LOM: Lord of Mysticism

Klein Moretti reeled back in fear.

How could a person with such grievous wounds be still alive?

He took two steps forward and suddenly paused. A memory fragment triggered as Klein Moretti turned his head to look at the grayish-white pipes and the metallic-gridded lamp on the wall.

This was the most common gas lamp of the times. Its flame was stable, and its illumination capabilities were excellent.

With Klein Moretti's family situation, even a kerosene lamp was a dream, much less a gas lamp. Using candles was most apt for their standing and stature. However, back when he was admitted into Khoy University four years ago, his elder brother, Benson, felt that it was an important matter on which their family's future depended. Therefore, he insisted on creating conducive studying conditions for Klein, even if it meant taking on debt.

Of course, Benson, who was literate and had worked for several years, was not a rash person and reasoned with the landlord to 'raise the apartment's standards by installing gas pipes to improve the likelihood of rentals in the future.' The landlord was convinced and provided the money to complete the basic modifications. Then, using the convenience of working at an import and export company, he purchased a brand new gas lamp, which was nearly at cost. In the end, all he needed was to use his savings and did not need to borrow money.

After the memory fragment flashed past his mind, Klein came to the desk, where he turned the pipe's valve and began twisting the gas lamp's switch.

With a sputtering sound, a spark sounded from friction, but light did not descend upon him as he had expected.

He twisted the switch a few more times, but all the gas lamp did was sputter and remain dark.

"Hmm…" Retracting his hand, he sought the reason by rummaging through his memory fragments, and a few seconds later, he turned around, arriving at the machine installation, which was similarly inset into the wall.

This was a gas meter. After seeing the exposed gears and bearings, he took out a coin from his trousers' pocket.

It was dark yellow in color and had a bronze shimmer to it. The front of the coin was engraved with the portrait of a man wearing a crown, while the back featured a '1' over a clump of wheat.

This was the most basic currency of the Loen Kingdom—a copper penny. Such coins had other denominations, such as the five pence, halfpenny, and quarterpenny. Despite the three types, the denominations were not in small enough units, and in everyday life, one had to buy multiple items just to spend a single coin.

After flipping the coin—a type minted and circulated only after King George III ascended the throne—Klein inserted it into the gas meter's narrow, vertical slot.

Clink! Clang! As the penny dropped to the bottom of the meter, the gears began to grind, producing a brief yet melodious mechanical rhythm. Klein stared at the meter for a few seconds before returning to the wooden desk and reaching out to twist the gas lamp's switch.

A plume of flame ignited and quickly grew. The glow penetrated the transparent glass, casting a warm radiance across the room as the shadows retreated and the crimson dusk faded out the window.

Klein felt a strange sense of calm as he stepped quickly to the dressing mirror, carefully inspecting his temple. After a moment, he noticed that, aside from the original mark, no more liquid seeped from the wound, and the flesh was visibly healing. He estimated it would take thirty to forty minutes before only a faint scar remained.

Is this a restorative effect brought on by my transmigration? Klein Moretti muttered quietly.

After calming himself, he pulled open a drawer and took out a piece of soap, along with a worn towel hanging beside the cupboard. He opened the door and walked to the communal bathroom shared by the tenants on the second floor.

I should clean the blood off myself, or I'll look like I committed a crime, he thought. It's one thing to scare myself, but I don't want to alarm others.

The corridor was pitch black, with only faint outlines barely highlighted by the crimson moonlight from the hallway window.

Klein softened his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom. When he stepped inside, more moonlight filtered in, illuminating the room enough for him to see clearly.

Standing in front of a washbasin, he turned the faucet's knob. The sound of running water suddenly reminded him of his landlord, Mr. Franky.

Since water was included in the rent, Mr. Franky—a short, thin man—was always quick to inspect the bathroom whenever he heard water running, and if it sounded too loud, he'd discard all gentlemanly manners, waving his walking stick and pounding on the bathroom door, shouting things like, "Darn thief!" "Wastage is a disgraceful habit!" and "If I catch you doing this again, you'll be kicked out with all your belongings!" He'd end his tirade by reminding tenants, "This is the best-value apartment in Tingen City—you won't find a kinder landlord anywhere!"

Putting aside such thoughts, Klein used the wet towel to clean the blood stains from his face and then took off his linen shirt, using the bar of soap to wash away the remaining bloodstains.

At that moment, he thought of a possible problem: His room likely had blood from his injury.

A few minutes later, he briskly returned to his apartment with a moist towel. He first wiped the bloody handprint on the desk and then, using the gas lamp's illumination, sought out any other spots.

He discovered that quite a substantial amount of blood had splattered onto the floor beneath the desk. And there was a yellow bullet to the left side of the wall.

Did he release a round with the revolver pointed at his temple? After mixing and matching the clues from before, he had a rough idea how this person had died but was in no hurry to verify his guess.

He wiped away the blood stains and cleaned up the 'scene.' Afterwards, he took the bullet and returned to the side of his desk. Opening the revolver's cylinder, he poured out the rounds from inside—a total of five rounds and a cartridge shell that all had a brass luster to them.

Klein looked at the empty shell in front of him and stuffed the rounds back into the cylinder.

He then shifted his gaze to the notebook's words: 'Everyone will die, including me.' and even more questions arose in him.

Where did the gun come from?

Was it suicide or a staged suicide?

What kind of trouble could a history graduate of humble origins get himself into?

Why would such a method only leave behind so little blood? Was it because I transmigrated in a timely manner?

After a moment, he sat and began pondering over more important matters.

The true problem was to figure out the reason for my transmigration and if I could return.

Click. Click. Click... His right hand was subconsciously pulling out the revolver's cylinder and then slamming it back into place.

There has not been much difference between me in this period of time and the past. I was always a little unlucky. But why would I transmigrate?

Wait, bad luck... I tried a luck enhancement ritual before dinner today.

The memories, which were concealed by a fog of confusion, began to clear.

As a qualified keyboard politician, keyboard historian, keyboard economist, keyboard biologist, and keyboard folklorist, he had always deemed himself as 'knowing something of everything.' Of course, his best buddy would often mock him as 'only knowing little of everything.'

And one thing was Divination.

When he visited his hometown last year, he discovered a thread-bound book titled 'Quintessential Divination and Arcane Arts of the Qin and Han Dynasty' at an old bookstore—that looked pretty interesting, so he bought it. Unfortunately, his interest was short-lived. The vertical layout it used made the reading experience horrible, and all he did was flip through the beginning pages before throwing it into a corner.

He had experienced a spate of bad luck in the past month—losing his cell phone, customers running away, and mistakes at work—only then did he suddenly recall the luck enhancement ritual written at the beginning of 'Quintessential Divination and Arcane Arts.' Furthermore, the requirements were extremely simple, without the need for any basic foundation.

All he needed was to get four portions of staple food and place them in the four corners of his room. Then, standing in the middle of the room, he had to take four steps in a counterclockwise fashion to form a square.

The first step required him to sincerely chant 'The Immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.' On the second step, he was to chant, 'The Sky Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.' The third step was 'The Exalted Thearch of Heaven and Earth for Blessings,' and the fourth was 'The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.' After the four steps were taken, he needed to close his eyes and wait five minutes in his original spot—only then would the ritual be considered complete.

Since it did not cost him any money, he followed what was stipulated in the book and did the ritual before dinner. However, at that time, nothing had happened.

There's a distinct possibility that my transmigration to this world was due to that luck enhancement ritual... I should try it again tomorrow. I might have a chance to return! Klein Moretti stopped spinning the revolver's cylinder.

No matter what, he had to give it a shot!