When the sharp chirping of birds and the steady rush of water reached his ears, Lucien opened his eyes to a blurry world. Blinking rapidly, the rough stone wall came into focus, sunlight filtering through the crack above. He was slumped against the cold surface, the scent of damp earth filling his nose.
He frowned, voice hoarse. "A cave?"
Ah, right—he had been thrown into a world of fiction, and possessing a prince's body.
Glancing down, three shallow cuts were embedded across his chest. The skin around them was swollen and inflamed, crusted with dried blood.
Lucien sighed. The wounds needed tending, or infection would finish what the river had not.
His gaze fell on his gambeson lying beside the faint embers of a dying fire, and he reached for it. Fortunately, it had dried.
A faint clatter of metal caught his attention. A badge lay near the ashes.
He picked it up, and a golden sun with six blazing rays encircled a single star, gleaming in his palm.
The imperial crest of Solairé was the six-rayed sun. This must be the prince's personal sigil.
Come to think of it… hadn't the knight called him Lucien?
If memory served, Lucien was the second prince of the Solairé Empire—the protagonist's half-brother, two years younger. However, there wasn't much information about Lucien; he was already dead by the time the story began.
But—
If Lucien was fated to die in this world… why had he repeatedly glimpsed his own death before looping back a few seconds?
Could it be that Lucien had seen it coming, yet still failed to stop it?
Or was there something he didn't know?
The ability was terrifying, but not invincible. Which meant he could die as well.
Whatever it was, he needed to leave the forest as soon as possible and find help.
He put his padding and armor back on, then rose. Stepping outside, warmth touched his skin as sunlight bathed him. Unlike yesterday, the river now meandered lazily, its waters glistening under the sun.
He moved to the edge and dropped to his knees, scooping a handful of water to his lips. Coolness slid down his parched throat.
Just as he was about to take another, the reflection on the water's surface caught his attention. A short, white-haired teenager with pale skin entered his sight. Cerulean eyes stared back at him.
He lifted a hand and stroked his cheek; the figure in the water mirrored the motion. Lucien gazed at the reflection in silence. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the body he now inhabited, though he couldn't quite place it.
Shaking off the thought, he scooped another handful of water to quench his thirst. Once sated, he rose to his feet and began walking along the river. Since rivers often led to settlements, it was best to follow the water.
Fortunately, he encountered no monsters and managed to eat a few wild berries along the way.
The distant sound of hooves pierced his ears. Lucien quickly pressed his back against a tree trunk.
"…we must locate him at all costs," a young man's voice demanded.
"I understand," replied a deep voice.
Lucien peered from behind the tree. Knights on horseback could be seen in the distance, their armor gleaming under the sunlight.
Doesn't seem like mercenaries.
However, the man leading the knights raised his arm, halting the march. Then he glanced in his direction, which Lucien quickly withdrew behind the trunk.
"Show yourself!" the same deep voice bellowed.
Lucien stilled. Should I reveal myself?
But what if they were allied with the assassins and had come here to confirm his death? Lucien's ability might help him, but with his condition, he could barely afford to fight them—
Footsteps squelched through the mud behind him.
Letting out a slow breath, Lucien braced himself.
A knight lunged from the side, his blade flashing toward Lucien's neck. Lucien seized the man's wrist mid-strike and slammed his body into him.
"Urg!" the knight groaned as they crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
Lucien rolled forward over the man's head and wrenched the sword from the knight's hand.
He pressed the blade against the knight's neck and whispered. "Don't move."
But the crest of a blazing sun embracing an eagle on the man's armor caught Lucien's eyes. It was—
"Luce! You're safe!"
The young man's relieved voice drew Lucien's attention.
A fair-skinned young man in regal attire dismounted from his horse and hurried toward him, mint-green hair swaying with each step. His emerald eyes shone with relief.
Lucien's jaw tightened at the familiar face. It was Tristan, the protagonist of this world.
"Stop!" Lucien pressed the blade harder against the knight's neck; a thin line of crimson slid down his skin.
He might not be able to fight them, but he could still escape with a hostage.
Tristan halted and slowly raised both hands in surrender. Confusion crept across his face. "Luce?"
Ignoring him, Lucien urged the knight to stand and began backing away step by step.
"Prince Lucien, I implore you to remove your sword!"
A broad-shouldered knight descended from his horse and stepped forward, shielding the young man. The other knights dismounted as well, their hands tightening around sword hilts and bows, their expressions darkening.
"No. Drop all your weapons." Tristan ordered.
The knight beside him flinched. "But, Your Highness—"
"Drop all your weapons!" Tristan cut him off.
With palpable reluctance, the knights complied. Metallic thud filled the air as their weapons fell to the ground.
Tristan slowly approached him with his hands held high. "Luce, I know you're confused, but you can trust me—"
"Trust you?" The corner of Lucien's tugged upward. His laughing cut through the silence, though there was no humor in it. Seizing his laugh, Lucien offered him a smug smirk. "How can I trust you when your grandfather sent assassins to kill me?"
With both of them heirs to the throne, Duke Vazquez clearly wanted Lucien removed to secure the crown for his grandson.
Tristan's face turned expressionless. "You know how my relationship with my maternal family is."
According to the novel, Tristan's relationship with both his maternal and imperial families was strained. But it didn't matter to Lucien, and he knew better than to trust the very protagonist standing before him.
Because in the novel, the one who killed Lucien wasn't the Vazquez faction.
It was Tristan.
A sudden glint flickered beside him. The broad-shouldered knight beside Tristan was already upon him, sword flashing.
Lucien leaped back just in time—the blade missing his chest by a hairbreadth. Regaining his footing, Lucien swung his sword. Steel clashed, but the knight's strength sent him sprawling.
"Ugh!" Pain tore through him as he slammed onto the ground, his sword slipping from his grip. Blood bloomed in his mouth.
The knight raised his fist. "Please forgive me."
The fist descended, and darkness crashed over him.
Dammit!