"Could it be some kind of prophetic dream?"

Moen tapped the cover of the Black Book, pondering.

As he thought it over, this inexplicable yet intensely vivid dream seemed best explained by the term "prophetic dream."

Of course, it was merely a possibility.

"If it was a prophetic dream, does that outcome mean I made some terrible mistakes?"

Moen murmured under his breath with a pallid face .

The searing pain from earlier still seemed to crawl over his skin. No one could stay 100% calm after realizing their future might involve being hacked to pieces.

"But who could hate me so much as to commit such a brutal act?"

Even though the shadowy figure in the dream claimed it was done out of love, Moen completely rejected the notion.

What kind of love involved carving the one you adored into pieces? Even deranged serial killers didn’t go that far!

Whatever twisted game they had in mind, shouldn’t they at least leave the victim a whole body?

"The safest course of action is to find that black figure..."

Moen quickly settled on a plan. If he could find the culprit before her attack, it should be very simple for him to evade that end, given his status as the son of a duke.

But...

"That... might be impossible."

Cold sweat trickled down Moen’s forehead.

To locate that shadow, he’d need adequate clues. But the prophetic dream offered nothing useful—no identifiable voice, no discernible appearance. All he could vaguely know was that it was a woman.

And basing a deduction solely on that was implausible. Moen Campbell had offended far too many people. Even the female servants in the duke’s household probably harbored grudges against him for his habitual wrongdoings.

"In the end, it’s all because you that made too many mistakes,"

Moen let out a long sigh, feeling an overwhelming urge to punch the original owner of this body.

But that was no longer an option—because now, he was the original owner.

Moen Campbell’s sins had to be borne by this transmigrated "Moen."

"No, I have to think of a solution. Even if the prophetic dream is just one possibility, I definitely don’t want to be hacked to pieces."

"Ah, right—the Black Book!"

Moen finally remembered the culprit who made him experience a taste of being cut by a thousand cuts.

"Huh?"

Just as he prepared to locate the elusive Black Book, it suddenly reappeared before him as if summoned by his mind.

"Has it... entered my body?"

With another thought, the Black Book transformed into a faint glow and shot into Moen’s body.

He could clearly sense it resting silently somewhere within his consciousness.

"How remarkable,"

Moen’s spirits lifted. "Does this mean I can escape my fate?"

With renewed eagerness, he summoned the Black Book. Folding his hands in prayer, he sincerely beseeched:

"Oh great Black Book, my destiny now lies entirely in your hands!"

"Open!"

With a loud exclamation, Moen flipped the Black Book open.

**[Moen shouted loudly and flipped open the Black Book.]**

Moen: ?

After opening it, nothing happened. The first page, as white as fresh snow, merely recorded the above text as if it were a diary, noting Moen’s every move.

"What the hell? Is this all it does?"

**[Moen waved the Black Book back and forth, but nothing happened.]**

"You must be kidding me."

Moen stared at the book, his mouth twitching. Then raised his hand and picked up a mirror nearby tentatively.

**[Moen picked up the mirror.]**

He put it down.

**[Moen put down the mirror.]**

He looked at it.

**[Moen admired his dashing reflection, as always.]**

"This is absurd!"

Moen slammed the Black Book down in frustration.

Utterly useless—just a cruel joke.

**[Moen began throwing a fit out of helpless rage.]**

"..."

Pressing his face into his hands, Moen was on the verge of tears, utterly speechless.

"What was I thinking, getting my hopes up?"

A minor villain would always be a minor villain.

An extra would always be just an extra.

Did he really think some mysterious book would let him turn things around and become the protagonist?

What a fantasy!

"Clearly, this world isn’t kind to minor villains like me, huh?"

The one somewhat useful Black Book, which had shown him a glimpse of that horrific future, was probably the universe's only act of mercy.

"Couldn't it have been a bit more helpful? At least, tell me if that dream was a prophecy or just a nightmare?"

Moen shook the inexplicable yet strangely familiar Black Book, gritting his teeth.

"I just need to know why I'm doomed to die like that!"

The Black Book remained unresponsive.

**[Sigh.]**

But just as Moen was about to give up, he heard a faint, ethereal sigh.

Then, on the Black Book’s pristine pages, blood-red words suddenly appeared:

**[Do not change it.]**

"..."

Moen’s pupils constricted.

"Do not change it... What does that mean?"

"Are you warning me not to alter the storyline—or else I’ll meet that fate?"

"But if I follow it, wouldn’t I still end up miserable?"

**[For]**

**[Fate.]**

The words appeared as if an invisible hand gripped Moen’s heart.

But no matter how many questions he asked afterward, the Black Book remained unchanged, reverting to its role as an unremarkable word repeater.

"Could it be that all my hopes were in vain?"

Moen was stunned for a long time before revealing a bitter smile.

"Do I have to willingly walk toward my destruction to survive?"

Before this time travel, Moen had been an ordinary office worker without any ambition to fight against fate at all.

Let alone now—where there seemed to be no chance of victory.

He faltered. Completely faltered.

"Actually, when you think about it... the original storyline’s outcome wasn’t all that bad."

At least in the novel, Moen Campbell didn’t die. He merely lost his noble title, became a commoner, and lived as a beggar.

"Wait—hold on."

As this thought crossed his mind, Moen suddenly had an epiphany.

"Now that I think about it, why did I become a beggar in the original story?"

The novel didn’t specify.

But a reasonable guess could be made.

Moen Campbell—the arrogant, pampered son of a duke—was stripped of his noble title and banished to live as a commoner. On top of that, the emperor issued the decree personally, ensuring no one could secretly assist him, not even the duke’s family.

Such a child pampered, grew up after the sight of no one, arrogant and domineering noble son, although due to the Duke's plea, the King issued his previous mistakes are written off, no one can be pursued retaliation order. But could someone like him, spoiled and useless, ever manage to survive on his own as a commoner?

It seemed highly improbable!

On the second day, he might’ve resorted to borrowing from gangsters out of desperation. When he couldn’t repay the loan, they’d break his limbs, leaving him no choice but to become a beggar.

"But I’m different!"

Moen slapped his knee, his voice brimming with conviction.

Who was he now? Moen—not the original wastrel Moen Campbell, but a modern worker seasoned by grueling 996 work schedules and harsh realities!

Turn him into a commoner? Into a sewer rat, even? He would not only survive but thrive!

"Most importantly, I can seize the opportunity to escape from the influence from the protagonists and live a truly free life!"

Hope reignited in Moen’s eyes.

In his previous life, he died easily. This time, he wanted to cherish his life and live fully.

Now that he thought about it, the aristocratic identity wasn’t worth attachment.

"It’s nothing but a system of privilege founded on exploiting the hardworking people. I, a staunch socialist proletariat fighter, scoff at it!"