The system's message was clear: fight, kill, absorb. It was a direct order for a bloody path forward. But Commander Justin's mind, now housed in the frail body of Robin Tregor, knew better.
Rushing into a fight without a plan was not bravery; it was stupidity. A battle without a map is just a brawl, and a brawl was something his new, pathetic body could not survive.
Before he could even think about fighting, he needed information. He was a man out of time, a ghost in a strange land that was also his old home. He needed a map, not of the mountains and valleys, but of the people, the politics, and the past.
And there was only one place in any castle that held all the secrets: the library.
His first mission as Robin Tregor would not be a battle. It would be an infiltration.
He waited until the dead of night, when the castle was so quiet he could hear the mice skittering in the walls. The moon was a thin sliver, offering little light. Perfect.
He began his operation. First, he made a mental map. In his past life, Commander Justin had spent years in Tregor Castle. He knew it like the back of his hand.
He knew which hallways were grand and well-lit, and which were forgotten and dark. More importantly, he knew the patrol routes of the night guards. He knew they checked the main hall every hour, on the hour.
He knew they spent ten minutes in the kitchen, trying to steal leftover bread. He knew which guards were lazy and which were alert.
His grand military plan felt a little silly when his first major obstacle was his own bedroom door. It was old and heavy, and its iron hinges loved to sing a loud, rusty song of protest whenever they were used.
He didn't just pull it open. He treated it like he was disarming a bomb. He put his ear to the wood, listening. Silence. He gently, slowly, turned the cold iron handle. Then, he applied pressure, pulling the door inward a tiny fraction of an inch at a time.
Creee…
He froze. The sound was quiet, but in the dead silence, it sounded like a scream. He waited a full minute, his heart pounding a weak, fluttery rhythm in his chest.
Nothing. He continued, pulling with a slowness that was agony. It took him nearly five minutes to open the door wide enough to slip his tiny body through.
Mission Objective One: Exit the room. Complete, he thought, a bit of his old humor returning. Casualties: nearly died of a heart attack.
He slipped into the dark hallway, a tiny shadow against the cold stone. Now came the dangerous part: crossing the main corridors.
He crept along the wall, his bare feet making no sound. He felt incredibly small and vulnerable. Every gust of wind from an open window felt like a monster's breath on his neck.
As he neared a corner, he heard it. The heavy CLANK... CLANK… of armored footsteps. A patrol.
Hide! his instincts screamed.
He spotted an old suit of armor standing in an alcove. It was dusty and forgotten, more decoration than protection. It was also his only option.
He scrambled behind it, squeezing himself into the narrow space between the cold metal and the stone wall. He held his breath, making himself as small as possible.
Two guards walked by, their lanterns swinging and casting long, dancing shadows.
"Anything?" one guard asked, his voice bored.
"Nothing," the other one grumbled. "Same as every night. Just rats and ghosts. I'd kill for a bit of excitement."
Robin peeked through the gap in the armor's leg plates. He analyzed them with a commander's eye. Their posture was lazy. Their shields were held too low.
Amateurs.
He could take them both down in ten seconds… if he had his old body. In this one, they could probably defeat him by accident just by sneezing too hard in his direction.
As they passed, he shifted his weight, and his head brushed against the back of the armor's leg. The entire suit of armor wobbled.
CLANG-a-lang-lang!
The helmet on top rattled precariously. Robin froze solid, his eyes wide with terror. He was sure they had heard. He was sure they were going to turn around, find him, and his grand plan for revenge would end with him being spanked and sent back to his room.
But the guards just kept walking. They hadn't noticed a thing. Robin let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He waited until their footsteps faded completely before daring to move again.
Now, it was time to use his secret weapon: his knowledge. Commander Justin knew that all great castles had a second, hidden set of pathways.
The servant passages. Narrow, dark, and often dirty, they were the secret veins that ran through the castle's walls, allowing servants to move around without being seen by the nobles.
He found the entrance behind a loose stone in the wall, just where he remembered it. He pulled the stone away and slipped inside. The air in the passage was thick with the smell of dust and damp.
It was completely black. He had to run one hand along the rough stone wall to guide himself. Cobwebs, thick and sticky, brushed against his face, and he had to fight the urge to yelp.
Something small and furry, probably a rat, scurried past his feet.
This was a far cry from the grand halls he used to walk. This was the castle's underbelly. A fitting place for a ghost.
He navigated the twisting, secret maze with the confidence of a man walking through his own home. After what felt like an eternity, he saw a thin line of light ahead. An exit. He pushed open a cleverly hidden door that was disguised as a large bookshelf.
And he was in.
He stood at the entrance to the great library of Tregor Castle. It was even bigger than he remembered. From the perspective of a ten-year-old boy, it was a cathedral of knowledge.
Towering shelves, two stories high, stretched up into the darkness, filled with thousands upon thousands of books. The room smelled of old paper, leather, and beeswax from the candles. It was a silent, sleeping giant.
But Robin wasn't here to admire the view. He was a soldier on a mission, and this was the armory.
He walked past rows of books filled with epic poems about heroic knights and sappy love stories about princesses. He ignored the beautifully illustrated books on magical beasts and ancient dragons. That was entertainment. He needed ammunition.
He made his way to the back of the library, to a section that was covered in a thick layer of dust. The sign above it, carved into dark wood, read: Historical and Family Archives.
This was it. The gold mine. Here, he would find the records of the last sixty years. He could learn about the political changes, the wars he had missed, the rise and fall of other noble houses.
And somewhere in these dusty, leather-bound volumes, he would find the truth about the boy whose life he had stolen. He would find the records of his birth, his life, and his death.
He needed to understand the "curse" that had defined this boy's existence.
He pulled a heavy, leather-bound book from the shelf. It was a record of family births and deaths. The cover was cold and stiff. As he opened it, dust motes danced in the sliver of moonlight from a high window.
A feeling of absolute certainty settled in his soul. This was it. This was the real beginning. He was no longer just a prisoner in a weak body.
He was now a ghost in the machine, a silent spy moving through the shadows. And here, in this silent library, he would gather the secrets that would become his weapons.
He would read. He would learn. And he would become the most dangerous secret the House of Tregor had ever kept.