Chapter 1: Habsburg
The field was alive with the fluttering of black horse manes in the wind. Iron hooves trampled the soft grass, kicking up clumps of earth.
A knight, clad in a barrel helm with only a narrow slit for vision, wore chainmail beneath a black surcoat. Mounted on a sleek black warhorse, he charged toward a straw dummy serving as his target.
A heavy beechwood lance was tucked under his arm, forming a perfect right-angled triangle with his body—a standard posture that provided stability for the lance. This was the couched lance technique, a fundamental technique every knight in the world had to master.
The lance in his hand was solid, tapering toward the tip but thick at the base, cumbersome yet widely used in tournaments. However, its brittle nature made it prone to shattering.
First charge.
The lance struck true, its metal tip piercing through the straw dummy's chest. The sheer force of the impact sent the dummy flying into the air.
The knight raised the dummy high, then flung it aside with a swing.
Without hesitation, he discarded the heavy lance and spurred his horse forward. As he passed a weapon rack, he deftly snatched two short spears from it.
Upon turning his steed for another charge, the knight reversed his grip on one spear, raising it overhead before driving it downward with precision—straight into the neck of another straw dummy.
This was often the weakest point in an enemy's armor.
As his warhorse galloped across the wide field, the knight twisted his body and hurled the second spear with all his might.
Unfortunately, this one missed. The spear embedded itself in the dirt beside the dummy.
He removed his heavy barrel helm, revealing the striking, youthful face beneath. He set the helm down casually on a round table, then grabbed a clay jug filled with water and drank deeply, cooling the heat from his intense exertion.
Wiping the sweat from his temples, he glanced at the status panel before him and felt a flicker of satisfaction.
After a week of recovery training, he had successfully increased both his Strength and Endurance by one point each.
Moreover, he had fully adapted to the combat skills honed by the original owner of this body—a young man who had undergone years of knightly training.
Whether it was the commonly used heavy and light lances, short spears, shields, hand-and-a-half swords, or more niche weapons like maces, flails, or axes, he could wield them all proficiently.
As a knight dedicated to combat, he was already fully qualified—though he had yet to be formally knighted.
Lothar was a transmigrator.
In his past life, he had been the CEO of a gaming company. After working late into the night with his employees to finish a game, he had died from overwork and found himself reborn in this era.
He had taken over the body of a young German noble's second son—Lothar von Habsburg—who had fallen from his horse during training and struck his head on a rock.
When he first woke, he had assumed he was in the historically documented Dark Ages of medieval Europe.
But after fully assimilating the original's memories, he realized this world was nothing like the medieval period he knew.
For instance, Henry von Hohenstaufen, the Emperor of the German Empire, had hired a witch as his royal advisor last winter. He had then conscripted tens of thousands of serfs to construct a grand tower exclusively for witches, inviting them from all over to reside there.
And that wasn't even the most outrageous part. Richard the Lionheart, the famed king of England, had actually married a witch and appointed her as the kingdom's Chancellor of the Exchequer.
In his past life, where the Church held supreme authority, such a thing would have been unthinkable in the medieval era.
In this world, the relationship between witches and the Church didn't seem as tense—at least, not on the surface.
***
Name: Lothar von Habsburg
Title: None
Occupation: Noble
Affiliation: German Empire, County of Aargau (Lower Burgundy, not the Duchy of Burgundy).
Retinue: None
Strength: 9 (Average adult male: 5)
Agility: 7
Constitution: 8
Endurance: 8
Spirit: 10
Talent: Twice-Lived (Having fused two souls, you possess double the Spirit of an ordinary person. Permanent +5 to Spirit).
Skills: None
***
The system was derived from a knockoff tower defense game he had been working on before his death—one he had spent sleepless nights trying to perfect before launch.
The game's premise was simple: summon various hero units through a gacha system, defend and upgrade your territory, and repel waves of enemies.
The problem?
The game started with a territory.
And right now, Lothar didn't even have a title, let alone land. Without either, he couldn't activate the system.
Which meant he still hadn't been able to draw a single card.
***
After training, Lothar returned to his room in the castle.
With the help of a maid, he removed his surcoat and chainmail, changing into a lightweight linen shirt before heading straight to the castle's tower.
This fortress was called "Hawk's Castle"—or "Habsburg" in the local tongue, the origin of his family name.
Prefixes like "de" or "von" denoted noble lineage, meaning "from", indicating a landed aristocrat.
Hawk's Castle was a sturdy mountain fortress, strategically positioned. With sufficient provisions, even an army of thousands would struggle to breach its defenses.
Lothar ran his fingers along the rough battlements, letting the mountain breeze cool him as he reflected.
In his past life, even working-class people lived in air-conditioned homes with soft mattresses and running water available at any hour.
But in this era, even nobles lived far from comfortably—especially the more martial German lords, who preferred castles over manors. Their living conditions were downright harsh.
Damp. Dark.
Rats. Fleas.
All commonplace.
After all, castles in this age prioritized defense over comfort.
Heavy footsteps echoed from below the tower. A man-at-arms in a kettle hat and surcoat called up in a low voice.
"Lord Lothar, the Count requests your presence. It's time for lunch."
"Understood." Lothar nodded and followed him to the castle's great hall.
These men-at-arms were full-time soldiers, unlike the peasant levies called up only in wartime. They were professional warriors, though Hawk's Castle housed barely over a hundred of them. In battle, they would form the core of the Count's forces alongside his knights.
The great hall's most striking feature was the trio of coats of arms hanging on the gray stone wall beneath the stone vaulted ceiling.
To the left, three black lions on a golden field—the emblem of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, to which Lothar's father, Count Werner, swore fealty as a vassal of Emperor Henry VI of the German Empire.
The center bore a single black eagle on a golden field—the symbol of the Empire itself.
And on the right was a red lion rampant on a golden field—the crest of the Habsburg family.
Beneath these heraldic shields, a long table was laden with dishes. Count Werner and Lothar's elder brother, Otto, were already seated. Lothar's mother, Lady Iris, had passed away a year prior.
Seeing Lothar, the Count gave a slight nod, gesturing for him to take his seat.
The man was not one for smiles.
High cheekbones, deep-set eyes, long hair and beard, and a prominent scar across his face—Count Werner was far from handsome.
Yet both his sons, Otto and Lothar, were strikingly good-looking.
Once seated, the Count raised his hand and traced a cross in the air.
"We thank the Heavenly Father for this meal, and pray He provides for those in want. In the Father's name, amen."
Only after the prayer did he signal for the meal to begin.
Today's fare was relatively lavish: the main dish was goat stew with carrots and potatoes, accompanied by roasted quail, fruit tarts, and a basket of fine wheat bread.
The silver cutlery bore intricate engravings—spoils from Count Werner's younger days as a Crusader. Otherwise, in a backwater like Aargau, assembling even a single set of silverware for daily use would have been impossible.