Michael scanned through the status screen meticulously, his expression shifting as he reacted to the system's remarks.
Once done, he took a deep breath and released a long sigh. His body sank into the seat as a deep frown settled on his face.
Alarm bells rang in his mind, threatening to split his thoughts apart. The cause of his distress was the single word written in bold, blood-red letters:
"Poisoned."
Going through a series of calming breath exercises, Michael slowly sifted through Xiao Ren's memories—at least the ones he had access to—searching for any sign that might hint at the poisoning.
Seconds turned into minutes as beads of sweat pooled on his forehead. He had combed through thousands of memories, both mundane and meaningful, yet he still couldn't find any credible leads pointing to when or how the poisoning occurred.
Well… except for a few breadcrumbs.
Among the multitude of accessible memories, two stood out as particularly odd—and they had one thing in common: they were both recent.
The first was from Xiao Ren's morning training routine. His body had felt sluggish and heavy. Even the original Xiao Ren had found that sensation strange.
The second memory came from the recent interaction with the two soldiers who entered his chamber without permission. What made this memory suspicious was the hushed exchange they'd had before coming in:
"Did it work?"
Michael sat upright, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the information at hand. He remembered the faint prickle of danger he'd felt when they knocked on his door. At the time, he'd chalked it up to paranoia. But now, with the status screen confirming he had a skill called Danger Sense, he knew it hadn't been a coincidence.
Putting the pieces together, Michael reached a grim conclusion: there was foul play afoot, and someone wanted him dead.
There was only one word he could think of to describe his situation.
"Shit!"
He sprang up from his chair and began pacing around the room. Every step echoed like a ticking clock, each second dragging him closer to disaster.
Just as his emotions threatened to spiral out of control, his right hand moved on its own—balling into a fist and slamming into his face.
Pak! Thud!
A clear sound rang out through the halls as his body hit the floor, sliding a bit before coming to a stop.
... ...
Silence returned to the chamber. Michael, now lying on the floor, stared at his own hand in shock.
What the fuck just happened?!
An answer surfaced in the form of a memory. A familiar one—showing a pattern. Whenever Xiao Ren had too much to think about, he would punch himself in the face with full force to regain focus.
"…Hah… hahahaha… hahahaha HAHAHAHA!"
From soft chuckles to uncontrollable laughter, Michael sat on the floor, laughing like a madman. Tears welled up and streamed down his face.
He felt like he was going insane.
In just a short time since arriving in this world, he had already experienced more life-threatening situations than he had in all 26 years of his previous life.
He laughed until his belly ached and his throat grew hoarse, burning with thirst.
His once-calm eyes were now bloodshot and crazed—but oddly enough, they also held a new clarity. A dangerous calm.
Finally, he struggled to his feet, wobbling slightly from the exertion, and dusted off his clothes. He leaned on the throne for support, a cold thought taking root in his mind—a silent promise of pain to those who had caused his misfortune.
Now thinking more clearly, Michael knew that if he wanted to uncover who was behind the poisoning, he needed to recover first. He had to be in top condition to handle whatever came next.
With that decision made, he stumbled toward the door, intent on heading to the outpost's doctor.
But then—he froze.
A familiar, nagging pressure wrapped around his head and neck like an invisible noose. He recognized it instantly.
Danger.
The third time now.
Each time, the intensity had varied—but this one was no less chilling.
Michael frowned and turned back toward the room. His eyes locked onto the sword that lay discarded across the floor, its long black sheath now covered in a thin layer of dust.
It seemed he had thrown it aside during his earlier breakdown.
He approached and grasped the hilt.
The moment his hand wrapped around the weapon, something clicked inside him—a sense of completeness, as if reuniting with a missing part of himself.
A soft murmur left his lips.
"Rain."
The oppressive sense of danger faded away instantly.
The message was clear: he shouldn't step outside these walls without protection.
Feeling more grounded, Michael finally opened the doors and stepped beyond them—for the first time since transmigrating into this world.