Etharell took a moment in the throne room to quietly process everything. No matter how extraordinary all that had happened seemed, he had already decided to live out this second life.
But there was one major obstacle before him: the Empire.
The kingdom whose crown Etharell now wore had never been of great importance throughout history. Its greatest asset was its ports, but beyond that, it wasn't a kingdom of real value. It was called the Kingdom of Tannurad—made up of a few cities and mostly mountainous terrain. Tannurad had always been a relatively peaceful kingdom. Neighboring nations avoided attacking it, mostly because its mountainous landscape made it difficult to invade. Moreover, it had no rich mines, no vast farmlands—nothing of particular value.
In fact, it wouldn't be wrong to say it had *nothing* of value.
That's why nearly no state had ever made the foolish mistake of attacking this small nation—at least, not until the era of the Empire.
Just weeks ago, the rapidly expanding and aggressive Raddonan Empire had crushed the Tannurad Kingdom in a brutal open-field battle.
As Etharell sat upon the throne, he contemplated the helpless fate of his kingdom. The armies of the Raddonan Empire, with their superior numbers and advanced war technology, had now easily overcome Tannurad's rugged and difficult lands. The battle that was lost hadn't just cost them land—it had shattered the morale of the people as well.
By now, the Empire had already occupied half the kingdom, and it was no secret that the Raddonan Army next target was the capital of Tannurad.
Realizing that this second life of his would begin with hardship, Etharell couldn't suppress a sigh. For a moment, the thought of abandoning all his authority and the crown and simply running away crossed his mind. After all, he wasn't the *real* Etharell—nor was he the kingdom's true king. He had no real reason to protect this land.
If he resisted the Empire, this second life would likely begin with a devastating defeat… and end with his death.
Etharell took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to collect his thoughts. Within the cold stone walls of the throne room, the fate of the kingdom weighed heavily on his shoulders. As he wrestled with the waves of fear and indecision within him, a small spark of fire lit up in his heart. Running away would be easy—but what would come after that?
Just like his previous life, it might end up meaningless and empty.
Maybe, just like before… he'd end it himself.
"What a damned mess..." he muttered.
If he could drive out the Empire, this life promised to be far more adventurous and interesting than the last. After all, who wouldn't want to be a king?
His mind, a swirling vortex of thoughts, tried to suppress his indecision.
To be king meant having absolute power, glory, fame—tremendous control. Of course, it also meant dozens, perhaps hundreds, of potential dangers.
But for Etharell, the idea of being king was undeniably alluring.
He had nothing to lose.
This kingdom, this crown, this life… none of it was truly his to begin with.
He didn't know what had happened to the real Etharell, but just because he possessed his memories—and felt even slightly like him—didn't mean he felt a strong sense of duty to this realm.
Unfortunately, based on the memories he now had, the original Etharell didn't care much for the kingdom either. In fact, he had been considering surrendering to the Empire.
The original Etharell believed that if he submitted to the Empire, he might at least preserve his noble status, perhaps even receive a prestigious title.
He was the type to bow before those stronger than him.
But the *new* Etharell was not like that—he had no desire to kneel.
In this life, he finally had the potential to achieve something meaningful.
He couldn't just throw that away.
The original Etharell had the personality of a typical, cliché, thick-headed character found in many stories.
Not very smart, laughably weak in terms of magical power—but strangely strong and agile.
By the way, in this new world, *magic* truly existed.
There were even many classes of magic. But because the original Etharell had never really taken an interest in it, the new soul within his body only had basic knowledge of the world's magic through his inherited memories.
What puzzled Etharell now was something else:
How exactly did he gain access to the memories of this body's original owner?
The first theory that came to mind was that his soul had entered the body, but since there were no physical changes—or at least none that he was aware of—somehow, those memories had become accessible to him.
Still, even though the memories of the thick-headed original Etharell were now mixed with his own, he didn't feel that his personality had been seriously altered.
It might have simply been because the original Etharell had been such a simple-minded and foolish person.
Or perhaps no situation had yet arisen to truly awaken the original Etharell's personality traits.
Or maybe… the original Etharell's soul had somehow been erased—or suppressed.
All of these theories made sense in their own way, but Etharell had no way of knowing which, if any, was true.
Maybe they were all partially correct.
But for now, what truly mattered wasn't who sat on the throne—it was what they would do.
Whether he was the real Etharell or a foreign soul didn't change the fact that the fate of Tannurad now rested in his hands.
Etharell rose to his feet.
He glanced up at the dusty red banner that stretched all the way to the high ceiling of the throne room.
Three silver lines ran across it, symbolizing the mountain ranges—representing resilience, determination, and stubbornness.
Perhaps the true treasure of this small kingdom, which lacked fertile lands or rich mines, was its people.
The people who, despite everything, still resisted.
"I should put these thoughts aside for now. Otherwise, I won't be able to keep my sanity in the middle of this war."
Moments later, the heavy doors of the throne room slowly creaked open.
The man who entered was General Maern, one of the most trusted men of the late king.
His hair had turned white prematurely, and the shadows under his eyes betrayed a long stretch of sleepless nights.
Yet, a faint spark of hope still glimmered in his gaze.
Not far behind him, the Head Knight, Sir Caelen, stepped inside.
Leaving the king alone with another man would have been an unacceptable security risk.
"Your Majesty," Maern said with a bow. "We've received word that the imperial vanguard has reached within hundred kilometers of the capital's borders."
At first, Etharell didn't know how to respond.
After all, he was a king now—he couldn't be too gentle, but neither did he want to come off too harsh.
Back in his former life, in the modern world, he'd been somewhat antisocial, so he took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Though he didn't realize it, General Maern found himself quietly pleased by his king's deep, thoughtful expression.
Etharell cleared his throat before speaking, his deep voice echoing through the throne room.
"I see," he said, his tone heavy yet resolute.
"I believe the wisest course of action for now would be to convene an emergency council meeting. What do you think, General?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Etharell felt a hint of regret.
It wasn't typical for a king to ask the opinion of a subordinate.
But General Maern slightly raised his head, and a small, involuntary smile crept onto his tired face.
This new king—he was different from the last one.
He could already sense it.
And maybe that difference… could be the kingdom's last hope.
"Whatever you command, Your Majesty," said the general with a faint smile.
"But truthfully, I believe your idea is sound. I'll arrange a meeting with the council members immediately."
Sir Caelen gave a small nod. "I'll ensure the necessary security measures. The meeting chamber will be under full military protection."
Etharell replied with a nod to both of them.
There was still a lingering anxiety within him, but there was no turning back now.
If he sat on the throne, he had to rule. He had to decide. He had to take responsibility.
That was what it meant to be king.
And whether he was a foreign soul or not… that truth wasn't going to change.
As General Maern and Sir Caelen bowed and exited the chamber, Etharell took another deep breath.
His thoughts clashed in his mind like a stormy sea.
But one thing had become clear:
He wanted to leave a mark on this world.
In his previous life, he had vanished quietly, unnoticed—no one even remembered him.
But in this life, with this crown… there was a chance to change something.
And that chance alone was worth fighting for.
At worst, he would die.
And honestly, death was far from something Etharell feared.
After all, a man who had once taken his own life with a sober mind couldn't exactly be said to fear death.
But make no mistake—Etharell was grateful for this second chance.
And he planned to live this second life as much according to his own desires as possible.
Still, even though he wanted to live this life to the fullest, he had no reason to fear dying.
He was simply a man who wished to enjoy the gift he had been given.
Nothing more, nothing less.