The next thing I knew was agony shooting through my body as my eyes snapped open. A black-robed figure was moving away from me, pulling a dagger out of my chest. I let out a noise, which seemed to spook the man when he heard me. An inkling of fear flickered in his dark eyes until a sword punched through his chest from behind.
Blood splattered across my face. Panic rooted me to the spot, then I saw them. Before I could react, someone crashed into the four remaining assassins. My gaze landed on the newcomer: an older man in leather armour. A silver blade flashed in his hand, and in a single stroke, he cut down the next assassin who tried to attack.
I coughed, the sound drawing his attention as the other three circled us. He turned sharply, a concerned expression crossing his face. ''My prince! Leave these fools to me. I'll get you to the healer!''
Seconds later, I heard steel scream through the air as another strike against me was blocked. I noticed the stranger moving with terrifying speed. No one I've ever met could compare to him. He was a blur of dark, silver, and death. I tried to follow, but he was too fast. My saviour didn't stop, driving forward like a predator.
I can't move. Can I even survive this?
He pivoted, and the sword tore through another assassin's chest, sending the enemy spinning into the wall with a sickening crack. The last one tried to lunge at me. But the man stepped in the way with a single sweep, sending the attacker skidding back, limbs flailing, until he hit the floor with a thud.
Somewhere in the distance, a scream echoed out. My body burned, and each breath was like needles piercing my lungs. I wanted to speak, to call for help, but the sound was a gurgle, swallowed by the storm of violence around me. Someone grabbed me then, lifting me by my upper half.
The older man's grip was steady, and I felt myself being dragged backwards. I tried to move, but my limbs refused to respond; they felt heavy as stone, and my vision wavered. I could see him fighting through a tide of more black-robed figures that appeared. He dropped me to duck under a swinging blade and drove his sword straight through an assassin's chest.
The Enemy collapsed without a sound, before my savour spun again, meeting another mid-charge with a single strike. The edges of my vision were darkening now. His voice called out, distant and quiet. ''Prince Arthur! Hold on! You'll live!''
I tried to respond, to reassure him, to tell him I was fine, but the words died before they left my throat. Pain lanced through me, sharper this time, and I felt my consciousness slipping, unravelling like a candle in the wind. The sound of metal meeting flesh echoed one final time, the wet, sickening snap of a life ending.
My saviour had finished the fight. Silence followed, heavy and thick, punctuated only by my ragged coughs. I felt him lower me carefully to the ground, the warmth of his hands fading even as my own body gave way. Then the darkness claimed me once again. Not this shit again!
The last thing I saw was a determined face leaning over me. After that, I finally came too, and was in pain once again, but it wasn't as bad as when I first woke up. This time, it was dull, allowing me to process everything. I was transmigrated into a lazy, fat prince's body in the middle of an assassination attempt.
All I knew was that he was hated by his family thanks to his spoiled behaviour. Damn, I need to do something about this, I thought with an internal sigh.
I was about to open my eyes, but stopped when I heard people talking, prompting me to focus on these voices. ''My lord!'' the woman's voice rang out sharply. ''The king dispatched me to safeguard the Third Prince; being a daughter of House Rothsvayne changes nothing; my duty remains unchanged. We Rothsvayne are, and always have been, unwavering in our loyalty to the crown!''
''I already know this, Lady Selene,'' an older man's voice replied, frustrated. ''But you've only brought twenty men, how can you make sure the prince is safe? I barely saved him from those scum.''
''You have one hundred Legionnaires after the attack,'' she responded. ''Between them and my soldiers, he'll be safe from any more attempts until the king summons him back to Varanthal.''
''I guess I can work with those numbers. The healers made sure he wasn't going to die, but he'll be weak for some time. We'll have to stay here in Riverrun. We can secure the inn and make sure he's resting.''
''I had the Lion's Guard surround the building,'' the noble woman commented. ''Now, can we go in and see the prince, Garrick?''
''No, let him rest,'' I heard the older man say.
'So my saviour is named Garrick?' I thought after eavesdropping on their conversation.
I began searching the memories the gods gave me, only to wince when I figured out who he was. An Eighth Circle veteran of many wars, he has faithfully served the kingdom for decades, only to be rewarded with babysitting a brat who treated him badly. I couldn't help but cringe at the old prince's behaviour, vowing never to be like him.
Afterwards, I racked my brain trying to remember who she was, but the prince's lazy, wine-soaked recollections were worse than useless. Only after some effort did the information come to the surface: House Rothvayne, one of Verona's four great houses, ruled by Duke John Rothvayne, who controlled the wealthy eastern Duchy on behalf of my new father, the king.
Remembering this, I was amazed at the world I had somehow found myself in. The other great families of Verona were the Veyras, who controlled the Duchy of Veyra in the north. In the south was the Duchy of Dunthera, and the Duchy of Ravenscourt in the western part of the kingdom.
Lastly, there was the Central part of Verona, controlled exclusively by the king. Damn lazy idiot didn't bother to learn even with the opportunities you were given, I grumbled, not wanting to catch Garrick's or Selene's attention.
I wasn't ready to face them, knowing the rumours were spreading across the kingdom about me, making me feel like I was living in a nightmare. I needed to change before someone successfully killed me, and I needed to meditate like White suggested to see what all this magic was about.
Following that, I relaxed until the voices died down, and I was going to open my eyes when I heard the door open minutes later. I stopped myself as silence overtook the room. I could hear my own heartbeat, making me nervous. Seconds later, a grunt echoed out before the door closed, leaving me on my own.
Thank the gods, I need some time to myself.
I shook my head and felt a horrible headache slam into my skull as my eyes opened. All I saw was an orange light illuminating the room, thanks to the nearby fireplace. The hot air washed over my body, sending a shiver down my spine. I calmed down and looked at the ceiling. It was made from wood that glowed with a dark tinge, confusing me.
''What the hell?'' I muttered.
I tried to sit up, but my body would only cooperate enough to let me brace myself on one trembling elbow. Blinking against the soft light, I slowly took in the room around me. Crisp white sheets covered my body. A solidly made bed kept me comf—thele—the faint smell of woodsmoke, waxed floorboards, and yesterday's stew.
It was a good inn, better than most in these parts. A border-town tavern in the far western reaches of the Verona Kingdom, if the old prince's memories could be trusted. The kind of place merchants and sellswords passed through on their way to or from the border. There was a table in one corner, opposite the room from the bed.
I noticed there were two doors, one leading to the hallway outside and the other, I guess, would take me to the bathroom. I was surprised as the place reminded me of something from the medieval books I read back in school. ''Looks like I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto,'' I muttered, surprised that I actually transmigrated.
Just then, I glanced at the nearby window by me that looked out over a massive stone wall. That's when I saw soldiers patrolling the ramparts, clad in dark blue armour trimmed with red. Swords hung sheathed at their left sides, and round shields were gripped firmly in their hands.
Their expressions were serious, but beyond them stretched rolling plains that looked as if they had been lifted straight from a fantasy book. Even bathed in moonlight, the scene was breathtaking, and the soldiers themselves carried a quiet, stark beauty. I was amazed, but then the loneliness crept back in, just like it did at the camp.
When I remembered that, I winced at the pain I felt, only for it to vanish as a smile crept onto my face. ''All I had was Anna and a few friends back on Earth,'' I muttered. ''Now's my chance for a new life. I need to work for it.''
I forced myself upright again, gritting my teeth as fresh pain clawed through my chest and ribs. This time, I didn't let it stop me. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and froze. They were massive. Thick, heavy slabs of flesh, pale and dimpled, spilling over the sides of the mattress like rising dough.
The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. These weren't my legs. They were the lazy princes, looking exactly like what years of gluttony and zero effort would produce. I swallowed the wave of disgust and slid off the bed. My feet hit the wooden floor with a thud that sent a jolt up my spine.
Standing felt wrong; my centre of gravity was all off, my thighs rubbing together. I shuffled toward the mirror hanging on the far wall, one careful step at a time, arms out for balance like I was walking a tightrope. When I finally reached it, I didn't want to look. But I had to. Staring back at me was a stranger, a bloated face that made my stomach twist even harder.
The bandage covering my forehead was covered. My cheeks were round and flushed, puffed out like they'd been stuffed with too much food for too long, framing a double chin that sagged heavily under a weak jawline. My body was a mound of fat, the gut protruding far enough to obscure my feet if I glanced down.
It was the kind of obesity born from indulgence, not illness, every inch screaming neglect and laziness. I poked at my side experimentally, feeling the soft give, and nearly gagged. This was me now? Walking proof of royal excess? But then my eyes locked on the hair. It fell past my shoulders in a straight, silken fall, as white as fresh snow under moonlight, pure, unblemished, almost glowing in the firelight.
I love the hair, though, I thought. Better to start working out as soon as possible.
Not a hint of grey or age; it was like something out of a myth or an anime. I reached up and tugged a strand, half-expecting it to shimmer or vanish, but it was real, soft, and cool against my fingers. And the eyes... God, the eyes. They were the brightest blue I'd ever seen, piercing and vivid, like twin sapphires lit from within.
They cut through the dim room, holding a depth that didn't match the rest of this sorry form. Staring into them, I felt a spark of something, potential, maybe? Or just the remnants of whatever royal bloodline had gifted this body its few redeeming features. They weren't my old, dull brown ones; these demanded attention, promised power if I could ever wield it.
I leaned closer, breath fogging the glass, tracing the unfamiliar features with my gaze. ''What the hell have I gotten into?'' I whispered, my voice hoarse and foreign in my ears.