With slightly curled fluffy blond hair, light blue eyes, features as delicately sculpted as if carved by a knife, and a youthful face, he was a boy who embodied both handsomeness and immaturity.
His face was pale and bloodless, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his body trembled slightly.
He looked like someone who had just survived a deadly catastrophe.
He had indeed transmigrated.
Russell looked at the face in the mirror that was completely different from his own and let out a heavy sigh.
He had merely fallen asleep and woken up as someone else—a poor soul who had just died in a mysterious incident.
After enduring a severe headache like a mental storm, he finally panted and fully accepted the memories of this body.
Hastur Campbell, the real name of this body's original owner.
He was a fallen noble living in the western district of Loen's Backlund, who had just turned eighteen this year—yesterday had been his eighteenth birthday.
On the night of his eighteenth birthday, he returned to his room, shut the door, prepared various materials, and performed a mystical ritual said to bring the dead back to life.
Not even having stepped into the starting Sequence 9, he naturally failed to complete the ritual, and was instead consumed by it, dying in the process—only to be replaced by Russell.
He was a pitiful child.
The reason he had risked performing the resurrection ritual was to bring back his mother, who had been dead for ten years.
The Campbell family once had a glorious past. His grandfather, Dawn Campbell, was once a member of the Cabinet and had accumulated considerable wealth.
But when it passed to his father, Voltaire Campbell, due to his gambling and stupidity, he not only lost his title as a member of Cabinet, but even sold off the nobility titles one after another, leaving only a baron's title for inheritance. As for the estate and lands, they were practically squandered away.
He, Hastur, was now basically a noble brat in another world who had fallen from grace.
Faced with such a hopelessly addicted gambler of a father, his mother died of sorrow when he was eight years old.
Fortunately, his father also wasted away from drinking and women, and one night on his way home, accidentally fell into a river and died soon after—otherwise, he surely wouldn't have survived to this age.
He was raised by a loyal old butler named Robert Jones.
And just a month before his eighteenth birthday, the old butler Robert Jones also passed away due to old age and illness from years of hard work.
Already despairing about the future, he used the last of his money to purchase a pile of mysticism materials and attempted the resurrection ritual with a final glimmer of hope.
If it succeeded, he could reunite with his mother. If it failed, he could join them in death, rather than live alone in this world.
In the end, he failed.
"May the goddess of night bless you in the land of the dead, where you may find your mother and the old butler, and may you never be lonely again."
Russell sighed solemnly, tapping his chest four times to draw the crimson moon.
Yes, the original owner had also been a devout follower of the Goddess of the Night.
Russell gazed into the mirror, bowed slightly, and softly said, "Though I cannot fulfill your wish of resurrecting your mother, I will help you restore the glory that once belonged to the Campbell family."
"From now on, I am Hastur Campbell."
"Hastur... that name doesn't sound very auspicious..."
Hastur frowned slightly.
In a world where mysticism flourished and mysterious incidents were frequent, having the same name as the King in Yellow was either extremely bold or incredibly ignorant.
Based on the impression he had of Voltaire Campbell from his memories, choosing such a name likely fell into the latter category.
In this enigmatic world, surely the King in Yellow, that ancient god, doesn't actually exist right?
Hastur felt a sudden unease in his heart and glanced around.
This Mysteries world was already fraught with danger and traps—if he were somehow tied to the King in Yellow, he likely wouldn't live very long.
But now, he could only live on as Hastur Campbell. Even if there were pitfalls, they were fated ones he couldn't avoid.
Gurgle, gurgle...
Hastur looked down awkwardly at the source of the sound—his stomach was protesting. After all, he hadn't eaten a single grain of rice since last night.
Sigh, compared to the potential appearance of the King in Yellow, the hunger right now was a far more pressing issue.
Life was tough. Hastur sighed.
Before leaving the room, Hastur first cleaned up the mess left by the failed ritual. He wrapped the ruined and useless materials in several sheets of newspaper. Then he walked to the window, pushed open the shut panes, and let in some fresh air.
In the distance, tall chimneys stood high, constantly spewing black smoke.
On both sides near the chimneys were a row of continuous terraced houses, with streets full of vendor stalls selling goods.
Passersby would occasionally stop to buy some food and daily necessities.
Compared to the quiet and bourgeois atmosphere of the western district, life there was clearly more lively and bustling.
Woo! Woo!
The sound of a steam whistle echoed at the platform as a massive steam train, like a giant beast, dragged more than twenty carriages, weaving through various platforms.
Backlund, the capital of Loen, also known by names such as the City of Cities and the Land of Hope, was the most cosmopolitan and chaotic metropolis.
Since Hastur had received the original owner's memories, he realized he had transmigrated into the world of Lord of the Mysteries, and that the timeline was even a few months ahead of Zhou Mingrui.
There was no mention of any gas explosions or any big accidents in Tingen City in the past few months.
After pausing to appreciate the local customs of Backlund, the intense hunger he felt left Hastur with no desire to linger.
The scenery might be beautiful, but his stomach was more important.
Because the original owner had already dismissed all the servants, this three-story house was now quiet, with only the sound of his own footsteps on the floor.
The third floor was previously inhabited solely by Voltaire Campbell. It had three bedrooms, two living rooms, two cloakrooms, a sunroom, a study, four washrooms, and an extra-large balcony.
The second floor housed Hastur and the old butler. In addition to these two bedrooms, there were four guest rooms, one living room, one cloakroom, four washrooms, two studies, and a medium-sized balcony.
The ground floor featured an enormous living room, two kitchens, two dining rooms of different sizes, three washrooms, and four servants' quarters.
There was also a sizable garden, a stable, a storage room, a basement, and more.
This was the last remaining property of the Campbell family.
Voltaire Campbell had initially wanted to sell the estate and exchange it for a smaller one, but the old butler had persistently talked him out of it.
He said this was the last dignity of the Campbell family and absolutely could not be sold. As nobles, they needed a proper place to interact with other aristocrats.
Using the same reasoning of preserving the last dignity of the Campbell family, the old butler also helped Hastur retain a large manor in the countryside for leisure, as well as a plantation for cotton and vineyards.
These three properties were the Campbell family's last and little remaining assets the old butler had managed to save for Hastur.
A starved camel is still bigger than a horse!
These three properties were still owned by the Campbell family, unlike a certain impoverished deity who still had to rely on renting to maintain a facade of dignity.
But compared to true nobility, this was already quite poor, bordering on bankruptcy.
If Hastur didn't show some promise, the noble surname of Campbell might soon disappear from Loen.
Hastur went downstairs, passed through the grand living room, and arrived at the kitchen on the right side.
The first thing that met his eyes was an array of kitchen tools and various seasonings. As for vegetables, meat, and fruit—none were present. The only edible item was two pounds of oatmeal bread on the table.
"At least it's not that hard-to-swallow black bread."
Hastur breathed a small sigh of relief. If he had to eat that kind of food, he doubted his stomach could handle it.
He walked to the stove, filled the kettle with water, turned on the gas, and prepared to boil the water. He planned to add some honey and have it with the oatmeal bread for breakfast.
Gurgle...
Hunger struck again. Hastur couldn't wait patiently for the water to boil, so he pulled up a chair, sat by the table, and tore off a small piece of oatmeal bread to eat.
There was indeed a strong wheat aroma. It was soft to eat, though the sweetness was rather mild.
Hmm, he was a staunch sweet-tooth—he only ate sweet pudding, never touched the salty kind, and liked cream puffs, pastries, candy, and other sugary snacks.
But as the saying goes, when you're hungry enough, anything tastes delicious.
Unconsciously, Hastur had eaten one-third of a pound of oatmeal bread. His mouth felt dry, and he was getting choked.
Fortunately, the water had boiled.
He walked to the seasoning area, found a jar of mostly unused honey, took a bowl, scooped a spoonful with a ladle, and stirred it into the hot water.
After letting it cool slightly, he blew along the rim of the bowl and took a small sip. After confirming it wouldn't burn his mouth, he drank it in big gulps and ate another third of a pound of oatmeal bread with the honey water.
Full and satisfied, Hastur leaned back in the chair, gently rubbed his bulging belly with his right hand, let out a burp, and placed his left hand on the table, tapping his fingers on it one after the other.
It was time to think about what he should do next.
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T / N : Hello Everyone!! I just want to translate this as the one already there does not have proper names and grammar!
I'll be translating at my own speed, no fixed schedule or anything! But I guarantee the names and grammar!