I Loaded the Mysticism Panel
Chapter 1: [Breathing]

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: [Breathing]

Consciousness swam up from a deep pool of water, and Richard slowly opened his eyes.

His mind was a blank slate, like a newly booted computer that hadn’t finished loading its software.

Memories began to flood in.

One set belonged to Earth.

He remembered riding a shared bike home, always having to get off and push it up the most strenuous part of the hill.

His health had been terrible. The doctor had called it congenital weakness; colds and fevers were a common occurrence. His roommate often called him a "thin dog."

After work, he loved to lose himself in folklore forums, scrolling through posts about field research that were a mix of fact and fiction.

He could list off local Witchcraft traditions, folk Spirit Communication rituals, and Shaman cultures by heart.

He’d written a few amateurish research articles and had even made a small name for himself in those circles.

The other set was from this world.

The winters in Brighton, the cobblestone streets, the smell of tobacco in his father’s study.

In the memories of the boy named Richard Williams, his Mother’s side of the family had held a gathering in the Imperial Capital about ten days ago.

The Williams family rarely attended such events, and the cost of the round-trip tickets had made his father wince for quite some time.

But his Mother insisted on going, saying her father had specifically asked for them.

At the party, his cousin had pulled him aside, fished a small object out of his pocket, and handed it to him.

"A gift for you. They say it’s an old antique from the Eastern Continent. Just something to wear for fun."

It was a thumb-sized bronze pendant, its surface covered in patina, the front etched with unreadable symbols.

The original Richard had found it interesting and hung it around his neck.

From that day on, his health deteriorated.

At first, it was just fatigue, a constant feeling of not having slept enough.

Then his hands and feet grew cold, a chill that no fire could warm.

On the fifth day, he started coughing and developed a low-grade fever.

His father called the community doctor, who said it was just a common cold and prescribed some medicine.

But after taking the medicine, he was wracked by a scorching fever that night, and he never woke up again.

The two sets of memories collided, seeping into each other like wet clay, merging.

The boundaries blurred until they finally became one person.

Richard quickly accepted his situation.

’I’m alive, and this is another world. I should figure out what’s going on first,’ he thought.

He turned his head to look out the window.

Across the street, a dozen or so chimneys were packed tightly together on the rooftops, each spewing columns of black-gray smoke into the sky.

In the distance, some large machinery was running, its low-frequency vibrations traveling through the foundation of the house.

This was Brighton. Richard rolled the name over in his mind.

Brighton was a manufacturing city in the Northern Industrial District of the Albion Imperial. It was located on the Western Continent and had a population of just over two hundred thousand.

In terms of his past life, the civilian technology was pre-World War II, except this world had a few... other things.

Just as he was bending over to feel for his socks under the bed, an information panel floated at the edge of his vision:

[Body]

Breathing Lv. ——

Sleep Lv. ——

Walking Lv. ——

Eating Lv. ——

[Wisdom]

Scholarship Lv. ——

Rationality Lv. ——

Perception Lv. ——

[Spirit] (Locked)

’So, I really do have a system!’ he thought.

Excited, Richard quickly began to explore it.

He could see the branches under the "Body" and "Wisdom" categories clearly, but his focus would just bounce off them, as if they hadn’t been activated yet.

The "Spirit" category only showed a blurry lock symbol. He tried to touch the lock with his consciousness, but there was no reaction.

He tried again, and another line of smaller text appeared below the lock:

[Once the Four Elements of the Body are all unlocked, this gate shall open.]

The condition was clear: he had to unlock all four items under "Body"—Breathing, Sleep, Walking, and Eating—before "Spirit" would become available.

’As for what’s actually inside "Spirit"...’ He pulled his focus back. ’I won’t think about that for now.’

[Available Points: 0]

’Nothing at all. This feels a little depressing,’ he thought.

His gaze swept over the nightstand, where the pendant was lying.

His Mother had probably taken it off and placed it there while caring for him during his fever.

Richard reached out, picked it up, and prepared to seal it away to be thrown out later.

But the instant his fingertip touched the bronze surface, the panel changed.

[Available Points: 0.1]

He froze.

It had just been zero, and now it was 0.1.

He didn’t let go, and the number kept rising.

0.45... 0.63... 0.71... Something was seeping out of the pendant.

Richard turned the pendant over, twirling it between his fingers.

0.82... 0.91...

The last wisp of energy, so faint it was almost imperceptible, seeped out from the bronze surface.

[Available Points: 1]

The number stopped.

Richard placed the pendant back in his palm and waited a while longer, but the number didn’t increase.

’Wearing this thing made me weaker by the day, until the fever finished me off.’

Richard put the pendant back on the nightstand.

’My cousin Vincent... I wonder if he knew this thing was dangerous?’

’I won’t jump to conclusions, but I need to remember this.’

He looked at the panel again: [Available Points: 1].

He tried focusing on the various branches under "Body" and "Wisdom".

He could invest in any of them, but with only one point, he could only choose one.

He ran through the options in his mind.

’The three under "Wisdom"—Scholarship, Rationality, and Perception—are all useful.’

’But they share a common trait: they all require active behavior to accumulate progress.’

’You have to read to increase Scholarship, think to increase Rationality, and observe to increase Perception.’

’The efficiency depends on how much energy I invest, and energy itself is limited by my physical condition.’

’To put it bluntly, this body is currently a broken vessel.’

’First, fix the vessel, then fill it. That means I should focus on "Body".’

’Sleep: I’m unconscious while sleeping, so the sensory feedback is weakest. Besides, ten hours of sleep a day is the absolute maximum.’

’Walking: It requires energy, and this body gets winded just from walking a little faster.’

’Eating: This is limited by the food supply, and this family’s situation... ’

He recalled his Mother’s subconscious calculations every time she cooked.

’How many more days will this block of butter last? Can the broth be watered down and reheated for another meal?’

’The prospect of eating well is clearly not optimistic.’

’Breathing: It happens every moment, requires no active intervention, consumes no extra energy, and doesn’t rely on external resources.’

’Logically, this isn’t a choice at all.’

He focused his attention on the word "Breathing" and gave it a gentle push with his consciousness.

A single word floated up: "Confirm?"

Richard thought for about half a second before confirming.

The gray faded away faster than he had expected.

[Breathing Lv.1] Progress: 0%

At first, a slight warmth spread from deep within his chest, as if a thin tube had been gently cleared out from the inside.

Richard took a breath instinctively.

In the industrial age, the city air was thick with coal smoke, sulfur, rust, and soot.

Most adults here suffered from breathing ailments. The mild cases coughed through autumn and winter; the severe cases carried it with them for life.

His own lungs had been steeped in this smog as well. It always felt like a piece of wet cotton was lodged in his chest, so much so that he’d long forgotten it wasn’t a normal feeling.

But after adding the point, he felt for the first time that breathing was such a wonderful thing.

He glanced at the numbers:

[Breathing Lv.1] Progress: 0.01%

He was a little excited to see what would happen when the experience bar was full.

Tucking that thought into a corner of his mind, Richard pulled on his other sock and got up to find a shirt.

The smell of toasting bread wafted up from downstairs.

Once dressed, he carefully examined himself in the wardrobe’s mirror.

The person in the mirror had brown hair and gray eyes, with prominent cheekbones and collarbones.

The shirt hung loosely on his frame; he had to roll the cuffs up twice to keep them from covering his fingers.

’This one’s a thin dog, too,’ he thought.

He adjusted his collar and pushed the door open, heading downstairs.

The dining room was small but tidy.

His father, Rogers, was already seated at the table.

He was sipping red tea while reading a copy of the Brighton Post.

"You’re up." His father turned a page of the newspaper, by way of a greeting.

"Yeah." Richard sat down in a chair.

"Does your throat still hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"Be careful at school today. Stay out of the wind."

"I know."

From the kitchen, his Mother’s voice called out, "Richard, how many slices of bread can you eat today?"

"Two is enough."

"How is two enough? Look how skinny you are," his Mother fretted. "I’ll add an egg for you."

As his Mother, Margaret, came out of the kitchen holding a plate, Richard glanced at her.

She had delicate features and pale skin.

Her gait was light and slow, and she would occasionally press a hand to her chest without realizing it.

On the beautiful woman, the chronic breathing problem gave her an air of fragile beauty.

The fragments he pieced together from his memory weren’t much:

His Mother came from the Ashford Clan in the Imperial Capital, but her status there didn’t seem to be high.

Whenever she mentioned her paternal family, her tone was always distant.

His younger sister, Evelyn, was the last one downstairs.

Her hair was a mess, and the bow in it was only half-tied, with one loop drooping.

Evelyn was a year younger than him and had the same brown hair and gray eyes.

She had inherited her Mother’s beauty, and at fifteen, her vitality made that beauty full and vibrant.

Richard, on the other hand, had inherited his Mother’s other side—a constitution that couldn’t withstand a stiff breeze.

"Sit properly," his father said, not looking up as usual.

Evelyn glanced at Richard, a little puzzled.

She noticed her brother was a little different today.

Their Mother brought out the food and set it on the table:

Toasted bread and butter, a small dish of marmalade, two cups of tea, and the extra egg for Richard.

Richard looked at the egg that was just for him and sighed internally. ’The family’s situation isn’t looking good.’

His father put down the newspaper. "Greenwood’s tuition is twenty percent more expensive this year than last."

Instead of lowering his head and pretending not to hear as he usually would, Richard said, "I’ve been thinking about finding a part-time job."

At that, even Evelyn looked up at him.

"What kind of job?"

"I’m still looking," Richard said. "The library might have an assistant position, or I could do some transcription work for people. It shouldn’t interfere with my classes."

His father frowned. "Bring your grades up first. We can talk about a job after that."

Evelyn stirred her tea with a spoon and said softly, "I could also..."

"You just focus on your classes."

The girl’s shoulders slumped. She lowered her head and focused on her slice of bread.