THUD. THUD.
THUD. THUD.
"That’s... odd."
"Am I hearing my heart?"
That was Justin’s first thought when he suddenly got transported to this world. Just right after he died a disappointing death in his home.
Died from old age, in a shabby apartment similar to something a fast-food worker would rent.
In short, his life was a pure and complete disappointment.
His career as a historian? Failed.
He was lucky to even have ramen three times a day, with usually only having to survive through stubbornness alone when his luck ran out.
And when he finally died?
It was a blessing to finally be rid of his regrets and suffering because of all the jobs he could have dreamed of.
Why in the world did he think being a historian without any plan would be a good idea!?
"Didn’t I die?"
"I don’t think the afterlife comes with a painful migraine."
Justin laughed. Was life really so cruel that even in his death, he couldn’t escape pain? Or was he actually not dead?
"That doesn’t make sense at all!"
Justin screamed within the void, and when he did, a flash of blinding light was his reward for his outburst.
"Ah! Fuck!"
He yelled out. The light was painful, like staring directly at the sun, kind of painful.
Without even trying to, he instinctively tried to stand up, and when he did, the light finally faded out, and with it came a stone-walled bedroom.
But what definitely confused him the most? Was the unbearable cold that seemed to crawl across his skin.
Knock! Knock!
"My Lord!? Are you okay? We heard shouting!"
Multiple voices came from outside his room, in a language he couldn’t even recognize, but surprisingly could understand.
"Should we enter!?"
Even with the concern in their voice, it was clear they were reluctant to even enter or help.
Behind their concern hid fear, fear towards Justin himself that he couldn’t quite place.
"What!? Where am I? Who are they?"
He looked around him, trying his best to make sense of the situation.
Why are people calling him Lord? Why is he in a stupidly rich bedroom? And why is it so goddamn cold!?
The moment his eyes met a painting, that’s when everything started to make sense to him.
The person in the painting was unmistakable.
Crimson eyes and red hair, a physique that could only be gained from years of hard work or heavily blessed genetics.
And a face that could rival any model he knew or not knew.
That painting was no other than Duke Justinian Alarys Thirell.
A minor villain from the novel Justin read in his free time, which was all the time.
’Oh Hero! Save the Empire!’
A cheesy romance novel with your stereotypical golden boy main character, a female lead who was always described as beautiful as the sun.
But behind that shallow observation, it was actually Justin’s favorite book.
A guilty pleasure.
But now? Instead of excitement, he only felt a sense of dread and irritation fill his face, because out of everyone, he could have become.
Hell, even the main villain.
It had to be the minor antagonist who got himself killed in a rebellion in his own lands before even meeting the MC.
"My Lord...?"
The servants spoke again, more concerned as no reply had yet arrived despite the time that had passed.
For all they knew, the Duke could have just died unceremoniously after yelling, or had been assassinated by his multiple enemies.
The moment the door to his room began to open.
Justin knew that he at least had to answer.
"Don’t enter! I’m fine!"
The door stopped midway, before closing back as his words registered.
"I see... we’re sorry for opening your room without permission."
The words came with more fear this time, like punishment would come due to their insolence.
Justin could recognize that tone immediately.
"Rest assured, no punishment will come."
That sentence alone elicited shocked gasps from the servants, as if mercy was out of the question.
But they didn’t want to risk arguing and instead left.
But Justin could hear their shocked mumbling outside his room.
"The Duke has got to be sick."
"That’s obvious, there was no way we could have gotten off scot free if he wasn’t."
As Justin heard those words, he sank back onto his bed, the cold bedding surprising him, but he learned to get used to it.
His mind finally started to catch up to his new body’s surprising resistance to cold.
"Judging by the current cold..."
He briefly glanced at the crude calendar just in front of his bed.
"And the current date..."
"I have five months left until I face the same fate as the novel. "
His face paled at the realization, because that would mean if he didn’t move, he would be burned at the stake by the three vassals he ruled over.
Two traitorous snakes, with only one loyal to his authority.
But loyalty didn’t matter when his only loyal vassal was pressured by the others.
It was either join their cause or face destruction, and when Justin read that part of the novel, he couldn’t blame them for what they did.
THUD. THUD.
THUD. THUD.
The beating of his heart continued; he was now hyperaware of his current dire circumstances.
A historian... in a fantasy medieval world... with every single modern knowledge of empires and kingdoms long gone...
"I might have a chance after all..."