Awakening

A searing pain shot through Edwin's head, dragging him out of unconsciousness. His breath hitched as he opened his eyes, greeted not by the familiar sights of the bustling modern world but by the coarse, flickering light of a dim oil lamp.

"Where… am I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

He pushed himself up from a simple wooden bed, his limbs weak, his body trembling. The room was small, its furnishings sparse—stone walls, a rickety desk cluttered with half-burnt candles, and a single window framing the dark night outside. His gaze fell on his hands—pale, thin, and calloused—not his hands.

Memories flooded in, both foreign and his own. Edwin Greystorm, a 24-year-old mechanical engineer, was dead. Or he should have been. Yet, here he was, inhabiting the body of a 16-year-old nobleman named Edwin Umbracrest, the third son of an unremarkable baron in a medieval world.

Before he could process the absurdity, a sudden pulse of energy coursed through his mind, and a calm, mechanical voice echoed in his thoughts:

**"System initialization complete. User detected. Welcome, inheritor of the Iron Sovereign Protocol."**

Edwin froze, his heart pounding. "What the hell…?"

**"Iron Sovereign Protocol operational. Advanced technology from the Zenith Era successfully transferred. Beginning data synchronization."**

Images and information began to flood his brain—schematics of towering mechanical constructs, plans for energy reactors, and weapon designs far beyond anything this primitive world could imagine. The Iron Sovereign Protocol was an artificial intelligence designed to preserve the knowledge and innovations of a lost civilization. Now, it was his to wield.

But before he could revel in his newfound advantage, the door to the room creaked open. A middle-aged man in simple but clean robes entered, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

"Edwin, you're finally awake. The healer said you'd overworked yourself again," the man said gruffly. "You can't keep hiding in this room while your brothers train and serve the barony. Your mother worries for you, even if your father has... less patience."

Edwin blinked, his new memories filling in the gaps. This was Marcus, the loyal steward of the Umbracrest household. The barony was small, struggling to maintain its status amidst debt and the predatory ambitions of neighboring lords. Edwin's role, as the overlooked third son, was negligible at best.

"I'm… fine, Marcus," Edwin said, forcing a weak smile. "I just need some time to recover."

Marcus grunted but nodded. "As you say, young master. But remember, you have duties. The world won't wait for you to find your strength."

As the steward left, Edwin stared at the door, his mind racing. The world wouldn't wait—Marcus was right. But with the Iron Sovereign Protocol, he wouldn't need to wait either.

The body he had inherited was weak, his family's position fragile. Yet, his mind now held the tools to change everything. To rise above his brothers, the barony, and even this entire medieval world.

But first, he would need to start small. His eyes flickered to the cluttered desk where scraps of parchment and broken tools lay. A plan began to form, and his lips curled into a determined grin.

The legacy of the Umbracrest family would begin anew—with him.

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