The melodious chirping of birds clashed with the stench of rotting flesh and iron.
He stirred, but something heavy pressed down on him, cold and damp. Wetness clung to his skin, restricting his movement. With effort, he lifted his arms and shoved at the weight above him—but it barely shifted.
Frowning, he forced his eyes open.
A body lay atop him.
He pushed it harder. "Exc—"
Clouded eyes stared back at him.
He shoved it sideways and jerked upright, only for pain to explode through his abdomen, sending him crashing back down with a groan. He clutched his stomach but yanked his hand away as the contact worsened the agony.
He inclined his head to his abdomen, and an open wound clogged with dark, crusted blood met his eyes. The skin around it was swollen and inflamed, yellowed beneath the caked layers.
But that wasn't what shocked him.
"This… isn't my body…"
A teenager's slender build had replaced his toned adult frame. Even his clothes had changed, resembling an adventurer's garb from a game.
A chill crept down his spine.
"What is… happening?"
Brushing off the torrent of questions, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, hissing as the pain flared through him. The carnage of the clearing greeted him: pale bodies—some in black robes, others in ornate plate armor—lay half-buried in sludge. Severed limbs jutted from the mud at odd angles. Flies lifted lazily with a low, heavy hum.
The aftermath of a battle.
He stared in a daze, trying to force the pieces together.
The last thing he remembered was sitting on a plane, a novel in his hands. Then, nothing. Just blank.
He wanted to believe this was a dream, but his pain and all his senses said otherwise.
A stabbing pain tore through his skull. He groaned and clutched his head as blinding light erupted behind his eyes. A vision surged forth: a knight clad in the same armor as the corpses shoved him hard, shouting desperately.
"Your Highness, run! I'll stall them!"
Behind them, black-robed figures closed in, blades flashing.
"No—!"
Gasping sharply, he jolted back to reality. His breath came in ragged hitches, sweat slicking his skin as his heart hammered against his ribs.
'Was it this body's last memory?'
He wiped his face with a damp sleeve and drew a slow breath, steadying himself. Swallowing hard, he glanced at the corpse beside him. The skin was pale and waxy, with mild bloating.
The man had been dead for at least two or three days; the rain and humidity had sped decay in fast.
A badge pinned to its armor caught his attention. He pried it loose and wiped away the grime. A golden sun with six fiery rays gleamed faintly beneath the dirt.
He stiffened. "Huh?"
Wasn't it the emblem of the Solairé Empire from the novel he read on the plane?
"…Did I just enter that novel?"
The distant sound of hooves snapped him out of his thoughts.
He grabbed a fallen sword and forced himself to his feet—only to stumble as pain seared violently through his side. Warmth spread beneath his fingers as the wound protested the movement.
Gritting his teeth, he staggered toward the nearest tree and pressed his back against the bark, fighting to steady his breath.
The horses halted nearby with a chorus of neighs, followed by the thud of boots on damp earth.
"Identify the bodies! Report if one matches the Second Prince!" a sharp voice barked.
"Yes, sir!"
The language was foreign, yet he understood every word.
His brows knitted. 'Are they looking for me?'
Lowering his sword, he used the flat side to catch a blurry reflection of knights moving between the corpses, inspecting each one.
'Should I reveal myself?'
But what if they were allied with the assassins and were here to confirm his death?
A sudden glint flickered on his blade.
He ducked just in time. Metal thunked into the tree behind him. He rolled forward and swung his sword. Steel clashed, but the knight's strength sent him sprawling.
"Argh!" Pain tore through him as he crashed to the ground. Blood bloomed in his mouth.
The knight raised his sword—
"Lucien?!" A shout froze the knight mid-strike.
The knight flinched and dropped to one knee, head bowed low. "Your Highness, please forgive my impertinence!"
"…what?" Still breathless and bloodied, he scrambled to his feet and took a defensive stance.
"Luce! You're safe!"
Lucien turned. A fair-skinned young man in regal attire dashed toward him, mint-green hair bouncing with each step. His emerald eyes gleamed with relief.
He stiffened at the familiar face.
"Tristan?!" Lucien blurted.
The man stopped before him, offering a reassuring smile. "Yes, it's me—your brother. I came to rescue you."
"…What in the world…" Lucien staggered back.
He recognized Tristan.
His face had stared back at him from the cover of the novel.
"Luce, you're bleeding." Tristan's voice pulled him to the present. Concern clouded his expression as he stepped forward.
"Stay back!" he growled, raising his sword.
Tristan lifted his hands in surrender and stepped back.
He tightened his grip around the hilt. If they claimed him to be Lucien, then trusting Tristan was out of the question.
"Prince Lucien—"
"Silence!" Lucien cut the knight off.
His vision blurred, and his body shook—whether from blood loss or shock, it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was escaping.
He had to run.
"Luce…" Tristan's voice softened. He took a tentative step forward. "It's all right. You can trust me—"
"I said, stay back!" Lucien roared, freezing him in place.
'Trust him?'
What a joke.
How could he trust someone who was fated to kill him?!
He turned to flee—only for darkness to crash over him, drowning out Tristan's frantic shouts.