Chapter 3
“Lord Joseph! Are you all right? Do you feel dizzy or have a headache?”
Arnulph, who had been lost in thought about the past, turned his head. The doctor in a white coat was staring at him with an openly annoyed expression.
“What… am I dreaming?”
It was a reasonable doubt. Otherwise, there was no way the face and body before him could belong to Joseph.
“Pardon? Lord Joseph? What’s wrong? Are you still not fully conscious?”
He should’ve sobered up by now. Or was the effect of the drugs still lingering? The doctor muttered the last part under his breath and clicked his tongue.
“So this isn’t a dream?”
“A dream? What are you talking about? You walked to the mirror yourself a few moments ago! You don’t even remember that?”
At Arnulph’s repeated questions, the doctor frowned.
“Lord Joseph, you really should cut down on alcohol and medicine. You’re going to ruin yourself. Actually—no, you already have.”
The doctor’s tone grew more biting.
“When you were brought in, the stench of alcohol was so strong that I thought you’d drowned in liquor. They said you were drunk out of your mind, shoved Prince Arnulph off the balcony, and fell together!”
The doctor shook his head as if wondering what to do with this hopeless man.
He already knew Joseph’s infamous reputation—alcohol, drugs, gambling, and a scandalous lifestyle that seemed beyond saving.
When Joseph had first been brought to the hospital, he’d been unconscious, on the verge of death—his breathing stopped at one point from severe alcohol poisoning.
He hadn’t opened his eyes since, and because of that, the Queen had pitied him. She dismissed the event as nothing more than a tragic accident.
Recalling that, the doctor once again shot Arnulph a disapproving glare.
“If you’ve come back from the dead, you’d better start living properly. Take care of yourself.”
The doctor hurled that last sharp remark before leaving the room.
“……”
But Arnulph wasn’t paying attention. He was busy piecing together what had happened that night.
He’d had a strange reaction to the wine Joseph had given him—his throat swelled instantly, breathing became difficult, and his vision blurred.
‘Did he know about my weakness?’
No, that couldn’t be. Joseph had looked just as startled when Arnulph began reacting.
“L-Lord Joseph, a-are you all right? Should I get you some water if your stomach’s upset?”
The young man beside the doctor, Joseph’s servant Finn, asked anxiously.
“I’m fine. How long have I been lying here?”
Finn blinked in surprise. Normally, Joseph would’ve already snapped at him for not fetching water fast enough.
‘Did he lose his memory or something?’
The way he leaned languidly, the calm look in his eyes—none of it was like Joseph.
True, Joseph had always been noticeable, with his flaming red hair and vivid green eyes. And his personality—sharp-tongued, irritable—made sure no one forgot him after even five minutes.
But now he was quiet, composed. It was hard to believe this was really Joseph.
“Why are you staring like that? Do you not know either?”
Even his tone was soft, refined—like a proper nobleman’s.
“Ah, um… it’s been half a month.”
Finn stammered out a reply after regaining his wits.
“Half a month?”
He’d been unconscious that long?
“Then what about Prince Arnulph?”
At his question, Finn’s face fell.
“When they found you two, His Highness had already lost consciousness. He passed away before reaching the hospital. The funeral was held the next day.”
“The funeral…?”
Half a month—more than enough time to settle matters.
“Yes. And Her Majesty the Queen said she would cover all your medical expenses since you were in the same accident as the prince.”
“I see…”
So the Queen’s own son, a prince of the realm, had died—and yet there had been no further investigation?
Had they really failed to notice the allergic reaction?
No, that was too obvious a symptom to miss. His throat had swollen visibly. Surely the doctors couldn’t have been that incompetent.
‘Perhaps Mother didn’t want the issue to escalate.’
Arnulph had returned to the capital only because of the king’s worsening condition. The king was barely lucid now; his illness had progressed beyond remedy.
With the court in constant tension over his impending death, no one wanted more trouble.
And Queen Luise—yes, she would do that. A woman who used even her own blood as political tools.
To her, Arnulph was nothing more than a pawn to secure Prince Albrecht’s succession.
He’d always been pushed aside, treated as a rival, living in constant danger until his meaningless end.
Arnulph let out a bitter sigh.
No—perhaps it was better this way.
If he was dead to them, then he was finally free.
Better to let it be buried. If the Queen suspected anything, things would become far more dangerous.
He knew her nature—she wouldn’t allow even a speck of scandal to stain Albrecht’s name.
‘Yes… that’s fine. Let it stay that way.’
Even before his death, Arnulph had grown weary of a life spent being used.
More than once, he’d thought about fleeing abroad, faking his death, and starting anew.
But he’d stayed—because of the Queen.
If he’d escaped her grasp, she would’ve seen him as a threat to Albrecht’s succession and had him eliminated outright.
And it wouldn’t have ended with him—Sigmund, his loyal knight, would’ve been targeted as well.
‘So this works out for the best.’
He was dead now. Dead men owed no allegiance.
He didn’t understand why he’d awakened in Joseph’s body, but he decided to take it as a chance.
From now on, he would live as Joseph—and let Arnulph remain dead.
“Good. I suppose I should start by getting discharged.”
The remark slipped out casually after a long pause, startling Finn.
“D-Discharged? Today?”
“Yes.”
Arnulph answered calmly, without the slightest irritation, which made Finn even more uneasy.
“B-but you’ve just woken up! You should rest more before leaving!”
Finn looked him over anxiously—his face was still pale, his body weak.
“It’s fine. No need to stay here when I’m not sick. I’ll rest better at home.”
What did he just say?
Finn could hardly believe it. Normally, Joseph would’ve screamed for the doctor over a paper cut, yet now he wanted to leave the hospital the day he woke up?
“What are you waiting for?”
Arnulph, already at the door, turned back toward his servant.
“Ah—yes! Right away, sir!”
Finn hurried after him, still dazed.
‘Well… maybe losing his memory isn’t such a bad thing after all.’
A faint smile crept across Finn’s lips.
At that same time, Sigmund—whose face had grown pale and whose eyes carried nothing but sorrow these days—suddenly stopped walking.
“Joseph Pomozhein has awakened.”
A man appeared and knelt before him, delivering the report. Sigmund’s violet eyes darkened further.
“He’s awake?”
“Yes. He was unconscious for half a month. Yesterday he even suffered respiratory distress, and the doctor was called in urgently. But today, he’s fully recovered.”
Sigmund’s lips twisted faintly.
“Is that so? Then I’ll have to see him myself.”
Without hesitation, Sigmund turned on his heel.
He had to see the man with his own eyes—the man connected to Arnulph’s death.
Since that day, Sigmund had lived in despair. He’d lost the person who was like his very life.
He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, could think only of Arnulph.
Arnulph wasn’t the kind to die so pointlessly. He was strong, responsible, resilient.
That made it all the harder to accept—and by the time Sigmund sought the truth, it was too late.
The Queen had already declared the matter closed, silencing everyone involved.
All that remained was one fact: Joseph Pomozhein had been there.
And so Sigmund would face him.
As he approached the hospital, his sharp gaze caught a familiar flash of red hair near the entrance.
A chill flashed through his violet eyes.
Sensing the stare, Arnulph turned—and met Sigmund’s eyes across the doorway.
“Oh?”
He froze, surprised by the sudden encounter.
Sigmund, however, began striding toward him, his pace quickening until it became almost a run.
In the next instant, Sigmund grabbed Arnulph by the collar and slammed him back.
“Ugh! K-Kuh—what are you—!”
Startled, Arnulph tried to pry his hands away, but Sigmund’s grip was like iron.
“Joseph, you bastard!”
Sigmund’s roar burned with fury, his violet eyes blazing with murderous rage.
“Si—Sigmund! W-wait—!”
Arnulph gasped, struggling for air.
But he was too weak—this body was no match for the trained knight’s strength.
If this kept up, he’d die again—right there at the hospital entrance.
