Ron carried a tea tray bearing three pitch-black cups and a stark white porcelain pot up the worm-eaten wooden stairs.
He moved with a light and measured tread, neither hurried nor slow, like a machine operating with millisecond precision. His gaze was initially vacant as it drifted into a soulless stare. However, when he stood before the long and mist-shrouded hallway where woodworms gnawed through the rotting timber second by second, his pupils flared with a golden light like two stars pinned against a pitch-black sky.
He set the tray on the floor, withdrew a cigarette, and flicked a lighter to life. He was in no rush to bring it to his lips, for he waited until the cigarette had burned halfway down. From the embers there emerged a short dagger, a disposable blade that was incredibly sharp and diminutive.
Ron took the blade and aimed it at a major artery in his arm to make a clean and swift incision.
His blood was viscous and as black as asphalt. He aimed the flow into the teapot, but the congealed liquid moved so sluggishly that he feared his arm would look as though it were sprouting thorns of clotted gore by the time it finished.
After five minutes of bloodletting, Ron used his sleeve to cover the wound and replaced the pot's lid. He stood up and stepped out into the swirling mist, leaving the tea set behind for the souls to rest in peace.
Knock... knock...
Ron emerged from a dilapidated mansion, a ruin so ravaged that it looked like the handiwork of a gang of destructive children. It resembled a haunted house from a horror film, but if that were truly the case, this place would be a heaven rather than a nightmare.
The reality was that this place was profoundly uncanny. It was nothing like the movies where one only needs a knife and some plot armor to survive or find a way to exorcise a demon.
"This mansion itself is a living nightmare in every sense of the word. It is a collection of twisted logic that makes no damn sense!"
Quân cursed, for he was losing his mind over the relentless chain of events that had plagued his day.
"I said I needed a place to sleep, which means I need to sleep in a decent place! Not some hellhole where every breath reeks of blood. Do you even watch movies? I am definitely not here to film some survival vlog!"
"Why judge a book by its cover? While you were showering, I came here to prepare this for you," Ron replied nonchalantly.
"Prepare, my ass! You said you were going to go tend to your wounds!"
Quân aggressively grabbed Ron's collar, as he was not stupid enough to set foot in that house of horrors. After cleaning up at Ron's place, he had been brought to this new home, a location that looked nothing like a dwelling for the living. In fact, he was certain he would end up with a roommate who had no intention of splitting the bills.
He knew that magic was the bedrock of this world, a concept even a child would understand. But as for him, he did not know a single thing about it.
Wait, is it possible that I have some sky-high potential? Some hidden skills from the transmigration? Could it be that I am actually a fallen god cast down to the mortal realm?
Noticing the shift in Quân's gaze, Ron smiled and brushed the man's hand off his collar. The squelching sound of Ron's boots on the mud seemed to knock Quân's mind back to reality as Ron walked toward a tree thick with tangled branches and roots.
He turned to Quân, whose veins were bulging from the tension in his muscles.
"How many plausible scenarios have you calculated for your transmigration so far, Mr. Quân?"
Quân paused to think, took two steps back, and spoke flatly.
"Four. First, my past is a lie and you are here to drag me back to a psych ward. Second, I have actually transmigrated and this is a magic world, which I no longer doubt. Third, my memories are real while the present is a hypnotic trance or a dream. Fourth, I am on drugs or this is a near-death hallucination."
"Oh, all four are quite insightful and show practical, logical thinking."
Ron chuckled and slowly reached into the wild foliage, gesturing for Quân to come closer.
"Let us leave it at that for now. I have a feeling that no matter how much I explain, there is not much you can do yet. So, take this."
From the thicket, Ron pulled out dozens of different textbooks numbered one through six, implying a curriculum from first to sixth grade. Alongside them were dozens of scrapbooks that had been discarded and left utterly blank.
"The basics, but enough to help you realize which path you should take."
"When did you even prepare all this?" Quân asked, dumbfounded.
"They belonged to a former disciple of mine who no longer needs them. Actually, he never used them anyway, so he stashed them here in the hope that I would not find them."
With that, Ron pulled a lighter from his pocket and tossed it to Quân.
"Take it and come with me. I will talk while we walk and tell you what you need to know, the fundamentals. We shall start with the part you probably want to hear most, the part you are most excited about, and the part that is most necessary."