Michael Stefan Animusphere

The space around him shifted and changed. Strange, distorted shadows drifted past Michael as he traveled through the Sea of Imaginary Numbers. Time held no meaning here; perhaps what felt like an instant could have been a hundred years in reality.

If it had not been necessary, he would never have used this magecraft. Crossing the Sea of Imaginary Numbers placed tremendous strain on the body. Even with a Dead Apostle's strength and recovery far beyond that of ordinary humans, he would need quite some time to recuperate.

Fortunately, the discomfort lasted only an instant. He just had to grit his teeth and endure it.

The ethereal, warped shadows gradually brightened, and the images around him became clearer. Michael slowly rose from the Sea of Imaginary Numbers and returned to the real world.

"Is the Burial Agency made up of bloodhounds or something? How can they find me no matter where I hide?"

Before he had time to complain, a piercing car horn blared beside him. In Michael's vision, a black sedan rapidly grew larger. The balding, greasy-faced middle-aged driver stared at him in terror and stomped on the brakes.

"Misfortunes never come alone."

He no longer had the energy to complain about his shitty luck today. With a slight push from his feet, his entire body turned into a hazy shadow and vanished before the sedan. At the same time, he did not forget to cast Suggestion Magecraft on the driver, erasing his memory of him.

After finally catching his breath, Michael looked around. This was one of the teleportation points he had originally established, which meant there had to be a Ley Line nearby. Though it was completely different from the remote mountain village in his memories, he could still find traces of what it had once been.

After all, this was where he had awakened when he had first crossed over.

That was right. Michael was one of those legendary transmigrators, from Blue Star, the homeland of countless transmigrators. Naturally, his original name was not Michael, but Lu Jinyan.

As an outstanding young man raised beneath the red flag, he had fantasized about transmigration before, but he knew it was pure fiction. It was fine to enjoy it in novels, but who could have imagined it would actually happen to him?

And crossing over was one thing, but the moment he opened his eyes, he saw a group of fierce-looking men glaring at him. It scared the hell out of him. There was no system and no old grandpa to guide him, so Lu Jinyan could only use his not-so-bright brain to rapidly assess his situation.

Faced with those murderous, well-trained men in uniforms, resisting would only let him die with a little more dignity. Running was impossible too—after all, both his legs were gone. He could not crawl very far either.

He could not help lamenting that he had only just crossed over and had yet to accomplish anything like the veterans before him, only to die prematurely in the wilderness. A bleak sadness rose in his heart.

"Before victory, the general dies; how often heroes weep at this."

Lu Jinyan subconsciously recalled the poem. He had finally crossed over, yet just minutes later, he was about to die again.

The more he endured, the angrier he became. The more he backed down, the more cheated he felt. Unarmed, he could only choose the simplest method of attack. Like a struggling salted fish, he lunged at one of them and bit down.

Fuck it. Even if you kill me, I'll bite a chunk of flesh off you!

Lu Jinyan thought viciously. But dreams were beautiful while reality was cruel. The man he lunged at reacted with astonishing speed, stomping on his head with a flying kick and pinning him directly to the ground.

Rough dirt entered his mouth and nose along with his ragged breaths, making him cough violently. His mouth was filled with the burning tang of blood, while the heavy blow to the back of his head left his vision swimming.

Then, he felt an icy weapon pierce his chest. The tearing pain made him cry out involuntarily. The world before his eyes began to spin, and darkness swallowed him like a rising tide.

At that moment, he "saw" the dazzling starlight within his body.

When Lu Jinyan woke again, he found that his body had been charred black, giving off the distinctive aroma of roasted meat. He barely managed to set his severed head back onto his neck, only to realize he had put it on backward. Left with no choice, he carried it in his hand.

In the span of only a few hours, he had gone from crossing over, to dying, to returning from the dead. He had experienced things ordinary people would never encounter in an entire lifetime.

As he gradually assimilated the memories of this body, Lu Jinyan discovered that he was actually in the Nasuverse. Everything that had happened so far was absurd, yet somehow perfectly logical.

He had no idea how he had crossed over, nor did he know what that starlight was. He only vaguely remembered burying himself in books at the library, studying hard for the upcoming graduate school entrance exam. The cloudless sky outside had suddenly darkened, a deafening sound of shattering had rang in his ears, and when he woke again, he was here.

To be honest, Lu Jinyan was secretly delighted. Zero Point Theorem, Extreme Value Theorem, Intermediate Value Theorem, Fermat's Theorem, Rolle's Theorem, Lagrange Mean Value Theorem, Cauchy Mean Value Theorem, Integral Mean Value Theorem—get the hell away from me! He finally did not have to study advanced calculus anymore. This was an occasion for universal celebration—!

Seriously, was advanced calculus even meant for humans to learn?

Apparently, even getting killed once could not suppress the wild joy in his heart. He casually found a flat stone and plopped down on it. As he sorted through the information he currently knew and combined it with his understanding of the Nasuverse, living a successful life should not be difficult.

First, he was no longer human. He was a Dead Apostle, and the people who had been chasing him were Executors of the Holy Church.

A Dead Apostle was nothing major.

Lu Jinyan comforted himself inwardly.

Second was this body's name—Michael Stefan Animusphere. According to his memories, his father was somehow Franz I, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, while his mother was a noblewoman from the Animusphere family.

Animusphere... That sounded familiar. It felt like he had seen it somewhere before.

This identity could have been considered a dream start. Even as an illegitimate child who could not inherit the throne, he would have had no worries about food or clothing. That life continued until the original Michael lost himself in debauchery after getting drunk and caught the attention of a Dead Apostle.

His rudimentary magecraft was obviously no match for a Dead Apostle. After having his blood sucked, he lost his life. Unexpectedly, several years later, he had become one of the dead and crawled out of his grave.

To protect the royal family's honor, this body's father had summoned Executors from the Holy Church and planned to secretly eliminate him. However, this body's original owner seemed to have awakened some incredible talent. He was particularly skilled at running away, circling half the globe and fleeing from prosperous Europe all the way to this impoverished backwater in the Far East.

After struggling for a long time, he had ultimately still died here. Not beneath the Black Keys of the Holy Church's Executors, but because Lu Jinyan had devoured his soul.

There would be no melodramatic story about helping the original owner fulfill his final wishes. Since he had finally survived, he needed to live properly and not recklessly court death.

According to his memories, it was now 1775 AD. There was still a long time before the nearest storyline he knew of. And the greatest advantage of a Dead Apostle was immortality and eternal youth. As long as he lay low, used his cheat ability, and secluded himself to study magecraft for several centuries, he would surely become a second Ten Mile Slope Sword God.

Just imagining the glorious scene of himself punching the Jewel Emperor and kicking the Counter Force made the surging passion in his heart impossible to suppress. The Nasuverse might be vast, but would it not still be his playground?

And so, two hundred years passed...

"Heh—what punching the Jewel Emperor and kicking the Counter Force? Finding a Ley Line, lying low, and maxing out the progress bar is what really matters!"

Michael stood atop a utility pole, gazing down at the unfamiliar town below, where the buildings were arranged in neat layers. He could not help letting out a deep sigh. After two hundred years, he once again felt the faint sorrow of, "Before victory, the general dies; how often heroes weep at this."