- 9 章コンテンツ
- レビュー結果
- N/A応援
Asher Singh, a passionate history student, meets a sudden death and awakens in 18th-century Punjab as Kunwar Singh, the unknown tenth son of Maharaja Ranjit Singh. Armed with modern knowledge and driven by the desire to prevent India’s decline, Asher must navigate the treacherous world of royal politics and war. Determined to rewrite history, he faces the challenges of power, betrayal, and the heavy cost of changing the past. Will he secure the future he envisions, or will his actions alter history in unexpected ways
"Throughout history, we have witnessed the rise and prosperity of 'Bharat' [Present Day India]. But when we look at our surroundings today, that growth and glory seem lost! What were the reasons behind the downfall of ? This will be your assignment, and it counts for 30% of your grade. Do your research well, and if you have any doubts, you know where to find me," Dr. Navdeep concluded his lecture, his voice echoing through the old, grand lecture hall.
Asher leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his slightly tousled black hair. He wore a simple white shirt, slightly crumpled from his habit of sitting hunched over old books. His eyes, always sharp and observant behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, were fixed on the ceiling. "Our ancestors were morons! If I were there, I wouldn't have let this happen."
Meena, sitting beside him, crossed her arms and shot him a sharp look. She wore a casual yet stylish blue kurti with delicate embroidery, her long hair tied back in a neat braid. "My foot! You wouldn't have survived a single day back then!" She smirked. "Anyway, it's a crucial assignment, so… 'Mr. Historian,' do you mind helping me out?"
Asher shrugged. "I've done most of this research in my spare time for fun. You can use that. I'll come up with another angle for my assignment."
Meena's eyes lit up. "You know everything about history—you can do it anytime. So why don't you come with me to Simran's party tonight?"
Asher hesitated. "I'm not really into parties… But I'll think about it."
"Great! Meet me at 8 at the front gate," Meena said with a smile.
Asher returned to his dorm room, which was a small but meticulously organized space. The door bore a spray-painted insult—Store of History—courtesy of the campus bullies, but Asher had long grown used to such mockery. Inside, his room was a treasure trove for history enthusiasts. The walls were plastered with notes and maps, old parchment pages were tacked to a corkboard, and stacks of books, some centuries old, cluttered every available surface. A large world map with Asher's annotations and markings hung above his desk, showing his obsession with tracing the rise and fall of empires.
At 8 PM, Asher snuck out of his room, checking carefully to ensure no one saw him. The campus of GNDU, with its tall, historic buildings and lush green lawns, was quiet at this hour. He made his way to the front gate, where Meena was waiting, leaning against the brick pillar. They exchanged greetings and began walking toward Simran's house, just two kilometres from the university.
"So, History Guy, what do you do besides spying on dead people?" Meena teased, nudging him playfully.
Asher chuckled. "You don't seem to like history. Why did you decide to study it?"
Meena shrugged, her expression softening. "I had to pick an extra subject, and history seemed easy at first… But now I'm not so sure."
"History isn't that bad," Asher said with a reassuring smile. "You just need the right companion to study it with."
They shared a brief, knowing smile, but their lighthearted conversation was abruptly interrupted when a truck barreled toward them at high speed. Without a second thought, Asher pushed Meena out of the way, only to be struck himself. As he lay on the cold ground, his vision fading, his thoughts were not of pain but of regret.
"No! My research, all that I worked so hard on, will now never be published…" he thought as darkness claimed him.
When Asher opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar body, surrounded by an ancient-looking room filled with old, wooden furniture, stone walls, and a faint smell of incense. The architecture was unlike anything he had seen before—rustic, regal, and undoubtedly belonging to a bygone era.
On the side of his bed, a woman knelt gracefully, her hands resting on her lap, dressed in a traditional Punjabi attire—a simple red and gold lehenga, adorned with modest jewelry and a faint veil covering her head. She looked up at him with eyes full of respect and duty. "Anything you need, ?"
Asher's mind raced. He blinked rapidly, trying to piece together the surreal scene before him. The room was a lavish chamber, its walls decorated with intricate paintings and tapestries depicting epic battles and royal processions. A grand canopy bed draped in rich silks dominated the room, and ornate furniture with exquisite carvings was arranged neatly. Everything about the place screamed royalty, opulence, and an era long gone.
Being a history enthusiast, Asher felt an indescribable surge of joy. "This is real! I'm in history itself!" His heart pounded with excitement, and he almost danced with glee in his mind. Quickly assessing the situation, he thought, "This must be transmigration! I've read about this in countless stories, but to experience it..."
His thoughts soared as he realized the magnitude of the opportunity before him. "I'm not just living history; I'm part of it. I can change it." Determined to alter the course of events and prevent India's fall, Asher made a silent vow to himself: "This time, I won't let 'The Golden Bird' be plundered. I will change history."
He cleared his throat, adopting a more authoritative tone. "!" he called to the woman.
"Yes, Hazur," she responded immediately, her voice soft but attentive.
"What is my name?" he asked, his mind whirling with possibilities.
"Your name is Kunwar Singh, the tenth offspring of Maharaja Ranjit Singh," she answered, bowing slightly as she spoke.
Asher's eyes widened in disbelief. "This can't be! Maharaja Ranjit Singh only had nine children."
Asher's mind reeled. He knew Maharaja Ranjit Singh's legacy well—the Lion of Punjab, a ruler whose reign marked a golden period in Indian history. But this revelation shook him. Kunwar Singh? The tenth son? How is this possible? If this information was unknown even to history, then he was living in a version of reality that had never been recorded. It meant that his actions here could shape a narrative never written.
In that moment, Asher's excitement grew tenfold. Not only was he living his passion, but he had a unique, hidden power: knowledge of the future. He clenched his fist, feeling the weight and potential of his newfound identity. The possibilities were endless, and Asher was ready to wield them.
