A Painful Awakening

His head throbbed as if it were splitting apart.

But more agonizing than that was the immense pain in his abdomen. Electro gritted his teeth to hold back a vulgar curse that threatened to escape, then bowed his head and curled his body to endure the pain.

Why the hell does my stomach hurt this much?

Gripping his abdomen as though his intestines were tearing, he stifled a groan. Fortunately, the searing pain that had nearly stolen his soul slowly subsided.

And then, he felt a surge of vitality course through his usually languid body. No more shortness of breath at the slightest movement, no more sagging flesh from age. The milky fog that had clouded his vision also vanished.

“Where am I…?”

Electro noticed that his own voice sounded strangely young and deeper than usual.

Through bleary eyes, he spotted a worn ceiling. He was the Emperor of the Great Empire, the Empress’s firstborn, and since his very first cry, he had never once lain in such a decrepit place.

His head split with pain again. As he raised a hand to his head, the dissonance grew stronger. Rough hands. Hands with prominent veins, far from delicate or beautiful. But at least they weren’t dry, wrinkled hands.

They were familiar hands. Similar to those of the men who had grasped swords to protect him—hands that were never permitted to touch him.

“…”

Before he knew it, he was stroking his face, lost in thought, when the wooden door burst open and a woman who seemed to be a maid entered. She saw Electro and gasped, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Merwell!”

“…”

“Good heavens, you’re awake?”

She grabbed his hand—a hand no one in the Empire dared touch—and shook it vigorously, laughing brightly. Her chatter reminded him of a granddaughter, which he didn’t mind, but he couldn’t just let it slide. Electro opened his mouth to speak as he pulled his hand free.

“Who are you?”

At his question, she tilted her head slightly, staring at him in surprise.

“Merwell?”

“Where is this?”

“Are you still sick? You should lie down a bit more.”

She seemed ready to push him back onto the grimy bed, but Electro didn’t yield to her touch. He tried to move away from her—or so he thought.

His entire body was weak and drained, as if he’d been tortured for days. Thanks to that, the seemingly frail woman easily dragged him back to the bed, and he collapsed onto it.

“Rest a little more. I’ll go fetch someone.”

He muttered that it wasn’t necessary, but unfortunately, she didn’t hear him.

Even on the dirty, shabby bed, as he laid his head down, his vision dimmed. He wondered how he could possibly fall asleep when everything had been turned upside down, but sleep claimed him, and he didn’t open his eyes again that day.

Electro—or rather, the man who should now be called Merwell—stared out at the blizzard with a gloomy look and sighed.

If there were a god, he felt like he could hurl scathing criticism at whatever kind of mind would make such a mistake. To live out his full lifespan, die, and then wake up as a knight guarding the dog he had raised—did that make any sense?

Even he thought he was going crazy; who would believe such a tale? It would be a relief if he wasn’t treated as a madman.

Ten days had already passed since he entered this body. In that time, Electro had gathered several facts—not many, but not few either.

First: Merwell Humanjack was a commoner and an orphan. However, his swordsmanship wasn’t particularly good, so he was subtly ostracized among the knights. Though they were men as big as bulls, their hearts were as narrow and petty as could be.

Second: The original owner of this stupid body, Merwell Humanjack, was a quite kind and gentle fellow. Even when despised and bullied by the other knights, he thought, ‘I’m lucky to have joined the Grand Duke’s knight order,’ feeling deeply grateful for such treatment. And Merwell had eaten two bowls of soup poisoned by a cook’s mistake, fallen ill, and barely opened his eyes after two weeks.

Third: The Grand Ducal territory was located in the northernmost part of the continent, the coldest region of the Empire. The grand ducal castle was situated atop a snow-covered mountain.

This place was a territory personally bestowed by Emperor Electro to his loyal hound, Berlowen. Actually, he’d given him this symbolic property on a high mountain after the subjects raised a fuss about giving a castle to a traitor’s son. But why that bastard chose to hole up here, even he didn’t know.

The woman he’d met when he first opened his eyes was named Chelen, a pretty high-class name. She was originally a baron’s daughter, but her family had been wiped out, and Bain had taken her in, so she worked as a servant.

Merwell, despite not fully understanding the situation, maintained a cool head and listened intently to Chelen. She was one of the few people in this castle who was kind to him. Plus, she was the one who had served him those two bowls of poisoned soup, cheering him on. He had wondered if she’d tried to kill him, but he didn’t sense any such intention.

Electro, who had stood at the very top of the imperial palace where invisible knives were swung and words alone could kill, was quite adept at reading people’s hearts.

From his conversation with Chelen, he learned that Merwell was two years younger than her. She was twenty-four, which meant he was now in a twenty-two-year-old’s body—a fresh-faced brat.

Electro was shocked, but he kept his words minimal to avoid giving anything away. To go from a body that had lived long enough to reach its natural lifespan down to a twenty-two-year-old—there was no rejuvenation quite like this.

“Are you slacking off and hiding in a place like this again? You have no shame.”

Merwell turned his head at the familiar voice. A red-haired, fierce-looking man stood there, sneering. His name was, adorably, Eddie Brown.

When Merwell first heard his name, he thought for a moment, then turned his head and let out a small laugh. That made Eddie, whose face flushed the color of his hair, curse and throw a fit. Eddie, who already disliked Merwell, saw his anger skyrocket.

Like Chelen, he was the son of a declining family with no wealth, but his skill with the sword was considerable, allowing him to join the Grand Duke’s knight order. He favored dual swords over single ones, and it was rare in the Empire to use swords with both hands.

Since his skills were outstanding, he strongly disliked Merwell, who had slipped into the knight order by chance. But the original Merwell’s memories indicated that Eddie didn’t bully him openly. So why was he acting like a wild horse now?

A bright smile bloomed on Merwell’s face, which was relatively softer and more refined than the other men’s. Eddie instinctively stepped back.

“So, my cute Eddie, do you have a cigarette?”

“…”

“Hmph, this brat doesn’t answer when an adult speaks.”

Clicking his tongue, Merwell then wore a look of realization.

Though he felt like these twenty-somethings were like his grandchildren, he was now in a twenty-two-year-old body. And Eddie was twenty-nine. At least seven years older than Merwell.

As Eddie looked like his soul was about to leave his body in disbelief, Merwell reached up and pushed Eddie’s hanging jaw shut. Eddie should be grateful, because his jaw had been about to fall off.

Electro had been the supreme emperor, a godlike being who once enjoyed the glory of the great empire. And now he was personally closing Eddie’s jaw to prevent it from dropping.

Of course, now he was also being bullied by these damn brats.

Since necessities were hard to come by on a snowy high mountain, Merwell put a cigarette—barely obtained from Chelen after much pleading—into his mouth and carefully lit it.

“…Did the poisoned soup drive you mad? You sound just like my grandpa…”

After taking two puffs, Merwell tapped off the ash, tears leaking from his eyes, and gently stubbed out the burning end. Then he wrapped the leftover cigarette in a white cloth and put it back in his pocket.

Here, cigarettes were as hard to find as stars in the sky, so he had to conserve them like this. If the former Emperor Electro had seen himself now, he’d have rolled on the floor laughing.

“What are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I save it? Whoever built this damned castle put it on such a high mountain that it’s hard to get cigarettes… Ugh.”

Merwell clicked his tongue, remembering that he was the one who had bestowed this miserable dog of a castle upon him. He shouldn’t have cared if his subjects yapped or barked; he should have built it on a green plain.

Who would have thought that, despite having a mansion in the capital as huge as the imperial palace, he’d end up holed up in a place like this, living so miserably?

“By the way, why don’t we see even a glimpse of… the Grand Duke?”

“…”

Eddie stared at Merwell with a fed-up look. Clearly, the poisoned soup had addled his brain. The old Merwell would have laughed awkwardly, looked apologetic, or cowered when Eddie got a little angry. But now he held his head high, clicked his tongue, and reminded Eddie of his grandfather at home—the one who sat in a rocking chair, coughing, yet never let go of his cigarette.

Merwell raised a hand and waved at Eddie, who was staring down at him.

“What will you do, young brat, if you lose your mind like that?”

He then gestured with his chin, as if telling Eddie to lead the way. Having lost his wits, Eddie couldn’t grasp his intention and got another scolding from Merwell.

“What are you doing? Lead the way. I don’t know where the training ground is.”

“Man, this guy…”

If it had been the usual Merwell, Eddie would have yelled at him, but feeling somehow overwhelmed by his aura, he hesitated. Then, he mumbled in a voice too small for his large frame and led the way.

Electro, who had stood at the peak of aristocrats as cunning as a hundred serpents, actually liked this straightforward, hot-blooded young man.

This was how young ones should be—adorable.

Smiling warmly as if looking at a grandson, Merwell followed behind Eddie, who kept muttering, “This isn’t right. No, why am I…”