The thick scent of herbal smoke danced in the air, curling past cobwebbed stone and woven tapestries. Elric groaned.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him wasn't plaster or concrete. It was old wood, raw and uneven, beams held together with straw and ancient craftsmanship. Birds chirped outside. Sowhere nearby, water dripped slowly—rhythmically—like a leaking pipe. But he knew this wasn't a hospital.
His hands moved first, sluggish and foreign. Smaller. Softer. Slimr?
He jolted upright.
"Agh!" A shock ran down his spine as pain burst from his shoulder. His vision swam, but he steadied his breathing.
"Four ribs, cracked. Dislocated left shoulder—already set. Mild dehydration. Whoever treated ... wasn't a complete idiot," he muttered.
Then he looked down at himself.
The hands weren't just slim—they were not his. This body was young. Barely adult. A mirror on the wall showed a pale-skinned boy with sharp green eyes and black hair tousled like a crow's nest. His chest bore faint scars and an odd birthmark near the heart. Familiar, sohow.
"Not my body," he whispered. "Reincarnation?"
He'd read enough isekai manhwa during night shifts to recognize the signs.
A sharp knock at the wooden door startled him.
"Prince Elric!" A young girl's voice called. "You mustn't move so soon! The physician said—"
Prince?
The door burst open, and a maid no older than twelve rushed in with a tray of steaming herbs. Her eyes were red from crying.
"You're awake!" she cried, nearly dropping the tray. "By the gods—you're alive!"
Elric blinked. He wasn't just reborn—he was royalty?
The maid fell to her knees beside him. "We thought you were cursed! That you wouldn't survive the fall. The physicians said your brain was... broken." Her eyes lit up with hope. "But you rember who I am, don't you, Prince Elric?"
He hesitated. This was dangerous.
"I hit my head," he said carefully. "Things are... foggy."
Her face fell, but she nodded. "You're safe now. This is your family's countryside villa. You've been asleep for two weeks."
He noted every word. Two weeks. Brain injury. A fall. A prince, isolated in the countryside.
A perfect cover.
"Good," he said, sitting back with a wince. "Then we'll start small. What's your na?"
She sniffled. "It's Lira, Your Highness. I'm your personal maid. I've served you since you were a baby."
"Then, Lira," he said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, "I'm lucky to have you. Can you tell ... where exactly am I? And what year is it?"
Lira's face scrunched. "You're in the province of Calesh, under House Varentia. It's the 734th year of the Sol Calendar. Don't you rember?"
Elric gave her a tired smile.
"I rember enough."
As Lira fetched his al, Elric leaned back.
A new body. A new world. dieval, judging by the architecture and tiline. Likely pre-industrial, judging by the herbs and lack of machines.
And magic? Perhaps. But more importantly—
He was a prince with access to influence and resources.
And he had a head full of modern dicine.
Elric's lips curled into a grin.
"Let's bring science to the dark ages."
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