The youngest prince is too ambitious.

Nathan—no, Kairen—stared at the hand-held mirror, his reflection both mesmerizing and alien. The intricate carvings on the wooden handle—twisting vines and blooming flowers—felt almost insignificant compared to what the mirror reflected back at him.

A face so beautiful it didn't seem human. It wasn't just good-looking—it was ethereal. Perfectly arched eyebrows framed sharp, piercing purple eyes that shimmered like rare gemstones, impossibly vivid even in the dim light. His jawline could have been chiseled from marble, sharp and angular, and his nose was elegant in its symmetry. His lips, full and naturally flushed, were so perfect they seemed crafted by an artisan's hand.

Nathan frowned, running a hand across his face like he could erase the surreal image staring back. "This doesn't even look like a real person," he muttered. "It's like I'm some over-polished porcelain doll."

Despite the undeniable beauty of his reflection, he felt no joy. No sense of pride. This wasn't his face—this wasn't his life. It was a mask, one he hadn't chosen to wear.

He slumped onto the wooden table, letting the mirror drop from his hand with a soft thud. The weight of everything the lion—Elric, right?—had told him pressed down on his shoulders. The youngest prince of the Sunhaven Kingdom. Kairen the Third.

The information didn't bring clarity; it brought frustration. Nathan's mind raced, but every thread of logic unraveled. He had always prided himself on being able to piece things together—analyzing data, reading people, connecting dots—but none of this made any sense. He wasn't just in someone else's body; he was in an entirely different world.

Why me? The question burned in his mind. Just yesterday—or what he thought was yesterday—he had been on the brink of retiring for good. One last deal. One final meeting. Enough money to buy a private island and live out the rest of his life in luxury. But instead, here he was, a prince in name only.

"Prince," he scoffed, running his fingers through the unnervingly silky strands of his long hair. "What kind of prince trips getting out of a carriage and dies from it?" Elric had mentioned it almost apologetically, as if it wasn't laughable. But Nathan found no humor in the fact that his predecessor—a 16-year-old royal—had apparently fallen and hit his head so hard it killed him.

"Did he really die from a simple fall? And I took over his body?" He groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. "No, no. 'Took over' makes it sound like I'm at fault. Let's go with 'pushed onto.' Yeah, that's better."

He sat up, resting his chin in his hand as he stared blankly at the mirror. The absurdity of it all gnawed at him. "I was one deal away from martinis on a beach," he muttered. "Now I'm supposed to lead some campaign against bandits? Fantastic."

Elric's words echoed in his mind: 'You must prove your worth, my prince. The king expects nothing less.'

Apparently, this world had never heard of child abuse laws. A 16-year-old was old enough to be considered a man, and since this prince had not a single wisp of recognition other than his face, he was forced with the task of subjugating a band of bandits that had taken over the south of kingdom causing havoc where they went.

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration bubbling under his skin. Kairen—or whoever he was supposed to be—wasn't just incompetent. He was a joke. The kind of prince you'd read about in a satirical novel. He hadn't even reached the battlefield, and he was already dead. What kind of expectations could anyone have for him?

"Prove my worth," Nathan muttered, rolling his eyes. "I've spent my entire life proving my worth. And for what? To end up here?" He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think. Dwelling on what he'd lost wouldn't help. What mattered now was survival.

He picked up the mirror again, staring at the face he still couldn't accept as his own. The sharp eyes, the regal features—it was a face that commanded attention. A face people would listen to.

"Fine," he said, placing the mirror down and standing up, though his legs wobbled slightly beneath him. "If I'm stuck here, I'm not going down like some tragic prince in a storybook. Not like I even have a choice of escaping."

He turned toward the door, his jaw tightening as resolve slowly replaced his confusion. "Time to figure out how to survive this mess."

Kairen stepped out of the wooden door and onto the field, where the few bands of soldiers assigned to him were gathered in loosely organized clusters. Their gazes swept over him, taking in every detail with poorly disguised skepticism. The prince they saw wasn't one to inspire confidence—at least, not yet.

Out of obligation, not respect, they knelt briefly as he approached. Their leather-armored knees scraped the dusty ground before they rose in unison, standing stiffly before him. The motion was mechanical, lacking any real reverence or enthusiasm.

Kairen's sharp purple eyes flicked over the group, scrutinizing their mismatched leather armor and eastern-style garments. Each soldier wore the emblem of the sun etched onto their chest, a motif he had seen everywhere since awakening—the same symbol that fluttered on the flag atop his ornate carriage.

The designs in their uniforms, the cut of the leather, and even the way the soldiers moved all carried a distinctly eastern aesthetic. So… this kingdom is a lot like Asia from Earth, he mused, recalling the vivid tales and imagery he'd once read in history books and old novels. But even so, this wasn't quite the same. There was a blend of familiar elements, yet something about the colors and patterns felt otherworldly—alien even in their similarity.

With a casual wave of his hand, he said curtly, "Continue what you were doing."

Despite being a prince they clearly lack any respect for me, I would too if the person I am serving faints from a simple fall. He died, but they don't need to know that.

The soldiers, already standing, exchanged bored glances and resumed their idle chatter, their conversations more fitting for a tavern than a battlefield. Kairen's gaze lingered on them, his mind racing. Are these people even capable of fighting? They are part of the royal army, aren't they? Surely they've been trained to some extent… right? His eyes narrowed. But they're only going up against bandits. With a proper strategy, I can definitely win and get out of this mess.

His thoughts deepened, taking a darker turn. From the looks of it, the king kind of has it out for me, sending me here. He placed a hand on his chin, absently stroking his jawline as he thought.

A useless prince is still a prince. Maybe that makes me a target. Back on Earth, siblings fought tooth and nail for the throne, even killing one another. But I'm the youngest… I have no claim to the throne. Would they even bother? The question nagged at him, a seed of doubt he couldn't shake.

As Kairen mulled over his predicament, his expression subtly shifted. His once-naive and frustrated gaze took on a calculating edge, his eyes sharpening like a predator assessing its prey. Elric, standing nearby, watched the transformation unfold. The beastman's keen senses didn't miss a thing—the subtle shifts in posture, the deliberate movements, even the intensity of Kairen's focus.

Has my prince finally decided to grow up? Elric wondered, though doubt still lingered in his heart. But the amnesia… should we report it to the palace? No, if we did, the crown prince would seize this opportunity to disgrace him. With the current tension in the palace, my prince might even lose his title.

"My prince," Elric called out softly, breaking the silence. Kairen turned to face him, his sharp eyes snapping to attention. "Please, let me heat up your meal for dinner," Elric said, raising his hands.

Before Kairen's very eyes, sparks danced at Elric's fingertips, leaping to ignite the dry wood beneath a cooking pot. Flames licked the logs hungrily, crackling as the fire took hold. Kairen's eyebrows rose slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Elric, was that… magic?" he asked.

"Yes, my prince," Elric replied with a respectful nod.

"Ah, I see," Kairen murmured, his mind already churning. "Do the bandits use magic too?"

"Of course they do, master," Elric said firmly. "How else could they have caused such havoc? People like them should've been punished by mana itself. I've even heard rumors that the leader of the bandit group possesses a rare skill."

"Interesting…" Kairen mused, his interest piqued. "Can I use magic?"

Elric hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. "My lord, with enough practice, one day you will certainly feel mana my leige..."

"I see," Kairen said simply, nodding as if filing the information away for later. With graceful ease, he climbed into the wooden carriage, his long, silken hair swaying with the motion. The intricate carvings on the panels caught the fading sunlight, their craftsmanship evident even in the smallest details.

"Let's go," Kairen ordered.

Elric's ears twitched, his voice tinged with concern. "We still have a day's worth of journey to cover, my prince. Please eat something before we depart."

Kairen shook his head, his tone calm but resolute. "No," he said, his voice carrying the weight of quiet authority. "We're heading back to the capital."