Darkness.
Lucian's consciousness swam in a void—weightless, detached from everything. He couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. The last thing he remembered was falling—wind roaring past his ears, bullets tearing through his body, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. Then, the cold, hard pavement rushing toward him.
So, this was death?
Then why could he still think? Why could he still feel?
A piercing light shattered the darkness.
[Congratulations! You have been chosen for a second chance at life!]
A glowing screen materialized before him, its eerie light cutting through the void.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. His instincts screamed trap—but where was the enemy? Was this a dying hallucination? A final glitch in his brain before shutting down?
Yet, as seconds passed, he remained suspended in nothingness. This wasn't oblivion.
It was something else.
He let out a slow breath, his sharp mind adapting.
"Huh. A second chance. Me? How unbelievable."
The idea was almost laughable. A killer like him, getting a do-over? If the afterlife was real, he was sure he belonged in hell.
And yet, here he was.
[Please choose your new status in life:]
[King]
[Prince]
[Chief]
[Warlord]
[Scholar]
Lucian scoffed. "Tch. What kind of ridiculous setup is this?"
His instincts kicked in as he assessed his options.
A king? Too much responsibility—too many enemies. A warlord? A surefire way to die young. A chief or scholar? Neither suited him.
That left prince—high status, but not the primary target. Power, but enough room to maneuver.
He selected it.
The screen flickered.
[Enjoy your new life, Prince Lucian Westergaard.]
And then—
Boom.
A deafening explosion. A rush of pain.
Then—nothing.
---
Southern Isles – The Imperial Court
The grand hall of the Imperial Court was silent, save for the soft rustling of robes and the murmurs of assembled nobles. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting distorted shadows on the polished marble floor.
At the center of the room stood a young man—his hands shackled in iron. His head bowed, yet his mind raced.
"Where am I?"
Lucian's sharp eyes darted around. He quickly analyzed exits, the number of guards, the placement of weapons. But then—
A wave of foreign memories crashed into him.
Two lives. Colliding.
Lucian Westergaard—the Tenth Prince of the Southern Isles. A noble born into power, yet overshadowed by his elder brother, Lars, the crown prince. A prince despised by his siblings.
And now, he was accused of murdering his brother.
"Tch. Of course, the first thing that happens in my second life is getting framed."
He clenched his jaw as the judge's voice rang through the hall.
"Lucian Westergaard, you have been found guilty of conspiring to assassinate His Highness, Prince David Westergaard."
A murmur spread among the courtiers, but Lucian ignored them. He sifted through the memories of his predecessor.
His brother had sent him a private letter—bearing his royal seal—inviting him to a secret meeting. No explanation. No warnings.
He went anyway.
But when he arrived at his chamber, he found his lifeless body on the bed, a knife protruding from his chest.
Then, almost as if perfectly timed, the guards burst in.
The blood was still fresh on his hands—he had tried to pull the knife out in a desperate attempt to save him. But the moment they saw him, the decision was already made.
Lucian was the culprit.
The judge's voice snapped him back to reality.
"The evidence against you is overwhelming. Testimonies, documents, and your suspicious behavior have led to an inescapable conclusion. You have betrayed your family, your kingdom, and your people."
Lucian stared at him, expression blank.
"Family? Kingdom? People?"
The memories of his predecessor made one thing clear—he had never been part of any of that.
His family shunned him. His kingdom treated him as an outcast. The people saw him as a stain on the royal bloodline.
This wasn't a betrayal. It was an execution.
The judge continued.
"With this crime, you shall bear the ultimate punishment. You will drink the Mana of Nothingness—and be hereby sentenced to banishment from the Southern Isles. You shall be taken to Grimmhold, where you will live out the remainder of your days in isolation."
A knight stepped forward, carrying a vial filled with a shimmering black liquid.
Lucian's body tensed. His instincts screamed danger.
He tried to resist, but the guards forced his mouth open, the chains binding him too tight to break free.
The moment the liquid touched his tongue—
Pain.
It was like his insides were being ripped apart, his very essence drained away. A force unlike anything he had ever felt before—like something inside him was being forcibly stripped away.
"MoThEr FuCKer!!" he choked out, voice hoarse from the agony.
"Silence!" the judge barked, slamming his gavel.
Lucian collapsed onto his knees, gasping. He could feel it, something inside him—gone.
In the audience, eleven royal siblings sat watching.
Lars, the crown prince. The second prince. All the way to the youngest, the 13th prince—Hans.
They watched him with unreadable expressions, as if witnessing a routine court proceeding.
Except for one.
Lucian's gaze locked onto a familiar smirk—Prince Theodore.
The second prince.
A sadistic bastard who had tormented the previous Lucian since childhood. A jealous, cruel noble who despised him.
"So, it was you."
Lucian struggled against the guards, even attempting to bite one of them, but the chains held firm.
The guards dragged him out of the courtroom, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.