Chapter 0001: Awakening

This was a grim and terrifying magical swamp.

Thick, heavy mists hung in the air. Even during the day, the dazzling sunlight could not penetrate the low-hanging clouds and oppressive fog, leaving this place untouched by the warmth of the living world.

Everywhere lay murky, fetid pools, shallow in water but teeming with bizarre parasitic creatures. Whenever an outsider ventured into this desolate silence, the swamp would instantly transform into a haven for carrion-eating and bloodthirsty beasts: vampiric demon vines, corpse-feeding ravens, monstrous swamp crocodiles, and hags whose grotesque forms resembled drowned corpses—each a nightmare that passing merchants would avoid at all costs.

Yet, at the very heart of this forbidden swamp stood, inexplicably, a towering edifice a hundred meters high: a dreadful stone tower.

Its foundation was built entirely from dense, solid blue-glow stones. At nightfall, the entire tower would emit a cold, tranquil phosphorescence, making it especially beloved by ghosts and restless spirits.

Perhaps from neglect, the base of the tower was entangled with wildly proliferating, enchanted vines, their surfaces bristling with metallic, wooden spikes. Should an ordinary person be ensnared, their very blood would be drained in moments, their remains joining the thick, snowy pile of bones at the roots.

As dusk settled, candlelight flickered within the tower.

Dim light filtered through narrow windows, offering no comfort or warmth—only sending a chill deep into one’s bones.

Grimm, who had just turned fifteen, sat upright before a battered wooden desk. An immense tome of arcane lore lay open before him, and he copied from it in silence. Though he had been in this new world for two years, a persistent discomfort haunted his soul, leaving him plagued by headaches.

In moments of distraction, scenes from his former life on Earth would flash through his mind, his pen pausing involuntarily and leaving a large blot of ink upon the rough parchment.

Damn it, failed again!

Grimm’s brow furrowed as he clenched his fist, fighting the urge to cry out in frustration. After a long struggle, he forced the anger down.

This was no longer the Earth he once knew, and the body he now inhabited had once belonged to a wizard’s apprentice named Grimm. In truth, he was but a soul who had taken over Grimm’s body at the moment of the latter’s untimely death.

Empty-handed, he had crossed from a low-magic Earth to a world rife with monsters, where wizards held dominion. The agony of adapting to such a place nearly broke Li Xun’s spirit. Fortunately, fragments of his host’s memories had fused with his own, granting him basic mastery of the local language and script. Without that, the world’s strange grammar and tadpole-like writing would have been enough to drive him mad.

Even so, the recurring headaches continued to trouble him deeply.

Here, he dared not reveal his true identity and could only struggle for survival under the name of Grimm within the wizard’s tower.

Although being an apprentice to Master Anderson was a prestigious title, the truth was known only to those who lived within these walls: it was not an honor but the cruelest torment and punishment imaginable.

Their duties as apprentices consisted of diligently attending to the great Master Anderson’s daily needs, cleaning magical apparatus, keeping the tower tidy, caring for the enchanted flora and fauna outside, and—most dreadfully—serving as experimental subjects for the master himself.

Though such occurrences were rare, when the slave or convict caravans arrived late and Anderson found himself short of test subjects, he would order an apprentice to serve as a temporary guinea pig.

It was said that Mary from Ant County had the “good fortune” last month to become Anderson’s magical test subject. Though she survived, her body was terribly “contaminated” and mutated in dreadful ways. Since emerging from the laboratory, she had cloaked herself in heavy robes and secluded herself in her room, never to be seen again.

Many apprentices whispered that Mary must have died in her chambers.

But Grimm knew Mary was still alive.

For late at night, he could hear her muffled, agonized moans and the terrifying sound of claws scratching against the stone walls. Out of a lingering compassion, Grimm would sneak food into her room whenever he could.

Though his own existence was precarious, that small spark of humanity drove him to do what little good he could within his power.

Today, his unpredictable migraine struck at the worst possible moment, interrupting his copying and wasting a sheet of parchment.

Do not underestimate a single crumpled piece of rough parchment—it was worth two silver coins. In this world of magic, the most common currency was the wizard’s gold coin: one gold coin equaled ten silver coins, one silver coin equaled ten copper coins, and five copper coins would feed a commoner for a day.

Thus, a single sheet of parchment was a small fortune to an ordinary person, though it was mere disposable trash to a wizard’s apprentice.

Nothing in the wizard’s tower was free.

Every meal, every expense for magical studies, had to be earned by Grimm himself. The only way was to leave the tower: to feed the ferocious, enchanted beasts, tend to the sinister magical plants, collect the magical materials demanded by the wizards, and clean dangerous magical zones within the tower.

While performing such tasks, apprentices wore protective amulets crafted by the master to avoid triggering the arcane wards surrounding the tower. Even so, in this world of unfathomable mysteries, no job was ever truly safe. Every month or two, some unfortunate soul would be devoured by a beast or inexplicably succumb to magical radiation while cleaning.

Thus, the more comfortable positions within the tower were monopolized by senior apprentices. The weaker ones were forced to take on the dangerous work, earning just enough coin and knowledge points to continue their studies.

Money was used to buy supplies; knowledge points, a system established by the wizards, were used to purchase access to knowledge. In the tower’s library, every book was clearly labeled with its knowledge point cost, and borrowing was strictly knowledge points only—no money accepted.

Apprentices had only a brief window to study the books they borrowed, far too little time to absorb all their contents. As such, most developed the habit of copying out what they needed by hand.

Each book borrowed was feverishly transcribed for the most essential knowledge, to be studied over and over later. Ink and parchment were indispensable for this—and neither came free.

Of course, if an apprentice came from a wealthy family, he could convert gold coins directly into knowledge points, at a rate of one knowledge point per hundred gold coins.

The book Grimm was borrowing today, “The Compendium of Enchanted Beasts,” cost three knowledge points, with only half a day permitted for study. At his current copying speed, he would need to borrow it at least three times to finish, totaling nine knowledge points—an entire two weeks of dangerous labor outside the tower.

Thus, the wasted parchment was not the true loss; it was the two hours of precious copying time lost to his migraine that drove him to such fury.

As Grimm struggled to suppress his anger, not letting it disturb his work, a familiar “ding” suddenly sounded in his mind.

“Ding. Bio-energy threshold reached. Biological Assistance Chip No. ZXJ9521 now activating…”

Grimm cried out in astonishment.

“The Biological Assistance Chip!”

How many times, in those harsh early days after crossing over, had Grimm fantasized about becoming a mighty hero, wielding a divine artifact from Earth to conquer this world—toppling old men’s homes with a punch, clearing out nurseries with a kick, and in the morgue, stamping his foot and daring the dead to rise—no one would even dare breathe…

Alas, the damnable chip fused with his soul had brought him nothing but migraines and had never once activated—until now.

After a flurry of static, a cool, androgynous female voice echoed in his mind.

“Host detected. Commencing data modeling… Please wait…”

Wait—it could quantify his current body? That was worth looking forward to!

After all, this was a high-magic world. The very fabric of reality was saturated with a substance known as elemental particles, divided into earth, fire, water, wind, light, and darkness, according to the basic elements of the plane.

Wizards each displayed varying affinities for these elemental particles, giving rise to countless schools and factions. The power structure here was utterly different from Earth’s, and the challenge of standardizing and quantifying the data had long been Grimm’s greatest conundrum.