A splitting headache gripped him.
Viktor Reinhardt opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar room. Cobwebs covered the ceiling, and peeling paint revealed gray stone bricks beneath the walls. The air reeked of mildew and decay.
He sat up and found himself lying on a simple wooden plank bed, covered with a coarse wool blanket. His clothes were tattered, rough, and crookedly stitched. These were not any of the clothes he remembered.
"You're awake?"
An aged voice came from the corner. Viktor turned and saw a hunched old woman sitting in a chair, holding a half-finished garment. Her face was wrinkled, her eyes cloudy, but a gentle smile played on her lips.
"Who are you?" Viktor asked, his voice hoarse.
"I am Emma, the old nanny who takes care of you," the old woman said. "Young master, you've been unconscious for three days. Everyone thought you…"
"Young master?" Viktor was stunned. "Yes, Master Viktor," Emma sighed. "You fell on the mountain road that day, hitting your head badly and bleeding profusely. The doctor said it was a miracle you woke up."
Viktor frowned, trying to comprehend the situation. Master? Viktor? These titles… His memories began to surge, unfamiliar images flooding his mind—a dilapidated manor, dozens of emaciated tenant farmers, a noble father who had just died in a monster attack, and the identity of an illegitimate son with no status in the family.
This is… time travel?
He raised his hand and touched his forehead. The wound had scabbed over, leaving a noticeable scar. This wasn't his face, but it felt familiar—it was Viktor Reinhardt's face.
"Where…where is my father?" Viktor asked tentatively.
Emma's tears welled up instantly: "Master...Master was attacked by a black bear half a month ago and couldn't be saved. You were nearby at the time, you saw it with your own eyes..."
Victor's memories surged again—a huge black bear, with sharp fangs and glowing red eyes. His father was pounced on, his blood staining the grass. He was so frightened his legs went weak, he tried to run away, but tripped over a tree root and fell down the hillside.
So that's how it was.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He had read about time travel countless times in novels, but he had never imagined it would happen to him. And now, he had become Victor Reinhardt—the illegitimate son of a low-ranking nobleman, living in a fantasy world resembling the Middle Ages.
"Now...how is the situation?" Victor asked.
Emma wiped away her tears and said, "After the master left, all that's left in the family is this dilapidated manor and a dozen or so tenant farmers. The other noble lords... they're all laughing at us. The Baron said that if we can't pay enough taxes this winter, he'll take back the manor."
Victor's heart sank. He remembered fragments of his memories—the noble hierarchy in this world was rigid: barons, viscounts, earls, marquesses, dukes, each level suppressing the lower ranks. The Reinhardt family was a viscount family, but it had declined for many years. His father was a marginal figure, with no say in the family. And Victor, as an illegitimate son, was even lower in status.
"Taxes?" Victor asked, "How much?"
"Thirty silver coins in tax, and twenty bushels of grain," Emma said. "In previous years, the master could always manage to scrape together enough, but this year... this year the tenant farmers' harvest was bad, and they can only pay ten bushels. The silver coins are even harder to come by; we only have five left."
Victor frowned and began to calculate. Thirty silver coins plus twenty bushels of grain—this was a considerable burden. If they couldn't pay, the manor would be reclaimed, and they would lose their home.
"The Baron's tax…can't it be negotiated?" Victor asked.
"No." Emma shook her head. "The Baron said it's an ironclad rule. If we can't pay, then…"
That's it. Emma didn't say it aloud, but Victor understood. In this world, losing land meant losing everything. They would become refugees, even slaves.
"I…I want to go for a walk." Victor threw back the blanket, preparing to get out of bed.
"Young Master, your injury…" Emma hurriedly stopped him.
"I'm fine." Victor stood up, though still a little dizzy, he forced himself to. He needed to see this place, this place he now had to call "home."
Emma sighed and helped him out of the room. The corridor was narrow and dark, the torches on the walls casting a faint glow. The wooden staircase creaked and groaned, each step feeling like a tremor.
Downstairs, Victor saw the manor's main hall. Stone floor, a few old chairs, a long table with a bowl of dry bread and thin soup on it. The windows were boarded up, letting in only a few rays of light through the cracks.
"This is…our home?" Victor asked.
"Yes," Emma said, "simple, but at least it's a home."
Victor went to the window and peered through the crack. Outside was a small courtyard, with a pigsty in the corner where several thin pigs were rooting for food in the mud. Further away was a field, where tenant farmers were working, their figures hunched over.
"Are those all our tenant farmers?" Victor asked.
"Yes," Emma sighed. "Twelve households in total, all three generations of the Reinhardt family. They're loyal, but… but life is hard for them too."
Viktor fell silent. He remembered the economic hardship of his past life, the unemployed workers, the bankrupt businesses, the desperate ordinary people. Now, he faced the same predicament—poverty, oppression, and a lack of hope.
"Can…is there anything I can do?" Viktor asked, his voice trembling slightly, a tremor he himself didn't even realize.
Emma looked at him, a flicker of relief in her eyes: "Young Master, it's the best thing that you've woken up. As for the rest…we'll figure something out later."
Viktor clenched his fist. He remembered that last rainy night in his past life, the despair when the truck hit him. But now, he was alive, living in a new world. He couldn't repeat the same mistakes, he couldn't let fate crush him again.
"I'll go check the yard," he said, releasing Emma's hand and walking towards the door.
Emma wanted to follow, but Viktor refused, "I'll just walk by myself. You...you go and prepare some food."
Emma hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded, "Okay, young master, please be careful."
Viktor walked out of the hall and into the courtyard. A cold wind hit him, and he wrapped his tattered clothes tighter. The pigs in the sty saw him and grunted. He went over and found the sty dilapidated; several planks were broken, and the mud inside was deep.
"This pigsty...needs repair," Viktor muttered to himself.
He looked around and saw some scrap wood and stones piled in the corner. These must have been left over from previous repairs. He went over, picked up a plank, and found that although it was somewhat rotten, it was still usable.
"I can fix it," Viktor said firmly.
He walked to the edge of the pigsty and began to clean out the manure. The stench was overwhelming, but he endured it. In his past life, carrying bricks on construction sites, what dirty and strenuous work hadn't he done? This stench was nothing.
After cleaning up the manure, he began repairing the pigsty walls. He nailed planks to the damaged areas and filled the cracks with stones. His movements were clumsy, but earnest. With each nail he hammered in, each stone he patched, he told himself—this was his new life, and he had to change it with his own hands.
An hour later, the pigsty was repaired. Although still rudimentary, at least it wouldn't leak anymore. The pigs seemed to know someone had improved their living conditions, gurgling and settling down in the clean spot.
Victor wiped the sweat from his brow, looking at his masterpiece. Several blisters formed on his hands, and his clothes were covered in mud, but he felt a long-lost sense of accomplishment.
"Young Master?"
Victor turned around and saw Emma standing in the hallway, holding a bowl of hot soup. She stared wide-eyed at the repaired pigsty, her face filled with shock. "This...you fixed this?" Emma asked.
"Yes," Victor nodded. "The pigsty was broken. If it wasn't fixed, the pigs would freeze to death in winter."
Emma opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say. In her memory, Victor was a pampered young master who couldn't even wash his own clothes, let alone fix a pigsty. But today, this young master seemed...
different.
"The soup...the soup is ready." Emma handed him the bowl. "Young master, please have some."
Victor took the bowl. The soup was hot, almost scalding. He blew on it and took a sip. The taste was very bland, with only a few vegetable leaves and some unknown grains, but to him, this was the most precious food.
"Thank you," he said.
Emma shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Young Master, you...you've changed."
Victor paused, then smiled. "Yes, I've changed. A person who has died once always changes."
Emma didn't fully understand his words, but she could sense that Victor's demeanor was indeed different. The old Victor was cowardly and timid, always running away from problems. The current Victor, though thin, possessed a resolute gaze, a reassuring determination.
"Young Master, are you...are you hungry?" Emma asked.
"A little," Victor said. "Is there anything else to eat?"
"Yes, there's some dry bread," Emma said. "I'll get it for you."
Victor nodded, continuing to look at the repaired pigsty. He thought about the life ahead—paying taxes, surviving the winter, saving the plantation. These tasks seemed impossible, but he had to complete them.
Because he didn't want to fail again.
Emma quickly brought a piece of bread. The bread was hard, like a rock. Viktor took a bite, struggling to chew off a piece. The bread was rough and tasteless, difficult to swallow, but he forced himself to.
"This bread...did you make it yourself?" Viktor asked.
"Yes, it's flour from the tenant farmers," Emma said. "The wheat harvest was bad this year, the flour quality is very poor."
Viktor chewed, a sudden flash of inspiration striking him. Flour, grease, water...what could he make with all this?
In his previous life, he had learned some chemistry and knew that soap could be made from fat and lye. If he could make soap and sell it in town, he might be able to make some money.
"Emma," Viktor said, "does our town sell grease?"
"Grease?" Emma paused, "Yes, the butcher has lard, but it's not cheap."
"How much per pound?"
"Three copper coins a pound," Emma said.
Viktor did the math in his head. Three copper coins a pound, and a pound can make about five bars of soap. If one bar of soap sells for two copper coins, five bars would be ten copper coins. After deducting costs, that's a profit of four copper coins. That profit margin… is quite considerable.
"Can I go take a look?" Victor asked.
"Now?" Emma glanced at the sky. "It's getting dark, and the roads are difficult to travel."
"It's alright," Victor said. "I must go take a look."
He didn't want to wait any longer. In his previous life, he had waited too long, and in the end, he got nothing. Now, he wanted to seize every opportunity.
Emma sighed, but finally agreed: "Then be careful, I'll go with you."
Victor shook his head: "No need, I can go alone. You… you should prepare at home; I might need to make some things tonight."
Emma hesitated for a moment, but still nodded in agreement: "Okay, young master, please come back soon."
Victor put on an old cloak and left the manor. A cold wind mingled with a light drizzle, quickly soaking his cloak. The road was muddy and difficult to walk, each step requiring great effort. But he didn't stop; instead, he quickened his pace.
He was going to town, to see the world, to see if he could find a chance to change his fate.
He had failed in his previous life, but this time, he would not fail again.
He would absolutely not fail again.