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A decorated Air Force pilot, 34 years old, meets an untimely demise—only to awaken in a war-torn fantasy medieval world. Now inhabiting the body of Mechal, the second son of a baron, he finds himself recovering from a near-fatal injury orchestrated by his own elder brother. But while the old Mechal might have been consumed by reckless fury, the new Mechal is different—calculating, patient, and ready to play the long game. When a rebellion unexpectedly shakes the kingdom, Mechal seizes the opportunity to carve his place in history. With a sharp mind, battlefield tactics, and an understanding of human nature, he navigates the treacherous world of nobility, rising from an overlooked second son to a powerful force. Through cunning strategy and ruthless ambition, he secures victories, earns a title, and claims land of his own—laying the foundation for a rule unlike any other. But the world of nobility is a den of vipers. Political intrigue, backstabbing aristocrats, kingdom-wide conflicts, and the ever-present shadow of war loom over him. As he builds his domain, he must outmaneuver rivals, forge alliances, and solidify his power—because in this world, only the strong survive. Inspired by the noble struggles of the Holy Roman Empire, this story weaves war, politics, trade, and ambition into a gripping tale of power and strategy. Watch as an upstart reshapes the fate of a kingdom, one calculated move at a time.
A hooded old man stood silently, gazing at the altar before him. The flickering candlelight illuminated the stone surface.
Disheveled black hair swayed in his vision as he moved closer. Beside him, a white-bearded elderly man, his only friend and collaborator in this grim endeavor, exhaled anxiously.
"This ritual offers no guarantees," the white-bearded man said, his voice trembling. "The child's soul may not return whole. An external force might seize him instead."
The man in the black hood gave no reply. He continued to approach the altar, determination etched into his every step. The ritual commenced with deliberate precision. He drew the required sigils and chanted the prescribed incantations, his voice imbued with desperate hope.
His dark eyes mirrored the flickering candlelight, full of yearning. The sigils etched upon the altar began to radiate, their intricate patterns spreading outward. Shadows seemed to deepen, and darkness coiled ominously around the markings.
Beneath the altar, the air stirred as waves of energy pulsed outward, their intensity growing until the vibrations echoed through the void. The atmosphere grew dense with foreboding, and the white-bearded man's unease became palpable.
It was too late to turn back.
Raising both hands high, the man in the black hood shouted with fervor, "Awaken!"
...
The young man stood before a mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. His jet-black hair and red eyes framed a youthful face that appeared to belong to someone in their late teens. It bore similarities to his former self, yet it was undeniably different.
He knew he had to adapt, but each glance in the mirror left him uneasy. Determined to focus, he slapped his cheeks with both hands, the sound echoing in the room. He needed clarity.
The world he found himself in was anything but ordinary. Magic, knights, divine powers, dragons, and monstrous creatures abounded—phenomena he had only encountered in fantasy novels. While life superficially resembled the Middle Ages, its essence was entirely alien.
The civilized society where he, as an orphan, had once lived relatively peacefully, was no more. His priority now was survival. The very thought of being discovered made him shudder.
This world, steeped in religious fervor and belief in demons, allowed no room for deviation. A single misstep could cost him his life. If anyone uncovered the truth—that he was not of this world—there would be but one outcome.
Execution by fire.
To avoid such a fate, he resolved to mimic the habits of his current identity while holding tightly to the memories of who he truly was. He steeled himself once more, determined to leave the past buried and focus on the present.
His mind drifted back to the moment he first awakened in this unfamiliar body. Days ago, he had opened his eyes to find his head bloodied, his limbs contorted unnaturally.
The excruciating pain had jolted a memory to the surface—his aircraft had crashed. He had been performing aerial maneuvers during an airshow when a mechanical failure caused the engine to fail.
As the plane plummeted, he instinctively reached for the ejection button but hesitated, picturing the packed spectator stands. The hesitation was brief. He had no family to mourn him; as an orphan, there was no one to grieve his loss. Accepting his fate, he gripped the controls and aimed for an unpopulated area, ensuring the safety of others.
He remembered the final moments vividly: the gray runway growing larger in his tear-filled eyes, the cacophony of alarms, and the undeniable knowledge that he wouldn't survive.
Yet here he was. Alive. Somehow.
His crash had been catastrophic—survival should have been impossible. But instead of dying, he had awakened in this body, with a world of questions and no answers.
The people who had rushed to him upon his awakening wore strange clothing and had hair and eyes in colors that defied natural explanation. The ceiling above him was adorned with a lavish tapestry. He wasn't in a hospital.
The conclusion was undeniable.
He, a 34-year-old Air Force pilot from The U.S, had somehow been transported to another world and reborn in another body.
The enormity of it all had overwhelmed him. He had fainted, consciousness fading as unfamiliar memories began to seep into his mind.
Were they the memories of this body's former owner? That seemed to be the case. At the very least, it offered some solace.
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