Chapter 1: Block
"Would it have hurt to let me have a sound sleep?... What did I do to deserve this—writer's block and a fever? I can't even move!"
Dexter adjusted his body on the bed, jolts of pain shooting through his head, again and again.
"I mustn't fall asleep... if I don't finish the story, I'm doomed. And yet, this stupid body decided to catch a fever... aaah.
The words are Zalithor and Nerathis, right?—without them, the protagonist's transmigration wouldn't work. And I mustn't forget... since I threw the book away out of sheer exhaustion.
"Who am I even mumbling to? I need to sleep... Yeah, I'll get up early and finish it. If I don't, I'm as good as dead."
Dexter shut his eyes, trying to ease his mind, but the relentless headache refused to grant him peace. His head pounded in sync with his racing heart, and with each passing second, his temperature surged higher.
After what felt like an eternity of agony, Dexter finally succumbed to sleep. His body shuddered intermittently as he sank into a fever dream.
Dexter felt as if the fever dream was trying to consume him whole, an endless loop of strange visuals pressing down on him. Instinctively, he forced himself upright.
In an instant, his body dropped to the floor.
"Wait... where am I?"
Dexter found himself in a strange, empty room, the only furnishing a ragged bed. The dry wind brushed his grey eyes as they darted around in confusion, but no matter how hard he tried, his body refused to move.