Chapter 4: Hosting an Exiled Transmigrator

I followed his gaze to see Tristan kneeling at the side, drenched in cold sweat. The poor guy looked like he’d run a marathon in the rain. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Just then, I heard Tristan’s system blaring warnings:

[This person is extremely dangerous. Host, get away immediately!]

[Pulling up identity info!]

[Name: Rowan Ashcombe]

[Title: King of Aldermere]

[Martial strength: 100]

[Ruthlessness: 100]

[Cold-bloodedness: 100]

[Control: 100]

[Obsession: 100]

[Host, get away immediately!]

Tristan, on the verge of tears: [You think I don’t want to run? If I move, I’m afraid I’ll lose my head! Can I just say, he really lives up to the title of king? That aura is insane! I can barely breathe…]

I hesitated, then said, "He’s Lord Tristan, an exiled prince. I ran into bandits outside, and he saved me."

The royal guards: "?"

Their shocked and confused looks made me a little embarrassed. Honestly, when I was learning fencing, these elite guards were my sparring partners. I must’ve inherited my father’s talent, because even though I’d just come of age, none of them could beat me.

Against trained assassins I’d have to be careful, but against bandits who relied on brute force, it was like slicing through butter. Did I really need saving? I didn’t even have a chance to act—this guy just showed up and finished them off, thinking he looked so cool. What could I do but thank him?

As for my father, he didn’t care what I did, as long as I was safe.

Fourteen years ago, my father had only been king for a year when Carroway thought the new ruler would be easy to bully. But after losing my mother, my father was so full of cold rage that he led the army himself, turning the battlefield into a slaughterhouse and beating Carroway into retreat. To make peace, Carroway not only ceded land and paid reparations, but also sent over a hostage prince.

But my father probably forgot about him long ago. He divides people into four categories: my mother; the useful; the useless and disposable; and the useless but untouchable.

Tristan is probably the third kind. With Aldermere so powerful now, even if my father killed Tristan, Carroway wouldn’t dare say a word.

As for me, I’m self-aware enough to know I’m the fourth kind. My father’s gaze was emotionless, but it still terrified Tristan, who frantically messaged his system:

[System, can I stop trying to win over Evelyn Ashcombe? Her dad is terrifying!]

[I feel like he’ll snap my neck any second.]

[This mission is too high-risk. I can’t handle it!]

…

System: [No, Host. Once a mission starts, it can’t be stopped.]

Tristan: [Look at Evelyn’s favorability—negative ninety-nine! I’m ninety-nine percent dead! Is there any point to this mission?]

System: [If you fail, you’ll be erased.]

Tristan: [……]

Luckily, my father didn’t say anything else. I seized the chance. "Father, may I bring him back with me?"

Given Tristan’s situation, it was safer to keep him under my nose than let him stir up trouble trying to see me. Besides, I was bored and wanted to see what secrets he had.

My father nodded coldly. But I didn’t miss the flash of killing intent in his eyes when he looked at Tristan. My father grew up surrounded by malice, saw through human nature, and was a master manipulator. Even without hearing Tristan’s conversations with his system, he could easily judge his character. With the mind-reading, I saw even more clearly—cowardly, opportunistic, arrogant, impatient…

My father, with his sharp eye, would never let such trash near me under normal circumstances. But since I asked, he let me keep him—as a practice target.

I brought Tristan back to the Princess’s residence and put him in a side hall. Soon, my people brought me a dossier on his life. I skimmed it.

As a hostage, Tristan hadn’t had an easy life in Aldermere. Back in Carroway, he’d even been the crown prince. The records said he knew a little swordplay, but was gloomy and ruthless. But a month ago, he nearly drowned, and after waking up, became elegant, polite, and much better at fencing.

I rubbed my brow. Honestly, this sounded just like those stories where someone’s soul gets swapped. And from all the strange words in his inner voice, I figured—this soul wasn’t from our world.

Fine, I’d play along and see what he could do.