Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening and a Gilded Cage
The first sensation had been a dull, throbbing pain at the back of his head, an old acquaintance from countless late nights spent working under infrared-lit conditions and the buzz of a nearby monitor. Michael groaned and tried to slap away an imaginary alarm clock. His hand encountered not plastic, but smooth, embroidered fabric. His gritty, reluctant eyes slowly cracked open. Rather than his familiar, tattered ACDC poster plastered above his apartment ceiling, he encountered an extravagant canopy of rich, deep red velvet, delicately embroidered with gold filaments illustrating mighty lions roaring—unfamiliar but somehow, uncomfortably, familiar. Cold, sharp panic began to tingle at the peripheries of his awareness. This was not his small Tokyo apartment. This was not even his century. He sat rigid, the silken sheets huddled around a form that seemed alien. Longer limbs, a more wiry physique he did not have, and a tumble of dark hair, not his normally cropped brown, spilling into his eyes. He stared at his hands—pale, slender, neatly trimmed nails. Not the calloused, faintly ink-stained fingers of Michael Sano, sleep-deprived coder and history buff. The room came into view. It was huge, big enough for his entire previous flat. A huge stone fireplace, untouched by heat, took up one entire wall. Tapestry after tapestry of battle scenes and stony-faced ancestors covered the rest of the wall. Wooden furniture, polished to a shine, stood watch. The atmosphere was chilled and quiet, and carried by it hung a faint scent of beeswax and something else. a little, metal-like taste. Where in the world am I?! A jumble of fractured images, emotions, and raw information struck his mind, like a hard drive full of corruption trying to boot up. Roaring crowds… glints of steel… hushed whispers along intricately carved halls… an aging man's harsh face… a woman's smiling face, now lined by sorrow… guttural growls of unseen creatures… He grasped his head, a real moan of agony slipping out from his mouth. Names, designations, locations—all unfamiliar, but achingly intimate. Alexius. Crown Prince Alexius Demetrios Leo. Principality of Leo. Father… Grand Prince Alaric… confined to bed. Mother… Lyra… departed.* No. No, no. This had not been a dream. This had been too vivid, too real. The pain had been too intense. The memories, disjointed though they had been, had seemed like his own but imposed upon Michael Sano's life. There had been two souls fighting to occupy one body. Just when real, stomach-twisting terror nearly overwhelmed him, a gentle, ethereal chime resonated through his mind, and an iridescent blue panel flashed into view before him, unseen by the surroundings.
[System Initializing...]
[Host Integrity Confirmed. Soul Synchronization: 78%]
[Welcome, Designated Successor Unit 734, to the Sovereign Protocol.]
[Current Designation: Prince Regent Alexius Demetrios Leo.]
[Objective: Ensure the survival and prosperity of the Principality of Leo.]
[Primary Mandate: Assume Control. Ascend. Conquer.]
Michael—no, Alexius, he supposed, at least for now—stared at the impossible display. A system? Like in those web novels and games he'd devoured in his scarce free time? Sovereign Protocol? Designated Successor Unit? It sounded less like a game and more like a corporate takeover… of a country.
The mental whiplash was severe. One moment he was facing an existential crisis of identity, and the next, he was being presented with a user interface for… what? Kingship? Dictatorship?
Before he could process further, the heavy oak door creaked open. An elderly man, stooped with age but with eyes that held a keen alertness, entered, balancing a silver tray laden with a steaming pitcher and a single goblet. He wore simple, well-made livery of dark blue and gold.
"Your Highness," the man said, his voice a low, respectful rumble. He bowed deeply, his movements practiced and precise. "You are awake early. Shall I draw you a bath? Cook said, The kitchens are preparing your preferred spiced boar broth for breakfast."
Alexius (he had to get used to that) stared at the man. Fragments of memory identified him: Elias, head steward of the Crown Prince's personal retinue for over thirty years. Loyal. Discreet. Perhaps one of the few truly reliable souls in this gilded cage.
He tried to make his voice sound like the one in the memories—a voice that was deeper, richer, and carried an innate, if somewhat petulant, authority. "Elias," he managed, the name feeling foreign yet familiar on his tongue. "Yes. A bath. And… bring me a report. State of affairs. Everything."
Elias blinked, a flicker of surprise in his aged eyes. The original Alexius, from what Michael's new memories suggested, was more concerned with the quality of the wine or the latest court gossip than 'reports' on the 'state of affairs' before noon.
"Of course, Your Highness," Elias said, recovering quickly. "I shall have a summary prepared immediately. Your father, the Grand Prince, had a restless night, but his condition remains… stable. The physicians are attending to him now." He paused, then added delicately, "Duke Gregor Valerius and Duke Marius Thorne have both sent envoys requesting an audience at your earliest convenience, Your Highness. They await your summons in the antechamber."
The names hit Alexius like a physical blow. Duke Valerius. Duke Thorne. The two colossal pillars propping up—and simultaneously threatening to topple—the principality. The fragmented memories painted vivid pictures: Valerius, the "Wolf of the West," a hulking, ambitious man with a network of spies and a fortune built on… questionable enterprises, including the lucrative non-human slave trade. He was the arch-conservative, the one who'd gladly sell Leo to the Kalian Empire or the Theocracy for the right price, as long as his own power and wealth were enhanced. His faction, the "Regalists," paid lip service to the monarchy while actively undermining it.
Then there was Thorne, the "Badger of the East," older, more stoic, a traditionalist who genuinely believed in Leo's independence but was fiercely protective of his own ancient lineage and ducal privileges. His "Leonian Loyalist" faction was wary of foreign entanglement but equally resistant to any centralization of power under the Crown, especially a Crown Prince they likely viewed as weak and untested.
Prince Regent without power, Alexius remembered the system's subtle (or not so subtle) jab. He was the figurehead, the ceremonial stopgap while his father lingered on the edge of death. The real power lay with these two dukes, and they were already circling like vultures.
"Let them wait," Alexius said, a coldness creeping into his tone that surprised even himself. It wasn't Michael's voice, nor entirely the petulant prince's. It was something new, something forged in the crucible of this bizarre transmigration. "The bath first. Then the report. I will see no one until I am fully apprised of the situation."
Elias's eyebrows rose a fraction higher, but he bowed again. "As you command, Your Highness." He placed the tray on a nearby table, poured a goblet of what looked like water (or perhaps weak wine), and then moved to a bell pull by the door.
As Elias made the arrangements, Alexius took a sip from the goblet. Cool, clean water. He needed a clear head. The memories were still a chaotic jumble, but the pressing reality of his situation was becoming terrifyingly clear. This wasn't just a change of scenery; it was a battlefield.
The Principality of Leo is roughly the size of California, yet much of it is barren highlands, windswept plains, or monster-infested fringes bordering the vast, enigmatic Sea of Forests to the north. A population of barely half a million souls. Hemmed in. To the west lay the militaristic Kalian Empire, perpetually hungry for resources and expansion, currently locked in a decades-long, grinding war with the three technologically advanced, ideologically opposed republics across the Dragon's Tooth Mountains. To the south, a patchwork of twenty smaller kingdoms and city-states, squabbling amongst themselves but always ready to pounce on any perceived weakness from their northern neighbor. Further afield, two other continental superpowers whose names he couldn't quite grasp yet, and dozens of other nations, all vying for dominance on this Jupiter-sized world.
Internally, it was a viper's nest. The Grand Prince, his father, was a fading light. His mother, Queen Lyra, who had been a bastion of quiet strength and diplomacy, was dead—a suspicious illness a year prior, the memories whispered. He was the only child, the sole heir. The nobility was a tangled web of ancient houses: two dukes, ten marquesses, fifty counts, eighty viscounts, a hundred barons, and two hundred knightly families, all jealously guarding their privileges, many deeply corrupt. The economy was in shambles, bled dry by graft and mismanagement. The common folk suffered, squeezed by taxes and the constant threat of monster incursions from the Sea of Forests.
And the churches. Oh, the churches. The Church of Human Supremacy, with its doctrine of mankind's divine right to rule over all other races, held sway over the majority of the nobility and the urban centers. Its priests were often arrogant, its coffers full, and its influence pervasive in the government. Then there was the whispered-about Cult of the Malevolent Divine—a shadowy, minority faith that some said dabbled in dark arts, appealing to the desperate and the disenfranchised. Two spiritual forces, diametrically opposed, yet both adding to the undercurrent of instability. Human slavery was, thankfully, prohibited within Leo's borders, a rare point of principle in a brutal world. But the enslavement of elves, beast-kin, goblins, and other demi-humans captured from the Sea of Forests or bought from less scrupulous neighbors? Perfectly legal and a cornerstone of Duke Valerius's wealth.
Alexius felt a chill despite the stuffy room. He was the Crown Prince, the Prince Regent, of a nation teetering on the brink of collapse, surrounded by predators, and hollowed out from within. His title was a cruel joke, a powerless ornament.
Servants entered, silent and efficient, carrying steaming buckets of water for the large copper bathtub in an adjoining chamber. Elias oversaw them, his gaze missing nothing.
This is insane. Michael—no, Alexius—thought as he shed the silken nightshirt. The body was lean but not overtly muscled. Scars, faint and silvery, crisscrossed the skin—remnants of sparring practice, a fall from a horse, or a hunting accident. This prince, for all his remembered petulance, had not lived an entirely sheltered life.
As he sank into the hot, herb-scented water, the system interface reappeared.
```
[Current Status: Precarious.]
[Immediate Threats Detected:
- Duke Gregor Valerius (Internal Power Bloc, Corruption, Potential Treason)
- Duke Marius Thorne (Internal Power Bloc, Obstructionism, Secession Risk)
- Economic Collapse (Resource Depletion, High Corruption, Low Treasury Yield)
- Border Instability (Sea of Forests Monster Incursions, Kalian Empire Provocations)]
[Recommended Short-Term Objectives:
1. Consolidate Personal Authority (Secure Loyal Retainers, Establish Information Network).
2. Stabilize Food Supply (Winter Approaches, Current Stockpiles Insufficient).
3. Identify and Neutralize Immediate Internal Threats to Regency.]
[Note: The path of a Sovereign is fraught with peril. Prudence, ruthlessness, and strategic acumen are paramount.]
```
Alexius let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The System wasn't just a passive observer; it was an advisor, a terrifyingly pragmatic one. Ruthlessness. The word echoed in his mind. Michael Sano, the programmer, had never considered himself ruthless. But Prince Alexius? The memories hinted at a spoiled brat, yes, but also a flicker of Leo pride, a deeply buried resentment for being sidelined.
The warm water soothed his aching body, but his mind raced. The original Alexius had been a pawn, content with his luxuries. Michael, with his modern knowledge, his understanding of history and economics, and perhaps a more Machiavellian view of power, could not afford to be. He had to become the player, not the piece.
Elias returned as Alexius was being dried by a young page. The steward carried a slim, leather-bound ledger.
"Your Highness, the initial summary you requested. A more detailed report from the chancellor's office will take a few hours to compile, given the… unusual nature of your request at this hour."
"This will suffice for now, Elias," Alexius said, his voice firmer. He allowed the page to help him into a simple but well-made tunic and breeches—practical, not ceremonial. He wasn't going to play dress-up for those vultures in the antechamber. Not yet.
He sat at a sturdy oak table, the ledger open before him. The script was neat and precise. It detailed troop deployments—pitifully few—along the forest border. Treasury reserves—alarmingly low. Grain storage reports—even more alarming. Notes on recent activities of various noble houses—veiled and couched in diplomatic language, but the implications were clear. Duke Valerius had recently hosted a delegation from the Kalian Empire at his western estates. Duke Thorne had reinforced his personal levies in the east, citing increased banditry.
The principality was a leaky ship in a storm, and the captains were drilling holes in the hull.
"Elias," Alexius said, not looking up from the ledger. "Tell me about the 'Nightwatch.'"
The old steward stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Your Highness?"
"The Crown's personal intelligence service. Or what's left of it. Father… Grand Prince Alaric… he kept it active, didn't he? Even after Mother…" He let the sentence hang.
Elias was silent for a long moment. "The Nightwatch… has seen better days, Your Highness. Its funding was… reallocated… by the Chancellery some years ago. Its numbers are few, its resources stretched. Many of its most experienced agents are… no longer with us." The implication was clear: Valerius and Thorne, and their corrupt allies in the government, had systematically dismantled it.
"But it's not entirely gone?" Alexius pressed.
"A few embers still glow, Your Highness. Kept alive by… sentiment, perhaps. Loyalty to the memory of your mother, who was its staunchest supporter."
Alexius closed the ledger. "Find those embers, Elias. Bring their leader to me. In secret. Tonight."
Elias's eyes widened slightly. This was a direct command, a decisive action. So unlike the Crown Prince he had served for years.
"It will be… difficult, Your Highness. And dangerous. For them, and for you."
"Everything about our current situation is dangerous, Elias," Alexius said, a grim smile touching his lips. "The only difference is whether we face the danger cowering in a corner or on our own terms."
He stood, pacing the room. The initial shock was wearing off, replaced by a cold, calculating anger. He had been a programmer, a builder of logical systems. This world, this country, was a chaotic, broken system. And the system in his head, the Sovereign Protocol, had given him an objective: assume control. Ascend. Conquer.
It was a terrifying prospect. The sheer scale of the world—Jupiter-sized, multiple continents—was mind-boggling. Demons, gods, a Demon King… these were elements from fantasy tales, not geopolitical realities. Yet, here they were, listed as potential future encounters by a system that seemed chillingly omniscient.
But first, Leo. His gilded cage. His crumbling inheritance.
"The Dukes, Elias," Alexius said, turning back to the steward. "Tell their envoys I will grant them an audience. Separately. Duke Valerius's representative first. In one hour. Here. Not in the formal audience chamber." A small power play. Make them come to him, on his terms, in his personal space.
"And Elias," he added, as the steward was about to leave. "Ensure there is good wine available. The best we have. Duke Valerius appreciates… the finer things." Let the wolf think the lamb was still blissfully ignorant, concerned only with pleasantries.
As Elias departed, a grim determination settled over Alexius. He was no longer Michael Sano, the coder from Earth. He was Alexius Demetrios Leo, Prince Regent of a dying nation. He had a System whispering strategies in his mind, fragmented memories of a past life, and the dawning realization that if he didn't learn to be ruthless, to be a sovereign in truth as well as title, he and this entire principality would be consumed.
The game had begun. And he had just made his first move. (Coninue….)