The nation that called itself the Holy Roman Empire—and still did—was undoubtedly losing its former prestige.
In the 18th century, as humanity bid farewell to the old era and prepared to embrace a new one...
Most of Europe's great powers, comparable to the Empire, had long since completed their centralized state systems.
There were countries like Great Britain, where the term absolute monarchy was hard to apply, but even Great Britain had perfectly integrated its military, finances, and diplomacy into a single state.
Thus, it could be said that all of Europe's major powers, except the Holy Roman Empire, had achieved completion as unified nations.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say that this was the only place where hundreds of independent principalities formed a state without a unified system.
The strangeness of a nation bearing the name of Empire, with an Emperor, yet being the least imperial of them all.
This contradiction had clearly manifested in a decline of national power, and the name Holy Roman no longer carried the awe it once did.
Yet while some things changed with the tide of the times, others remained unchanging values.
The title of Emperor of Rome was still one of the most noble positions in Europe, the object of envy for all nobles.
From the entirety of the German lands, including Austria and Bohemia, to numerous North European states and even parts of Poland.
No matter how fragmented the Empire was into hundreds of principalities, the princes had to serve the Emperor and fulfill their duties to him.
Not only within the Empire but even beyond, the prestige of the Habsburg imperial family remained lofty.
Moreover, growing weaker compared to the past didn't mean total ruin.
The Habsburgs of the 18th century were burning with their own latent power, drawing a brief inflection point amid their downward trajectory.
Of course, it was far short of their past golden age, but the important thing was that it was better than before.
Around the time when the Empire's pride was rising again with successive military successes, the Hofburg Palace, the Empire's main residence, was bustling with unusual energy.
It was around November, when autumn had passed and the weather had clearly turned chilly.
Albrecht, a noble from the Bohemian borderlands, was slowly making his way to attend to an honored guest staying at the palace.
Even before the palace windows were bathed in the soft light of dawn, the Hofburg was already quite hectic.
As a place where imperial family members and nobles invited by the Emperor stayed, the attendants were scurrying about, preparing to greet the new day.
Albrecht wasn't of the imperial family, but he had been assigned to serve an equally important guest.
It was a bit awkward that even after two years here, he still couldn't speak German, but the guest wasn't particularly demanding.
He stopped in front of the door and quickly checked his attire to ensure nothing was amiss.
Thud!
Suddenly, a loud noise came from inside the room, and he immediately knocked on the door, checking on the guest's safety.
"Your Highness! Are you all right?"
"..."
"Your Highness!"
Even after knocking a couple of times, there was no response from within.
If it was just a minor slip, it would be best to pretend not to notice out of consideration for the highborn guest's dignity, but the sound just now had been loud enough to hear outside.
If the person inside was hurt, Albrecht couldn't escape responsibility either.
"Your Highness, then I shall have to intrude for a moment."
He opened the door with urgent but refined movements that never lost their poise, then froze at the threshold, mid-step into the room.
"..."
He had lived as a faithful servant of the Habsburgs in the Hofburg Palace for five full years now.
He prided himself on having gained the flexibility to handle various situations, but this time, he couldn't muster any reaction.
And who could blame him...
"Um... Your Highness? Are you... all right?"
"..."
The master of the room he served was sprawled flat in the middle of the bedroom, staring blankly at the ceiling—a sight he'd never seen before.
And still in his pajamas, no less.
"...Your Highness? Did you hurt yourself somewh—"
He asked ever so cautiously, lest he embarrass the other, but didn't dare approach rashly.
Still, as he kept calling out steadily, the head of the room's master—the future Duke of Lorraine, Franz—slowly turned.
"...Huh?"
"Did you slip while getting out of bed? If anything hurts, please tell me."
"Why... am I here?"
Albrecht was at a loss for words.
The only sound in the bedroom was the cold wind slipping through the open window and rattling the frame.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
I was born the fourth son of Leopold I, Duke of Lorraine—or the Bar region, as it's sometimes called.
Lorraine was a vassal of the Holy Roman Empire, while the Duchy of Bar fell under French domain, so I hailed from a family in a truly ambiguous and sensitive position.
Our actual power wasn't that strong either, so our ancestors had maintained close ties with the Habsburgs to protect our territory from French threats.
Even so, Lorraine was an ancient duchy tracing back to the East Frankish Kingdom, treated almost like royalty, with prestige to match its name.
Thanks to that, Theresa and I could marry without issue in the Holy Roman Empire, where marriages across class lines were taboo.
You might wonder how the fourth son became heir, but infant mortality was terrifyingly high back then.
After my two eldest brothers died young without me even speaking to them, my third brother Clement naturally became heir, and the Emperor brought him to Vienna for education.
But even Clement died young, and suddenly I, the fourth son, became heir.
Thanks to that, I was shipped off to Vienna as the family heir right after my brother's death and educated there.
Why am I suddenly talking about my childhood? Because I'm dreaming of that very childhood right now.
Or so I thought.
Until I looked in the mirror, got startled, fell backward, and felt a throbbing pain in my head.
If it's a dream, why won't I wake up, and why do my head and back hurt?
Logically, it must not be a dream.
But does that even make sense?
I clearly drank myself silly on wine with Theresa on the anniversary of her death and fell asleep in bed.
I had no idea what could have caused this.
One thing was certain: the face in the mirror was none other than my past life's self—the adolescent Franz I.
"Reincarnation followed by past life regression... What kind of nonsense is this?"
"...Pardon?"
"No, nothing."
At first, I suspected I might have lost my mind and was dreaming something absurd.
I wondered if my life as Holy Roman Emperor and the subsequent life as Lee Geon-woo were all delusions.
But if they were real, wouldn't my memories of the past be clearer instead of so hazy?
I could vividly recall the wine label from last night like a photo, yet my arrival in Vienna felt like fog.
And this fellow looking at me with worried eyes.
He was clearly the servant who attended me until I inherited the dukedom, but I couldn't remember his name.
Al... Alzasomething... No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't come.
If this were just waking from a dream, my memories wouldn't be this jumbled.
As I got up casually, brushing off my clothes to act normal, the servant quickly approached to help and asked,
"Your Highness, how on earth did you end up falling here?"
"...I was looking in the mirror and my foot slipped."
"I'll have the floor changed to a non-slip material immediately. And is there anywhere you're unwell?"
"Ah... well... I hit my head pretty hard when I fell, so my thoughts are a bit fuzzy. It should be fine soon, though... Oh, by the way, how long has it been since I arrived in Vienna?"
Judging by my appearance, I looked mid-teens, but that wasn't precise enough for the year.
I asked in a roundabout way to avoid seeming strange, and thankfully, the servant brushed off my back and replied nonchalantly.
"It's been two years and a month since Your Highness has stayed in the palace."
"Time has flown that much already?"
I was rocketed to Vienna around October 1723, so this must be November 1725.
"Is today perhaps the 29th of November...?"
"Yes. It's the day for your mathematics and basic sciences lesson."
November 29th was the day I drank wine and fell asleep—the anniversary of Theresa's death.
How do I explain waking up with reincarnated memories on my wife's death anniversary?
I didn't know the mechanism, but my reason was starting to adapt to reality.
At the same time, a flash of realization hit me.
"Ther... no, where is the Archduchess?"
"Well? It's breakfast time now, so probably in the private chamber of the Leopoldine Wing?"
No sooner had he finished than I threw on my clothes haphazardly and bolted out the door.
The servant's shouts behind me didn't register.
Right. Coming back to the past means she's here, alive and breathing in the same space as me.
I can see the person I never forgot for a single moment during those 30 years after reincarnation.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
My heart pounded in time with my footsteps.
Not from breathlessness.
My heart, frozen no matter who I met or what I experienced, was regaining warmth.
I felt like I'd forgotten something important, but who cares.
I can see my wife again, laugh and chat with my Theresa, build new memories.
No more sitting alone by her cold coffin, talking to myself.
The Leopoldine Wing was practically next door from my current quarters in the Amalienburg.
I asked passing maids for directions in 'German' and raced straight to the small chamber where Theresa was having breakfast.
What should I say when I see her?
I have mountains of stories piled up.
Being thrown alone into the modern world in confusion, the sorrow of regaining memories, studying desperately, the wonders I encountered seeking her tomb. I want to tell her everything.
And this time, I'll promise a far better future than before.
Bang!
Heart swelling, I flung open the chamber door and poured out the feelings I'd gathered piece by piece over 30 years.
"Theresa... huh?"
Then, the crucial reality I'd blacked out in excitement hit me, and I froze like a stone statue.
"...Hm? Prince Franz? What's this sudden visit about?"
She tried to sound dignified, but her slight lisp gave her away.
Yes. Theresa and I are exactly nine years apart.
In November 1725, I'm eighteen by Korean age.
In other words, Theresa is just nine—eight by Western count—a little child.
Having lived so long in the modern era, it naturally computed that she'd be in second grade back in 21st-century Korea.
"..."
"...Your Highness? Is something urgent?"
"Prince Franz! Bursting in like this—what on earth! Such rudeness!"
The puzzled Theresa and the maid's delayed scolding didn't reach my ears.
"Er... um..."
"Your Highness! If His Majesty hears, you'll be in big trouble. Court etiquette..."
Ahh, shut up. Be quiet for a sec.
I've just witnessed the shocking reality that my wife is an elementary schooler—what's the big deal?
I ignored the nagging maid, scratching my head.
In hindsight, it was so obvious I should've realized, yet I came rushing like an idiot. Embarrassing.
Getting so carried away just thinking of seeing her again—I really was that devoted.
Still, seeing her like this brought back fond memories of her cute younger days, and I greeted her awkwardly.
"Er... Theresa... Archduchess? Good morning."
"Hm? Oh, yes! Good morning to you too, Your Highness!"
She looked puzzled for a moment but smiled brightly and waved back when I grinned and waved.
Mm, yeah. I'd forgotten, with her strong, upright personality, but she was so affectionate and lovable as a kid.
Seeing her light up with just eye contact, I couldn't help but smile like a dad.
I might've caused a minor scene on day one, but like the aroma of fresh-baked bread from the table, memories are sweet, and my grown-up wife—no, my child wife—is adorable.
For now, that was enough.
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