Firearms in a Fantasy World

Translator: Cinder Translations

...

The biting cold wind swirled in the pitch-black night sky. It was already late at night, but the master bedroom in the lord's castle of Lake Town was still brightly lit.

On the large bed lay a chubby black-haired boy, about fourteen or fifteen years old. He was unconscious. Not far from the bed, the castle's butler, Philip, was anxiously pacing, glancing between the boy on the bed and the priest busy beside him.

Finally, the priest stopped his actions. The butler, unable to contain his anxiety, immediately asked, "Father Anderson, how is the young master?"

The priest turned around, his face apologetic. "Butler Philip, unfortunately, the herbs applied earlier and the holy water just administered seem to have had no effect on young master Paul's condition. I have only one method left. I wonder if you agree to try it?"

"What method is that?"

"Bloodletting. I learned it from a traveling physician. According to him, this method has become widely practiced in most regions of the Gabella Empire and the Rolman Kingdom, with miraculous effects on certain ailments."

"Bloodletting?" Butler Philip almost blacked out at the mention of this word.

He thought for a while and finally gritted his teeth. "Alright, Father Anderson, let's do as you suggest."

"May the Lord of Light bless young master Paul."

The priest raised his hands in prayer to his deity, then instructed Philip to bring a copper basin to place under the bed. He also took out a sharp knife from his carry-on box and, pulling the boy's arm from under the blanket, prepared to make the incision.

As soon as the priest pressed the knife to the boy's arm, he suddenly felt the boy's pulse beat once, then begin to pulse strongly and continuously. Noticing the anomaly, Father Anderson put down the knife and continued observing.

The boy's pulse gradually stabilized, and then his eyelids slowly opened.

"Praise the Lord of Light!" Father Anderson and Butler Philip exclaimed in delight.

"Damn, what's that awful smell?" The boy opened his eyes and spoke in words the two men before him couldn't understand.

As his vision fully cleared, the boy sat up and looked around in bewilderment.

Zhao Kai, an ordinary programmer in China, enjoyed reading various web novels. He was particularly frustrated that the novels he followed were often niche and their unmotivated authors seldom updated them. Conversely, what he considered "clichéd" stories were rampant.

Although some popular works suited his taste, they were few and far between, and the content often had regrettable flaws.

One day, he decided to write his own novel, determined to continue even if no one read it, to fulfill his creative desires. As a staunch believer in Chinese industrialism, he naturally wanted to write about using scientific advancements like firearms to crush the magical beings of another world.

Not wanting to make his protagonist's abilities too obvious, he planned for the character to start from scratch, climbing the technological tree. He spent a lot of time gathering essential transmigration materials: the "Barefoot Doctor's Manual" for winning hearts, the "Practical Agricultural and Water Management" for filling granaries, the "Militia Training Manual" for stabilizing the world—essential resources, in his view.

After thorough research for over half a month, he finally decided to start writing.

Unexpectedly, after years of working, his writing skills had deteriorated. Even writing the beginning left him scratching his head for half a day.

"To think I looked down on cliché writers! At least they can write something," Zhao Kai thought, feeling embarrassed. He decided to stay up all night to finish the first chapter. After patching it together bit by bit, he couldn't resist the sleepiness anymore and dozed off at his computer.

Half-asleep, a pungent smell pulled him back to consciousness. He didn't expect that when he opened his eyes, the entire world had changed.

Zhao Kai, or now Paul Greyman, looked around with a head full of questions.

Luxurious carpets, furniture made of obviously precious wood, artistic wall decorations, and the soft mattress beneath him—wasn't this the protagonist's bedroom he had described in his novel's first chapter? What had happened to him? He pinched his face, and it hurt. It didn't feel like a dream.

"Young master, you're finally awake. Rest assured, this is not a dream," Butler Philip hurriedly approached.

Paul then noticed two people in the room. The one who had just approached had graying hair and was tall and thin, appearing to be in his forties, dressed in a black tailcoat like a stereotypical movie butler.

Strangely, though the man spoke an unfamiliar language, Paul could understand it. The other man, looking about thirty, wore a robe that suggested he was some kind of cleric.

"Where am I? Why is my body sticky?" Paul noticed he was also speaking the unfamiliar language.

"Young master, you're in your bedroom. The salve applied by Father Anderson is on your body. Please avoid vigorous movements."

"Young master? Who are you?"

Seeing that the young master didn't recognize him, Philip was at a loss and looked to the priest for an explanation.

"Butler, do not worry. Temporary amnesia following unconsciousness is not uncommon. With more rest and proper care, he will gradually recover as you guide him."

"Phew, what a relief. Yes, waking up is already a huge blessing."

Father Anderson checked Greyman's body again. "There should be no major issues with his health. Let young master Paul rest well tonight. The salve should stay on until tomorrow."

"Thank you so much for your help today."

"You're welcome; it's my duty. I will take my leave now and return tomorrow to check on young master Paul."

"Alright, this way, please."

...

Paul was gradually coming to terms with his transmigration. How had this happened? He had only taken a nap and ended up here. Which deity was playing this joke on him?

Lying down again, he forced himself to calm down. His priority now was figuring out how to survive in this new world.

Judging by the situation earlier, this body's status was quite high, so there shouldn't be any issues with food and clothing. Although he had no memories of the previous owner, he could speak the language. Using "amnesia" as an excuse should help him get by. With that thought, he felt somewhat reassured.

After a while, the butler returned and adjusted his blanket. "Young master, rest well tonight. If you need anything, pull the bell cord by the bedside. I'll be in the next room." He then placed a hand on his chest, bowed slightly, and left.

Paul snuggled into the blanket, beginning to ponder his future life...

(End of Chapter)