Servants ran through the castle. Guards bustled about. A dozen physicians and caretakers stuffed Remy’s room. Every cushion and sheet was turned over. Every item in his room was inspected, magically and physically. At last, they filtered back out again, and Remy sat alone.

He’d crouched in the corner the whole time, fiddling with a small cage. Rats darted back and forth in the cage. Bright button eyes gazed up at him. Little noses sniffled. He petted them and fed them tidbits, paying the mess no mind.

Rats, prince?

“I like them. They’re tidy, intelligent creatures. Better than half the servants around here,” Remy commented.

Aren’t they filthy?

“No. They actually take good care of themselves. Clean themselves. Keep their homes tidy. It’s only when they’re forced into the squalor of our filthy cities that they become the disgusting pests they’re known as.” He scratched a rat’s chin, and the beast leaned into it. It closed its tiny eyes in joy. “Much like Vercai’s citizens.”

Should you say that aloud?

“I’m eccentric. Besides, they got me. I’m allowed to make a jab or two.”

The voice in his head remained silent.

“Talking to yourself again, little brother?”

Remy looked up. He snorted. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Sylvain, second prince of Vercai, stepped into the room. He spread his hands harmlessly, smiling gently at his brother. He wore his pin-straight white hair flat against his head and trimmed at his ears, a single green tassel dangling to his shoulder. Green robes with gold trim and big white cuffs draped a slender body. Not sickly-slender like Remy, but a model’s curated kind of slender. He smiled like a snake and reached into his sleeves. “Of course you are. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my beloved little brother all alone in his time of need.”

Remy stiffened, his eyes locked on that sleeve. One hand behind his back, he summoned a fire spell. A tiny glimmer of red light shone around his hidden wrist.

Sylvain drew out a small stone tub and offered it to Remy. “Go on, take it. It’s an exquisite balm. If you put it on your wrists twice a day, it’ll expunge any poison.”

“For me? Are you sure?” Remy asked, hesitant.

Sylvain lifted a hand to cover his mouth. “I’m surprised you’d even ask your loving brother. Of course! I’m worried about you. Please, go on.” He took Remy’s hand and stuffed the tub into it.

Remy’s skin crawled at his cold, clammy touch. He forced himself not to flinch as he accepted the tub. The stone was surprisingly heavy in his hand. “Thank you, Second Prince.”

“No need for such formality! Call me Sylvain,” his brother said, still smiling gently.

Remy smiled. He pulled the tub close to him. “Thank you, Sylvain.”

“Go on. Use it now,” Sylvain urged him.

He said nothing. He turned back to the rats, playing with them through the bars of the cage.

Sylvain sighed. He stood over Remy for a few moments, then walked away. Only when he left the room did Remy dare breathe again.

He opened the tub. For a second, the cream inside gleamed with green light. In the next, it faded away. He frowned. “Inspect?”

Yes. Green means there is no poison. The cream is safe.

Remy snorted. “There’s more than poison that can harm a man.” He offered the cream to the rats. The rat reached out its little paws and patted at the cream, curious.

Cold.

“Not as cold as Sylvain. It isn’t poison. It may be harmless.” He petted the rat’s head. “But let’s be cautious first.”

Sylvain is that dangerous, hmm?

“He would do anything to take the throne, and he thinks the rest of us are the same.”

You wouldn’t like to be caught with him in a dark alley.

“I don’t want to be caught with him in a well-lit hallway with dozens of witnesses. No…that might even be more dangerous.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, touching where the blade had cut.

But he was executed with the rest of you

“They got us all, eventually. It didn’t matter who you were, or how hard you worked, or how well you schemed. The Second Prince was particularly unpopular with the people for his extravagant spending on clothing and jewelry. He was one of the first to go.” Remy allowed himself a small smile. “That was one of the few things the citizens got right. Fuck that psychopath. He deserves a painful death.”

He’s your brother, is he not?

“Truly, an ill fortune for me.”

The rat jolted. It looked up, then met Remy’s eyes. Abruptly, the rat prostrated. A glowing purple outline of a stylized eye appeared over its forehead, and a voice sounded in his head. Lord Champion.

Remy grimaced. “The Fruit of Knowledge.” The demonic fruit granted animals temporary, and sometimes permanent intelligence. Any animal caught under the fruit’s influence was instantly executed in the name of the Goddess. From prize horses to fattened cows and beloved pups, they were all killed and sacrificed, rather than allow the demons to influence them.

It does no harm, though. Neither to humans nor animals. It merely offers intelligence.

“That’s not the point. It would give me a subtle demonic aura. One that I wouldn’t be able to detect. One that would build up quietly, while I acclimatized to it. Like a strange scent in your house, growing stronger while you learn to ignore it. And then a priest takes notice…” He spread his hands. “And I’m shuttled off to the North Continent to spend the rest of my days with the First Princess.”

There was a pause. You’re lower than him in the line of succession. Why bother?

“He thinks we’re all like him. That we’re willing to do anything to take the crown. Thus, we’re all threats, to be slaughtered.” He looked at the tub. “I bet it’s perfectly calculated. I bet the demonic aura to grows strong enough to draw attention on the day I run out. Leave no evidence.”

In the original timeline, Sylvain had given him the tub a few months later. If not for his natural suspicion toward Sylvain, he might have fallen for it. Instead, he’d held onto it and shown it to a few people passing through the castle. At last, an S-rank adventurer summoned by the king had identified the cream by scent. He wouldn’t have given it to the rat if he didn’t recognize it.

Besides, I know him. He wouldn’t give me something so obvious that it would kill on contact. He’s more subtle than that.  

If your people are so intolerant toward demonic influence, won’t someone kill your pet?

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one comes near them. They think they’re frightening. Plus, at a dose this low, it’ll wear off in a few minutes. It’ll be as if nothing ever happened.” Standing up, he set the stone tub on the bedside table.

That brother of yours…is he the one who you think poisoned you?

“It’s my best working theory. He loves poison. It’s a mercy we aren’t all long dead by nightshade,” Remy snarked.

In the cage, the purple-marked rat sat up on its back legs. Tiny hands gripped the wire bars. Its dark eyes locked onto the tub.

Closing the door, Remy headed off into the castle. His manservant hurried to his side. “Prince, I—”

“You’re dismissed.”

“What?” the manservant asked, shocked. “But I—”

“Failed to protect me from the insidious threat of poison, yes,” Remy replied. “Dismissed.”

The servant opened his mouth again, then froze. He bowed silently. Remy stormed away, leaving the servant in the lurch. The servant bowed until he vanished around the corner.

Firing him might save his life. Is that what you’re thinking?

“It’s one of several things I’m thinking,” Remy murmured. “The first one is that you desperately need a body, so I can become a little less eccentric. And what better excuse to locate myself a new servant, than to eccentrically fire my previous manservant?”

So I’ll be your servant?

“Didn’t you introduce yourself as such?”

My undoing.

Remy chuckled. He snagged a cloak off a hook and threw it over his shoulders. Out into the cold of midwinter. A light flurry of snow instantly dusted his shoulders. It softened the world to a picturesque, gentle white. Only his footprints and the guards’ marched through the snow.

One of the guards noticed him leaving and hurried to his side. He fell in behind Remy. Remy ignored him, as he always did. The situation was not yet so bad that he needed the guard, but it was good practice to bring one nonetheless. Just because the civilians weren’t yet at the level of stoning random members of the royal family in the streets, didn’t mean there was no danger to be found outside the palace walls.

Do you often leave the palace?

“I find peace outside the walls.” He was the seventh prince. Not many ordinary people bothered to learn his face. The courtiers didn’t bother with an eccentric like him. As long as he didn’t flaunt his status, he was just another one of the multitude of nobles faffing about the capital.

The guard startled. He looked around, then cleared his throat. “Very good, sir.”

They passed through the gates and out into the streets. Out here, the snow had been muddied, with deep tracks dug where carriages passed through. He pulled his hood over his head to ward off the snow and breathed out. White fog clouded from his lungs. “I wish to see the common folk. I recently learned a new healing spell, and I want to try it out.”

“Oh? What kind of healing spell?” the man asked.

“It revives someone in a coma. Do you know of anyone like that?” Remy asked, looking up at the man’s face for the first time.

A blocky figure, and a square jaw. The man put his hand to his chin, thinking. After a few seconds, he shook his head. “No, my apologies, sir.”

“It’s fine. Let’s go to the Goddess’ Healing Sanctuary,” he declared. With that many sick people all together, we’re almost guaranteed to find someone who qualifies as ‘without a soul.’

“As you wish, sir.”

They walked through the city. High, brilliant sunlight reflected off the snow, so bright it hurt. Remy’s high leather boots staved off the snow, but not the cold. His toes grew numb as he walked. He wiggled them in his shoes to call back feeling, and pulled the cloak tighter. He sneezed.

This body of his was useless. If it remained like this, he wouldn’t be able to survive until the rebellion, let alone achieve the reform he dreamed of. Maybe I’ll have to… what was it? ‘Gain physical stats.’

As soon as he thought it, he shook his head. He could train his body. Work hard and grow stronger under his own power. He didn’t need much strength. Just enough to survive the winter. His magic, on the other hand—well, magic was allotted at birth. It was possible to grow magic, but it grew slowly. So slowly that most mages were old geezers before they had any real power, like the palace physician.

At that, Remy snorted. Except for that person. The King’s own Grand Magus.

The townsfolk passed by, bundled up in their own jackets, going about their own tasks. Few spared a glance at Remy and his guard. The few who did, quickly looked away. Remy sighed internally at that, shaking his head just a little. The people shouldn’t be so fearful of their rulers.

Bright white walls rose up on the left hand side. An enormous brick building, square and functional, stood within. Remy stopped before ornate gates. The name of the facility was spelled out in gilded iron on the arch overhead: Healing Sanctuary.

How ironic.

He raised his brows. “There won’t be any difficulties, will there?”

The guard shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, Prince.”

No. In a place replete with the Goddess’ blessing, yes, but this place… it shouldn’t be a problem.

Remy raised a brow, but didn’t comment. Without any further ado, he stepped through the gates.

Fresh snow crunched under his boots. Warm candlelight flickered in the windows, inviting him in. As he approached the main entrance, a nurse rushed out to greet him.

She beamed, cheeks red from the cold. “Hello, hello! Have you come to visit someone? I’m afraid visiting hours are—”

Remy lifted his hand. “I have learned a new healing spell and wish to practice. Show me to your comatose patients.”

Her brows furrowed. She looked him up and down, then jumped. Quickly, she bowed. “Seventh Prince! We weren’t expecting you!”

“Of course you weren’t. I made no appointment. So? The comatose patients?” Remy repeated.

A chuckle. You do appreciate your eccentricity, no?

She stood there, her jaw working silently and eyes wide. Abruptly, she shook her head. “No. Er, yes! Come right this way, Your Highness! I’ll have the Head Matron along to welcome you in just a moment.”

“I don’t want the Head Matron. Lead me to the comatose patients. Don’t make me say it a fourth time,” Remy grumbled, a threat in his voice.

Resorting to empty threats? Tsk, tsk.

Ignoring the live commentary, Remy nodded at the nurse. “So?”

“Ah…er, yes! Follow me.” The nurse wheeled, leading him into the large building.

Preemptively, Remy lifted his handkerchief over his nose. He followed her inside.

The groans of the injured and sick filled the air. A stench of rot, human waste, and bile mixed together with sharp alcohol, in no way a pleasant scent. Patients laid in their beds or shuffled around their small, bare cells. Some stood at the windows, gazing at the snow; others sat close to the fireplace, when they had one. Candles, fireplaces, and heating spells cut the worst of the chill.

They passed another nurse, and his guide quickly pulled her aside and spoke with her. Remy eyed the two of them and cleared his throat, and the first nurse bobbed a brow and moved on.

She’s surely called for the Head Matron. If she’s truly an adherent of the Goddess, she may be able to sense me when I transfer to my new body.

“We’ll make this quick,” Remy returned.

“O-of course, Your Highness!” the nurse stammered, jerking ahead.

Once I’m done transferring, on the other hand… short of the Pope or Saintess, there shouldn’t be a priest alive who can sense me. Those two would be able to sense me as I am now, so don’t fear, prince. It’s no loss.

Remy hummed deep in his throat.

The nurse led him up one flight of stairs after another, all the way to the top floor. There, she showed him a small ward. Beds laid out in two neat lines, five deep. Only half were occupied. Two of those were people so old they seemed ready to breathe their last at any moment. A third was injured so badly Remy couldn’t help but be surprised the man was still breathing. The fourth was a small child, barely Arienne’s age.

His eyes rested on the fifth. A young boy only a little older than him, with a healthy build and no visible wounds. He pointed. “What happened to him?”

“Fell and hit his head. Hasn’t responded since,” she said mournfully.

In his head, the voice chuckled. Fell and hit his head? That boy was chewed on by a dream eater. There’s nothing left but a shell.

At that, Remy pursed his lips. Dream eaters were troublesome demonic beasts, less powerful than demons, but still plenty powerful in their own right. The ravenous, immaterial beasts ate souls. They could take on the shape of other beings, human and beast alike. Their favorite ploy was to absorb the soul of someone, then feast on the souls nearby. Once they found their host, they hid inside the hollow body and absorbed all the souls around them before moving on. In all likelihood, this boy’s parents, or boss, or someone else close to him had been replaced.

Something to alert the adventurers about. I’ll drop an anonymous notice by the guild later today.

Remy put a hand on his chin. Aloud, he mused, “I wonder…”

Will he do? Yes. So would anyone else here.

He raised his brow at that. He peered at all the bodies on the floor. All their chests rose and fell evenly, their eyes motionless, their fingers unmoving.

“Sir?” the nurse asked.

He looked her in the eye. “It’s a cold winter, is it not?”

“Extremely so,” she agreed. She rested a hand on the bar of the nearest bed and looked down at the young man. One hand traced her lips. She shook her head. “How unfortunate.”

Hmm. He nodded at her. “Can I get some time alone?”

“Huh?” The nurse frowned at him, confused.

“It’s a new spell formula. I don’t want anyone stealing it,” he said.

“I would never!” the nurse protested.

Remy looked over his shoulder. He nodded at the guard. The man stepped forward, resting a hand on his sword. A threat glimmered in his eyes.

“Ah… of course. As you wish, Your Highness.” The nurse bowed and backed way, exiting the room.

Remy eyed her from the corner of his eyes. “Was it just me, or does she not want us interfering with this patient?”

“Er, sir?” the guard asked.

Ha. Sharp as ever.

Remy nodded at his guard. “Best if you step back. The spell is still experimental.”

“Of course, sir.” The man quickly retreated. He stood at the door, his back to the room.

He seems used to this.

“I’m not the only brother with hobbies. Some of theirs aren’t as adorable as rat-keeping,” Remy murmured back. He held his hand over the young man’s face.

Good. A little closer.

Remy lowered his hand, until his palm almost touched the young man’s nose. In that moment, a black circle appeared beneath his hand. It was only about as wide as his spread fingers, but the circle was packed with intricate detail. The impossibly complicated thing was thousands of times more detailed than the most complex human spell circle he’d ever seen. He stared. His vision zoomed in on the dark symbols, the world spiraling down to just those shapes. There was something about them, some truth—

Black smoke gushed from his hand. It swirled into the unconscious boy’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Greedily, it invaded every space and vanished into him. It spiraled away rapidly, drilling down. The smoke vanished. The magic circle winked out.

Remy stepped back. He crossed his arms. The whole process hadn’t used his mana at all. It really felt as if he lifted his hand, and then another being acted. He wrinkled his nose, a chill climbing down his spine. All the more reason to push the being in his head into a new body. He didn’t need something else acting inside him.

The young man’s eyes opened. He sat up.

“How are you feeling?” Remy asked.

“Sore. And tired,” the young man replied. He yawned, then stood.

Remy eyed him. The young man was only a few years older than him. At a guess, he was as old as Remy had been when he’d died. But the young man towered over him. He’d tower over me at my full height. He’s a giant. Tanned skin and chestnut-brown hair finished the look, with a smattering of freckles across his nose. He had athletic features, broad shoulders and toned thighs, but without the excess weight that came from the usual noble ‘athletic’ lifestyle.

“So? Have I done it?” Remy asked him.

The young man’s eyes shone. A devious grin crawled over his lips. Indeed, Master.

Remy frowned. “It seems I haven’t fully succeeded.”

The young man waved his hand. “No, no. It is a full success,” but I’m always with you, even when I’m here. No matter what, if you can access your System, I can also speak with you.

Remy raised his brows. “Ah. Well. That is convenient.” Now I can talk to him aloud, and not appear like a madman talking to myself, but he can still send me silent messages in the case that things are better unspoken. All I need now is a skill that allows me to send messages back.

Remy glanced up at him. “Is there a—”

“Ten points.”

He wrinkled his nose. I don’t know enough about skills yet to know if that’s a good price or not, but right now, I simply don’t have that many points. “How do I get more?”

“Kill things. Advance your goals. Gain the Lord’s favor, and receive points from him.”

“I won’t be doing that,” Remy muttered, then paused. A thoughtful look crossed his face. Or perhaps I will? It wasn’t like he was an adherent of the Goddess’. He only followed her church because there was no other option. He was a member of the royal family, ordained by the Goddess; therefore, he worshipped her. If there were simple tasks he could undertake that didn’t reveal him, he wouldn’t mind currying favor with the Demon God. After all, life is about currying favor.

Watching his expression, the young man’s smile widened a little.

Remy nodded at him. “What is your name, young man?”

“I… can’t remember,” the young man said.

I suppose he wouldn’t know the body’s name. And he isn’t going to hand out his true name, That would be dangerous for both of us. A one-way trip to the Northern Continent, even.

Ah, well. We have to do this song and dance, even though I know full well he doesn’t know his name. Eyes and ears are everywhere.

“Then… Lloyd. You’ll be Lloyd,” Remy said firmly.

“Lloyd. I like it,” the young man said, nodding.

Remy put a hand on his chin. He looked Lloyd up and down. “You know, come to think of it, I lack a manservant. And you look to be a strapping young fellow. How would you like being my new manservant, Lloyd?”

Lloyd dropped to one knee, pressing his hand to his chest. “I’d be honored. Anything for my savior.”

Laying it on a bit thick, there. Are you a duckling? Do you assume the first person you see after you wake up saved you? Think about your role, and who you’re supposed to be right now.

Hmph. I suppose I can’t expect a demon to instantly understand the intricacies of acting.

At the door, the guard whirled, startled. “P-prince! You can’t do that. He needs to be vetted by the palace—no, before that, he can’t be low-born—”

“Silence! Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?” Remy snapped.

The guard grimaced. “What if he’s a rebel? An assassin?”

Remy gestured at Lloyd. “He has amnesia and remembers nothing. He’s the perfect servant. No outside influences whatsoever.” He turned back to the guard. “But before that, you dare second-guess a prince’s decisions?”

“I—no, sir,” the guard said quickly. He eyed Lloyd with suspicion, but said nothing further.

“Excellent. I have accomplished what I came here for, and more. Lloyd! Follow me.”

“He won’t be going anywhere,” a cold voice declared.