a carriage, sliced them up simply, and handed them directly to Arthur.

These rations were hard and unpalatable, tasting as foul as rotting meat. Because they had been stored on the carriage transporting the wounded, they were stained with the blood of those critically injured, making Arthur's expression turn unsightly.

Opposite Arthur, seemingly noticing his reluctance, the team leader from before explained to Ardis, "We are still in a time of war, so it is not suitable to light a fire. It will be better once we pass this stretch of the road."

Arthur gripped the dry rations with his uninjured right hand, said nothing, and merely nodded in understanding.

The wilderness in this world was far too dangerous; not only was it filled with various predatory beasts, but it was also ravaged by bandits and robbers. Not to mention that it was currently wartime, and there might be scattered Orc units roaming about. Lighting a fire rashly would likely attract these dangers with its thick smoke, causing unnecessary peril for the convoy.

Understanding this, and in order to recover his strength and heal his wounds as quickly as possible, Arthur forcibly suppressed the nausea in his heart and consumed the piece of dry ration stained with dried blood.

On the spot, the convoy rested quietly in the shade for a while. Once the sun outside appeared to dim slightly, following an order from the leader with her hair in a bun, Arthur climbed back onto the foul-smelling carriage with difficulty. Accompanied by the jolting of the journey, he watched the scenery along the road stretch out behind them.