It had been just over three months since Jack woke in a bed not his own, in a body burdened with another man's sins, in a world where he was a pariah before he could speak a word.
He remembered his first moments clearly. The smell of old wood in the guest wing of House Valorin. The sterile disdain in the eyes of the servants. And above all, the silence—no Elsa, no warmth, just cold expectations and unspoken anger.
---
First Month – The Cage
The first thirty days had been hell. The original Jack, he learned quickly, had earned every ounce of contempt. He had gambled away funds meant for servants, lied to nobles, and treated his in-laws as stepping stones. Elsa, his wife, had gone to war mere days after birthing triplets, leaving Jack under house watch.
"They thought I was pretending," Jack muttered to himself back then. "That it's another one of his acts."
Damon, his guard, was the only one allowed to speak to him regularly. At first, Damon was just a shadow, following orders. Silent. Cold. But Jack noticed the flicker in Damon's gaze—a wary curiosity.
"You don't talk like him," Damon said once.
"I'm not him," Jack had replied.
"You wear his face. That's enough for now."
That month, Jack kept to himself, trying to survive each day. He offered to help. Denied. Tried to cook. Denied. Touched the accounts. Denied.
All he could do was read. Walk. Observe. And learn.
The mansion was his prison. The whispers followed him like ghosts.
---
Second and Third Month – Merriton
Jack's transfer to Merriton felt like exile. The king's challenge, a near-impossible task, was clearly designed to humiliate him. Damon escorted him with no fanfare. No one came to see him off.
At first glance, Merriton was hopeless. Crops dying. Bandits plundering. The townspeople looked at him with the same scorn he'd left behind.
But something had shifted in Jack. Maybe it was the silence of isolation that taught him to listen. Maybe it was the desperation that sharpened his instincts.
He remembered a broken plow he fixed himself. A child he gave a stale biscuit to who smiled at him like he'd given gold. The first potato he unearthed like a buried promise.
Jack had lived a hundred lives on Earth—cook, cleaner, mechanic, teacher. Never for more than three months. But here, for the first time, he stayed.
He wasn't good at speeches, but he showed up. He got his hands dirty. He worked beside people, not above them.
And Damon noticed.
"You're not the same man who left the capital," Damon said one evening, handing Jack a water gourd after a day helping lay irrigation pipes.
Jack chuckled. "Feels like I buried him in this soil."
"You've changed," Damon muttered. "But I don't know if the world will let you forget who you were."
Jack looked out over the fields. "Then I'll make sure they remember who I am now."
---
He also noticed one person in town slowly watching him with thoughtful eyes—Grenda, the town baker, an older widow who had lived in Merriton for over two decades.
"Baker Grenda," Jack greeted her once while helping rebuild a stall.
"You're not as useless as they said," she'd replied, folding her arms.
"That's the best compliment I've had in months."
She'd scoffed, but the next day, he found a warm roll left on the cart he used.
That unspoken gesture meant more than gold. And soon, Grenda occasionally gave advice, even shooed away hecklers, becoming a small but important voice.
---
New Threat in the Shadows
But not everyone was pleased with Jack's quiet success.
In the nearby trade town of Welrun, word had spread of a strange new crop with unmatched yield and versatility. A man named Marquis Ervian Rook, a ruthless land baron and monopoly trader, caught wind of this new "potato."
Rook, known for buying out competitors and hoarding supply chains, sent his man to Merriton under the guise of a visiting merchant. The report returned with a single sentence:
"This 'Jack' cultivates revolution with roots."
Rook smiled as he read it. "If it grows like they say, I want it. All of it."
His eyes glinted. "And if he resists... we'll dig him out."
---
Damon, watching all this, reflected late one night.
"The man I was assigned to guard wasn't supposed to last three weeks. But here he is, speaking with farmers, checking fields, sweating like a commoner. He still doesn't fit in—but neither does he repel them like before. Maybe that's enough to start with."
---
On the third day of the fourth month, Jack stood on a small hill just outside town, watching smoke rise gently from chimneys—signs of life returning.
The road behind him had been one of disgrace. The road ahead was still uncertain.
But for the first time, Jack didn't feel like a ghost in someone else's life.
He felt real.
And the world was starting to notice.
---
Back in the capital, a sealed envelope lay on the king's desk, with the words:
"Merriton—Urgent: Minister Harbin recommends review."
The king raised a brow. "So the scorned husband plants seeds."
He looked out the window, amused.
"Let's see what grows."