In a cold, stone-built hall, a man dressed in ceremonial attire made a brief oath, to which my father agreed, signing a document of some sort.
That was my wedding.
“Feels like trading livestock.”
As the weighty sound of a large, square seal stamping the marriage contract echoed through the hall, I thought it resembled the gavel striking a judgment in court or the hammer at an auction. And with that, I completed my wedding ceremony—without a groom.
I am a reincarnator, someone who has memories of a different world. It seems this world I live in now is the setting of a long fantasy novel I once devoured in my younger days. Back then, I didn’t notice it, but as I grew older and accumulated knowledge about the world, I realized the names of places and people often matched those from the story.
It didn’t hit me immediately because the aesthetics and cultural elements here differed greatly from what I had imagined. It’s like when an anime adaptation doesn’t match your interpretation of the original work.
The initial illustrations in the novel had a heavy, shadowed style, evoking the Germanic Middle Ages. Later, the artist changed midway through serialization, and the new style leaned toward a delicate, fantastical impression, typical of fictional fantasy worlds.
Now, the world I live in feels more like the Roman Empire—a bright land where white buildings stand out against the warm Mediterranean landscapes. It’s a world that, while less decorative, fits the technological and societal maturity level I’ve observed here.
Having lived and grown up in this world, I found that, despite the variations, the setting aligns with the novel's core elements.
The original novel prided itself on being an epic fantasy.
At the peak of my obsession, I joined fan clubs, diving deep into analyzing its lore. We created a character dictionary, a world guide with maps, a historical timeline, and even recipes for dishes described in the story.
Even after realizing the story had its share of inconsistencies, I reveled in filling those gaps with speculative theories, akin to a Sherlockian sleuth piecing together clues. I hunted down niche knowledge, visited museums and galleries, and bought specialist books—none of which helped in real life. When a rare bookstore owner once asked if I was “an expert in the field,” I could only laugh it off.
For a while, I considered pursuing a career in art or design, but I quickly realized I lacked the creative talent for it. I was skilled at mimicry and reconstruction, but in an age where AI excels in such tasks, my trained eye and critique proved more of a liability than an asset.
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