I was on vacation, traveling through different parts of England. I was the kind of unconventional tourist who liked to pick a random city on the map, go there without any plans, and just get lost in its streets, meet its people, and enjoy the moment. Right now, I was in a rural area of Yorkshire, a picturesque place by the sea, with ancient castles that still resisted the passage of time and towering cliffs that rose like natural walls.
At one point, I decided to look for a local restaurant and try some of the region's traditional food.
It was at that moment that I felt a sharp pain in my neck and an irresistible heaviness in my eyelids as they slowly closed. The last thing I remember was a strange horizontal image from the ground: a huge block of stone or concrete crushing my torso. I barely had time to process it before darkness swallowed me whole.
I don't know how much time passed. My consciousness slowly returned, though the dizziness lingered. It was as if my body floated and, at the same time, was slammed into the ground by an overwhelming pressure. Still, my mind began to clear, and eventually, I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothes, with a white veil on her head and an apron. On her lap she held a metal basin, wringing out a cloth, which she then pressed against my forehead.
"Where am I? What happened to me?" I asked, trying to sit up. The dizziness forced me back down onto the bed.
"Prince Ethelred, I keep telling you not to ride without the supervision of the castle's servants," the woman said respectfully, though her face betrayed fear.
"Prince?" I repeated, incredulous.
She looked at me strangely. I raised my hands to my head and froze—small, weak, nothing like the hands I remembered.
"What is this?" I murmured in confusion.
The room I had awakened in was cold, built of gray stone. Barely any light filtered through a tiny window. An old desk with a few books rested in one corner, and on a side table lay folded clothes that, at a glance, looked like they belonged to a child.
I staggered to my feet and, spotting a polished metal mirror on the wall, confirmed what I feared: the reflection showed the face of a child, completely different from my own.
"What year is it?" I asked the maid, trying to steady myself.
"According to the council, this is the year 762, the second year of His Majesty Ethelwald's reign."
"Ethelwald…" I repeated. The name meant nothing to me, but what I did notice was that the English they spoke had an archaic accent, almost like something out of a historical film.
I grabbed a cloak to protect myself from the chill and stepped out of the room. The castle was enormous, gloomy, and damp, lit only by the occasional torch crackling in the corridors. The maid followed close behind, clearly uneasy.
"Are you all right, Your Highness? Forgive me if I've acted improperly…" she said in a trembling voice.
"Don't worry. And just call me by my name," I replied, hoping to provoke some kind of revelation.
"Your Highness Ethelred," she said with a bow.
That, it seemed, was my new name.
I kept exploring. The sounds of swords and horses drew me toward the training yard, where about a dozen men lounged around, laughing, while only two halfheartedly sparred.
"What are you doing here, brat?" one of the guards sneered when he noticed me. "Looking to lose a tooth by bothering the wrong person?"
"Idiot," I shot back without thinking. The word slipped out as a reflex. The guard glared at me with hostility, but when he realized I was "the prince," he only grunted and turned away.
The place was dull, but as I continued wandering, I stumbled upon sights that froze me in place.
I passed through several halls where people bowed as I walked by. Their exaggerated respect was unnerving. Eventually, I found a passage leading to the battlements, which overlooked the city beyond the castle walls.
From up there, I saw ramshackle huts, muddy roads, and gaunt peasants struggling with primitive tools. Barefoot children chased after scrawny goats, women carried heavy buckets of water from a distant well, and men struggled to plow the hardened soil.
Some houses looked sturdier—probably belonging to important people or merchants—but the vast majority belonged to the first kind: poor families, living hard lives in this harsh, cold land.
The contrast with the inside of the castle was staggering. Even the servants here looked healthier than the peasants outside. And yet, the soldiers I had seen weren't doing anything useful—just training listlessly, laughing, or lazing about.
A thought forced its way into my mind: My royal family must be hoarding all the gold and taxes while these people starve… and it seems like the castle is overflowing with idle hands.
I had once been an agricultural engineer. I knew how to run a small business, how to manage people effectively, and, above all, how to make the most of agricultural resources. I had spent years learning how to improve soils, optimize harvests, and work with the natural cycles of the seasons. And here, in this world, that knowledge was a treasure no one else possessed.
If I applied what I knew, I could not only improve the peasants' living conditions, but also make the kingdom prosper—and in doing so, secure my own wealth and influence.
For the first time since waking up, I didn't feel lost. Everything seemed to have a purpose.
This medieval world was full of shortcomings, but all I could see were opportunities.
And I was determined to seize them.