Capítulo 2: College 101

Barov Mons was a man of high ambitions, and one could say that his reputation and social position were all that mattered. Balding since the prime age of 23, he was an inconspicuous and yet determined man.

So imagine his utter disappointment when he was finally able to assume his position as Administrative Minister for Roland Wimbledon, otherwise known as the Fourth Prince.

The prince was irresponsible, fickle, and extremely self-serving: an utter failure fed with a golden spoon before even wiping the drool off his own chin.

"Your highness, it is about time for the execution, please quickly announce your ruling." A helpless and exasperated sigh left him; truly, there was no saving Border Town.

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"-announce your ruling." He heard to his left, though it was hard to listen with the gaggle of sounds in the background. It almost sounded like a gathering, were they having a meeting in the office-

Suddenly, his eyes shot open with a startle, cold perspiration sliding down his forehead. His pupils dilated and contracted unnaturally, and he could almost hear the crunchy sound of his bones mushing against the concrete.

"Your highness?" The voice called for - him? - yet again.

Now confused out of his mind, the man focused back on the situation at hand...

An execution.

1 second. 2 seconds. 3 seconds.

'An execution.' The word reverberated again in his mind, cogs whirling into motion and wheels turning in movement, 'An execution?! What the fuck?' He frowned as far as eyebrows could go and took yet another look around, 'And this body isn't mine!'

Things couldn't get any worse.

"Your highness, is something the matter?" The voice had a tint of concern and, now, he was sure it was directed at him.

Things could, in fact, get a lot worse.

A migraine, the likes of which he never had in all his years as a university student high on caffeine (and that was saying something), instantly hit him as your average truck would run over the average Japanese student.

'Roland Wimbledon-' The pain got worse, if that was even possible, bringing with it a translucent screen that hovered above the air, shimmering in the sunset light.

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Name - Roland Wimbledon

Titles: None

STR - 5

AGI - 7

VIT - 10

END - 4

MGK - 1

CHA - 7

PER - 9

Skills: None

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"Your highness?!" Now this voice really had to stop talking, or else %$¨&- Roland (great, now he couldn't even remember his own name) could just roll over and die any moment.

"Stop talking." He said - more like hissed - at the loud crowd. Waking up with the after pains of broken lungs and bones wasn't on his priority list, much less being bombarded with foreign knowledge instantly after.

To say his voice was anything but friendly would be an understatement.

Everything went quiet, and somehow he felt like falling asleep right there and then.

[ New Rare Skill - Peacemaker! ]

[ MGK ⇧1 ]

He ignored the message, instead setting his sight onto the person to be executed. Through all the pain, confusion, and fear that dotted his rationale, however, he could make out the fact that the accused was but a child in rags.

And- 'What?' He strained his ears to hear the gossip between the people.

Witch, they said. 'This child?'

Looking around, Roland set his hands upon his throne before holding up his head in consternation. Now, that execution idea was starting to sound better and better every passing second.

Did he understand what was happening? No.

Was he pissed? Yes.

Which left him only one option - let the anger flow through him, as he often did in his college days. Was it reckless? Yes, extremely so. Did it work? It did something, that he could say for certain.

"Bring her to questioning." He narrowed his eyes in exertion, trying to formulate sentences through the pain, "I want to interrogate her."

"Your highness, this is absurd-!" A blondie exclaimed to his right.

"Do I have to repeat myself-" Scrounging through the foreign memories for names was proving to be a bad idea, "Carter?"

That seemed to shut the man up. Perfect, now he just had to stay steady on his feet.

'...'

Perfect, truly perfect. Nothing could be any better.

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A soft thump sounded in 'his bedroom' as he dropped to the silky folds of the royal bed.

"Roland Wimbledon..." The name rolled off his tongue naturally, though the pounding pain in his temples showed no signs of ever going away.

'Guess that's my name now.' He thought, everything so overly absurd that he's stopped trying to make sense of it, 'Sometimes you just need to go with the flow... but fucking hell... I need some painkillers - wait, do these people even have those here?'

There was no reply to be heard in the empty room.

"No tutorial?" He asked the stale air, expecting an answer.

'Guess not.' He sighed, glancing at the translucent screen that still stood there, 'What about you? Any help?'

Nothing.

'Great. Just great, and I here thought being an office worker was enough bullshit for a lifetime.'

Perhaps by focusing on all the new things that were happening, plus his migraine, he could forget about that... drop from the elevator, which he was sure by now, was very much real. He still hasn't woken up, after all.

'I guess I will have to find the answers for myself.'

Pushing aside all his confusion and pain as he always did in situations out of his control, he got up from his bed and went to the dungeons. Anger could keep him moving only for so long after all - and it was starting to fizzle out. What he needed now were answers.