Holding his stomach, he saw that, fortunately, only a thin stream of blood leaked down, thick like honey, yet it had been enough to dye his clothes in a shade of scarlet.
"B-Blood?"
Charles paused mentally, the current situation sinking in.
Snapping out of his daze, he began to look around.
"I need to stitch this, or clean it– Something!"
A fragment of memory came to him.
Charles recoiled, a hand to his head; he felt some sort of minor fever.
His mind began recognizing the streets from Erwin's memories, the lamp posts at certain intervals, the landmarks of the roads.
He hurried through them, remembering the way back home. Those were the alleys Erwin took to return home after work.
Elira and Gregor were used to Erwin working late. The apartment where the Thalos family lived was near the Saint-Hestia Hospital, which had helped deliver all three of their children.
Maybe the hospital can help me!
Saint-Hestia was once a Gothic-style church that was later used as a school. The laws related to atheism forced it to be repurposed into a hospital, however.
Great, this is absolutely useless.
His mind raced, reaching Angel Street, where the hospital was.
He slowed his pace, hand firmly pressed on his stomach as he limped slightly.
Placing a hand on the outer wall, he began to make his way along the side of the walls, looking for an entrance.
An orange glow crossed the window, alerting Charles, who ducked the moment his eyes caught the light.
It was the nighttime security. Churches had much to steal from their time as political centers of power.
Art, such as paintings and sculptures, and ancient books, as well. They often preserved objects and relics as well.
Arriving near the end of the wall, there was an open window near the apse.
Luck smiles upon me!
The pale moon lightened up the streets, giving him all the light needed to slip through the window.
He found himself in a storage room filled with boxes and linen bags.
Beginning his search inside half-opened boxes and bags, fresh ones would cause too much noise.
All he found was a variety of ingredients.
Water supplies, copious amounts of salt, crucifixes, silver wine cups, candlesticks, chalks, pointing sticks, lamps, offering plates, incense sticks.
There's nothing!
He yelled in his mind. Getting up swiftly, he placed his hand on his stomach to stop the bleeding.
Yet there was nothing.
"Huh?"
Rubbing his abdomen, he found a severe lack of abdominal muscles, as well as no scars or wounds. His clothes, however, were still covered in blood.
Okay, transmigrating healed me?
Thinking about it, it'd be ridiculous to find myself in a new body only to die in it…
A glow grew near the door.
Then, the twist of the copper handle.
The wooden door swung open, and a lamp lit up the empty room.
Noticing the wide open window, the guard frowned and began his investigation.
Charles Armstrong was gone, slipping away from the hospital's perimeter.
Making his way around the apartment block, he found the door of Erwin's home.
Hello, new home…
The old door creaked loudly as it opened.
He spent almost a minute carefully opening the door.
The creak was quieter and elongated, keeping the slumbering family and the few still awake, blissfully unaware of his arrival.
In haste, Charles reached the bathroom, closing and locking the door.
Finally, safety! I need to wash those.
This shirt needs to be stored and never see the light of day.
Holy crap! It's completely torn from the waist up!
Wait, it goes all the way up to the chest? Yet it was just the abdomen that was wounded.
Charles Armstrong inspected his chest and stomach, noting no injuries.
Maybe I got some magic healing? That's often how it goes in web novels.
Charles sighed in relief, his body slumping against the wall as he leaned against it.
His body relaxed in elation, his mind free from the worries of bleeding out.
He spent a few seconds enjoying the safety of a healthy body. Stepping forward, hands grasping the edges of the sink.
He stared into the mirror, fully observing the new body.
He felt like a stranger; it wasn't the skinny, blonde he used to look at with disgust.
Now he was an average-looking man, silver-gray hair in a wolfcut, his hair embracing his neck, resting on his shoulder.
His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.
"That's me now?"
An odd sensation plagued his chest, and he anxiously looked at himself.
"What do I do about that?"
He asked himself, confused about how he was meant to take this situation, this transmigration.
He accepted the facts, but they were too ridiculous to accept.
Placing a hand on his chest, breathing deeply, focusing his thoughts on a single idea: survival.
"Humans adapt. That's how we live. So I need to adapt too."
His voice was reluctant, but he found the conviction to face the situation and solve it by any means.
"Alright then, show me who I am…"
Charles closed his eyes and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. The memories of Erwin surfaced.
Owen Thalos was a hunter, retired now after his birth. He's an old man in his fifties. His wife was Seline Thalos, an ex-songstress and weaver, in her late forties.
Gregor Thalos was the eldest, supporting his family by working both in construction and as a clerk for a meat store.
His life was consumed by work; he had to get up at five in the morning to leave for work at six, never having the chance to even say goodbye.
Charles frowned, opening his eyes.
"Why do I feel so bitter?"
Those weren't his emotions; he was sure of that.
"Why does Erwin hate him?"
Closing his eyes once more, he dove back into the sea of memories.
He worked so early that everyone else was still asleep when he left!
Earning four pence and a half penny an hour as a construction worker, finishing an hour after noon.
Then two hours past noon, he goes to the general store working there as a clerk for the next eight hours for a mere one pence and a halfpenny per hour.
"Pence and shillings? Not dollars? So it's more similar to the United Kingdom, I guess?"
Charles sighed deeply, rubbing his temples with his thumb and index finger.
"Right, this is a popular fictional setting, no? Is this a dream, then?"
His face lit up, pinching his cheek firmly.
He winced in pain, letting go and leaving a red mark on his cheek.
"Nope! Not a dream… In that case, let's return to these memories."
He said to himself, refocusing, closing his eyes and returning his attention to Erwin's experiences.
He needed to learn as much as possible; if he didn't fit in properly, he might end up in severe trouble.
Putting his attention back to the memories of the man who carried the family and kept them afloat.
Gregor's work brought their family some small comfort, as he worked under the sun and in a store.
They had their own bathroom, but it would've increased their expenses. That's why Gregor took it as his room.
Erwin himself found a job a month ago after graduating from college with a degree in literature.
He was apt to start working at a small journal office.
Earning enough to support the family with Gregor.
With their living expenses, they had enough leftover to cover Elira's education.
Charles Armstrong sighed loudly with this recollection. Now he could focus his mind somewhere else.
With his stomach healed, his mind eased. He was able to gather his thoughts and focus on the questions at hand.
Why is he here? How did he get here? Those questions became pieces of a puzzle his mind crafted, and now he needed to find the missing pieces.
His ears twitched at the strangely familiar sound of light, elegant footsteps on the dry wooden floor above —those of Erwin Thalos's young sister.