"A duel? Be reasonable, Marquis. Veter is a veteran duelist, known throughout the kingdom. Even you can’t beat him—it’s suicide!" Henry said in an exasperated tone.

"On that point, I won’t disagree with you. Even if you trained tirelessly until the duel, you’d never be ready… unless..." The Marquis Eldorien smiled even wider.

"Unless what?" Henry asked impatiently.

"Tell me, Your Highness, do you take drugs?" the Marquis inquired.

"No, why do you ask?"

"And your stomach?"

"I won’t deny that I enjoy good food."

"Hmm, that will do." Eldorien pulled out a small box and opened it. Inside were two rings set with small amethyst stones, engraved with faintly glowing runes of a violet hue.

Henry instantly recognized the nature of the object, even though it was the first time he had ever seen such rings.

"An artifact?" Henry said, astonished by the object.

"Exactly, Your Highness."

Artifacts from the magical era were relics from another time, a tiny fraction of divine power granted to humanity. Henry was seeing before him an item so valuable that many princes and theocrats of the Holy Empire would sell their titles for such a treasure.

"And you’re presenting me with something this precious just like that, without any fanfare?"

"What, would you prefer a little song and a shower of confetti?"

"How did you get your hands on this?"

"An old friend lent it to me."

"I’m afraid to ask what these… rings do," Henry replied, still dumbfounded by the situation, unsure how to classify the artifact.

The Marquis carefully picked up one of the rings. "Try it on, Your Highness."

"Do I really have to put this on my finger? I’m not going to explode or turn inside out, am I?" Henry thought, hesitating.

The Marquis noticed Henry’s reluctance. "Your Highness, this will help you... no, it will help *us* take revenge on Veter."

"My revenge isn’t worth my life, Eldorien."

The Marquis slipped one of the rings onto his finger.

"Who said anything about paying such a price, Your Highness?" he said in a deep, assured, almost terrifying voice.

Henry felt compelled to put the ring on his finger.

A whirlwind sucked Henry’s mind. He felt himself stretched, like an elastic band, surrounded by hues of violet illuminating his vision. Soon, he reached the end of the tunnel.

"Oh wow, what just happened? I thought I was going to die... but where am I?"

Henry opened his eyes. He saw a man in refined clothing, though slightly plump, with a face that could only be described as average.

"Did it shake you up too much, Your Highness?"

"Wait, that voice… it’s… it’s my voice... and these clothes… wait, my hands…"

"It’s always shocking the first time."

"Stop talking! Oh my God, it’s disturbing to hear this voice…"

Henry looked at his own body, intrigued but also terrified. "So this is what I look like? I thought I’d look more… majestic, to be honest."

"Now you see why a duel would be in our favor."

"You’re going to control my body during the duel?" Henry smiled, filled with hope.

"Bingo, Henry. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy a drink while I fight the Duke."

"It’s not exactly the revenge I imagined. I’ll just be a spectator... but whatever, the result is the same. But wait… the Duke probably won’t agree to a duel to the death."

"You plan to kill him in this duel?" Henry asked, slightly panicked.

"That’s kind of the point of our discussion, Your Highness. If it reassures you, I won’t kill him with a simple sword to the gut. I’ll probably cripple him, or I’ll make sure he dies from a slow and painful infection. If you’re afraid of being accused of his murder, we can have an assassin shoot an arrow at him once I remove his helmet. There are plenty of ways to kill him, but the opportunities… those must be seized," the Marquis explained, gesturing with his hands as if listing the many ways to kill Veter.

"Very well… and how do we switch back to our bodies?"

"It’s simple, Your Highness: take off the ring, and that’s it."

Henry removed the ring, and the same whirlwind carried his mind back to his body.

Once he was back in his own body, Henry felt a nausea that would scare even the most seasoned sailor. His head spun, and his legs wobbled like jelly. The sensation reminded him of the morning after his first drinking binge, the one that had gotten him into trouble.

"Oh wow… does it do this to you too, Eldorien?" Henry asked, his face pale, hand over his mouth.

"It’s a feeling that never goes away, even after dozens of times. You’d better get used to it," the Marquis replied.

After recovering from the dizziness, Henry noticed a hand extended toward him. He grasped the calloused hand of the Marquis.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"So, Your Highness, ready to fight?"

In a small, remote forest village, a woman named Marie was drawing water from a well.

"Why is it always me doing everything," she grumbled. "I swear, leaving a pregnant woman to do all the work while he just sits around… I was such a fool to marry him..."

Marie, a young peasant woman with delicate features, had always been admired in her village. Since her adolescence, she had drawn the eyes of young men, sometimes even older, married ones. After being courted endlessly, she had eventually married the blacksmith’s son, hoping that he’d be away often because of his work and rich enough to provide her a comfortable life. However, her husband had stayed home all winter, leaving her to manage the household tasks.

"Oh dear God, this is heavy," she muttered as she hoisted the water bucket.

It was early morning, and frost still covered the plants. Poachers were returning with their catches tied to their belts as the village slowly awakened from its winter slumber.

"Good morning, Marie. Sleep well? Need a hand with that bucket?" a man called out as he passed by.

"Shut up," she replied curtly.

What does he want from me now? she thought. I’m pregnant, that should be obvious!

Marie made her way through the village, heading toward her house. Her hair was disheveled, and her complexion pale, but she remained strikingly beautiful. As she walked, she spotted her father, a short man with brown hair, approaching her.

"Marie, how are you, my girl?"

"Fine, Dad. What do you want?" she asked, a bit annoyed.

"Nothing in particular. It’s been a while since you’ve come by the house. Your mother’s worried. She asked me to bring you this. It’s not much—you know we’re not wealthy—but I think it’ll make you happy," he said, pulling out a small burlap pouch.

"Oh, Dad, you shouldn’t have. That’s very kind," she replied, opening the pouch.

Inside were honey candies. Marie was a bit disappointed not to find money, but she hugged her father anyway.

"Thanks, Dad."

"It’s nothing, but I think you’ve dropped your bucket of water."

"Oh no, not again..."

"It’s alright, give it to me. I’ll fill it up for you. Go rest, this isn’t work for a pregnant woman."

"Thank you so much, Dad."

Her father walked off, bucket in hand. Marie, not wanting to go back inside to see her husband doing nothing, sat on a chair outside the house.

He’s kind, that’s not the problem, but he’s smothering me. This house is suffocating...

She popped a candy into her mouth, letting the sweetness melt.

"Thanks, Dad," she murmured.

A few minutes later, she saw her father returning with the bucket full. But something else caught her attention in the distance.

"Wait, who are those people?" she whispered.

Men in armor formed a line. Marie immediately understood that they didn’t belong to the local lord’s army and that they certainly hadn’t come as friends.

Her father, in the distance, realized it too and started running as fast as he could. But before he could shout a warning, an arrow pierced his heart.

Marie turned pale, a cold sweat running down her spine. She didn’t even have the strength to scream or cry, so sudden was the event. Turning to flee, she saw those same men who had just killed her father emerge from the bushes, blocking her way.

"A woman, boys!"

"Looks like we’re lucky from the start, and she’s got a pretty face too," one of the men said, smiling.

"Wait, she’s pregnant!" another pointed out.

Marie searched for an escape route, but wherever she looked, armored soldiers were raiding houses, looting and slaughtering. Before she could react, an arrow pierced her thigh. She screamed in pain, feeling an unbearable agony shoot through her leg.

"And so what if she’s pregnant? There are three hundred of us; try finding a woman for each man in this godforsaken place! I’m not going to be picky," one of the bandits said, tearing the young woman’s clothes off.

Meanwhile, Isaac strolled through the village, surveying the scene. Not a single house had been spared, and the villagers had put up no resistance. Everywhere he looked, he saw his men celebrating, drinking in the taverns as if nothing had happened, and raping women in the streets.

"Such barbarism," Isaac murmured as he passed by a gruesome scene. "Terrible, really... but well, they shouldn’t have been here. Borders are dangerous places."

Isaac continued walking through the village, holding a handkerchief to his nose to block out the foul stench of corpses. He came across a scene where three soldiers were taking turns violating a woman, her lifeless eyes staring off into the distance, any sign of life having already left her.

"Such animality..." Isaac murmured again, continuing on his way.

He noticed a small burlap pouch on the ground. Picking it up, he found some honey candies inside.

"It’s been a long time since I’ve had sweets," he said with a smile. "Thank you, Seraphic Lord, for this generous offering."

He continued walking, savoring the honey candies. Arriving in front of a house that seemed relatively untouched, he decided to enter. Inside, he found a man in his forties, fast asleep on a bed.

"He’s sleeping through all this racket?" Isaac nudged the man violently, waking him with a start.

"Oh my god, you scared me!" the man cried, confused.

"Get out," Isaac ordered coldly.

"What? Who are you?"

"Do you not see my armor, idiot? Now, get out. It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper night’s sleep, and I don’t want to stain this bed."

The man, terrified, stammered, "Wait… wait until it’s over, sir..."

"You’re so stupid, I swear!" Isaac retorted with disdain.

Before the man could react, Isaac drove a dagger into his throat. The man gurgled as blood filled his lungs.

"Sorry, it’s nothing personal. Let’s just say I’m a little on edge right now. In another situation, I would’ve let you go, but I can’t take that risk," Isaac murmured, watching the man collapse, trying in vain to crawl away to survive.

Isaac watched him die in silence, then returned inside the now-empty house.

Isaac closed the door behind him, observing the house's spartan interior. No luxury here, but it would do for the night. He lay down on the bed, letting his mind wander.

"I’ll have to avoid attracting the attention of the Prince of Kholm. In a few days, if word of the raid hasn’t reached his ears, I can seize a goblin-held territory and make it my domain. After that… we’ll see. Building a lordship from scratch with this ragtag group won’t be easy. But it’s better than being under the crown’s thumb, better than being a powerless king."

His thoughts were interrupted by a noise outside. Sitting up, he heard the faint sound of a child crying, weak but persistent. Curious, he rose slowly and stepped outside. There, he saw a young boy approaching him, holding a kitchen knife clumsily. The child was trembling, but his eyes burned with rage.

"You bastard! You killed him!" the boy screamed, charging at Isaac, attempting to stab him through the armor.

Isaac took a step back, calmly observing the child. "Oh, you’re really getting on my nerves… You couldn’t have just stayed out of the way, kid?"

"You son of a bitch! You had no right to do that! Why did you kill him?!" the boy cried, tears streaming down his face as he struck uselessly against Isaac’s armor.

Isaac sighed, exasperated. "Shut up, I can’t understand a word you’re saying with that accent..."

The thought of killing a child didn’t sit well with Isaac, but he knew he couldn’t just let the boy go. Too risky. The boy was now sobbing uncontrollably, his small fists hammering repeatedly on Isaac’s armor. Snot dripped from his nose, and his cries echoed through the silent, devastated village.

"A well-placed blow, and..." Isaac muttered to himself. But when he tried to strike, the child wasn’t even knocked out. Instead, he cried even harder.

Frustrated, Isaac grabbed the boy by the waist, hoisting him up like a sack of potatoes.

"Quiet down, kid. I’m doing this for your own good. You have no idea how many people would’ve already killed you by now if they were in my shoes. This is charity, understand?"

The boy struggled, trying to bite, scratch, and punch Isaac, but nothing worked. A few hours later, Isaac finally deposited the boy deep in the forest, far from the village.

"See you around, kid."

The boy, his eyes filled with tears, shouted, "I’ll get my revenge, and I’ll kill you, you bastard!"

Isaac smiled, amused. "Oh yeah? I’m looking forward to it, kid."

"What’s your name, asshole?"

Isaac burst out laughing. "You really think I’m going to give you my name after you just said you’re going to kill me?" He paused for a moment, then added, "Listen, forget all this. Go rebuild your life. Find yourself a wife—it’s much better for you. But, just in case…"

Isaac grabbed the boy’s hand and, with a swift movement, cut off his pinky and ring finger.

The boy let out a piercing scream, clutching his mutilated hand as blood poured from his severed fingers.

"Why are you so surprised? You said you were going to kill me. It’s only natural that I take precautions, right?" Isaac said, without the slightest hint of remorse, before turning and walking away.