Chapter Two: Ripples of Fate

Blood Harbor. A merchant’s luck was ill today—he was struck on the head by a pole as he passed through a narrow alley.

In a magnificent mansion, the duke sat dazed, staring blankly at a pot of simmering red wine, neglecting his guests.

On the western front of the empire’s battlefield, a general, in a fit of rage, hurled his weapon straight into the sky.

In Gem Bay, amidst the Storm Ocean, the pirate king inexplicably spent an entire day splashing about in his bathtub.

The weather was clear today; nothing unusual happened.

Yet beyond this peaceful world, within a grand palace, a heavy, ornate long table stood at the center.

High-backed chairs lined its sides, upon which several shadowy figures sat, heads bowed over the tabletop, as if asleep.

At the head of the table sat a massive throne.

Adorned with gold and jewels, the throne was occupied by a figure of ancient bearing who slowly opened his eyes.

He stared vacantly at one side of the table.

There sat a shadow, illuminated by flickering candlelight, revealing his face.

Curly brown hair, clothes stained with dirt, and a gaping, gruesome hole in his chest.

It was Hughes, just deceased.

The figure on the throne remained dazed for a moment before a twitch flickered across his face, his whole being coming alive as if something was gradually entering this body.

Then, a voice full of shock rang out.

“Dead? I’m dead again? Killed just like that for no reason!?”

“Damn it, why did he attack me—this makes no sense! I showed such mechanical talent; at least he should have interrogated me for knowledge first, right? He wasn’t curious at all?”

The figure cursed, lifting his head to gaze at the lifeless Hughes, who looked back with hollow eyes.

“I recall that strange priest saying I was a servant of an evil god?”

“Hmm… that must be the church’s usual tactic—label others as servants of dark gods before making a move.”

“Wait, the church? Could it be that the church is obstructing technological progress by killing those who can improve machinery? That can’t be right. That priest had many mechanical limbs himself; he should understand the importance of technology... something’s off.”

He frowned deeply.

This suddenly appearing priest was shrouded in mystery; since arriving in this world, Hughes had never encountered someone so peculiar.

“Such a pity, another vessel lost. I have no choice but to initiate a new descent.”

He shifted his gaze. The young Hughes slowly lowered his head, lifeless like a marionette, staring blankly at the table before him.

Alongside him sat four other lifeless puppets, each different in appearance and dress, but all sharing one thing in common...

They were all Hughes.

Hughes was a traveler from another world. In his previous life on Blue Star, he had collapsed from exhaustion during a late-night overtime. When he awoke, he found himself in this strange, grand palace, sitting high upon the throne.

The palace was lavishly decorated, filled with rare treasures, but Hughes could not touch any of it—for some unknown reason, he was nailed to the throne, unable to move even half a step.

Fortunately, the Hughes on the throne seemed free from needs of eating, drinking, or waste.

But he was not condemned to wait here to die. When he looked at the shadowy figures seated at the long table, they would lift their heads to meet his gaze, and then Hughes could choose to “descend.”

To “descend” meant to enter a new body and begin a new life. Hughes scanned the chairs: a muscular middle-aged man, an elderly man with white hair, a priest in white robes, and a young man just opening his heart.

Each was different; every new vessel appeared at random.

Hughes did not understand the meaning of these descents but tried them out of necessity.

This time, however, he had a different thought.

“That church priest was far too strange.”

“In an instant, he struck, stabbing right through my chest. I couldn’t even see his movements clearly. Could that be the work of mechanical limbs attached to flesh?”

In his former life on Blue Star, Hughes knew a bit about mechanical prosthetics. Such speed and force were impossible. The priest’s mechanical structure was crude—huge gears that Hughes still remembered vividly.

“A priest… the church… this is intriguing…”

“The church wields supernatural power; perhaps if I can tap into it, I can break free from this throne’s shackles.”

“No, perhaps it’s not only the church.”

A trace of frustration crossed Hughes’s face.

“Such a waste. I finally descended into the imperial capital this time. Who knows when I’ll next find a body near a factory.”

This world had only just begun its industrial awakening; a few scattered factories were making their first appearances—already the most advanced areas.

Most regions barely escaped the dark Middle Ages. At Hughes’s previous descents, remnants of serfdom still lingered.

Given this, workers with an average lifespan of around thirty were considered fortunate.

“So, what should I do next…”

He looked uncertainly at the empty vessels lining the table. He had been in this world some time now. At first, he had eagerly explored, but now all he wanted was to go home.

No choice—the random vessels truly seemed random, meaning a ninety-nine percent chance he’d end up in a lowly person’s body.

The lower class, regardless of era, appeared doomed to silently endure suffering. Hughes’s mind brimmed with modern scientific knowledge, but each attempt to manifest it left behind only a lifeless shell.

This world seemed to offer no path for the downtrodden.

Hughes was utterly disillusioned, and the supernatural was his last hope.

“Reach for the supernatural. If possible, find a way home.” His eyes hardened with resolve. “At the very least, I must find a way to leave this throne and move. I cannot remain trapped here forever.”

This world had neither phones nor internet. He still longed for Blue Star.

“Prepare to descend.”

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and turned toward an empty high-backed chair.

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