Transmigration? (Magic, superpowers, and other supernatural forces all fall under the mystical side.)

[PS: Today's tasks: Talk to someone of the opposite sex (0/1). Eat your fill (5/3).]

With the sound of a key turning in the lock, the door slowly opened.

A man staggered in from outside. Too lazy to even wash up, he went straight to his room, collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep.

Perhaps because he had had a little to drink, all sorts of jumbled fragments of memory kept flashing through his mind as he drifted in a haze.

The images were blurry, as though covered by a thick layer of pixelation, leaving him utterly bewildered.

But gradually, the images grew clearer, while his perspective kept rising higher and higher.

Eventually, it was as though he had become someone else, watching everything he had experienced from childhood to adulthood from a god's-eye view.

Starting with a newborn baby's first cries, scene after scene emerged, and the baby steadily grew older.

He had forgotten some of those events himself, yet tonight they appeared in his mind with perfect clarity.

That frightened him a little, because he had heard that memories of the past only flashed before someone's eyes when they were dying.

Surely... it couldn't be that bad, right? I only had a few beers at a company get-together. How could that kill me? Was the booze counterfeit? Surely not. No way!

The thought suddenly flashed through his mind, and the scene before him finally froze at the moment he entered his room and lay down on the bed.

His perspective continued to rise, pulling farther and farther away as darkness slowly spread inward from the edges of his vision.

The scene before him shrank until it finally became a tiny speck of light, disappearing into the boundless darkness.

Yet he felt his consciousness continuing to rise. The instant that speck of light vanished, his consciousness seemed to break free of some sort of restraint.

It began climbing faster and faster, accelerating without end. He had no idea how much time passed; after all, this pitch-black world seemed to have no concept of time.

At the very instant his consciousness faded completely, he suddenly noticed rings of milky-white light spilling down from above.

That jolted him alert. Was he about to wake up?

He wanted to look up and see what it was, only to discover that he could neither move his eyes nor turn his head.

He could only use the changes in the surroundings visible below him to confirm that he seemed to be getting closer and closer to the source of that light.

Ever since those rings of light had appeared, the once-boundless darkness around him had gradually receded, until light filled his vision again.

With a soft pop, he felt as though he had plunged into an ocean of light.

Milky-white light surrounded him, falling over him like winter sunshine, warm and gentle.

The awakening he had imagined never came. Instead, his consciousness rapidly dissipated, finally falling silent within that ocean.

When he woke again, he opened his eyes and stared at the group of blond, blue-eyed people before him, utterly confused.

What's going on? Am I still dreaming? The people around him seemed to be examining him, jabbering away in words he couldn't understand.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his bottom and involuntarily burst into wailing sobs.

That only confused him more. As he felt the people around him handling his body, he slowly began to realize: had he transmigrated?

No way. No way! I only drank a few beers. How did I end up transmigrating?

Was it really counterfeit booze? Surely not. Could a few bottles of counterfeit beer actually kill someone?

He didn't particularly mind having transmigrated. After all, as a young man of the twenty-first century, what kind of transmigration drama hadn't he seen?

It was just the way he had transmigrated that he couldn't get over. What even was this?

Drinking counterfeit booze and dying? That sounds seriously messed up. It's so lame, with absolutely no style. I've embarrassed all my fellow transmigrators.

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something. His eyes flew wide, and the crying he had been unable to control abruptly stopped.

He remembered. He had left so suddenly this time that he! hadn't! deleted! his! browser! history!

It's over. It's all over. My good name is gone.

The crying that had abruptly stopped started up again, louder and more anguished than before.

Only after a long while did he recover from that overwhelming shame and slowly examine his surroundings.

At a glance, he noticed that everyone around him seemed to be wearing clothes in eighteenth- or nineteenth-century styles. He couldn't help wondering whether he had traveled back a few centuries.

Then he spotted several people dressed like priests, their expressions solemn as they muttered something he couldn't understand. That suddenly stirred his excitement.

Could I have transmigrated into a world with the Mystic Side?

[Unfortunately, even after many years had passed, he still hadn't found the slightest trace of the Mystic Side.]

This world seemed to be as ordinary as ordinary could get, which left him a little disappointed.

After all, without the Mystic Side, this world was simply far too backward for him.

The most advanced invention so far was merely the steam engine, and the most popular forms of entertainment were opera, dancing, and horse racing. It made him miss twenty-first-century phones, computers, and Wi-Fi terribly.

He suddenly began to understand why his father in this life was so enthusiastic about making babies.

He already had twelve siblings, and apparently two more mistresses were pregnant now. Counting those two, that would make fourteen.

Still, the one thing worth celebrating was that his family's financial circumstances this time were excellent. They were truly approachable-with billions-and blessed with a wealth of talents, emphasis on wealth.

His father was a duke of the [Holy Chris Empire], with a duchy of his own. That meant he had been born a cut above the rest. Working nine to nine, six or seven days a week? That crap could go straight to hell.

Nor did he need to worry about his siblings fighting him over the family fortune.

Under this world's laws, they were illegitimate children and had no inheritance rights.

He, on the other hand, was legitimate: the son of the actual duchess and heir to the duchy.

That golden throne might as well have been welded to his backside. Nobody could take it away.

Though, thinking about it, that wasn't quite right. Didn't he have an older sister with the same father and mother?

Whatever. That brat thinks she can beat me? What a joke.

Thanks to the advantages of being a transmigrator, he had been able to speak the Chris Empire's common tongue fluently at seven months old.

At three, his talent for arithmetic had left the duchy's leading mathematicians astounded.

At five, he had been able to offer useful suggestions at the duchy's council meetings.

And where had his older sister-pfft, that brat-been then? Probably still playing in the mud in the garden.

Now his reputation as a genius had spread throughout the duchy, and even over in the empire, plenty of people had heard of his brilliance.

My position as heir is welded firmly in place, okay? Rock solid. There has never been a more perfect start.

The protagonist's family rules the Norse Duchy.

... (Divider)

This continent is enormous, covering five hundred million square kilometers. That's several times Earth's total land area. I'm not very good at drawing maps.

Empire > kingdom > duchy.

Also, to comply with content review requirements, the protagonist's age has been changed to adulthood. That's also why the seal exists.

Stop yelling at me. These are Tomato's rules.

[Reincarnated from birth, no mask-related dealbreakers, multiple female leads, no cuckolding. The female leads include noblewomen who are married, so if you don't like beautiful aristocratic wives, umm...]