A white-haired young man in his regal attire was prone unconsciously. Crimson fluid drenched the ground beneath him, painting the grass in ruby color. The pallid fingers twitched and his eyelids gradually lifted, revealing a pair of cerulean eyes that reminded you of a summer sky.

Rolling his body to the side, he grunted, “Urg!”

Disoriented, the man stared blankly at the sky. Slowly regaining his senses, the sounds of the melodious chirp of birds pricked his ears, prompting him to flip his eyelids to clear his blurry sight rapidly. Once his hazed eyes cleared, the tall pine trunks that looked like soaring into the sky greeted him. The blue sky was covered by its thick canopy leaves, sunlight slipped between them.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but furrow his brows, mumbling, “A forest?”

His voice was hoarse and sounded unfamiliar. But it might be due to his dry throat, so he brushed it off. But now that he thought about it, he vividly remembered that he was on a plane while reading a novel and—did the plane crash?

If that was the case, then it explained how on earth he was lying in the forest with agony coursing through his body. But before he could assess the situation, a surge of excruciating pain shot through his head, causing him to clutch his forehead. “Ugh!”

Sensing the dampness on his palm, he brought it to his sight only to see blood covering his palm, “What the hell?”

At this point, he had no idea what shocked him the most: his injured head or his hands that shrank into teen-like. He was a 28-year-old dude! No wonder his voice sounded weird. Reacting swiftly, he forced himself to sit and his shoulder slumped in an instant. Letting out a heavy sigh, he clicked his tongue in exasperation; reality stuck him like a bolt of lightning.

Before him were numerous figures lying scattered on the ground. They wore black robes and some dons in soldier attire that people in the Renaissance would wear. Varied weapons and severed limbs were littered across the clearing. Blood splattered everywhere, painting the vegetation in crimson.

Judging from their wounds and unnatural angle, he didn’t think that they were still alive nor did they look like the plane wreck victims. The scene before him was an aftermath of a war! Wasting no more time, he snatched the nearest sword and sprang to his feet, only to fall flat on the ground after. “Ugh!”

Despite the pain, he pushed the ground with both hands. Although he had no idea what was happening, it would be better to find a safe place first as soon as possible. However, a rustling bush caught his attention, his gaze darted to the sound and a handsome young man with black hair emerged behind the tall bushes.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Locking eyes with him, the young man’s golden eyes stretched wide as he rooted to the ground, “You’re… alive?!” Disbelief laced his voice.

He wore a princely-like attire full of blood stains, even his face had some too. But the most noticeable was the sword that was dripping blood in his left hand. When another rustling of leaves filled the air, they glanced at the sound and found two middle-aged men appearing behind the bushes.

“Your Highness!” One of them shouted, relief etched on their faces as they made their way toward them.

‘Are they referring to the young man?’ He returned his sight to him, but his body jolted in surprise when arms suddenly warped around him. Frowning, he turned to the side, and strands of black hair were seen; the young man was hugging him right now.

“?” As he was about to open his mouth, an unbearable headache suddenly swirled inside him and his eyelids felt heavy. “I…” Eventually, the darkness swallowed him whole.

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In a spacious and grand room, furnished with luxurious furniture, a white-haired teen lying on the canopy bed. As light pierced through between his eyelids, he instinctively clenched his eyes tightly and used the back of his hand to block it. But before he could slip into his slumber, his eyes snapped open and brought his hand to his sight, revealing a teenager’s hand.

He abruptly sat and lifted the blanket covering him, showing a pair of legs that didn’t belong to him, “What the—this is not a dream?”

Taking in the surroundings, his gaze was fixed on a mirror, displaying a teenager sitting on a bed, his cerulean eyes staring back at him. He touched his face and the figure in the glass mirrored his action. Slightly pinching his hair and peeking it from the corner of his eyes, white locks enter his vision.

Returning his sight to the mirror, he heaved a sigh of resignation, “So, that’s my body now, huh?”

Shifting his eyes to the wide open window, he placed down his legs from the bed. Standing straight, his body immediately lurched forward and with a loud thud, fell flat on the floor. Sitting down, he looked at his legs, “Am I disabled?”

The door creaked open, causing him to turn to the sound, revealing an old man in butler attire.

Upon locking eyes with him, the man flinched, “Your Highness…?”

His forehead creased at the new piece of information, ‘Your Highness? Is that me?’

The man dashed toward him, exclaiming urgently, “Fetch a physician and inform His and Her Majesty!”

“We understand!” Following the order, the maids behind the door commenced running.

Arriving before him, the old man scooped him up and placed him back on the bed. He gently stroked his hair and stared at him with genuine worry, “Your Highness, are you hurt anywhere?”

As the confusion continued to gnaw at him, he asked, “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Yet, instead of providing him with the answer, the old man just looked at him in surprise.

Nonetheless, he pressed on, “Who are you? Who am I? What is this place?”