Chapter 1: The Meshing of the Gears of Fate!

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"Young Master Zorn, the ritual has been prepared."

"As long as you complete the inheritance of the mysterious wizard, the situation within the family will surely improve!"

In the study, dressed in a deep black butler's suit, his sparse hair meticulously groomed and his posture ramrod straight, the old butler Gronke looked at the young master before him, a note of hope hidden deep in his voice.

At the same time, behind a rather cluttered long desk, half-shrouded in the hazy moonlight filtering through the glass window, a boy—still somewhat green, awkward, and bewildered—remained motionless, maintaining his posture.

At that moment, a foreign soul was struggling to adapt to the discomfort of transmigration and digest the myriad tangled, adolescent memories and anxieties of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy.

"As long as... it will surely..."

Hearing the butler's standard phrase, he considered, drawing on more than thirty years of hardcore professional gaming experience in the world of “Sanctum: Eternal Canticle.” Whenever a story began with such phrasing, he knew, things were about to become dramatic—and often, the price would be dire.

It took a long while for the foreign soul to gradually adjust to the new body, though the memories in his mind remained jumbled.

"This really is... the world of 'Sanctum: Eternal Canticle.'"

"I've spent nearly half my life in this world—who would have thought that after euthanasia, I'd arrive here."

"The death of one world, the beginning of another."

"So this is what it feels like when the cursed gears of fate mesh?"

He continued to sift through the boy’s memories.

"The current date is... May, 1645, the height of midsummer!"

"Phew... that's a relief..."

"Mysticism, grotesquerie, the sequence, and the supernatural are only just beginning to show themselves amid the roar of steam."

"Horrors, calamities, distortions, aberrations... have yet to descend."

"The timing is perfect, a fine start, and..."

He lifted his gaze, and beneath his black hair, a pair of bright brown eyes gleamed with interest as he scrutinized his surroundings.

"A well-appointed, private study, attended by butlers, maids, and servants."

"For now, it seems this identity is—quite privileged!"

"I am... Zorn..."

He recalled his name.

"Yes! That's what the old butler called me just now."

"Zorn... Korlik!"

The foreign soul lingered on the name, his brow furrowing slightly.

[Zorn Korlik]

It was not a good name.

He knew it all too well.

Perhaps it was a coincidence. But a vague sense of foreboding crept over him.

Bathed in the blurry moonlight, the youth slowly raised his head to look at the gray-haired old butler.

The contours of the butler’s face, weathered and wrinkled, matched the oil portrait from memory with uncanny precision, deepening his unease.

"Today... is it May 8th, 1645?"

His voice, caught between adolescence and adulthood, wavered with uncertainty.

"Yes, Young Master Zorn!"

"Today is May 8th, 1645."

The old butler assumed the young master wished to remember this special day. Then, glancing at the waxing moon through the window, he urged,

"The optimal moment for the mysterious wizard’s inheritance ritual is approaching—we must hurry!"

As memories gradually coalesced, merging perfectly at their intersection, the youth drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and leaned back in his chair, as if in tactical retreat.

It all matched.

Everything matched!

May 8th, 1645.

The "inheritance ritual" of the mysterious wizard profession.

The old butler, "Gronke."

The young, fresh, naive, and hopeful "Zorn Korlik."

"I..."

He couldn't help rubbing his brow.

"So I am the infamous, monstrous, blood-drenched archcriminal, who sacrificed countless innocents, slaughtered demon hunters and the supernatural alike, defied the Church, blasphemed the gods, and whose execution a thousand times over would not suffice—the first 'world-class' evil spirit wizard BOSS destined for the annals of history: Zorn Korlik."

"Heh... I’ve barely transmigrated, and already the five-year countdown to death begins?"

"To become the ruthless, blood-soaked, cold-hearted evil spirit wizard BOSS, a fragment of some unspeakable eldritch deity!"

"Once, he cast a shadow of death and terror over the continent!"

"And in the end... like a beautiful firework, after reaching the peak of splendor, he vanished in an instant!"

Contemplating the future's moments of glory and his tragic fate, a strange excitement and manic fervor filled the depths of the foreign soul's eyes.

"Strangely... I actually feel a bit thrilled!"

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He knew the first world BOSS, the evil spirit wizard Zorn Korlik, like the back of his hand.

He could recite the details of his expansion pack backwards and forwards.

Even the rarely explored "hidden logs" of Zorn Korlik—he had unlocked every achievement, and not just once.

One could say he understood Zorn Korlik better than Zorn Korlik himself.

"Young Master Zorn?"

The butler’s urging broke the youth’s reverie.

The boy straightened, doing his best to speak in the manner of young Zorn, hoping to allay any suspicions the butler Gronke might harbor, and thus spare himself much trouble.

Such as... the trouble of disposing of corpses!

Though in "Sanctum: Eternal Canticle" he had lost count of how many bodies he’d disposed of, every killer knows well: killing is easy, disposing of the corpse is not!

Gronke was a good man.

At least, before the evil spirit wizard sequence tainted him, he was a loyal and devoted man.

"Uncle Gronke, today is not the right day to inherit that mysterious wizard profession," Zorn Korlik said earnestly.

"Not the right day?"

Gronke frowned. Ever since Baron Leon Korlik had sent that letter from across the sea, he’d vanished without a trace.

And in the year since the baron’s departure, the soon-to-be-sixteen Zorn Korlik had grown silent and introverted, complying with Gronke’s arrangements in most matters.

Just yesterday, when Gronke had discussed the matter, the boy—who’d lost his mother young, and now his father—had not shown any sign of resistance.

Yet today, his demeanor was utterly changed.

As Gronke hesitated, Zorn lifted his head and spoke with conviction,

"The Blood Moon, Uncle Gronke. This month’s full moon is—the Blood Moon!"

"The day of the Blood Moon is the perfect moment to inherit the mysterious wizard’s legacy."

"Blood Moon?"

Gronke was taken aback.

The continent of Sanctum was rife with inexplicable astronomical phenomena, and the Blood Moon was among the most remarkable.

"How does he know?" More doubts crowded Gronke’s mind.

After all, the date of the Blood Moon was unpredictable, sometimes absent for years at a time.

But Zorn had anticipated Gronke’s skepticism.

"Miss Jolia told me," he said.

When he mentioned the young, lively, vibrant noblewoman Jolia, his eyes shone.

Jolia was Zorn’s cherished white moonlight—the secret source of his youthful, bashful stirrings.

He extended a small, earnest fist, counting off his points on his fingers as he explained,

"Miss Jolia told me she’s an extraordinary, and that this month..."

The scattered bits of information didn’t matter much to Gronke. But the fact that Jolia was an extraordinary, and that she knew the date of the Blood Moon, was of great importance.

"Miss Jolia and Young Master Zorn have always been close."

"Blood Moon... extraordinary..."

Old memories resurfaced in Gronke’s mind.

"The roar of steam is reviving the world’s mystical powers, Gronke."

"From across the ocean, tales of mysterious forces and incomprehensible powers have reached us. Our world... may be on the verge of change!"

"I must cross the seas and mists to seek out supernatural forces. Only then can the Korlik family be restored!"

"After I leave, everything at home will depend on you..."

The baron had confided in the study as a friend, not as a noble issuing orders. The memory was as vivid as yesterday.

And Gronke had not disappointed, treating Zorn Korlik as half his own child.

Alas... all that returned was a letter containing an ancient ritual for inheritance, while the baron himself was lost at sea.

"Woo—"

The whistle of the suburban steam train broke Gronke’s reverie.

He glanced at the moon’s position again—already the optimal time for the inheritance ritual had passed.

"Perhaps... as the young master said, the Blood Moon truly is the perfect moment for inheritance. In any case... it’s only a few days away."

"Besides..."

He regarded the young Zorn Korlik thoughtfully.

"The young master... is almost of age."

After a moment’s reflection, Gronke bid the young master goodnight and withdrew from the study, closing the door behind him.

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Within the study.

The silent night, under the hazy moonlight, cast the solitary boy’s face into shadow.

The foreign soul’s thoughts spun rapidly.

Delaying the moment of inheriting the world-class BOSS [Evil Spirit Wizard] was no impulse.

It was a deliberate choice.

According to Zorn Korlik’s diary, he had always cursed and resented the goddess of fate.

"She could have waited a week, let me receive the gods’ gift on the day the Blood Moon was full—that would have been the perfect, forbidden moment!"

"But... that damned witch made me inherit it a week early."

"My sequence was incomplete."

"I always felt like something was missing..."

Yes!

As the first world-class BOSS and the vessel of an unspeakable eldritch deity, Zorn Korlik’s forbidden moment of inheritance was misaligned, resulting in an incomplete [Evil Spirit Wizard] BOSS template.

This, indirectly, led to a string of tragedies.

It also sealed his fate, ensuring his struggle on the edge of distortion and madness would end in ruin.

To inherit the "Evil Spirit Wizard" at the blood-red full moon was the right way.

This was knowledge possessed only by the [players].

Of course, it wasn’t just the timing.

The "inherited incantations" and "ritual anchors" Zorn Korlik received were also flawed.

However, for a hardcore player transmigrator, all these could be corrected in his hands.

Creak!

The youth pushed open the window, letting the gentle moonlight fall across his young face.

Outside was the estate, silent beneath the night.

Farther off stood the manors and villas of the new district’s nobles in "Ogran City."

Beyond that, across the quiet outskirts, ran the "Imperial Artery"—the steam railway.

Under the bright moon, a steam train, billowing milky vapor, sped across the plains, its whistle clear and melodious.

He gripped the windowsill with both hands, opened his heart, and gulped the fresh air of this new world.

"Inhale... exhale..."

Immersed in the vivid, real sensation of breathing, only after a long while did he truly feel alive again.

"The influence of the eldritch gods, the injustice of fate, serendipity and coincidence, secret hands in the shadows, the conspiracies of esoteric sects, and... the tide of the times!"

"All these things drove Zorn Korlik, once a naive youth full of hope for the world, step by step into depravity, until he became the monstrous, evil, blood-soaked BOSS of legend!"

"So... how should I live from now on?"

[Era of Steam] [New World Pioneering] [Mist Recedes] [Divine Favor] [Demon’s Gate]

The many versions, epochal events, heroes, and legends of "Sanctum: Eternal Canticle"—all these tangled memories finally converged at this moment of the soul, forming an array of clear, distinct threads.

Then, he smiled.

It was a cruel, bloodthirsty smile, tinged with excitement, madness, and anticipation.

He was filled with expectation for this world.

And for his BOSS identity, he was utterly, indescribably satisfied.

"From today onward, I am Zorn Korlik, and Zorn Korlik is me."

"Don’t worry, kid. This time, we will seize our destiny!"

"Before, you were a crazed, evil, and ruthless BOSS, but your curtain fell too soon—you were discarded by the era."

"That’s what happens when you don’t fit the version."

"Remember, to survive, you must lie low and develop in secret—that is the winning strategy!"

"Now, as the soon-to-be-born evil wizard BOSS, I want only to grow quietly and steadily."

"And then, all those who plotted against us will pay a bloody and terrible price!"

The foreign soul—no, Zorn Korlik—clenched his fist and whispered silently beneath the moonlight.

Just as Zorn Korlik was about to merge into the night, he was startled to discover, at the lower right of his vision, a faintly glowing icon drawn in starlight—a stick-figure torso with crossed arms.

"What’s this..."

The new discovery left Zorn a little surprised.

"Isn’t this my 30th Anniversary Collector’s Edition ‘Player Sequence’ [Starmark Brawler] icon?"

"Is there an extra surprise after transmigrating?"