The scream woke Nolan abruptly.
His breathing ragged and his body drenched in sweat, Nolan jerked awake. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he had just escaped a nightmarish reality. But before he could calm down, he registered something strange—something far more striking than the dream he had just had.
He had woken up in a very luxurious room.
The bed he was in was not ordinary, but rather resembled a hospital bed. His pajamas felt like hospital attire. Beside the bed was a long, soft sofa, and on the wall hung a large frame with a completely unfamiliar design.
"Am I still alive? How is that possible? Am I in a hospital?"
These questions echoed in his mind, unanswered.
Nolan looked left and right, trying to find an explanation in his surroundings, but all he found was an increasingly oppressive sense of unfamiliarity. He got out of bed and walked to the window.
"Is this the modern world? Or have I truly woken up in another world with no clarity whatsoever?"
His thoughts were dizzying. He didn't recognize the landscape outside at all, including the place he was in. Sure, there were similarities to the Earth he knew—some countries seemed advanced with modern technology, while others were still developing.
But still...
"I don't recognize this world. Where am I?"
As his confusion peaked, a sudden pain gripped his chest. Nolan gasped and swayed, reflexively propping himself up with one hand on the table.
The pain felt foreign.
It wasn't his—at least, not any pain he had ever experienced before.
With slightly trembling hands, Nolan took off his pajamas and looked at his chest. A tight bandage covered what looked like a serious stab wound. He had no memory of such an injury. All he remembered was his body being covered in bruises after being thrown from the motorcycle.
But something was far more disturbing.
He felt like his heart shouldn't exist.
It should have shattered, exploded into tiny pieces.
As Nolan tried to comprehend what had happened to him and felt a vague memory, his foot accidentally brushed against a black, hexagonal object. It fell to the floor.
He picked it up.
The cold, heavy surface had a name clearly engraved on it:
Nolan Caelthorn.
"Nolan Caelthorn?" he murmured softly. "That's...my name?" No, my name is Nolan Steward. Wait...wait."
Nolan shook his head quickly and chaotically, like a confused owl.
He felt as if he were trapped by an incident that had temporarily clouded his memory.
But when he looked back down at the hexagonal object in his hand, with the name "Nolan Caelthorn" clearly engraved on its surface, something inside him shifted. Memories began to resurface, but not as Nolan Steward. Instead, they were memories of Nolan Caelthorn.
The wound in his chest was clearly from a sharp stab—powerful enough to burst this body's heart. Fragments of battle memories also flashed faintly through his mind. At the same time, Nolan felt something foreign yet real—his body was healing. He could feel mana energy flowing slowly within him.
Nolan straightened his pajamas, trying to calm himself from the panic and confusion that had gripped him. He walked over to the large mirror embedded in the wall and examined his reflection.
A young man of about sixteen years old stared back at him. His facial structure was indeed similar to his own. He had the same brown eyes and ideal body proportions—tall, not fat, not thin.
But there was one striking difference.
Nolan didn't have silvery-white hair cascading down his shoulders.
"I can't be aging this fast, can I?" Nolan muttered, furrowing his brows as he stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror. "Is this really the white hair older people have?"
No.
That white hair wasn't a sign of aging. It wasn't the gray of old age. Caelthorn's white hair looked natural, shiny, and well-maintained.
The sound of the door sliding open made Nolan turn toward it. A young man, about Nolan's age, with wavy, raven-black, shoulder-length hair stood there with a surprised expression.
"Prince Nolan, are you really awake?" the young man asked as he ran over.
The young man with black hair immediately grabbed Nolan's shoulders and pulled him from side to side as if checking on his seemingly rapid recovery. Nolan recognized the figure before him—Lucas Howard, his personal bodyguard and childhood friend.
"Should I pretend to be a fool who just woke up with a concussion?" Nolan thought. "Would that be safer?"
But he quickly dismissed the ridiculous idea.
"I didn't hit my head. I was injured in battle. There are also Caelthorn's memories that I don't fully possess. Forget that ridiculous idea," he muttered to himself.
Nolan let Lucas help him lie back down on the bed. He remained silent, as if he had lost his voice. This only made Lucas's face fill with more worry and confusion.
"Are you okay, Prince? You haven't said anything since I asked," Lucas said anxiously.
Of course, Nolan chose to remain silent. He was trying to dig into Nolan Caelthorn's memories. It would sound ridiculous to claim that he sustained a concussion from battle wounds.
Wait...
The fragments of memory began to fall into place.
He began to remember why Nolan Caelthorn had suffered such severe injuries—wounds that should have been impossible to recover from. Caelthorn had indeed died at a specific moment. A flash of light. A clash. A battle.
Caelthorn was a Sentinel Master of the Knight Path, Sequence 1, taking the Transcendence Trial to advance his order.
The trial took place in the Kaffal region, where white crystal stones were sought. Sentinels use this material to advance their order by fusing mana energy with pure crystals. The trial should have been secure, heavily guarded by Ultimate Sentinels.
But chaos ensued.
The Daemons had infiltrated human territory and clashed with early- and mid-stage Sentinels—from Sentinel Master to Sentinel Saint—who were taking the Transcendence Trial. The situation worsened with the involvement of the Dark Sentinels.
An inevitable three-way battle ensued: the official Sentinels, the Dark Sentinels, and the Daemon race.
One final memory remained vivid in his mind—
The appearance of the Sequence 10 Primordial Daemon.
The figure nearly wiped out the early and mid-stage Sentinels in the Kaffal region.
"Is everything okay? What happened?" Nolan finally asked, playing the part of someone who had just emerged from a long coma with no memory. It was safer to feign confusion than to ask questions that might arouse suspicion.
Lucas sighed softly and sat down in a chair beside the bed. "Prince, you've been in a coma for a week. Do you really not remember anything?"
"I just remember being injured in a Daemon attack," Nolan replied, frowning. "After I was stabbed, I don't remember anything else."
"Captain Thomas was only a Sequence 7 Ultimate Sentinel leading the Transcendence Trial escort," Lucas explained. "No one expected to face a Daemon head-on. Captain Thomas was racing against time to save your team, especially after you received a fatal wound from the creature's attack."
So that's how it happened.
Nolan remained dazed, his expression unchanged.
"But, Prince..." Lucas hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Your chest is perforated and your heart is shattered. How are you still conscious while trying to save your two friends?"
The question left Nolan frozen in place, a fool at a loss for words.
Two days passed. Nolan underwent another medical examination before finally being discharged from the hospital. Although his body had recovered, the strange events that had befallen him left him with many unanswered questions. He could only assume that his soul had transmigrated to another world and taken over the body of a prince in the Arathen Kingdom.
The Earth Realm looked similar to Earth at first glance. However, the technology here was far more advanced. The black car with silver stripes that he was riding in had no wheels. Four circular plates embedded in the undercarriage allowed the vehicle to hover just above the road, moving steadily like a car on Earth.
Lucas sat in the driver's seat, navigating the busy daytime streets. Nolan leaned against the window, his brown eyes scanning the traffic and buildings around him. But his mind kept working, trying to piece together the truth about what had happened to him.
"Nolan Caelthorn, the crown prince of Arathen, is indeed dead," he thought. "All that remains are the memories and characteristics of this body. That's why I understand the real Caelthorn."
He took a deep breath. "This means that before I died on Earth, my soul had already transmigrated and inhabited the body of someone who was already dead."
As the traffic light turned red, the car slowed to a stop. Nolan's gaze was drawn to a middle-aged woman walking with a metal cane. A young man in front of her seemed to be forcing her, as if demanding something. The brief sight brought his thoughts back to their usual state.
If he had truly died on Earth and his soul had transmigrated into another body, there would be no way back. Nolan only hoped that his mother was in the right hands. He hoped that the woman would never realize that her son was dead.
Perhaps in his mind, his son was still busking on the streets and scavenging for food in trash cans while his husband was still serving in the military.
His mother's mental illness had likely worsened and become incurable. It was far better this way, Nolan thought quietly. It was better than knowing her son was dead.
The car finally entered the Blue Lagoon Palace grounds. The palace grounds stretched out before them, with a majestic building towering at its center. Its architecture blended classic luxury with modern technology. Inside, grandeur and sophistication blended seamlessly.
As soon as the car stopped, the armored guards and servants bowed in unison.
"Welcome back, Prince Nolan."