The day fell, night crept in, and I kept my eyes outside the window, where the moonlight gently illuminated the room. I had requested the room to be darkened, and the job was done well. At least it helped my eyes rest.

The stinging sensation in my hands was slowly intensifying, spreading throughout my body. The maid, going by the name Lilly, had forced me to drink another two glasses of bittersweet red liquid, claiming it would stabilize my condition. However, I hadn't felt any improvement; if anything, it seemed to be getting worse.

Oh, modern healthcare.

Whoever said "you know the value of things when you lose them" was absolutely right. If I were back in my own time, I would have undergone major surgery and likely recovered within a month or two. I had more than enough resources to facilitate such medical treatment. Yet, here I was, suffering, with little hope of regaining full use of my left palm. It felt lifeless, unresponsive to any stimuli.

"Why me?" I mumbled, unable to contain the frustration. Why was I the one forced to endure this excruciating pain for something I wasn't even remotely responsible for? Karma certainly had a peculiar way of visiting, huh?

"Lord?" A male voice interrupted my thoughts, and I shifted my attention from the window to the other side of the room.

"Finnan!" I nodded at the well-groomed man in the dark corner, assigned to me as my caretaker. Lilly was supposed to be on the job as she had always done – in her words, but I had her replaced with this guy.

She had been eager to help me with every little thing, from washing to attending to my needs, but it was too embarrassing to be guided by a woman to the bathroom while half-naked and weak, other than my real mother.

Finnan had proved to be reliable and capable, assisting me in every step without complaint or reaction to anything I threw at him. He was a composed lad, and showed immeasurable respect for some reason. I could see the potential for him to become a loyal henchman back home, or here even.

“Would you like to eat something?” Finnan asked, leaving his seat, and standing beside the bed; his features highlighted by the light shining upon him.

"No," I denied, my stomach still feeling full from the potions earlier.

"I see." He nodded in understanding. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"When will the healer be here?" I inquired, feeling anxious about the delay. The man was supposed to arrive by evening, but night had fallen, and there was no sign of him.

"He... might not arrive today, lord," Finnan answered politely, slowly taking a step back as if trying not to disturb me further.

"Why not?" I pressed for an explanation.

"I do not know," he replied, lowering his head. "All we can do is wait and hope for his arrival soon.”

I sighed, feeling helpless and at the mercy of circumstances. "And let me die," I muttered, the weight of frustration and anger building up inside me. "I hate this place, Finnan. I fucking hate this place." The suppressed rage began to take hold of me, and I felt like I was on the brink of losing control.

"I am... Sorry, Lord," Finnan stammered, stepping back further as my voice escalated in intensity.

"I just took a nap, damn it. And now I am here, getting hammered to death and tied to a fucking tree while naked. For what?" I cried out.

Finnan's face showed obvious signs of discomfort, but I couldn't contain my emotions any longer.

"For something I didn't do. For something I never remember happening," I shouted, slamming my right palm into the mattress in frustration, only to cry out in horror as the pain overwhelmed me. "Fuck!!!"

My body trembled from the physical and emotional pain. I felt trapped and angry, with no way to escape the torment that had befallen me. It was all so unfair.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. "I'm sorry, Finnan," I said, my voice softer now. "I know it's not your fault. It's just... everything is... just too much to handle."

"It's alright, Lord," he said gently, offering a reassuring smile. "Everything will be fine. Our best men are at work. It is only a matter of time before justice is served."

"Only if I survive, Finnan," I replied with pain evident in my voice. I painfully raised my left hand to give him a better look at my injuries. "If this fucking healer doesn't arrive and work some magic, this wound is going to turn into a mortal infection. I could lose my palm, or at worst, my whole hand. Then, it's better to just die, without any means to defend myself.”

"You will not die, Lord," Finnan assured, his voice steady and comforting. "Lady Isolde will arrive with the best of the best for your treatment."

"Who is this, Lady Isolde?" I asked, my mind still trying to grasp the unfamiliar name.

"She... uh... She is your fiancée." Finnan replied hesitantly.

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"My fiancée?" I repeated, taken aback by the revelation. "I have a fiancée?"

Finnan shook his head. "Yes."

I stared at him in disbelief. This was all too much to take in. Reincarnation, a deadly wound, a noble title, and now a fiancée I had no recollection of. It felt like my life had been a constant roller-coaster, spiraling down beyond my control.

Gauging my reaction, Finnan asked with a hint of concern in his eyes, "Do you perhaps… not recall her, Lord?"

"Let’s say those bastards hit my head real hard. So, I do not have any recollection of anything until yesterday," I replied with a ploy to acquire some much-needed knowledge.

"You do not have any head injuries, Lord," he explained gently, clearly trying to help me understand.

"It's internal, dumbass," I retorted. "Did you peek inside my head? No, right?"

"No, Lord. I apologize for my presumption," Finnan replied, bowing slightly.

"Then tell me about myself and my legacy," I demanded, hoping he would share some crucial information about the man once known as Arwan. It was the only way I could figure out what I was supposed to do next or how to navigate this unfamiliar world.

Finnan hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure of how much information he should reveal. "Lord Arwan, you are the second son of Count Eduart von Willard, the ruler of Seiren," he began cautiously. "Your older brother, Lord Harwyn, is the heir to the title and estates, and you have a younger sister named Lady Elara."

"And my fiancée, Lady Isolde?" I probed further.

"She is the daughter of Marquess Tristan of Lysaria," Finnan answered. "The union between your families was arranged to strengthen ties between Seiren and Lysaria."

I absorbed the information, trying to piece together the puzzle of my life. "What is my reputation? What kind of man am I known to be?"

Finnan paused for a moment, rearranging his thoughts. "You have a significant impact on your subjects, Lord," he responded, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

I stayed silent, prompting him to explain further. "You are known to be… unjust, unfair, and… a bit chaotic," he said cautiously. "Most of your subjects admire you… in a different way."

I groaned, pressing my head down into the soft pillow. "A negative outlook is all I need," I mused to myself. Now there was another worry added to the list.

“You also have many positives, Lord,” Finnan interjected, trying to cheer me up.

“Like?” I inquired, curious to hear what positive aspects he could find in my character.

“Like, um... You are a good entertainer... and an irreplaceable patron to many pubs and businesses around the city,” he said hesitantly, trying to come up with something.

“So, I am a clown,” I remarked, recognizing the obvious.

“A drunk clown,” Finnan corrected himself quickly. “…shouldn’t have said that.”

I let out another sigh, not sure whether to be amused or frustrated by Finnan's honesty. "A drunk clown," I repeated, shaking my head in disbelief. "Well, that's just great. Not only am I known for being unjust and chaotic, but I'm also the laughingstock of the city."

Finnan looked apologetic, realizing he might have said too much. "I'm sorry, Lord. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's fine," I replied, trying to muster a smile. "I suppose I need to work on my reputation, if I planned to live here instead of going back.”

"Where would you go back?" Finnan inquired.

"Nowhere," I rolled my eyes. "Give me some water," I requested, feeling parched.

He obeyed immediately and fetched me a glass of water. After helping me drink it, he returned to his seat. "Anything else, Lord?" he asked.

"Nothing. You can leave," I ordered, wanting some time alone to collect my thoughts.

"Thank you, Lord," he said with a slight bow and quietly left, leaving me to stare at the ceiling until sleep claimed me.

***

The next day, I had hoped to figure out more about my life and find a way to go back, but instead, all I woke up to was darkness. I could hear voices—those of the countess, Finnan, Lilly, and many more unfamiliar ones. Yet, I couldn't react to them. My body felt unresponsive, disconnected.

Fear gripped me as I realized I couldn't move or speak. Panic set in, and I tried to force my limbs to respond, but they remained still. It was as if I was trapped inside my own body, unable to communicate with the outside world.

"Lord Arwan, can you hear me?" It was Finnan's high-pitched voice, filled with concern.

I tried to respond, but no words came out. My heart pounded, and I felt a rush of helplessness like never before. What’s happening to me? The fuck is going on.

"Lilly, fetch that healer immediately!" He urgently called out to the maid. “His potions are not working.”

The countess spoke, her voice wavering with worry. "What's happening to my son?"

“He will be fine, milady. He will be fine.” Finnan reassured, though his voice couldn't hide the anxiety he felt.

I strained to move, to show them that I was still conscious, but it was futile. Panic turned into frustration, and tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to make my body obey my commands.

Please, someone, help me. I'm still here. I silently pleaded, hoping that somehow, they would understand my distress. But in the darkness, my silent cries went unheard, and I was left to grapple with this mysterious condition, unsure of what would happen next.

"No… No… No…." The words reverberated around me, accompanied by a flurry of loud footsteps echoing through the room. Another voice, this time feminine, cried out in despair, "What the hell did you do, Ambrose?"

"I… I do not understand, milady," an old man named Ambrose replied, his voice trembling with fear. "It should have worked."

"I don't fucking care," she retorted, enraged. "Fix him! Now! Or I swear to God, I will have your head!"

"Yes… Yes… I will," Ambrose stammered in response, clearly panicked.

I felt the man's breath over my face, his frantic attempts at incantations or spells inaudible and incomprehensible to my senses. The next second, my body felt heavy, my consciousness slipping away, and I lacked the energy to fight or regain control over my limbs. I drifted into a disoriented state, trapped between sleep and wakefulness, the world around me a blur of voices and shadows.

Then, suddenly, something akin to an electric jolt ran through my body, and my eyes snapped open to face a grim reality. Many people surrounded me, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. Yet, my focus was drawn to the old man closest to me, Ambrose, his face etched with fear and guilt as he clasped my seemingly recovered left hand.

But his words shattered any hope of relief, "Forgive me, milady. But his hand… It might not work anymore."