I woke up as a King in a Fantasy World

Jareth ignored the sword's sarcasm and focused on what he needed to ask. He couldn't afford to waste this opportunity—who knew when the sword would decide to stop talking altogether?

He took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. 

I need to be smart about this. If this thing really is bound to the king, then it should have a vested interest in keeping this body safe. If I frame it that way, maybe it'll be more inclined to answer me.

Clearing his throat, he spoke carefully, choosing his words with caution.

"Even if you say answering is up to you, I assume you wouldn't withhold the king's personal information, right?" He shot the sword a pointed look. "After all, who knows what people would do to this body if they found out someone else was in here instead of the original owner? And since you're bound to him, wouldn't you be affected if something happened to me?"

The sword didn't respond immediately, but after a beat, it let out a deep hum—like it was mulling over his words. Jareth took that as a partial agreement and pressed on.

"So you'll help me, right?" He gave it his most persuasive look, even though he doubted it would work on an inanimate object. "Then let's start with the most basic thing first…"

He hesitated, feeling the weight of his next question. It was embarrassing, really. He had been thrown into this world, taken over someone's body, and had been walking around like a clueless idiot without even knowing the king's name. He had realized it just now—Atticus, Roderic, and Lilliene had all addressed him as Your Majesty or My King, never by name. And honestly, how was he supposed to casually ask them? 

Hey, by the way, what's my name again? 

That would definitely raise some eyebrows.

Jareth rubbed his temple. "Alright, first question…" He looked straight at the sword, his voice slightly strained with embarrassment. "What is the king's name?"

Silence.

The sword remained still, as if stunned into speechlessness. Then—

"Pfft— Are you serious?!" The sword's voice crackled with unrestrained amusement. "You mean to tell me you've been walking around, playing king, without even knowing your own name?"

Jareth scowled. "Well, excuse me for waking up in someone else's body without an instruction manual!"

The sword wheezed out another laugh. "Oh, this is rich. Truly, I haven't been this entertained in ages."

Jareth crossed his arms, glaring. "So, are you going to tell me or not?"

The sword let out a long-suffering sigh, as if still recovering from its fit of laughter. "Fine, fine. Since I'm feeling generous… Listen up, brat. The name of the king—the one whose body you're currently borrowing—is…"

It paused dramatically, as if savoring the moment.

…Bumblefizz McRoyalpants."

Jareth froze. "What."

"Or perhaps Yura Fuhl III?" The sword continued, barely containing its laughter. "No, no—how about Jare-Bear the Bewildered? That one really fits the vibe you're giving off."

Jareth stared at it, utterly unimpressed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"You don't look like anything! You're a sword!"

The sword cackled. "Exactly! And yet, here we are, having this wonderful conversation. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Jareth dragged a hand down his face, inhaled deeply, and exhaled through his nose. 

Stay calm. Do not throw the sword out the window. 

"Alright, fine. You've had your fun. Can we get to the part where you actually tell me the real name?"

The sword made an exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, you're no fun. But since you asked so nicely—"

Jareth folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"—your real name is Stefan Vaelcrest IV."

Jareth blinked. His lips parted slightly. "...Oh."

"Not as exciting as Sir Jareth the Clueless, but it'll do," the sword said nonchalantly.

Jareth resisted the urge to chuck the weapon across the room. "I knew you were messing with me!"

The sword laughed again. "And I'd do it again. But hey, now you know! Stefan Vaelcrest. King of this land. Or, well… he was."

Jareth's amusement faded slightly at that last remark. His grip on the edge of the table tightened.

The sword noticed. "Getting serious now, huh? Well, that's understandable. After all, his name is yours now, too."

Jareth swallowed, staring down at the gleaming blade. The weight of those words settled on his chest like a stone.

"...Yeah," he muttered. "I guess it is."

The sword chuckled darkly, its voice dripping with amusement and something else—something almost ominous.

"Listen up, brat," it said, its tone shifting into something just a tad more serious. "Engrave that name into your brittle little bones, because whether you like it or not, Stefan Vaelcrest is who you are now. And trust me, that's not a name you can just discard like an old pair of boots."

Jareth scowled. "Yeah, yeah, I get it—"

"No, you don't," the sword interrupted. "You're still clinging to this idea that you'll be packing your bags and skipping back to that Earth place of yours any day now. Hate to break it to you, but that's not how this works. You've got no roadmap, no exit strategy, and no clue what actually happened to land you in this mess. And until you do—" The sword let out a dramatic sigh. 

"—you're stuck. Which means you'd better get cozy with that name, because you're gonna be wearing it for a long, long time."

Jareth stiffened at those words. His fingers twitched at his side, his mind racing. 

For a long time? Then how long will it take? What would happen to his body if it takes years?

"...You don't know that for sure," he muttered, more to himself than to the sword.

"Oh? Don't I?" The sword snickered. "Alright then, genius, go ahead—tell me exactly how you're planning to get back home. I'll wait."

Jareth opened his mouth—then promptly shut it.

Damn it.

The sword cackled. "Thought so."

Jareth took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Alright, don't panic. Get as much information as possible before this damned sword decides to change the subject or go off on another rant," he thought to himself.

I'll think about it later.

"Alright, next question." He straightened up, fixing the sword with a determined look. "Is it true that the king wasn't able to manifest his ability?"

The sword let out a sharp tsk. "Hah! It's not that he couldn't manifest it. It's that he couldn't understand it."

Jareth frowned. "What do you mean?"

The sword wobbled slightly in its cushion, as if shaking its head. "I mean exactly what I said, brat. He had power—real power—but he didn't know what the hell to do with it. And when you don't understand something, it might as well not exist, right?"

Jareth's brows furrowed. "So he had an ability, but he just... didn't know how to use it?"

"Exactly!" The sword almost sounded triumphant, as if Jareth had finally caught on to something obvious. "That's what made him no different from someone without an ability at all. That's the reason why—"

The sword abruptly cut itself off.

Jareth narrowed his eyes. "The reason why… what?"

"...Nothing," the sword said a little too quickly.

Jareth folded his arms. "No, no, no. You definitely were about to say something important. What's the reason? Out with it."

"Ah, look at the time!" the sword suddenly exclaimed. "We should really be moving on to the next question."

Jareth's eye twitched. "Did this sword just try to change the subject like a guilty criminal?!"

He took a slow breath. "You do realize you don't even have a way to tell time, right?"

"Details, details," the sword huffed. "The point is—"

"The point is," Jareth cut in, "you're obviously hiding something, and I really don't appreciate that."

The sword hummed in a way that sounded way too smug for an inanimate object. "Listen, brat, some things are better left alone. Anyway! The king couldn't use his ability. That's all you need to know. No need to go digging into unnecessary details, right?"

Jareth scoffed. "Unnecessary details? Like, oh, I don't know, why the hell I'm in his body?!"

But it was clear the sword wasn't planning on budging.

Fine.

Jareth leaned forward, determined to get as much information as possible while the sword was still in a somewhat talkative mood.

"My next question is about a certain ritual," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You said that this body's name is Stefan Vaelcrest, and earlier, I heard from the king's subordinates about something called the Vaelcrest Ritual. What exactly is that? Can you explain the procedure to me?"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Jareth's absolute confusion, the sword burst into laughter.

"Pfft—AHAHAHA! Oh, this is rich! You seriously don't know?!"

Jareth scowled. "Do I look like someone who knows?"

"If you did, you wouldn't be asking, now would you?" the sword teased. "But, oh, this is priceless! I thought you were going to ask something serious, but here you are, clueless about your own legacy!"

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you going to answer or just laugh at my suffering?"

The sword let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, fine, since I'm feeling generous, I'll enlighten you."

Jareth crossed his arms, waiting.

"Ahem!" The sword suddenly spoke in a grand, almost theatrical tone. "The Vaelcrest Ritual is a sacred ceremony conducted to awaken the latent abilities of individuals within the Vaelcrest Kingdom."

Vaelcrest Kingdom? So, this kingdom is called Vaelcrest similar to the king's last name?

Jareth blinked. "...Okay? And?"

The sword chuckled. "Oh, you want more? Well, I could explain the details… but first, I suppose I should introduce myself properly."

Jareth frowned. "Introduce yourself? What do you mean?"

"Hah! You've been chatting me up all this time without even knowing who I am?" The sword sounded positively delighted by this fact. "How rude!"

Jareth gave the sword a deadpan look. "I was under the impression that you were just a sword."

"Just a sword?!*" The sword gasped dramatically. "How dare you! I am not just a sword, you ungrateful little brat!"

Jareth sighed. "Fine. Who are you then?"

The sword's voice lowered into something smug.

"My name... is Vaelcrest."

Jareth's expression froze. "...Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The sword practically preened. "I am Vaelcrest, the very namesake of this kingdom, the heart of its power, and the reason why that so-called ritual exists in the first place."

Jareth opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

"...Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that the Vaelcrest Ritual is about you?"

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner!" The sword sounded way too smug about this. "That ritual? It's all about me, baby!"

Jareth groaned and rubbed his temples. "Of course. Of course the magical artifact would be a narcissist."

"Hey! That's mister narcissistic ancient artifact to you!"

Jareth stared at the ceiling. "This is my life now."