Identity

Chapter 1: Identity

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Fire!

Blazing fire!

Flames burned everything.

Figures ran wildly in the inferno, struggling helplessly, emitting shrill screams and wails.

Finally, Everything turned to ash.

"Hoo..."

Karl sat up abruptly from the bed, breathing rapidly, his forehead covered in sweat, his eyes still filled with terror.

The scene from a few days ago appeared in his dream again.

He steadied himself, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and with a rustling sound, he stood before the full-length mirror, dressed in formal attire.

His black hair, with a slight natural curl, fell to his shoulders. His brown eyes still held a hint of grogginess from just waking up. His left cheek bore a severe burn scar, which marred his sculpted features and made his otherwise handsome appearance difficult to look at directly.

Because he had something to do today, he had specially put on an expensive formal suit.

The blended long coat, similar to an old-fashioned Western suit, had the smoothness of silk and the texture of fur, further accentuating the sturdy physique beneath the clothing.

Karl Bergman, born in the Sveek Region of the Kingdom of Gondo, now residing in the southern district of Signo City, is an urban patrol officer...

His grandfather had followed Marquis Lawrence in campaigns, earning a baronial title for his bravery, which was then inherited by his father.

A few days ago, a great fire claimed his father's life and left him with moderate burns and mental shock.

Then...

His soul was replaced by a transmigator from another world.

That's right, The current Karl is a transmigator, feeling both unfamiliar and familiar with this world and "himself."

"It's over."

"It's all over!"

He muttered a couple of sentences to his reflection in the mirror, then steadied himself and walked to the door, turning the handle to open his bedroom.

Living room.

The decor, reminiscent of a dilapidated medieval European style, met his eyes.

A cabinet full of carvings stood on the left side of the room. The bronze handles on the drawers were identical in style to the doorknob, likely from the same manufacturer.

Wooden floors, hardwood tables and chairs, extinguished kerosene lamps, and the scent of vanilla and lemon permeated the air.

A pile of linen cloth in the corner, its purpose unknown, served as a temporary storage for flour and black bread.

"Respected Baron Karl."

Carrying a slice of bread, Jenny walked out of the kitchen with milk, a smile on her face. She slowly bent her knees towards him:

"You are awake. Please have breakfast."

She was a young girl in her teens, at the age of innocence and radiance. Her skin was as smooth as milk, and her voice was unique, clear, and pleasant.

However, she clearly didn't realize that her words were inappropriate.

"Jenny!" The landlady Mary's voice rang out behind her, filled with anger:

"Don't make jokes like that."

"Yes."

Jenny's smile faded:

"Karl, I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Karl shook his head. "You two eat. I'm going to the church first."

He was not a baron, or rather, not yet. Inheriting his father's title required certain procedures.

Inheriting a title meant his father's death, which was not something to celebrate.

"Going to church."

"Three pence."

"Here."

"Sir, please sit properly!"

As he sat in the carriage, Karl's thoughts raced.

Three pennies were enough for a common citizen to have a decent lunch, and the walk to the church wasn't far.

It seemed being a coachman was a good profession.

Driven by the instinct of a former wage earner and his unfamiliarity with this world, he habitually surveyed everything around him.

His gaze shifted from the coachman down to the horses.

The horses pulling the carriage were a breed called Duma horses, known for their gentle temperament and steady pace, highly favored by noble ladies.

Of course, they weren't cheap.

Besides the Duma horses, the elaborately decorated carriage also cost a considerable amount.

Calculating it all, one would need to invest a large sum of money to become a coachman, so it wasn't necessarily a good job.

"Hmm... I'm about to become a Baron, and the City Patrol Officer's income isn't low either. There's no need to be as calculative as I was in my past life."

"Even without a barony, the title of Baron alone is enough for me to live a respectable life."

"It's just a shame this place isn't as convenient as modern society, and I haven't found any clues about technological sprouts. It's more like medieval Europe."

"Instead, the Church's power is more secularized. Even the inheritance of titles requires the Church's approval. Ignorant..."

"Not necessarily ignorant!"

Memories of "strange" scenes flashed through his mind, and Karl shook his head slightly. This world wasn't that simple.

A version that sees without error!

The carriage stopped some distance from the church, a gesture of respect for the great Lord of Dawn.

The church occupied a vast area, its architecture solemn, and devout followers were holding prayers in the square.

The steeple was the most striking feature, with the ear of wheat symbol atop it, representing a portion of the Lord of Dawn's authority.

Abundance!

"Lord of Dawn above..."

Karl bowed slightly, passing by the person he met, and entered Father Vic's office through a side door.

"Father."

He took a step forward and said respectfully:

"I'm here to complete the Baron title transfer procedures."

"Karl Bergman?"

"It is I."

Father Vic had deep-set features and a solemn expression. His black ceremonial robe lent him an intangible air of authority.

Looking at Karl, he spoke slowly:

"Your father died resisting the Fire Thief and protecting civilians. He possessed noble qualities of bravery and justice."

"Yes," Karl lowered his head, his voice deep. "I am proud of him."

"However..." Father Vic changed his tone. "After deliberation by several priests, his title cannot be inherited."

Huh?

"Why?"

Karl's face showed surprise, then he quickly regained his composure: "I don't mean to question you, Father, but my father's bravery was commended by the City Lord."

"The spirit of nobility, besides valor and justice, also requires piety," Father Vic clasped his hands. "Regrettably, we did not see his piety towards the Lord of Dawn."

"No!" Karl said earnestly. "Before every meal, my father would lead me in prayer. Around the holy festivals, he would abstain from meat and alcohol."

"His piety is beyond question!"

Whether it was true or not, he had to say it.

The title of Baron was crucial to him. Without the title, he would merely be a commoner.

He might not even be able to keep his position as Patrol Officer.

Commoners in this era had a status only slightly above serfs; in his view, their living conditions were dire.

Thinking of this, Karl's heart ached.

"Father, is there some misunderstanding?"

"Misunderstanding? There is no misunderstanding!"

Father Vic shook his head, his expression solemn, and asked, "Karl, what month is it?"

"Ninth..." Karl's tone shifted:

"Month of Abundance."

"Indeed." Father Vic looked emotional. "It's the Month of Abundance, and even the serfs in the city send black bread. Yet, in the years your father has been in Signo City, he has never offered anything."

Karl opened his mouth.

Although they hadn't sent anything to the church, they had paid their tithes on time, never falling short.

However, those words likely wouldn't be of any use to Father Vic.

His gaze paused on the exquisite and clearly expensive bracelet on the priest's wrist. Karl lowered his head silently, lost in thought.