Michael, now lying still in his bed, continued to feign unconsciousness to avoid the prying eyes of those around him. He needed ti. Sorting through the rging mories of his current self and the original owner of his body, he slowly ca to terms with his new identity as Michael, a boy living in this unfamiliar world.
It was no dream. It couldn't be. Michael—forrly a man nad Jon in another life—quickly pulled himself together. In his previous life, he had been an orphan, with no family or close relatives except the orphanage director who had given him the surna Hardy and the na Jon.
By now, the insurance payout from his supposed death must have reached the director. Jon hoped it would be used to improve the orphanage facilities.
Perhaps it was his na—"Jon," aning "the present"—or perhaps it was his lack of lingering attachnts to his forr life that made it relatively easy to accept his new existence. The mories of the body's previous owner began to surface, feeling as though they were his own.
It was a strange experience—gaining mories, habits, and even behaviors that weren't truly his. Michael's original owner had been a timid and calculating individual, quite the opposite of Jon, who was known for his upright, fair, and occasionally tactless personality. The combination of the two was creating a peculiar mix, though Michael himself was unaware of the changes taking shape within him.
"By the na of light, délĭfer!"
A warm glow touched Michael's forehead, soothing his body and easing his discomfort.
"How much longer will Michael remain asleep like this, Sir Hope?" a woman with her brown hair tied up asked anxiously. Her hands clutched her apron tightly, as though wringing out her worries.
Hope, the healer, gave a slight shake of his head. "His body has already awakened its aura. He should regain full consciousness soon. Most of his injuries have healed, but he did hit his head when he fell from the wall…"
"What does that an?" the woman pressed, her voice tinged with desperation.
"The mind is the domain of the gods," Hope explained with a weary sigh. "There's no telling how the aftermath will manifest."
Listening quietly with his eyes closed, Michael felt a sense of relief. If his behavior seed unusual after he woke up, it might be excused as part of his condition.
"Could he stay like this forever, never waking?" the woman asked fearfully.
"That's unlikely. However, he'll need a stable environnt for his recovery. He might have partial mory loss, but most of it should return over ti," Hope reassured her.
The woman glanced toward the imposing figure of a silent, broad-shouldered older man standing nearby. He remained grim, his expression unwavering. Turning back to Hope, she asked again, "So, we just wait and watch over him?"
Hope nodded. "His vital signs are stable now. Don't be overly anxious. When he wakes, start with porridge, then give him the most nutritious food he can handle."
Hope stroked his beard thoughtfully and turned to the towering man. "Alfred, ease that frown of yours. Lincoln will face the consequences of his actions. The lord has already decided to send him on a beast subjugation mission. After so suffering, maybe that rotten mindset of his will improve."
However, Alfred's expression remained unchanged. Seeing no further response, Hope coughed awkwardly and began to leave. "Well then, Clara, I'll take my leave."
Clara, the woman, attempted to slip a pouch into Hope's hand, but he firmly declined. Though healing magic was expensive, Hope had treated Michael for free for several days now, despite being the only healer in the barony.
"Ha! If you're that insistent, treat to so of your stew later. Not now, though—wait until Michael is fully recovered," Hope said with a chuckle as he left.
Clara, still flustered, saw him off and returned to the room. She glanced at Alfred, whose massive fists were clenched tightly, as if barely containing his anger. She spoke cautiously.
"Father, this is too cruel for Michael. The beasts in the neighboring territory are hardly a threat, and besides, that's Lincoln's maternal family's land. After what Lincoln did to Michael, this punishnt feels far too lenient. Shouldn't we protest to the lord?"
Outside the bedroom, Michael strained to listen to their conversation. Any information he could gather was valuable.
"Leave it to . Don't concern yourself with this matter," Alfred replied in a deep, commanding voice.
Michael rembered seeing Alfred when he first regained consciousness—a giant of a man over two ters tall, clad in a black tunic. He looked like a bear, with a massive fra and muscular build that seed capable of lifting a human head with one hand. His black eyes and hair were the only features that tied him to Michael, whose delicate face bore little resemblance to the imposing elder.
"...I understand, Father," Clara finally said, her voice wavering with resignation.
Michael, still under the effects of the healing magic, succumbed to the drowsiness creeping over him. He needed rest to recover, and soon, sleep claid him.
anwhile, in the barony of Gregory Crassus, within the castle walls, Baron Gregory Crassus sat in his study, fingers interlaced, deep in thought. How should he resolve this situation?
He was concerned—deeply so. He knew well the strength and persistence of the individual he was dealing with. Resolving this matter quickly was imperative.
The baron sighed heavily, his gaze falling on his eldest son, who stood before him. With his faded blond hair and blue eyes, the young man bore a resemblance to his mother. His thin lips were pressed into a firm line, exuding stubbornness and narrow-mindedness that only fueled the baron's irritation.
Patience. He needed to exercise patience. His eldest son was the child of his first wife and was connected to another baronial family through his maternal grandparents. That family provided consistent support, both financially and in concern for their grandson's well-being.
Despite his flaws, the eldest son was still the heir to the barony. Primogeniture was an unspoken law in the kingdom, and the baron had to uphold it.
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