Rain poured down. Rough rope grated at his wrists. He could already tell they would be raw come the next morning. Not that it mattered.

A heavy hand forced him to his knees. Fine silk breeches splashed into filthy puddles. He grimaced, even though he knew it was pointless. His pants were the least of his worries.

Thump. A boot slammed onto his back, forcing his head to the ground. The enchantment carved into the metal plate beneath his head glowed to life. Tendrils of red magic lifted off the plate and wrapped around his neck, pinning it in place.

Cold, wet rain soaked his hair. He stared up at the rainy sky and grimaced. Even the gods couldn’t bear to watch this travesty.

Rolling out a scroll, a pompous and overweight man in an ill-fitting jacket cleared his throat. “For the crime of neglecting his duties… of misunderstanding the citizens… of disregarding the state of the nation… of allowing such a great and terrible fate to fall upon his country… Remous Astor, first of his name, seventh prince of this nation… is sentenced, by the great and glorious will of the Citizen’s Nation of Vercai, to death!”

 It isn’t true! he wanted to shout. None of that was true. He’d noticed. He’d noticed the neglect! The top-heavy nobility! The common folk, struggling to buy bread after losing so much of their wages to nobles. Nobles, who’d rather attend parties in the capital than attend to their lands. Nobles, who ruled over a duchy so chopped into tiny pieces they were little more than glorified mayors. Nobles, who despite their tiny territories, lived as large as though they commanded vast swathes of the country, draining the common folk to fund their extravagance. He was the one who’d brought case after case to his father and elder brothers, in hopes that one of them might use their influence and martial might to solve the problem. He was the one who protested every time his father raised taxes to fund a new party. He was the one who proposed fixed tax rates for crops and grain, in hopes that the citizens wouldn’t starve, only to be shot down every time.

He turned his gaze to the crowds. The roaring, raging, ravenous crowds, screaming for his blood. It was too late for words. Far too late. 

If only I had more power. If only I had done more.

The executioner drew the blade up the guillotine. He wasn’t even afforded the execution by sword a prince of his level demanded. Only the same death as the common folk.

He laughed. I can at least take relief in that my father and brothers faced the same humiliating end. I can take relief in the knowledge that they were far more humiliated by it than I.

The blade dropped.

--

“Remy. Remy!”

A heavy weight dropped onto his chest. He woke up as all the air left him at once and sat bolt upright, shoving the thing atop him off. It giggled and rolled away.

He stared. His bedroom, with its fine emerald wallpaper and gold accents. His bed, draped with heavy, embroidered hangings. His little sister laid on her back on the bed, kicking her legs and giggling, her golden curls splayed out over the sheets. She looked smaller, somehow.

“Arienne?” he asked, unable to believe his eyes. He shoved the sheets aside and grabbed her up, hugging her tight. Her little heart thudded against his own. Alive. So alive.

She’d been one of the first to go. Died in the initial rush, as the citizens stormed the castle. Her panicked face appeared in his mind. That desperate reach. Her limp hand slipping out of his grip as he was tugged away.

“Remy? Did you have a nightmare?” she asked, tilting her head. She patted his back comfortingly.

“A nightmare? Yes. The worst nightmare,” he whispered, hugging her tighter. She’d died. He’d seen her die. So how was she here, alive? How was he here, in his bedroom?

“Remy, hurts!” she cried.

Abruptly, he let go. “Sorry! Sorry.” He ran a hand over his neck, feeling for a cut, a scar, something. Smooth, unbroken skin met his fingertips. I was definitely beheaded. But now…

“Arienne, what’s today’s date?” he asked.

She tilted her head, then beamed. “January first, fourteen twenty-one!”

His eyes widened. He whipped around, staring into the mirror beside his bed. A much younger version of him stared back, barely fifteen. Straight hair fell to his jaw in the front, the longer back half pulled into a low ponytail with a silk ribbon. A soft face with delicate features. Two sparkling blue eyes. He looked at Arienne again. She was smaller than he’d expected. Three years younger. He’d gone back three years.

He took a deep breath. His eyes widened. I can change things. I can save myself. No—I can save my whole country. But not through politics and soft power alone. He’d tried that. No. This time, he’d take a more aggressive approach.

His hand clenched. The traitors must die. The portly man who’d announced his death, the prime minister. The guards who’d turned their weapons on the very people who paid their salaries. The second prince, who’d betrayed them all.

And not only them. The nobles. The ones who drove the people to these depths. They, too, must die. No… He shook his head. Compared to the traitors, the nobles were the true cause of the problem. They had to go first.

But how? He was weak. His magic was his only saving grace, but it was barely more than mediocre. He had no political power and commanded no army. In my first life, that was a calculated move. Make myself completely unthreatening so my brothers don’t even consider me for assassination. Now… now, I need to gain power as rapidly as possible. Where to start?

Arienne’s handmaid rushed into the room, her hair a mess and her eyes wide. She gasped at the sight of the third princess and ran over, snatching her up off the bed. “Arienne! There you are. Ah! My apologies, prince. Arienne, come here. Leave him alone.”

“Remy!” Arienne cried. She dug in her heels and refused to be dragged away.

“I’ll come play with you later,” he promised, giving her a true smile. His heart warmed just looking at her face. She pouted, but his smile didn’t fade. She’s alive. That’s all that matters.

The handmaid nodded. “You heard him, young miss. Come on, come along.”

“You better keep your promise!” Arienne finally relented and let the handmaid drag her off.

“I will, I will.” He waved her out of the room.

A twinkle of black light caught his eye. He turned toward it, and a black panel unfolded in front of him.

Name: Prince Remous I [Regressor]

[Weak] [Sickly] [Mana Deficient] [Royal] [Seventh Son]

Title: Chosen

Status: Mana Poisoned (Chronic)

Skills: None

Points: 7

He stared. What the hell? I’m poisoned? Who’s poisoning me?

I’ve noticed that you could use a skill to determine who’s poisoning you. Would you like to purchase the ability Trace?

“What? Who is that?”

Consider me your new butler.

“What are you?” he asked, suspicious. He reached for the holy amulet at his bedside.

… There’s no need for such suspicion.

A demon. His reach sped up.

Don’t be so hasty. Hear me out, first. I’m sure you’ve noticed that time turned back? Or could it be that you still think this is a dream?

At that, he paused in his reach. He laughed. As if I’d dream so coherently, for so long. As if I’d even dream of such horrors, with nothing but my cushy life in the palace to draw from.

But that meant the voice knew what had happened. It knew of the horrors he’d faced. That time had turned back. He lowered his hand away from the amulet. I’ll let you speak for now.

There was a pause. I cannot hear your thoughts. You must speak aloud if you wish to communicate.

“Unfortunate,” he replied. He climbed out of bed and walked to his closet, throwing open the doors. During his time in captivity and on the run, he’d learned to dress himself. He had no intention of going back to the brat who was too helpless to put on his own shirt and trousers.

Apologies.

He pulled out a pair of hunting trousers and a hunting coat. They were brand new, unused. He hadn’t been one for athletics, back before the rebellion. “So? Explain yourself.”

You have accepted reality quite quickly.

“Spare me the commentary.”

Then allow me to explain. The Goddess and the Demon God have long been at odds. However, it is too dangerous for the two to fight directly. Thus, they pick Champions, and allow their Champions to decide the battle instead.

“A proxy war.”

It seems you are familiar with the concept. In a way, yes. A proxy battle.

“So why am I here, now? I was dead.”

Correct. You see, in the previous battle, the Goddess did not alert the Demon God that she had picked a Champion. Thus, the Demon God protested, and so time was turned back, from before the battle occurred.

“If it’s that easy to turn time back, it seems time would never move forward.” 

In truth, you are correct. The Goddess is far more powerful than the Demon God, and she does as she wishes with no regard for him. To turn time back, however, both gods must be in accordance. The Goddess was also displeased with the outcome, and so, she pretended to listen to his request, and wound time back.

“Typical. Even the gods fight like children in a mud puddle.”

The mysterious voice chuckled. Indeed. I see why our Lord picked you.

“Your Lord. I serve no one.” Certainly not the Goddess, after she abandoned me so blatantly. “Why was she displeased? Bloodshed…no. The Goddess has blessed far bloodier wars. It was something more shellfish, wasn’t it,” he mused, sliding his vest on.

Clever. Indeed, she accepted the murder as a necessary price to bring about the rebellion she desired. She wept, but what are tears to the dead?

He snorted under his breath, throwing his red foxhunting jacket on.

No. The revolution brought about the reform she desired, bringing great wealth and equality to the lowest class. However, it also brought about an era of godlessness. The gods were seen as relics of the monarchy. The Goddess was banned from schools, and the world moved toward secularity.

“No one likes losing power.” He marched to the door and ripped it open.

The manservant standing outside startled. He jerked awake. “S-sir?”

Remy looked him in the eye. “I’m a rooster. Bring the physician.”

“Yes!” The manservant bowed and rushed off, running down the hallway.

Remy grabbed a vase from the side table and lobbed it lazily after the man. It shattered in the hallway, sending a spray of water and cut flowers across the floor.

An interesting tactic.

Remy snorted. “I’m eccentric. That’s court-code for insane. All the courtiers know it. My brothers made sure of it.”

You’ve faced your own share of troubles, hmm?

“It was a good way to stay alive in my youth. And being a reformist made me unpopular with my father, so it was easy to convince him of my ‘madness.’” At that, he paused. “I’m a reformist. Why would your Lord pick me?”

There’s a saying amongst commoners: “The path to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Hmph.”

Are you still a reformer, Prince? After everything?

Remy frowned. He furrowed his brows. “Are you blind? A lack of reform is exactly what led to the downfall of the monarchy. Don’t be stupid.”

Isn’t reform for the good of the people?

“A short-sighted view. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. If the people are happy, then my life is easy. Especially with a rebellion…but even if there was no rebellion, I’d still push for reform. This country is so riddled with corruption, so inefficient, that it makes my skin crawl to continue living here, silently, and attempt no change.”

A dark chuckle from the voice in his head.

He sat on his bed and crossed his legs, crossing his arms a beat later. He looked around the room. Paved with good intentions, huh? It didn’t matter what the commoners said. It didn’t matter what they did, either. He was going to survive this.

What is your plan, reformist? And for that matter, do you want that Trace skill?

“The country is too top heavy. There’s too many nobles, and too much corruption amongst the nobles. I need to clear them out. Those who waste money, who do not serve their people, who waste money and time at my father’s ridiculous balls and ignore the cries of their people…” He let his voice drift off.

I will do all in my power to give you the skills you need to accomplish your goal.

“Devoted, aren’t you.”

I serve my Lord. My Lord chose you as Champion. Your victory is his.

Remy twisted his lips. “You mentioned the Goddess’ Champion?” The most rapid way to secure victory would be to have her Champion executed. I’m not above abusing my position.

Of course, it might be best to postpone that until after I accomplish my reform. My invisible friend is devoted to the Champion, not to me. As long as I’m competing against the Goddess’ Champion, he’s on my side. The second that competition is over, I’m chopped liver to him.

Indeed. It is tradition for the two Champions to face off in single combat.

“That won’t be happening,” Remy remarked to himself.

As you wish. In any case, I have no knowledge of the Goddess’ Champion, as her agent and Champion have no knowledge of you. Nor am I able to buy any skills that allow you to identify the other Champion at a distance. As much as you would like to have the Goddess’ Champion killed, remember that her Champion also wins by killing you.

The Goddess often favors brute strength over intellect. She favors the common folk. This is all I’m allowed to share with you.

Remy lifted his slender arms. “And quite honestly, I lose in a battle of physical strength. No…I’m better off playing the long game. Winning through attrition. Defeating her Champion by reforming the nobles. Snatch her Champion’s populist base out from under their feet, and give them no force to create their revolution.”

And it doesn’t hurt that it aligns with your personal goals.

“Is your Lord against selfish action?” Remy asked.

Not at all. Please, proceed as you wish.

He snorted under his breath and thought, staring at the floor. He lacked the political power to send the country’s guards on a wild goose chase without any evidence. Likewise, he lacked any sort of information network, nor did he command any army or forces. Not only was he the seventh prince, but he’d also aggressively abdicated most of his responsibilities to make himself as nonthreatening to the other princes as possible. My starting point is pretty abysmal. I need to grow rapidly in many ways. Not just my own strength, for self-defense, but my political and military strengths, too.

“We need to get you a body. I might be eccentric, but I can’t start talking to myself for hours on end,” he commented.

Agents are not allowed to interfere with the real world, save direct orders from our Champion, delivered with their Skills. For a scenario like this, where you do not have a skill to order me to assume physical shape, I need a ‘harmless’ option.

“Meaning?”

I require a soulless body to take form.

“Someone in a coma?”

In great likelihood, that would suffice.

Remy nodded. “Excellent. I’ll have you a body by sundown.”

That is wonderful, sir, but would you like the Trace skill or not?

“No. If anyone poisoned me, it was him—and even if I know, I don’t have enough clout to do anything about it. Instead, is there a skill that allows me to inspect items for poison?”

Indeed. It costs 3 points. Would you like to purchase it?

“Yes.”

Skill obtained: Inspect. At low levels, it allows the user to determine if a substance is poison or not. At higher levels, more information can be obtained.

“Excellent.”

You have four points remaining. You also have stats. I have not yet displayed them to you—

“You said you were my butler moments ago, no? I have no interest in micromanaging my ‘status,’ or whatever you mean by that. If you are a servant, then serve me. Apply any status upgrades to magic. You can handle that for me, surely.”

For confirmation, this will boost your Magic score to 10. Your physical stats are all sub-par, five or lower. Are you sure you don’t want to—

“What is the point of trying to make up a deficiency? Better to put all my points into my strengths,” Remy said firmly. He was competing against an equivalent force. Another Champion, with all the same advantages as him. If he spent his time trying to shore up his weaknesses, he’d only fall further behind the Champion. His newfound assistant had already warned him that the opposition was inclined toward brute strength. Better to focus on his strengths, and build them so high that his weaknesses became irrelevant.

But first, let’s take care of this poison.

The door opened. The royal physician peeked around the door, holding tight to the edge, ready to duck back. An old, frail man with a long beard and long hair, he wore the ceremonial robes rumpled. It looked like he’d jumped out of bed, but Remy knew he’d look just as rumpled at high noon as at the break of dawn. “Your Highness?”

“Come here. I’ve been poisoned,” Remy told him.

Is it fine to say it so openly? You know, the Champion could be anyone.

The royal physician startled. “Your Highness?”

“I’m just eccentric. Come on.” He gestured the physician closer.

Right. I’d nearly forgotten that. That does give you quite a bit of freedom, doesn’t it? How convenient for you.

The physician scurried closer. He lifted his hands. Green circles appeared around his wrists, magical formulae swirling in the air. The glow fell over Remy’s face, giving his already pale skin a greenish tinge. “You’re in the best of health, Your Highness. I—”

“I’m poisoned,” Remy demanded.

“Your—”

“Poison.”

The royal physician hesitated, then threw his hands up and shook his head. “As you wish.”

“As I wish,” Remy said firmly. He sat back, arms still crossed, and gave the man an expectant look.

Muttering under his breath, the physician gestured for Remy’s hand. He offered it. The physician drew a knife and pricked Remy’s fingertip. He took the blood on a small glass plate. The magical circle etched in the plate lit up, and the blood swirled into the air.

The royal physician let out a tired sigh. “See, Your Highness? It’s—”

The blood suddenly trembled. A black dot burst out of the blood. The royal physician stared, eyes wide.

“Yes?” Remy asked, cocking a brow.

“You—you’ve been poisoned. Ah… hold on.” The royal physician lifted his hand over Remy again. The green light changed in color, and the circle grew more complex. A cooling sensation rolled over Remy, and through him. Black gunk oozed out of his skin, then lifted off its surface. The physician made a grabbing gesture. All the black pulled off the surface of Remy’s skin and balled in his palm. He drew a tiny crystal box up in the other hand and captured the black gunk, then nodded to Remy.

“Thank you,” Remy said, rolling his neck out. Already, he felt immensely better. His shoulders felt light. Mana circulated through his body with ease.

You no longer have the status condition ‘Mana Poisoned.’

“It’s good you understand your job.”

“Of course. I’ll inform your father. We must launch an investigation,” the royal physician said, distracted. He tucked the crystal box into his robes and bustled off with one final nod, leaving Remy alone.

Remy sighed. He couldn’t hate the man. The royal physician was truly the best healer in the country. One of the relics from his grandfather’s administration who was actually competent at his job. The only problem was that he truly believed that Remy’s father, the current king, actually upheld justice as Remy’s grandfather had. Any discovery of wrongdoing would be dutifully reported. No matter how many times his reports failed to accomplish any action, he doggedly completed his duties.

But it’s fine. I want this to shake up the castle a bit. No—I need it to. After all, this is the first step in getting my new friend a body.

Remy smiled. He touched his fingertips together and gazed over them. He faced the door, but he gazed far beyond it, off to the horizon.

And then… I’ll put my reforms into action.

Not the pointless protests and suggested legislature of my first life. No lobbying the king or persuading the courtiers. No. This time, I’m taking direct action.

In my first life, the commoners cut my head. In my second life, to avoid that fate, I’ll cut the heads of the brainless nobles who pushed them to that extent!