I woke up to the sensation of my face being aggressively licked.
Now, this wasn't the gentle and affectionate kind of lick that says, "I love you." No. This was the kind that says, "You died, and now your dog is checking if you've turned into jerky."
"Bento," I groaned. "Tone it down."
He ignored me, of course. Because dogs like landlords and fantasy authors respect nothing and no one.
I tried to roll over, but several things hit me at once.
First: I was no longer on my porch. Second: I was lying in the middle of a dirt road that smelled suspiciously like goat urine and hopelessness. Third: A chicken was staring at me. Not from a distance or a fence.
No, this chicken was inches from my face, eyes dark and full of secrets. It clucked at me once menacingly.
I sat up with a yelp, which only made things worse. Because when I looked around, I saw them.
Chickens.
Dozens of them.
They were on rooftops, in wagons, on windowsills. It felt as if they had staged a coup.
One marched down the road by dragging a moldy carrot. Another had a boot in its beak. While the third was wearing a crown made of hay and what I hoped wasn't a human finger bone.
"…What the hell."
"You're awake!"
I turned around as a man stumbled toward me from a half-collapsed barn. He had gray hair, a dusty uniform, and a monocle hanging from one eye.
A name tag was stitched into his uniform: Timothy.
'Is that you, Alfred?' I thought.
"Lord Harry," he said, breathing heavily. "We feared the worst."
I blinked. "Wait. Lord who?"
He blinked back. "You. Lord Harry. Baron of Grimsby."
That name hit me like a sack of moldy potatoes. Because suddenly, it all rushed back.
Apparently, I was in the body of a person named Harry. My friend here had taken a loan of ten thousand gold coins, trying to improve his magic. He'd been stuck at the second ring for years and thought this was the only way.
He bought a shit-ton of magical stuff to level up. But even that failed.
How could someone chug all that magical junk and still not level up?
Anyways, let's continue.
So, since he failed to get stronger, he bought a collapsing barony with his remaining gold, thinking he could pay back the debt using the barony.
And I'd been reincarnated into his body as a baron.
And not just any baron.
A bankrupt one.
Timothy helped me to my feet and dusted me off with a handkerchief as I put a break to my thoughts.
"It's a miracle you're alive," he said. "After the grain cart incident... and the chicken stampede."
"The what?"
Before he could answer, another chicken casually launched itself off a rooftop and crash-landed into a rain barrel beside us. Water soaked us from top to bottom.
I stared at Timothy.
"Why are there so many chickens?"
He answered with a tired tone. "We tried to start a poultry business to pay off the debt, milord. It… got out of hand."
"How out of hand?"
He gestured toward the town square, or what used to be one.
There were chicken coops stacked like unstable Jenga towers everywhere. Feathers floated in the air like it had snowed.
Two villagers were fencing with broomsticks while chickens pecked at their boots. One woman screamed as a hen ripped a cabbage from her arms and vanished into the mist.
I rubbed my eyes while looking at the scene. "Okay. Fine. But at least we have food, right?"
Timothy hesitated.
"…Right?"
"Well, technically, we have food," he said. "But most of it is either hoarded by the chickens, stolen by the local raccoon guild, or… rotten."
"Rotten?"
He nodded. "Yes. Too much rain this year, milord."
I stared at him.
"And how much debt do I have again?"
He handed me a wrinkled scroll. I unrolled it slowly, as if that would somehow soften the blow I was about to receive.
Barony of Grimsby – Outstanding Debts
-9,696 Gold Crowns to the Royal Bank
-3 Carts of Grain (currently pecked into oblivion)
-Widow Gerda's Fence
-Plus interest, emotional damages, and one goat.
"Okay," I muttered. "So I'm the baron of a village with no food, a chicken uprising, and debt so bad that my previous life seems like heaven to me."
Bento barked cheerfully and sat on my foot like none of this was his problem.
I looked around only to see chickens and ruins. It smelled of despair and fertilizer. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed with the passion of an entrepreneur giving a TED Talk.
Timothy clasped his hands. "Shall we return to the manor, milord?"
"I have a… manor?" I asked in a surprised tone. Manor? And this guy? hell, naw.
Timothy pointed to the west of the village, and I turned.
It wasn't a manor.
It was a large, rotting building held together by people's prayers and what I assume was chicken poop.
A plank fell off the roof as I looked at it. A chicken popped its head out of a broken window and flipped me off.
I swear it did.
Hah~
I took a deep breath. "Alright. Fine. Let's go home."
"Very good, milord."
"…Do the chickens live there too?"
"Only the top floor."