Gravedigger of the Empire

"We know who you are! We know why you're here! Isn't that strange? Isn't that unexpected?" A group of SS soldiers, wearing peaked caps askew, black uniforms, and belts, pointed submachine guns at him with their dark muzzles.

"No! No! Let me explain!" Kahn threw off the blanket covering him and sat up instantly in bed, large beads of sweat rolling down his nose.

He was panting heavily, feeling completely exhausted. The scene he had just witnessed was so real, it was etched into his mind and wouldn't leave him.

Aside from the incredibly realistic gun muzzle, Kahn's old memories seemed to be etched into his bones, with every detail reverberating.

Soldiers whose bodies were half blown away by artillery shells, children frozen stiff beside tank tracks, naked women hanging from twisted and deformed steel bars... They were there without needing to be recalled; he couldn't throw them away even if he wanted to.

These fragments, mixed with images of a bright classroom, a quiet library, and a gentle, delicate girlfriend's hand, make it difficult to distinguish which part is real.

Kahn knew that it was all true.

The memory of curling up in the basement listening to bombs exploding overhead is real, and the memory of lightly swiping my fingertips across my phone screen to choose a birthday gift for my girlfriend is also real.

It's all true.

Kahn reached up and touched his forehead, his eyes sharpening. He had spent the day in a daze, and he didn't know when he fell asleep that night.

Then, I had another nightmare.

He still hadn't adapted to all of this, even though he had been in the world for a day and a night.

But before that, he summarized several issues that he needed to pay attention to, or rather, that he needed to solve.

First, the fact that I had unwittingly transmigrated and taken over Kahn's body proves that what Kahn did in my memories was real and effective.

Now that the first point is valid, we need to consider the second problem: he can't let others know that he's from another time. If people find out, he'll most likely be arrested and "studied."

If he falls into the hands of certain "people," he might suffer a fate worse than death.

He threw off the blanket covering his legs, stood up, went to the bathroom, turned on the tap, splashed water on his face, and then casually swept the wet hair from his forehead behind his head.

The cool, refreshing sensation invigorated him. It was a bright, sunny morning, a start that was hard to say whether it would be good or bad.

This house is a military dormitory. No one came to disturb him yesterday, not even to check if he had eaten...

The wall that was previously covered in bloodstains had been hastily cleaned up; although some traces could still be seen, they were no longer obvious.

The desk drawer was stuffed with money, but Kahn knew he wasn't rich.

People have lost interest in the Mark these days; after all, a banknote that could buy a loaf of bread in the morning might only be usable as toilet paper by the afternoon.

An era when 500,000 marks could buy a loaf of bread, an era that suffocated people to the point of despair.

Fortunately, he is now a second lieutenant in the Weimar Republic's defense forces; otherwise, he would have trouble even getting food.

At least his workplace had a canteen and provided food regularly.

Although the food was terrible, at least he wouldn't go hungry because of soaring prices.

Closing the door, Kahn, dressed in the only decent clothes he could wear—his military uniform—went down the stairs, out of the building, and along the familiar path toward the familiar gates of the Bureau of Investigation.

He wanted to travel around to relax and help himself adapt to the times.

A beggar sat at the street corner not far from the gate, dressed in a military uniform. He only had one arm, and the other sleeve of his uniform was empty.

He just sat there, listless, as if he had no soul.

Kahn stopped as he passed him, rummaged in his pocket, and put a few banknotes into the tattered metal box in front of the man.

The other person didn't say thank you.

Kahn straightened up and walked away without looking back; he had no expectations.

Simple acts of charity, in order to redeem one's own wandering soul.

"Read the newspaper! Read the newspaper! Financial collapse! Prices out of control!" A newsboy waved a newspaper past Kahn, enthusiastically hawking his wares.

The neon lights on the streets of Berlin are full of vintage charm, and the German words encircled by the light bulbs are full of vitality.

A Mercedes-Benz with a spare tire hanging from the side of its engine compartment wobbled across the street, turned at the intersection, and disappeared from Kahn's sight.

The black paint on the car was so shiny it practically reflected Kahn's face.

The policeman standing at the intersection made eye contact with him, then looked away and gazed at the wealthy woman walking from the other side.

The bright shop window was filled with loaves of bread, and next to the floor-to-ceiling window stood a emaciated homeless man.

……

……

"Excuse me, Lieutenant! Please show me your identification!" The guard at the door, carrying a rifle, stopped Kahn, who had been wandering around all morning.

He looked Kahn up and down, waiting for Kahn to produce his identification.

Kahn was embarrassed to discover that he didn't have his credentials yet—he had just been promoted, and before he could even get his credentials, he had staged this suicide attempt.

The military uniforms of this era were not the style of World War II. The buttons on the jackets were very special, eight in a row, much denser than the futuristic styles he was familiar with.

"My ID isn't there..." Kahn finally spoke when the other party reached the limit of their patience, guessing that they definitely wouldn't let him in.

But things took a turn for the better in the next second.

"Kahn!" Fred walked up to Kahn, carrying his briefcase, and greeted him.

"I don't have any identification," Kahn explained somewhat awkwardly, explaining why he was standing there like an idiot.

Fred pulled out his identification and waved it in front of the guard: "He's Lieutenant Kahn. His identification isn't ready yet, but is it alright for me to bring him in?"

"No problem! Sorry, Lieutenant!" The guard tactfully let them pass, but he still glanced at Kahn's neck again as he stepped back.

The bloodstains there... are a bit jarring.

"What are you doing running around without ID... If it weren't for me, you'd be in trouble again today." Fred said, walking ahead with his briefcase, without turning his head.

Soon, he was greeted by a lieutenant officer who exchanged a few words with the gatekeeper and then gestured for Kahn to follow him.

Looking up at the solemn office building of the committee, this temporary body, and glancing at the officers coming and going, Kahn strode after Lieutenant Fred and entered the typical European-style building before him.

The guards on both sides of the gate stood at attention and saluted. For the first time, Kahn personally experienced the majesty of an officer.

"I'll leave you here." The lieutenant stopped in front of an office, finally glancing back at Kahn before knocking on the heavy door: "Report!"

"Come in!" A slightly hoarse voice came from inside. Lieutenant Fred pushed open the door for Kahn and then made way for him.

Kahn walked into the office, and the door behind him clicked shut, leaving only him, looking slightly awkward, and the middle-aged man sitting behind the desk.

He had seen the man that day, but today he took a closer look at him.

He was a very thin man with high cheekbones and sunken cheeks. His thick beard was meticulously groomed, and the top button of his collar was fastened without any care.

"I thought you wouldn't come to see me until tomorrow... So? Have you figured it out yet?" Lieutenant Colonel McConnell glanced at Kahn, then lowered his head and asked to himself while working on the documents.

"I'm fine now, Lieutenant Colonel!" Of course, Kahn couldn't tell the truth.

But in a sense, he is indeed alright. And he feels great now, very good.

"I don't want to hear any more news about your nonsense. Focus all your energy on your work, understand?" Miken asked, flipping through the documents.

"I understand, Lieutenant Colonel!" Kahn replied.

"Go ahead." The meeting seemed to have come to an end.

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel." Kahn breathed a sigh of relief... He was now the real "Kahn" Second Lieutenant.