With the first step completed, the rest became much easier. Finally, Roger fully enveloped his body through the infiltration of his soul.
Then, he completely "woke" up.
Before he could examine his injuries, the next moment, a chaotic torrent surged into the calm of his consciousness—disjointed and utterly unfamiliar memories barged into his mind.
Startled, Roger managed to keep his consciousness steady. He endured the first wave of memory intrusion, stabilized himself, and quickly skimmed through the main pieces of information.
"This isn’t my body!"
Shocked, Roger snapped his eyes open!
The surroundings were dim. Faint light filtered through his eyes, reaching his nerves. At that moment, Roger finally understood why waking up had taken such an agonizingly long time.
Because the body he occupied now wasn’t the one he originally owned.
It belonged to a stranger named Henrik.
Struggling to raise his hands, he saw slender palms, skin so delicate it might surpass many women. Without a mirror, Roger couldn’t see his current appearance, but judging by the arm muscles, he could roughly estimate this body’s physical strength.
It was even worse than his state during his moments of clarity on the island.
"What is this supposed to be?"
"Where’s my original body?"
Confusion churned in his heart. The earlier symptoms had faintly alerted him to some cleaving between his soul and physical form. Honestly speaking, he was genuinely worried now.
Roger’s soul was resilient, but nearly all his power relied on his body—like the hardware and software of a computer, each indispensably complementing the other.
If, during the transfer, his body had been utterly destroyed, the loss Roger would suffer would be unimaginable.
"No... something’s not right."
"I can still vaguely sense it. My body is still out there—I have to find a way to locate it!"
As a thought stirred in his mind, Roger instinctively pressed down with his hands. But immediately, he watched his own body tilt, uncontrollably toppling off the bed.
Almost instantly, he heard hurried footsteps approach from the corridor, followed by an abrupt door-opening sound.
A flurry of activity erupted. Roger felt himself being helped up and placed back onto the bed. His body felt numb—although his control power was quickly returning, for now, he could only let himself be manipulated.
Two figures bustled around—a short, petite one with soft golden hair tied into a braid at the back, dressed in a sky-blue maid’s uniform.
But in certain areas of her body, the thin fabric was nearly splitting at the seams, allowing Roger to instantly recognize her identity.
Helping out beside her was likely Annie. Annie had bright orange hair. Her features could be considered above average, but her slightly drooping eyes gave her a perpetually sharp expression that marred her overall demeanor.
With Roger’s awakening, the entire house seemed to come alive. People kept moving in and out. Roger said nothing, his face blank as he mulled over the strange events that had transpired.
The body he now occupied—the one belonging to this Henrik—was pitifully frail. Roger even suspected that its physical condition didn’t match up to that of a healthy adult woman.
A body is a vessel for the soul. This one was so weak that even focusing to think for an extended period left Roger feeling mentally drained.
But most pressing was that he had too many tangled thoughts to sort out. He needed to ascertain the state of his abilities. In an unfamiliar place, every moment could spell danger.
Suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the window. Someone peered out and exclaimed, "It’s Miss Chloe! Miss Chloe is back!"
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Everyone’s expressions turned serious, but Roger felt no particular concern.
A cuckoo in the nest—yet he felt no guilt. As long as the opponent wasn’t a Transcendent of his caliber, Roger was confident he could bluff his way through.
From the fragmented memories he had gleaned from Henrik’s mind, Roger had pieced together a rough understanding. Soon, he heard a "familiar" set of footsteps approaching down the hallway.
The next moment, under the dim light, a refined, almost strikingly handsome face appeared before Roger.
Black, short hair. No matter the era, this heroic style of appearance on a woman was exceedingly rare.
She looked exhausted from a long journey. Her brow was lined with weariness. She wore a mid-length coat, formal yet conveying a kind of androgynous beauty.
The coat appeared as if it hadn’t been removed in ages; its once-exquisite fabric was full of creases. Even the collar of her shirt underneath looked stained and discolored.
"My dear little brother!"
The woman strode forward without hesitation, pulling Roger into a firm embrace. As her arms tightened around him, she seemed to notice his current physical condition for the first time.
Feeling the elasticity, or lack thereof, in his muscles, Roger couldn’t shake the impression that this Chloe woman seemed more like the man of the house than the original owner of this body.
"I knew it! I knew you’d be alright!"
"Those useless doctors claimed there was no hope for you, but I refused to believe them!"
Chloe muttered under her breath.
"I had them place you in this bed, caring for you every day... I just knew... it worked after all!"
After rambling on with a stream of words Roger couldn’t fully comprehend, Chloe finally let go of him. She cupped his face with both hands and studied him intently.