Chapter 1: Vowing to Become a Psychopath

Chapter 1: Determined to be a Psychopath

Endless, thick fog shrouded the three-masted barque, and the light filtering through the portholes became dim and gray.

Darkus, who had been unconscious for two days, jolted awake to the sound of waves slapping against the hull. He lay on his bed gasping for air, his back soaked in sweat. Fragmented memories overlapped and intertwined in his mind, as if trying to tear his soul apart. He stared blankly at the black pine deck above, unable to accept the reality of his transmigration.

"F*ck! That was my brand-new car!"

After lying still for a long time, Darkus calmed down. He struggled to sit up and surveyed the simple yet luxurious cabin. A wardrobe without doors held several exquisitely crafted purple silk robes and thick brown leather kaftans. The candles on the table had long since melted away, and a full set of black steel plate armor was displayed on an armor stand. The weapon rack held a noble curved sword, a messer, and a Druchii halberd nearly two and a half meters long. Beside them sat a pear-wood vanity and a drum stool that looked completely out of place, with a bronze mirror, wooden combs, and a vanity case arranged on top.

Darkus immediately reached down to check his crotch, sighing with relief: "Thank goodness." He then sat cross-legged, resting his chin on his hand as he examined the Persian-style floral carpet on the floor.

"What kind of bizarre style is this? Well, I suppose it’s all looted; might as well make use of it."

Darkus began to recall: "I have to hand it to this guy—he fell into the sea while taking a leak. Are you kidding me?"

"It’s actually the Warhammer Fantasy world, and I’m a Dark Elf Druchii? A Naggaroth slaver bandit? How did that saying go? Being a peasant in Bretonnia, a blood slave in Sylvania, a slave for the Druchii, a slave rat for the Skaven, or a grot for the Greenskins—what supreme glory!"

Darkus gave a wry smile and continued to reminisce: "At least this guy is a Druchii noble, and a high-ranking one at that. No brothers or sisters, just an unreliable cousin. My uncle, Tullaris, is the Admiral of the Black Ark *Scourge of the Gods*. The Matriarch, Anathra, is a six-thousand-year-old crone, the Nightlord of Clar Karond, a close friend of Morathi, a powerful Druchii spellcaster, and a servant of Hekarti, the Goddess of Magic. The young master, Nukeal, is a five-thousand-year-old geezer, the Valahar of Clar Karond, a renowned Dreadlord, and a Druchii tactical master."

"Good grief, Dark Magic is truly OP! You can really survive anything with that."

"Clar Karond was originally ruled by three Nightlords, but after some 'Byzantine' political maneuvering, the city's military and political power is now fully controlled by the Hellbane family. Those in the opposition are either dead with their entire bloodlines wiped out, or they’ve fled to the Black Spine Mountains to become Shades."

"There are only five core Druchii cities built around Black Arks, plus Ghrond, the fortress city that defends against the northern barbarians. Clar Karond is primarily responsible for shipbuilding and constructing Black Arks, while providing food for the other cities. What does that mean? It’s a Weibo-style vassal state without the 'overseas combat' debuff—the Anatolian Theme of the Eastern Roman Empire."

"System! System! Where’s my transmigrator welfare? Wait, if there were a system in the Warhammer world, that would be very Tzeentchian. Maybe this noble identity is my golden finger."

The noise on the ship grew louder. Darkus glanced at the porthole; it was foggy outside, and the sounds of deck scrubbing and footsteps echoed overhead.

"If you want to survive in Druchii society, you have to be a lunatic and a psychopath. Being a normal person is the real mental illness. It’s time to face this new life!"

With that, Darkus stood up unsteadily, put on his thick leather kaftan, and draped the silk robe over his shoulders.

"At least I don't get seasick."

Just then, a soft knock came at the door. A young female Druchii said, "My Lord, are you awake? Would you like breakfast?"

Darkus went to open the door, revealing half his body with an expressionless face. The young female Druchii stood two sword-lengths away, wearing a tight black silk dress and holding a food cart.

Seeing the cabin door open, she looked surprised and said, "Good morning, My Lord. Are you feeling better?"

Darkus looked at her calmly, as if he were looking at forty gold bricks, and said in a hoarse voice, "Morning, Alissa. Do you have water?"

Alissa replied eagerly, "Yes, My Lord. I also have the soothing soup I brewed for you. Would you like me to bring the cart in?"

Darkus nodded, stepped aside, and walked back to the table. Alissa kept her head down and slowly pushed the cart to the table.

She then backed out slowly, and as she reached the door, she said, "My Lord, call me if you need anything." She then closed the door gently.

Darkus muttered to himself, "Can't even bring a servant on board, have to have a sorceress wait on me."

"Food is the fuel, rice is the steel; Ogres eat iron and chew steel."

As he spoke, he began to arrange the food from the cart onto the table. There was salted fish (he couldn't tell what kind), white bread, beef and mushroom soup, a quiche, a thick black soothing soup, and a bottle of fresh water.

"What do the Druchii eat? That’s a high-level question, right up there with how Malekith goes to the bathroom or how many Druchii there actually are. Not bad! No 'dark cuisine' here—none of that nauseating horse-meat pie, pickled fish, or forest spider spinnerets sandwiched between two slices of toasted sweet bread. No cold-tossed grot brains or bread made from Tomb King bone flour. Time to dig in."

Darkus drank half the bottle of water first and began to eat, pondering as he did so.

"Is this black stuff the soothing soup? Was falling into the sea an accident? Or was someone trying to pull something?"

Darkus ate his bread while staring at the bowl of soup, carefully recalling the events of two days ago.

"Fell off because a crosswind blew me over while I was peeing on the side railing? Is it really that ridiculous? Even a freelancer like me who never finished high school knows you should go to the bow or stern to use the head on a sailing ship. These three siblings from the Takaia family were brought by my cousin; they’re going to the Kingdom of Chrace in Ulthuan to complete their family’s traditional White Lion ritual. Afterward, they were to assist me in completing the Haxier Voyage trial. The crew and soldiers are all from the family. I’m no bastard Blackblade; I’m a direct descendant of the Hellbane family. If anything happens to me, everyone on this ship will be buried with me."

After finishing breakfast, Darkus used a spoon to scoop out the thick, viscous soup and poured it out the porthole. He sat at the vanity to examine his face, tied his long black hair into a ponytail, fastened the black steel Khadreka around his neck, and put three spirit rings on his pointed ears.

In the bronze mirror, his purple eyes—a trait of pure Nagarythe blood—glowed with an eerie light. His gaunt face wore a trace of coldness and malice, and he smiled at the mirror, a look of indescribable wickedness. He lowered his head to touch the Khadreka on his chest, which was engraved with the crimson family crest of a hydra coiled around a Tower of Ruin.

"This gold chain is pretty good."

He stood up, buckled on his noble curved sword, shouldered his Druchii halberd, and stepped onto the deck.

"The game begins!"

Please leave your comments, thank you.

The four main characters of the Hellbane family are from the 7th Edition Dark Elf Army Book.

(End of chapter)