Lucien didn't really feel resentment at his death. He simply felt relieved and curious. There was of course the fear. There was always that. The last thing he remembered was skidding tires, blinding headlights, the sickening crunch of metal—Then Nothingness.
He had thought that that was the end, but it wasn't.
Suddenly he could feel again, he could see again. He could feel, hear, sense and breath. Right after that was a blinding sense of pain. White hot pain that stung the nerves, penetrated to the very soul.
He instinctively tried to open his mouth to scream out loud, to give vent to the deep pain, but he couldn't. In fact he couldn't even move. It was like he was locked inside his body.
Faintly, he could hear sounds in the background. Then suddenly, the pain was cut off and the other sensations reduced drastically. He gasped internally, and finally had the wherewithal to pay attention.
He noticed he was in a dank cell, it seemed to be underground as he could smell the musky smell of the earth. However even that was overridden by the strong metallic scent of blood. Even through his reduced access to his senses, he could still smell it.
And the source – Himself.
His body was strung up like a piece of meat, riddled with wounds and cuts, all of various calibres and depths. Each wound seemed designed to inflict the maximum amount of pain possible, they were the source of the blinding pain that hit him the moment he gained consciousness.
He was then surprised to hear himself speak. What was going on? He didn't remember having the intention to speak.
The language was foreign and weird. However he could strangely understand it. And he had just uttered a pained but resolute no.
He looked at the people responsible for his situation. There were about five people in the room. The most striking was a handsome middle aged man. He had on elaborate purple ancient clothing. The kind of clothing that one would see in medieval Europe.
However the material and finery of the clothing indicated wealth and affluence. The rings and bling on his body appeared to be solid gold, and his entire snobby but dignified manner indicated a privileged station in life.
Beside him was a little him, they were so alike that they could only be son and father. The little him was a teenager, in clothes the same colour and make as his father. Lucien disliked him immediately. The little twat had a mocking and gloating expression as he looked at Lucien.
The rest were two soldiers in shining elaborate armor and a man in bloodied clothes. The armor was the kind he had only seen in movies about knights and swords.
All this details convinced Lucien of one thing. He was definitely not in the modern world. He wasn't in his body either, that was because the voice that he spoken with was young and immature. The voice of a teenager about sixteen or seventeen.
That meant only one thing, he had transmigrated. He had read of such stories. He had in fact been an avid fan of transmigration novels, liking the concept of a new start in magical worlds. He had just never thought it would happen to him.
There was a problem though, it seemed that the body he transmigrated to still had an occupant. The young man who had spoken. He could feel and see everything, but the control was with someone else.
He suddenly felt an unfamiliar emotion intrude. It was not from him, it was from the body's owner. The source of the emotion? One of the soldiers had exited the room, they returned dragging a young girl behind them.
Even in such a situation, Lucien was taken aback by the girl's beauty. She was too dazzling, even in her distressing situation, her fragile and innocent beauty shone through. Her blue eyes were like pure sapphires, her lips were full and red, her nose small and aquiline and her face soft and oval.
She reminded him of those classical portrait beauties. The moment she appeared, he had himself shout in anguish, "Giselle! No. Let her go you bastard."
The middle aged man who seemed to be the leader frowned in disapproval.
"You shouldn't use such crass language, Lucien. You are a noble, no matter the situation."
Lucien was taken aback by the guys shamelessness. He even felt some admiration for the guy's thickness of face. He could practically serve as a city wall with such a thick face.
Lucien felt feelings of fear and despair seep in from the young man.
They must have reflected on his face since the middle aged man leaned in.
"I didn't want to do this, dear nephew. But you are just not suitable to lead house Aureville. The house needs someone strong, with experience and strength to lead. Put the sigil on the note, make me the heir to the house, open up the seal to the sanctum."
The man then looked at the girl, "Otherwise I might have to hurt poor Giselle. I'm sure we all don't want that."
The young man looked at the middle aged man with venomous hatred. Lucien felt an overwhelming amount of hatred seep into his heart, and he couldn't help but gasp, in his mind anyway.
The middle aged man seeing this, nodded at the bloodied man. The man immediately put on a gleeful expression as he walked towards the girl. Anybody could tell what was going to happen next.
The girl's expression changed, her face blanched in fear as she struggled against the soldier in armor. However before the bulky armored man she couldn't muster any force. Her scared gaze roamed around the room before it finally settled on Lucien. Begging him to save her.
Lucien felt the young man close his eyes in agony. The pained feelings flowed through again to Lucien.
The blood covered torturer finally reached the girl who immediately started sobbing, "No. Don't."
The sound proved too much for the young man.
"I'll do it. I'll sign the writ."
The middle aged man flashed a victorious smile. "What about the sanctum. Open the sanctum."
A resolute expression returned to the young man's face. A feeling of indomitable will flowed to Lucien's heart. It was as if an immovable wall, a will of steel. He wouldn't budge come fire or high water.