CHAPTER 54: THE FIRST TRANSMIGRATOR

Gizmo hadn’t felt that particular resonance in forty-three years.

He sat in perfect stillness atop Mount Ethereal, the highest peak in the known world, where he’d built his sanctuary two centuries ago. To any observer, he would appear to be just another hermit monk, aged and weathered by decades of meditation. They wouldn’t see the quantum calculations running behind his closed eyes, or the way reality bent subtly around him—not from magic, but from something far more fundamental.

The soul-binding ritual happening thousands of miles away sent ripples through dimensions that only someone like him could feel. Another Earth soul making waves. Another transmigrator changing the game.

"Number Seven," he murmured, opening eyes that held depths no one in this world could understand. "You’re early."

His sanctuary was a paradox—ancient stone construction filled with hidden impossibilities. Carved runes that looked mystical were actually equations. The "meditation circles" were particle accelerators powered by what the locals called "mana" but what Gizmo knew as exotic energy. In two hundred years, he’d built something between a monastery and a physics lab.

He stood, joints that should have creaked with age moving with perfect fluidity. The Cultivation Framework—his answer to this world’s obsession with magic—kept his body in optimal condition. Not young, but timeless. He’d learned early that appearing too perfect drew the wrong kind of attention.

"Archive," he said to the empty air. "Show me Number Seven’s progression."

The air shimmered, and his personal AI—built from spiritual energy and decades of programming—materialized as geometric patterns that would have been impossible before his transmigration.

**[TRANSMIGRATOR SEVEN - DESIGNATION: ARTHUR LIONHEART]**

- Origin: Software Engineer, 2024 CE

- System Type: Incubus Framework v3.7

- Current Power Level: Continental Threat (Rising)

- Deviation from Standard Path: 847%

- Unique Elements: Political Integration, Soul-Binding Mastery, Accelerated Progression

- Threat Assessment: EXPONENTIAL GROWTH DETECTED

"Eight hundred percent deviation," Gizmo mused, stroking a beard he’d grown to look the part of a wise hermit. "You’re not following the script at all, are you?"

He waved his hand, and the display shifted to show the six who had come before.

**[TRANSMIGRATOR REGISTRY]**

1. Gizmo (Active) - Physicist - Cultivation Framework

2. Sarah Martinez (Deceased) - Doctor - Healing System - Killed by Divine Intervention

3. James Wright (Missing) - Soldier - War God System - Last seen Northern Wastes

4. Yuki Tanaka (Ascended) - Artist - Creation Matrix - Transcended Physical Realm

5. David Brown (Corrupted) - Banker - Merchant Prince System - Became Dungeon Core

6. Lisa Park (Active) - Chemist - Alchemy Goddess System - Hidden in Plain Sight

Each had brought Earth knowledge. Each had changed the world. But none had moved as fast or as boldly as Number Seven.

"He bound an orc chieftain," Gizmo said, calling up the scrying feed he’d been monitoring. "Not just as an ally, but as a spouse. The prophecy acceleration is... significant."

He’d known about the Seven Brides Prophecy, of course. He’d been there when the Primordials had whispered it into the world’s consciousness, thinking humans too primitive to understand. They hadn’t counted on Earth souls arriving with different perspectives.

The soul-binding completion sent another pulse through dimensional space. Gizmo felt it in his bones—no, deeper. In the quantum structures that held his consciousness. Arthur wasn’t just gathering power. He was creating something new.

"Fascinating approach," Gizmo admitted. "I built power through isolation and careful advancement. He’s building it through connections and rapid expansion. High risk, high reward."

His Archive chimed. **[Alert: Eastern Coalition mobilizing. Emperor Lyralei preparing personal intervention.]**

"Ah, the Phoenix Emperor." Gizmo had avoided that particular complication for decades. Lyralei was dangerous—not just powerful, but clever. "Let’s see how Number Seven handles someone with genuine supernatural origin."

He walked to his observation chamber, where crystalline structures let him peer across continents. The math behind it would have won him a Nobel Prize on Earth. Here, they just called it "divine sight."

Arthur’s forces were preparing to leave Bloodfang Stronghold. Gizmo zoomed in, examining the king more closely. The Incubus System’s interface was partially visible to his enhanced perception—version 3.7, significantly more advanced than what David had worked with.

"They’re getting better at integration," he noted. "Each System more sophisticated than the last. Almost like..."

He paused, a thought that had haunted him for decades resurcing.

"Almost like something is learning."

In two centuries, Gizmo had developed theories. The Systems weren’t random. They weren’t gifts. They were something else—tools, maybe. Or tests. Each transmigrator brought unique Earth knowledge, and each System seemed designed to maximize that knowledge’s impact.

His physics background had led to understanding energy at fundamental levels. Sarah’s medical knowledge had revolutionized healing before the gods killed her for "disrupting the natural order." James’s tactical mind had created new forms of warfare before he vanished into the wastes.

But Arthur... a software engineer with an Incubus System designed for networking and connections...

"You’re building a distributed network," Gizmo realized with a sharp intake of breath. "Each bond is a node. Each conquest expands the network. You’re not conquering a kingdom—you’re programming a civilization."

It was brilliant. And terrifying.

The Archive pulsed urgently. **[Detection Alert: Subject Seven has noticed observation.]**

Impossible. Gizmo’s sanctuary was shielded by two hundred years of accumulated defenses. But on the screen, Arthur had paused in giving orders and was looking up—directly at the scrying point.

For a moment, their eyes met across impossible distance. Arthur couldn’t truly see him, but something in that gaze...

"He knows he’s being watched," Gizmo breathed. "The System’s evolution is faster than projected."

Decision time. He’d avoided direct contact with other transmigrators since Sarah’s death. But Arthur was different. The speed of his progression, the scope of his ambition, the way he was fulfilling prophecies that Gizmo had thought metaphorical...

"Archive, prepare Message Protocol Seven."

**[Warning: Direct contact with active transmigrator carries significant risk.]**

"I know." Gizmo moved to his communication array—a fusion of crystal magic and quantum entanglement. "But if he continues at this pace without understanding what he’s really part of..."

He thought of Sarah, burned alive by divine light for healing "too well." Of James, marching north chasing power until the ice claimed him. Of David, whose greed had transformed him into something inhuman.

Each transmigrator faced a choice eventually. A moment where they either transcended their humanity or were consumed by this world’s hunger for power.

Arthur was approaching that moment at unprecedented speed.

Gizmo began composing his message. It had to be something only an Earth soul would understand. Something that would prove his identity without alerting local powers.

His fingers traced patterns in the air, encoding concepts that didn’t exist in this world’s languages:

"HELLO WORLD. NICE SYSTEM YOU’VE GOT THERE. WOULD BE A SHAME IF SOMEONE EXPLAINED THE ENDGAME. CHECK YOUR SPAM FOLDER. -GIZMO (TRANSMIGRATOR #1, STILL ALIVE DESPITE THE ODDS)"

He paused, then added:

"P.S. - THE SEVEN BRIDES PROPHECY ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK. THE GODS DIDN’T CREATE IT TO CONTROL YOU. THEY CREATED IT TO CONTROL WHAT YOU’LL BECOME. CHOOSE CAREFULLY."

The message converted into spiritual energy, compressed into a packet that would slip through dimensional space like an email through fiber optic cables. Only someone with a System could receive it. Only someone from Earth would understand it.

"Send," Gizmo commanded.

The message vanished, racing toward Lyranth at the speed of thought. In moments, Arthur would receive humanity’s first interdimensional text message.

Gizmo settled back to watch what would happen next. Either he’d just saved Number Seven from the fate that claimed the others, or he’d just accelerated the very disaster he’d spent two centuries trying to prevent.

"Time to see what kind of code you’re really running, Arthur Lionheart," he murmured. "And whether you’re debugging this world... or virusing it beyond recovery."

In the distance, storm clouds gathered—not natural ones, but the kind that formed when reality itself grew unstable. The game was changing, and for the first time in decades, Gizmo wasn’t sure he understood the rules anymore.

But one thing was certain: Earth’s children were reshaping this world, and Number Seven might just be the one to finally break the pattern.

Or break everything.

The journey back to Lyranth should have taken three days. With Arthur’s enhanced forces and the addition of three hundred orc berserkers, they made it in one.

Arthur rode at the head of the column, Urzara beside him on a massive warg she’d tamed years ago. Behind them, an impossible sight: human soldiers marching in perfect synchronization with orcish warriors, their supernatural enhancement allowing them to maintain a pace that would have killed normal troops.

"Your people will react poorly," Urzara noted, her new enhanced senses picking up the scouts watching from the forests. "Orcs at the capital gates rarely means peace."

"They’ll adapt," Arthur replied, though he was already planning how to manage the integration. "They always do."

His system chimed—not the usual notification, but something different. A message had appeared in an interface tab he didn’t even know existed.

[EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION RECEIVED]

*[SOURCE: UNKNOWN]

[FILTERING... AUTHENTICATED: EARTH-ORIGIN VERIFIED]

"HELLO WORLD. NICE SYSTEM YOU’VE GOT THERE..."

Arthur nearly stopped his horse. Another transmigrator. After all this time thinking he was alone, someone else from Earth was not just here, but had been here for two centuries. And they knew about the prophecy.

"My lord?" Hawklight rode up, noticing his distraction. "The city’s in sight."

Indeed, Lyranth’s white walls gleamed in the afternoon sun. But something was different. Banners flew from every tower—not just the royal standard, but a new one. Black and silver, with a design that made Arthur’s breath catch.

It matched Beatrice’s embroidery. The one Isolde had been working on during the duel.

"The queen has been busy," Hawklight observed with dry amusement.

The city gates opened before they arrived, and the streets were lined with citizens. Their reactions to the orc forces ranged from curiosity to fear to awe. But when they saw the orcs marching in formation, bearing Lyranth’s colors alongside their clan symbols, the fear shifted to something else.

Wonder.

"They’re seeing the future," Arthur murmured. "An empire where race matters less than loyalty."

The palace courtyard was organized chaos. Isolde stood at the top of the steps, every inch the queen, with the court arranged behind her. But Arthur’s eyes went to the smaller figure half-hidden behind a pillar.

Beatrice.

Through their bond, he felt her emotional storm—relief at his return, curiosity about Urzara, hurt that needed addressing, and underneath it all, that steady trust that defined her.

He dismounted, helped Urzara down (noting how the court noticed the gesture), and ascended the steps. Protocol demanded he greet his queen first.

"Husband," Isolde said, loud enough for all to hear. "You return victorious."

"Wife," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it formally. Then, lower: "We need to talk. About messages from dead worlds."

Her eyes sharpened, but she merely nodded. "Your chambers have been prepared. All of them." A glance at Urzara. "Sister."

Urzara grinned, showing those enhanced tusks. "Sister."

The court rippled with whispers. Two queens. The precedent was set.

Arthur gestured for his commanders to handle the troop arrangements and made his way inside. He had a chemist to find, a physicist’s message to decode, and a empire to build.

But first, he had a brilliant mage to reassure. Beatrice hadn’t moved from her pillar, but through their bond, he felt her wanting to run—whether to him or away, she hadn’t decided.

*Soon, little one,* he sent through their connection. *Let me sort the politics, then we talk.*

Her mental response was tinged with hurt but acceptance. *You always come back with more women.*

*I always come back to you,* he corrected. *The rest is just empire building.*

A soft mental snort. *Your empire building needs a bigger palace.*

Despite everything—the Eastern Coalition bearing down on them, a two-hundred-year-old transmigrator sending warnings, and a prophecy reshaping his very existence—Arthur smiled.

He was home. Changed, stronger, with new allies and new complications.

But home.

Tomorrow, he’d deal with Gizmo’s warnings and Lyralei’s armies. Tonight, he had a kingdom to show that their future included all who bent the knee, regardless of the color of their skin or the shape of their tusks.

The Demon King had returned.

And he’d brought the beginning of a new world with him.