In an impoverished village within Eldwyn, two men sauntered toward a lifeless figure on the floor.
After poking him several times, they bent to his level and called out to him.
"Karl? Are you dead?"
"Heavens, he must be dead. I asked the locals around, and they said he hasn't moved an inch in the last fifteen days."
"I don't feel a heartbeat either. He's gone."
One of them rubbed his palms together and looked around the frozen ground for a moment before shaking his head.
"The ground's too hard to dig a grave. Let's throw him in the fire along with the trash tonight."
The buff man agreed, but just when they reached out to log him up, the lifeless man suddenly sat up.
Covered all over in thick mud, it was impossible to make out his features beneath the grime on his face.
However, his blue eyes darted frantically around his surroundings.
The next second, he pressed a hand to his chest, then raised it to his eyes.
Blinking twice, he felt his chest and raised it to his eyes.
Shocked at the sight of no blood, he scrambled to his feet and began stripping off his clothes in a hurry.
Realizing there wasn't even a scratch on him, Aeron Wylde, who had just transmigrated into the body of Karl Morrows, sat down again, dumbfounded.
He died.
He was certain of it.
The King… that bastard hadn't just stabbed him through the chest; he'd made sure to rip into his heart as well.
So how was he still alive?
Could it be…?
"Why am I here? Who healed me? Did the King put them up to it?" He blubbered and got to his feet again, tilting his head to the hill hundreds of thousands of miles away.
The words had barely left his mouth when the lankier of the two suddenly grabbed him by the neck.
"I told you not to bite off more than you could chew. Now listen to the crap you're spewing!
"You woke up at the right time. One second later, and you'd have been stuffed into the burning fire tonight!" The second man who was much buffer, sneered, throwing a playful jab to his ribs.
It was meant to be playful by the speed and momentum, so even though he was still confused, Aeron didn't try to wave it off.
But the moment it landed on him… his face slowly contorted at the nerve-racking pain which seared through his body.
Cough! Cough!
Keeling over, his hands flew up to cover his mouth as he coughed out his lungs.
When the coughing stopped, he pulled his hand away, his pupils dilated at the sight of crimson liquid smeared across his palm.
What was happening?
First, a playful jab felt like dying… now this?
This blood almost looked like he'd coughed out his insides.
There was no scar on his chest, so this couldn't be internal bleeding from the stab wound.
He was still trying to decipher what was going on when the two men inched toward him again.
"That's what happens when you refuse to eat but drink all the time. It surprises me you've not dropped yet."
"Well, whatever. Since you're alive, why don't we go drink at Dunk's tavern? I heard some noblemen would be coming later to gamble. The last time they came, we made quite a fortune. Who knows, today might be a good day too."
And just like that, they dragged him along.
The two men were suddenly preoccupied greeting several people as they made their way to the tavern to give him the time of day anymore, but this gave Aeron time to go admire his unscarred chest.
Waving his arms around, he narrowed his eyes.
Such lanky arms and legs…
Though he seemed a little taller than he remembered, his body frame was way smaller than it used to be.
Did whoever the King send to heal him before dumping him here do this?
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the moonlight glistened on a puddle of clear water that caught his eye.
Halting, he spun around quickly, looking for the unfamiliar face reflected on the puddle of water but there was no one.
The two men didn't notice he'd stopped until they were farther ahead.
When they turned around, they saw him bending over the puddle, staring at his reflection confusion.
"Who is this?"
At this, the lanky man exhaled tiredly and looked away. "Here we go again."
The buff man slumped his shoulders in exhaustion before speaking up, "I'd rather be drinking at Dunk's tavern than spend another minute of my life trying to convince you that having white hair doesn't make you less of a man neither does being a good-looking fellow."
Aeron blinked.
This was… him?
Slowly, he reached into the puddle, and the unfamiliar face staring back at him did the same.
Swallowing, he scooped up a handful of water and splashed across his face then he rubbed hard on it until the grime were gone and just like the man said… he was good-looking.
Not manly good-looking, but a pretty man. Like those highborns the King often had him look after.
So… he was really in a body that wasn't his.
If he'd taken over someone else's body after dying… was this that which the highborns always argued about?
What did they call it, again…
He shut his eyes, mentally flipping through the countless conversations he'd endured while standing guard.
Right. Transmigration.
If he remembered correctly, it was only supppsed to happen when the previous owner of a body lacked the will to continue live or was already dying
Glancing at the two men in front of him, their earlier conversation flooded back to him.
Karl Morrows hadn't moved in over fifteen days. No human could survive that long without food.
So this really was a vacant body before he came.
What a relief.
Coming to terms with his new body, Aeron began walking towards Karl's friends, his brows furrowing as he fell deep into thought.
So… the King really did kill him. And his second and third stood by and did nothing which means were in on it. But why?
At that moment, a runner suddenly dashed past him, shouting, "Eleven days ago, the Warhound attacked the King at the welcome party held for him and had to be put down by his second and third in command!"
"Because of this, he won't be given an honorary burial like he should and has already been burned!"
Hearing the news, Karl's frail frame trembled.
Curling his hand into a tight fist, the veins on his forehead nearly popped from the gnashing of his teeth.
Driving a sword into his heart wasn't enough. Now they painted him as a traitor and stripped away everything he'd worked for?!
He'd slaved for the King and this was what he got in return?
No. He'd never let that happen.
He'd awakened his power and summoned a great beast in his original body, he'd just do it again, no matter what it took.
Then he'd really commit the treason he'd been accused of… and clear his name!
Being a good person had only shortened his life. Maybe taking the other path would make it longer.
He'd just made this resolve when Karl's friends suddenly rushed forward to grab him.
"What are you doing?!" Unable to wriggle out of their grasp, he gritted his teeth and demanded.
However, they said nothing and just yanked him forward until…
"Look who we have here. Runts I'll use their intestines to make necklaces for myself!" A thick voice echoed behind them, the ground reverberating a little as he laughed heartily.
Instantly, the air thickened with murderous intent and a Mana Shroud engulfed the three of them.
Mana Shroud.
Up until now, Aeron had never cared much about it.
The Mana Shroud consisted of six ranks: Initiate, Adept, Warden, Archmage, Master, and Grandmaster.
From the beginning of time, only a rare few—those born with Living Shrouds, a phenomenon where a person's shroud enveloped them at all times at its highest rank unless suppressed—had ever reached Master rank.
Aeron Wylde had ranked as an Archmage, the fourth rank many highborn mages dreamed of attaining.
With that, the great power he awakened and the mighty beasts he summoned in his youth, he was unbeatable and never once had he trembled before anyone else's Mana Shroud.
But in this weak body… even someone ranked below Initiate made his body lock down in fear.
Damn it.
He just got a second chance to life, was he going to die again so soon because he woke up in a…
His thought process was instantly broken when a heavy boot slammed into his back…