It was a strange sensation, like waking from a long dream, but the bed beneath him was unfamiliar. It was rougher and uncomfortably warm, emanating a dry grassy smell mixed with a pungent, alien scent, perhaps of old wood or damp earth. Luke slowly opened his eyes, not to the usual white ceiling of his New York apartment, but to dark wooden planks, crudely carved yet bearing a unique, unknown character.
"What's going on?" Luke muttered, but the voice that emerged from his throat was strange. A bit deeper, more resonant than his usual voice. He tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes, but the hand he saw wasn't his. It was broad, with strong, prominent-knuckled fingers, and an old scar above the middle joint. He jumped out of bed sharply, but his body felt heavier than he was used to. He fell onto the hard wooden floor with a muffled thud.
The room was circular, its unpolished stone walls punctuated by small, rectangular windows that barely let in a faint light. The furniture was simple: a round table in the center, two wooden chairs, and shelves on the walls holding leather scrolls and strange metal tools that resembled primitive farming implements. Luke wondered: Is this a dream? No, the stark reality of every detail, from the smell of dry grass to the hardness of the floor beneath his palms, screamed that it was not.
Luke quickly moved towards the window, pushing aside the wooden shutters. The cold air hit his face. What he saw froze him in place, utterly stunned by the sight. There were no bustling New York streets, no towering glass buildings. Before him stretched a small town of wooden and stone structures, some round and some rectangular, with faded red tiled roofs. There were no cars, but carts pulled by animals he didn't recognize, resembling a mix between mules and cattle, but with twisted horns. People below, walking on the dirt roads, wore clothes he had only seen in history books or fantasy films: rough leather armor, hand-woven fabrics in muted earthy tones, and long swords hanging at their sides, swaying with every step.
Luke fell silent, then whispered barely audibly: "Where in hell am I?" A cold shiver began to run down his spine, a mixture of terror and bewilderment.
Suddenly, a strange and unsettling sensation erupted in his head, as if a massive book had abruptly opened inside his skull. It wasn't pain, but an overwhelming torrent of information. Images, names, events, emotions... memories. These memories were not his own, yet they became an integral part of his consciousness now. The memories of this body he inhabited.
He saw a father with firm features and blonde hair, identical to his current hair, and sharp blue eyes. He saw a mother with a warm smile and kind eyes. He saw siblings laughing and training with swords in a wide courtyard under a bright sun. He saw tedious meetings with leaders of other towns, fierce battles against massive creatures with green skin and protruding fangs – the Orcs. Scenes of blood and violence seeped into his mind, and he witnessed moments of deep sorrow, weeping, and an overwhelming sense of loss.
"Lucas..." a mournful voice of an old woman called from a distance in one of these memories. "Your father and brothers... they fell in the last raid, just one month ago."
The flood of memories abruptly ceased, leaving Luke gasping, leaning against the windowsill, trying to process the immense volume of information. He understood now. This was not New York, nor America. He was in an entirely different world, in someone else's body, a person named Lucas. This body belonged to a nobleman, the ruler of this small town. And now, with the death of his father and brothers, he was the one who had to lead it.
This shock was twofold. The complete loss of his own identity, then the imposition of another identity upon him in such a terrifying and sudden manner. He tried to believe it was a nightmare, but all his senses screamed of the harsh reality. The strange architecture, the unfamiliar clothing, the earthy smell of the world, the sensation of his new body, and all these memories filling his mind, telling him an undeniable truth.
Suddenly, there were three strong, distinct knocks on the door. A gruff voice, filled with respect mixed with some concern, called out: "Lord Lucas? Are you well? You're late for the morning meeting, and Commander Garth is waiting."
Luke turned towards the door, and Lucas's memories rushed forward to provide the answer: This voice belonged to Garth, Lucas's personal guard and commander of the guard. A powerfully built man, in his late fifties, with gray hair and a thick beard, and sharp blue eyes that reflected years of combat experience. Garth had been loyal to Lucas's family for decades, more than just a commander—he was a mentor and a friend.
"I... I'm fine, Garth," Luke said, his voice still foreign to him, as if words struggled to emerge from an unfamiliar throat. "I was just... waking up."
Garth entered the room with steady steps, his blue eyes carefully scrutinizing Luke, assessing his condition. "You've never been late like this, my lord. Was your sleep troubled? The pressure on you is great these days, I understand."
Luke sighed, trying to compose himself and act as normally as possible. He had to assume this role quickly; he had no choice. "Yes, a bit. But I'm ready now. What's the schedule for today?"
Garth sat on one of the wooden chairs and pulled a scroll from his pocket. "Today, we must inspect the northern defenses. It seems some Orc traces have been observed near the borders of the Doom Forest, even though we are in a 'rest year'. Then we have a meeting with Lady Lisa, the merchants' representative, regarding food rations, and finally, we must check on Roger the blacksmith's shop and see his progress on repairing the armors damaged in the last raid."
Luke listened attentively, every word echoing in his mind. The Doom Forest was a natural barrier separating them from vast numbers of Orcs. Lucas's memories clarified that it was a continent-sized forest, fraught with dangers, and this was the sole reason the Orcs hadn't fully invaded their lands. Orcs couldn't send more than 1000 fighters through it in any attack, due to the fierce creatures inhabiting it and the rugged terrain. A 'rest year'? What was that? Lucas's memories didn't mention such a thing. But he remembered that the Orcs had attacked and stolen food a month ago, meaning the town was in a critical state.
"How many soldiers are available for the northern defenses?" Luke asked, trying to project a sense of leadership.
"500 soldiers, my lord, as usual. 30 novice knights, and 3 low-level knights," Garth replied, then looked at Luke with a meaningful gaze. "And you, my lord, as a low-level knight, will lead them."
A low-level knight. 500 soldiers. Orcs were relatively stronger below Level 1. Garth himself was a low-level knight, but he was the most experienced among them. Luke realized the magnitude of the challenge. Lucas's memories showed him that this town, and this entire region, depended on cooperation to survive. The thirty frontier towns cooperated among themselves, forming the first line of defense against the Orcs.
"We'll do it, Garth. Anything else?"
"No, my lord. Just, try to eat well. You look a bit pale," Garth said with concern, before leaving the room and leaving Luke alone with his thoughts once more.
A Tour of "Falcon's Roost"
After donning Lucas's traditional clothes – thick fabric trousers, a coarse wool tunic, and light leather armor over them – he left the castle. The town was known as "Falcon's Roost," a name reflecting its relatively elevated position and its proximity to the higher reaches of the Doom Forest.
Daylight had begun to spread, and the timid warmth of the sun started to bathe the tiled roofs. Luke headed directly to the Market Street, which was bustling with activity since dawn. The delicious aroma of fresh bread wafted from a small bakery, mixed with the smell of burning metal from the blacksmith's workshop. Luke stopped in front of Roger the Blacksmith's shop. Roger was a massive man, with a thick black beard streaked with grey, and bulging muscles that spoke of years of hard labor. He wore a leather apron and was striking a piece of glowing hot iron with powerful blows, sparks flying.
"Good morning, Lord Lucas!" Roger called out, putting his hammer down. His voice was deep, like the clang of his hammer. "Did you come to pick up your new sword? I just finished it."
Luke remembered from Lucas's memories that this sword was a gift from Roger, custom-made to replace his father's sword. It was a long, beautiful sword, with a black leather-wrapped hilt and a gleaming blade that reflected the light. Luke took the sword and felt its familiar weight in his hand, as if it had always been a part of him.
"It's magnificent, Roger. Thank you," Luke said sincerely. "Are there any new orders for armor? I know the last raid left us with a lot of damage."
Roger sighed, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Plenty, my lord. But raw materials are starting to run out. Lisa tells me the merchants in the inner towns aren't sending enough. They say they barely find enough materials for their own cities."
Luke nodded. He knew this. Lucas's memories were clear on this point. The inner towns were rich, but they offered no direct support to the frontier towns. All resources came from the major city, but it wasn't enough. Lisa, the merchants' representative, was responsible for these arrangements. Lucas had relied on her greatly.
After Roger's workshop, Luke headed to the main Inn in town, owned by Neil. The inn was a larger wooden building than the other shops, with a ground floor serving as a tavern and kitchen, and an upper floor for guest rooms. The mixed aroma of roasted meat and light ale filled the air. The inn was a central hub for rumors and news, and a place frequented by adventurers who flocked to the town.
Neil was a portly, cheerful man with disheveled hair. When he saw Luke, he gave a wide smile. "Lord Lucas! Welcome! Would you like a hot breakfast?"
"Yes, please, Neil," Luke said, taking a seat at a wooden table near the fireplace.
"Tell me, Neil, have you seen any new adventurers lately?" Luke asked. He knew their proximity to the Doom Forest made the town a magnet for these fortune seekers.
"No, my lord! Since the war with the Orcs, adventurers have stopped coming. I believe they will start returning in the coming days. You see, after the last attack on the towns, many believe it's too dangerous."
Frontier Towns: The First Line of Defense
After breakfast, Luke and Garth headed towards the northern gate of the town. The air here was colder, and the scent of damp earth and dense trees emanating from the Doom Forest was stronger. The town was well-fortified, its wooden walls thick, and watchtowers stood at regular intervals.
"There are still some traces of them, my lord," Garth said, pointing to large footprints on the muddy ground outside the gate. "The Orcs aren't entirely gone. But this year, after what happened to your father and brothers, they are in a 'rest year,' as you know. They won't launch a large-scale attack."
"A 'rest year'?" Luke asked, surprised. This information was not in Lucas's memories.
Garth nodded. "Yes, my lord. After losing so much in the initial years of attacks, especially when General Theron led our counterattacks against them and brought them to famine, they learned that if they completely wiped us out, there would be no one left to grow food. So, every year they attack, a 'rest year' follows, where they leave us to recover and cultivate our lands. It's a simple yet effective strategy."
Luke felt a shock. This information changed his entire understanding of the conflict. The Orcs were not merely mindless beasts; they were intelligent beings with tactical awareness. This explained why the town hadn't been completely destroyed after all these years. And it also explained why they hadn't seen a major attack since the one that claimed Lucas's family a month ago. That attack had been part of an "attack year." Now they were in a "rest year."
"But... if they know that, why don't they attack the major cities?" Luke asked.
"Because their forces are relatively few, my lord," Garth replied. "Even with their numerical superiority, they cannot face fortified cities with their large garrisons. They must rely on stealing food from the frontier towns."
Luke said, "So why don't our cities attack the Orc cities?" Garth replied, "I don't know, my lord, but I haven't seen any city participate in the war with the Orcs. Even the lord of the city who led the counterattack was merely a village lord at that time, not a city lord." Luke found that strange but didn't dwell on it and stopped talking.
Luke inspected the soldiers deployed on the walls. Their faces bore marks of fatigue, but their determination was clear. These were the men who depended on him. These were the people he had to protect. Falcon's Roost was one of 30 frontier towns, spread along the edges of the Doom Forest. There were towns on the northern borders like theirs, where Orcs were expert in ambushes, and others facing the sea, where humans were the ones attacking because Orcs didn't know how to build ships.
Luke recalled Lucas's memories of nearby towns:
Bulwark Town: Located to their north, about two days' travel, known for producing sturdy wooden shields. Lucas used to send soldiers there to fetch shields and exchange them for some grain.
Bridgeport Village: Located to the east, on the bank of a river flowing from the Doom Forest, a vital crossing point for small caravans and adventurers.
These 30 towns were all subject to the Human King, but they were directly under the command of General Theron, the ruler of Ironhold, the war-hardened city. Theron was the one who led the counterattack that weakened the Orcs decades ago, allowing for the reconstruction of 10 towns and the stabilization of the defensive lines.
"The inner towns don't understand our suffering, do they?" Luke said, feeling a touch of bitterness. "Roger the blacksmith told me that Lisa can't get enough raw materials from there."
Garth nodded sadly. "True, my lord. The inner towns are wealthy, and they don't suffer from Orc attacks unless our defenses are breached. And they don't send us any direct resources. All we get is food rations from the city, which barely suffice for us."
Luke felt the pressure building. Not only did he have to learn how to fight and lead, but he also had to deal with resource shortages and the challenges of survival.
A Glimpse of the Wider World
Later in the day, Luke returned to his room in the castle. He sat at his table, looking at an old map of the island hanging on the wall. It wasn't a precise map, but it showed the broad outlines of the conflict.
At the heart of the Human lands lay the capital, Stonecastle (500,000 inhabitants), ruled by Prince Kailen, a young and intelligent heir with near-Level 1 power. The King was said to live in isolation in the capital, with the Prince effectively in control. Alongside it, three other major cities:
Silverport: A prosperous coastal city, ruled by Lord Arion, a near-Level 1 power married to a princess. Towns under this city's rule were relatively safe from Orcs; in fact, humans were the ones launching naval raids against them because Orcs were unskilled in shipbuilding.
Ironhold: A fortified city, ruled by General Theron, a high-level knight and warmonger, to whom the eastern frontier towns were subordinate.
Aether Tower: The city of mages, ruled by Grand Sorceress Lyra, a high-level sorceress and head of the Mage Alliance. This city was located on the borders of the Great Desert, and unlike other frontier regions, it had the upper hand against the Orcs due to the power of the Mage Alliance there.
Luke realized his kingdom was not a monolithic entity, but a complex network of powers and interests. The King was a knight, and for this reason, magic in the kingdom was not sufficiently valued. There were only about 5,000 mages in the entire kingdom, their power ranging from novices to high levels. This explained why Grand Sorceress Lyra held a special position as the leader of the Mage Alliance.
Luke closed his eyes. The book in his head was present, a latent energy. This book didn't grant him future premonitions, but it gave him the memories of the body he inhabited, and the ability of spiritual transfer between the two worlds. But more importantly, Luke remembered the snake page. That magical snake that could transform into a sword, multiply when cut, and whose only weakness was fire magic.
This was his key. A secret, unconventional weapon. Lucas wasn't an extraordinary knight, but Luke, with this book, could become something entirely different.
The first day had ended, and darkness began to envelop Falcon's Roost. Tomorrow would be another day. A difficult year had just begun, and Luke would have to face its challenges. He was no longer just a bookstore clerk from New York; he was the ruler of a town on the brink of war, and he had to find a way to protect his people and survive in this new world forced upon him.