Mythology Rebooted

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Along with the darkness came a hazy fog.

Wayne, while calculating how much he still owed for his rent, went to the kitchen to prepare his own dinner, sincerely saying, "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Laina, thanks to your tacit marriage, I won't have to eat potatoes tomorrow."

No need for potatoes tomorrow, but not today, at least tonight, he had to fight to the death with potatoes.

Potato chunks, fried potatoes, pan-fried potatoes, potato salad, mashed potatoes...

At first glance, it seemed quite abundant, with several dishes.

Wayne stabbed a chunk of potato with his fork, his peripheral vision catching a glimpse of the mirror on the bookshelf, which reflected a face with black hair and black eyes.

There was nothing to say, he was very down to potatoes!

Take Madam Laina for example; if not for Wayne's persistent refusal, he could have received long-term financial aid like a failed student.

It was Wayne's third month in the God-chosen Continent, and he had inherited everything from the unfortunate 'Wayne,' from the Detective Agency to the rent, down to the potatoes counted by the basket in the kitchen, not a single thing was omitted.

When he first arrived, Wayne saw that he had a small building, on Commercial Street no less, complete with an attic and a basement. Living by the philosophy of chasing after money, he quickly accepted the change.

That was until the landlord came knocking to collect the debt and took the radio away.

Learning that he was a debtor, Wayne couldn't smile anymore. But then he thought, he owed more to the bank in his previous life, and it seemed not unacceptable.

But then he couldn't accept it again.

The year was 1938, in Europe, in the Windsor Kingdom, in Lundan... There were some changes in the details, but it all pointed to a place about to be bombed.

Just waiting for someone to raise the national flag.

What was even harder to accept was that Wayne hadn't traveled through time but space. This Earth only had two continents: the God-chosen Continent and the Icebound Continent.

There was none of his familiar hometown, and not the bald eagle that went around banging gongs and stealing oil.

The Icebound Continent was the South Pole, once known centuries ago as the Dark Continent, the God-Forsaken Continent. A portion of the God-chosen Continent extended to the North Pole, where it was icebound all year round, making living conditions extremely limited.

Besides those, this Earth was covered in blue—a glance at the world map showed nothing but water.

Wayne took a long time to convince himself that life, in all its forms, comes with its own resignations. Keep up the spirits and look forward, and if things really go sideways, then it's not too late to give up.

And then he saw the potatoes.

"I hate potatoes!"

As Wayne dismembered the chunks of potato on his plate, he reflected on the tough three months. His predecessor was a romantic, no, an absent-minded fool.

Despite being an amateur, he confidently opened a Detective Agency; owning a Detective Agency, he spent his days profligately in various social situations instead of working; and even without a single commission, he went through the motions and hired a secretary.

Wayne didn't understand and was deeply shocked. When he first arrived, the house was plastered with posters of female stars. His predecessor wasn't just thoughtless; he was a thoughtless, avid fan.

For the sake of the blond bombshell with the big curls, Wayne didn't immediately throw the posters in the trash after tearing them down. Instead, he kept them all in his bedroom on the second floor.

Possibly due to the aftereffects of crossing over, Wayne didn't inherit much memory from his predecessor. The sparse and chaotic memory fragments couldn't be arranged into a clear storyline, so he just briefly looked over them and set them aside.

The clearest memory was in a small, dark room, with a desk lamp on the table, surrounded by whispers, threats, and even curses and beatings. It was evident that his predecessor had a criminal record and was a person in social rehabilitation.

Besides, his predecessor had a diary of the future, like a summer vacation homework diary, written in a chaotic and illogical manner, fantasizing mostly about marrying a female star and then living an unabashed life.

Three times a day, occasionally five.

Because of its artistic nature, Wayne kept this diary in his bedside table, pulling it out to study the grammar when the nights were quiet.

There was no doubt his predecessor was a failure. In Wayne's view, his negligence proved how excellent the other detectives in town were.

In Wayne's own words, there was no dark horse with a string of significant cases solved upon entering the field; his predecessor was nothing more than a black donkey of the detective world.

But undeniably, his predecessor worked hard at the wrong things. Had he not been so dedicated, today's disaster would have been avoided!

Initially, Wayne rejected the identity of a detective. His predecessor learned on the job, and so did he. He intended to take a shortcut and become an inventor, living a carefree life on patents.

The result was not good. Inventing was as much a new field for him as it had been for his predecessor. Everything he could think of, like rubber bands, paper clips, mosquito coils, zippers, and Band-Aids, already had patents filed by others.

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It's just preposterous, why are the natives so clever?

Helplessly, in order to quickly fill his wallet and keep himself from starving, Wayne could only halfway switch professions to learn and become a qualified detective.

Here, I must commend the original occupant of this body: he spent money like water, and was fully equipped with various detective tools; his bookshelf, ranging from beginner's guides to incarceration, was filled with all sorts of criminal investigation literature.

There were also many renowned detective novels.

Although Wayne's professional abilities were limited, he loved what he did. Out of hatred for potatoes, he worked very hard.

Perhaps it was a post-transmigration benefit, his learning abilities were astonishing, and his thinking had become much sharper than before. Simple investigations posed no difficulty to him, and with his agile body, he could easily scale walls and sneak into yards, hiding on balconies to take photos without being noticed.

This physical agility had nothing to do with his transmigration. It was an instinct ingrained into the muscles by the original owner of his body, which was evidenced by his 'little black room' experiences. It was clear that the police officers hadn't arrested the wrong person; they just hadn't detained him for long enough.

Wayne's transmigration came with another perk.

A book!

Silently floating within him, its exact location unclear; it might be in the brain, maybe the heart, or perhaps somewhere in between among the internal organs.

[The Book of Greed]

Speaking of this book, one cannot help but mention that stormy night.

Before his transmigration, Wayne was a programmer. Seeing peers fire their bosses before the age of thirty-five, with many succeeding enormously, he and a colleague decided to resign and teamed up to develop a small game.

Jose: Starting a business early is key. Instead of waiting for the boss to fire us, why don't we get rid of him and start our own game.

Wayne: Makes sense.

The Book of Greed was an item within the game. Out of a sense of mischievousness in creating an Easter egg, the two spent great effort on it, stuffing it with a host of bugs which, despite being contradictory, somehow managed to work together.

One bug is a bug, a pile of bugs becomes a feature!

After their hard work, the two in front of the screen were elated, excitedly coordinating over the phone while waiting for the game to be launched on the platform, dreaming of becoming chairmen and going public to harvest stock market investors.

Whether Jose could harvest investors was uncertain, but Wayne definitely couldn't. He didn't know whether it was lightning or an electrical fault, but when he opened his eyes, he had arrived at the God-chosen Continent.

"Jose, oh Jose, remember not to forget our rich past during the holidays, and be sure to burn a few... for me."

"Maybe I'll burn a few for you."

Closing his eyes, Wayne thought for a moment, and The Book of Greed, its cover black and swirling with bloody veins, appeared in his sight.

The material was unknown; the cover was uneven and bumpy, slightly damp and slippery, much like the back of a toad.

"It wasn't like this at first, has it mutated?"

Wayne tried to turn the pages but was incapable of doing so. Just like his many previous endeavors, only the eye embedded in the cover slowly focused, looking back at him.

There were many similar eyeballs; all the bumpy protrusions on the cover were eyes, tightly closed, except for the Great Eyeball in the center which responded to his gaze.

But it was limited to eye contact.

Transmigrated, got a cheat, but can't open it!

The more Wayne thought about it, the angrier he got, chopping one potato after another, mashing the diced potato pieces into a paste.

Even more infuriating, he was missing a dish!

Wayne set down his fork and lamented, "Why does my life only have downfalls, and an endless struggle? Why is the only one providing me with long-term financial aid Madam Laina? Isn't there any noble lady who's run away from home, gotten lost on my doorstep, and is proactively offering money to seek refuge?"

Bang bang bang—

The office door was knocked upon, and looking through the dull glass, a dark shadow lurked outside.

"Gurgle!"

Wayne felt a chill and got goosebumps; he swallowed and took a bite of mashed potato to calm his nerves.

If he remembered correctly, he had locked the door.