About five hours later, he woke up inside a "room" he didn't recognize. The smell was the same as in the carriage, and he saw something that looked like a candle burning. That must be the so-called holy firewood incense. His mind was surprisingly calm — and that was the reason.
He felt that without such a thing, he would have surely gone insane. Now, even though the past events were engraved deep within his soul, they were more tolerable. He had accepted his situation.
But that didn't mean his mental state was stable.
Still, he had to keep going. If he stopped, he would fall into despair alone in this room.
So Dante inhaled deeply and took in his surroundings.
The room had a refined medieval style. The people who rescued him surely had a high position and/or a lot of money, which was great for someone like him, who had no clue about this world. There was a chair beside his bed, a table, and a chest at the edge of the room.
Now that he understood he was in a noble's residence, he had to figure out what kind of situation he was in.
Even though his mind was still a storm of emotions and dark thoughts, he couldn't stop here.
Because even after everything that happened, he felt a small pang of excitement.
Yes, he felt a great sense of loss. He had worked very hard in his previous world to achieve his goals. But in this world, he could become not only great — but a pillar in history.
It all depended on his posture.
The first moments were crucial.
That was what went through his mind as he reluctantly got up from the bed. He noticed that all his wounds had been healed and that his clothes had been changed. Relief washed over him.
Now it was time to understand who owned this place — and to find the nearest library.
If he lacked even basic knowledge about this world, he would surely become suspicious. He needed to understand its history and power balance before doing anything.
His body felt completely rested, which was almost unbelievable.
He walked toward the door and reluctantly opened it.
A massive hallway greeted him.
It was expected, considering this was a noble's mansion — but even so, the sheer size was overwhelming. If just the hallway was this grand, the entire estate must be enormous.
He didn't have time to overthink.
He was tired of being treated like trash by this world.
While walking aimlessly through the halls, he suddenly stumbled upon the white-haired man who had saved him from the beast.
The man was tall. Menacing. Refined.
After everything Dante had gone through, he was afraid of almost everything at this point. Even encountering his savior did not bring relief. If anything, the shaking in his legs grew worse.
The moment he saw the man, he instinctively lowered his head.
The man, who had been about to reach for his sword, immediately stopped upon seeing such a submissive gesture.
"Hey, young man," he said calmly. "Come with me. The young master wants to see you. First, what's your name?"
"M-My name is Dante… Yes, my name is Dante," he replied shakily. "May I ask, sir… what is yours?"
"You don't know?" the man replied, amused. "That's refreshing. My name is Orshelm. And… that's rather bold of you to ask, isn't it?"
Shivers ran down Dante's spine. He tried to steady his legs, to sound less pitiful — but he couldn't.
"I… I'm sorry, sir."
"Pathetic. Anyway, let's go. The young lord requested a meeting with you."
"Yes, sir…"
He followed Orshelm through the vast, elegant hallways, his mind racing and his heart trembling.
All the confidence he had felt moments earlier vanished.
This world was no joke.
The menacing old man. The monstrous beast. The gruesome death.
It was all too much.
But he had to suppress his fear. If he showed hostility or instability, he could die.
So he kept his head low and walked.
After a few minutes, they reached a large door.
Orshelm hesitated briefly before knocking.
"Young Lord, may we enter?"
After a few seconds, a faint voice answered from inside.
"Orshelm, did he wake up? You may enter."
Orshelm opened the door slowly.
Inside were shelves lining the walls, filled with books. A table stood in the center, covered with paperwork and a pen.
Seated behind it was a young man — perhaps in his early twenties. He had short brown hair, a slim build, and wore an elegant outfit. A grin rested on his face as his hands supported his chin.
He looked Dante up and down with amusement.
"Orshelm, is he calmer already? What's his name?"
"His name is Dante, and yes, he is calmer. It seems the holy firewood incense worked well."
"I see…"
The young man shifted his gaze to Dante.
"I am Trevor Vermont the Third, son of Viscount Trevor Vermont the Second. Let me ask you — where are you from, and what were you doing in the middle of the Genova Forest?"
Dante's blood ran cold.
He expected the question, but hearing it felt like a punch to the face. He had no prepared answer. If he lied poorly, he could make things worse.
So he chose neither to lie — nor to tell the truth.
"I… I have amnesia. I don't remember where I'm from or how I got there."
It was the best he could come up with in that short moment — something that wouldn't be overly suspicious.
I just need to survive this conversation, he thought.
Once I settle in, I can make a plan. If I keep panicking, I'll die and waste this second chance.
This is terrifying… but I can overcome it.
Because if I'm here…
I must be the Chosen One.