How long has it beensince I last had proper rest?
I was assigned a guest room inside the Duchess Dowager's estate. It was far more extravagant than the place I used to live in back on Earth. Silk sheets. Carved pillars. A chandelier that shimmered faintly in the dim light of enchanted crystals.
And yet, sleep would not come.
Who would have thought that the renowned prince of this empire was nothing more than a rabid hound driven by lust?
Worse still, he walks free. Untouched. Unpunished. Waiting for his next indulgence.
I exhaled and stared at the ceiling.
This is one of Sir's works. It has to be.
If I can determine which novel this world belongs to, I can at least understand the framework of the timeline. I may not have been an avid reader of his stories, but I skimmed enough spoilers online to grasp the major plotlines.
Unfortunately, I never cared enough to finish them properly.
That laziness may cost me now.
I have never heard of the Kallish noble family in any of his works. Not once. Which means this place is not part of the main narrative.
Or perhaps it was mentioned briefly. A footnote. A background tragedy used to justify a political shift.
If that is the case, then this estate… this family…
…was destined to fall.
But that makes no sense.
The prince is a central figure in most of Sir's stories. If the prince is involved here, then this incident should matter. Even a minor scandal tied to him could influence the succession, the alliances, the war arcs.
Unless…
This is the part of the story that was never told.
Or worse.
This is the event that was deliberately erased.
If the Duchess Dowager was branded a heretic, and the truth was silenced, then naturally the official narrative would not include her version of events.
Which means the story I thought I knew… might already be distorted.
I closed my eyes.
If I am truly inside one of his novels, then I need to determine one thing above all else
Am I a background extra?
Or am I an anomaly?
Morning came.
A knock echoed softly through the room, pulling me from shallow sleep.
I rose from the bed and made my way to the door. When I opened it, one of the butlers who had guided me here the previous night stood waiting.
"Good morning, Perditus. As you witnessed, one of the duchess's most loyal servants gave his life to ensure her escape. We have been instructed to have you attend the funeral as a representative in place of the late butler who served faithfully until his final breath."
His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it.
"Well… of course. I will attend."
He handed me a neatly folded set of clothes.
"Here is the attire for the occasion."
It was a black suit, simple and unadorned. Appropriate for mourning.
After changing, I followed the butler through the long corridors and out toward the public yard of the Kallish Estate.
The funeral was already prepared.
A coffin adorned with silver linings and faint gold engravings rested at the center. It was elegant, yet restrained, befitting someone who had devoted his life to service rather than status.
Around it stood the estate's servants and retainers. Some bowed their heads. Others quietly wept.
And beside the coffin stood the Duchess Dowager.
Even from a distance, I could see it. The tension in her posture. The effort to remain composed. The quiet war behind her eyes as she fought back tears.
As I stepped into the yard, another servant approached me and gestured toward her side.
I nodded and walked forward.
"My condolences for your loss, Duchess Fenrina," I said softly, keeping my gaze lowered toward the coffin.
"I appreciate it," she replied, her voice calm but fragile. "To lose another dear life so soon… it pains me deeply. Lives wasted, all to protect me…"
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her dress.
"I am certain he fulfilled his duty with pride," I said. "And if he gave his life for you, then he did so without regret. You survived. That alone means it was not in vain."
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, barely above a whisper
"I pray that you are right."
A cold breeze passed through the yard, rustling the black garments of the mourners.
And as I stood there, staring at the coffin of a man whose name I had barely known, a single thought lingered in my mind.
If this family truly is destined to fall…
Then this may only be the beginning.
The funeral went on.
Hymns of prayer were sung into the cold morning air. Words of gratitude were spoken, recounting years of loyalty and unwavering service. Even the small number of knights stationed within the estate knelt in silent respect, heads bowed before the coffin.
I stood among them, watching it all unfold.
How deep must the duchess's pain be now? Grief had already claimed her husband. Now it had taken another pillar of her life.
Would she endure it?
Or would she eventually drown in it?
Tomorrow, the estate would resume its rhythm. Servants would return to their duties. Knights would patrol the grounds. Meals would be prepared, meetings conducted, orders given.
Life would move forward.
Yet beneath that routine would linger the quiet reminder that someone was missing. A voice that would never answer again. Footsteps that would never echo through these halls.
That is how loss settles in.
Not loudly. But persistently.
Still, something gnawed at the back of my mind.
An unease I could not shake.
It was not grief.
It was not fear.
It was anticipation.
A whispering instinct that refused to be silenced.
It kept telling me
I was about to witness something tragic.
And this funeral… might not be the last.
As the funeral came to its conclusion, the final prayer fading into silence, an inexplicable urge tugged at my senses.
Without thinking, I turned past the mourners, beyond the rows of black garments, toward the right side of the courtyard.
For a fleeting second, I saw it.
A figure.
It moved like a ripple through the air, passing between the trees before vanishing as if carried away by the wind.
I narrowed my eyes.
Was it merely my imagination?
No one else seemed to notice. The knights remained kneeling. The servants were still. The duchess did not react.
Perhaps grief was playing tricks on me.
Or perhaps… it was not meant to be seen.
The next day came quietly.
I found myself walking through the modest grounds of the Kallish Estate and its small yet humble territory. Compared to the grand domains described in noble tales, this place was simple but not lifeless.
I spoke with the townsfolk. Interacted with the servants. Observed the rhythm of their days.
The Duchess Dowager had no children. That was one thing I learned early on.
Another was more troubling, the empire had gradually been reducing the monthly funds allocated to House Kallish. Not openly. Not dramatically. Just slowly enough that it would not cause public suspicion.
A quiet suffocation.
And yet, despite that, the people here laughed. They worked. They shared meals. They endured.
There was warmth in this declining house.
Which made its looming fate feel heavier.
As for me, I was assigned small tasks throughout the day, errands, lifting supplies, assisting in the yard.
And that was when I noticed it.
No matter how much I exerted myself, my body did not tire.
Not even slightly.
Hours passed. My breathing remained steady. My muscles did not ache.
It felt as if I possessed endless stamina.
The knights even commented on it.
"You move like someone trained for years," one of them said. "Your strength is unusual for someone with no memory."
That was not all.
My face was the same. The reflection staring back at me in polished glass was unmistakably mine.
But my body…
It was different.
Sharper. Stronger. More refined.
In many ways, it felt optimized.
Concerned, I visited the infirmary under the pretense of a routine check. The healer examined me carefully.
"You are perfectly normal," he concluded.
Normal.
If this is normal, then what was I before?
I returned to my quarters in silence.
So… was I simply transmigrated into a superior version of myself?
Or
Was this body never mine to begin with?
And if that is true…
Then whose body am I inhabiting?