Pain exploded in his head.
William gasped and snapped his eyes open.
A sharp metallic gleam filled his vision.
Not a bullet.
A sword tip—less than an inch from piercing his forehead.
Instinct roared.
He twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding the strike, rolled forward, and surged to his feet. In one fluid motion, he seized the blade from the black-clad assassin's grip and swung.
Slash.
The assassin's head flew free, blood spraying across the floor.
William stood still, breathing heavily.
He looked around.
The large hall was in ruins—furniture shattered, walls stained red, corpses scattered everywhere.
Then—
A violent surge of foreign memories slammed into his mind.
Images he had never lived.
Faces he had never known.
A body that was not his—yet unmistakably was.
William staggered, clutching his head.
Instinctively, his hand moved to his chest.
There it was.
The dragon pendant.
Intact.
Hanging silently against his skin. His eyes widened.
From the overwhelming flood of memories, he could grasp only the most recent ones—the final five years of this body's life.
The information crashed into his mind all at once.
His head throbbed violently, pain splitting through his skull. The world spun, his vision blurring as his body swayed.
He was about to collapse when someone rushed in and caught him.
"Are you alright, Your Highness?"
He looked up.
It was his maid—Grecia.
Her eyes darted around the room in panic. "What happened here?"
"I'm fine," he said coldly.
He pushed her away and walked into the adjoining room. Before she could speak again, he shut the door.
"I need space," he warned, his tone sharp. "Do not let anyone enter."
Outside, Grecia froze.
The concern on her face vanished—replaced by naked disdain.
"Trash," she spat.
Her gaze swept across the room, landing on the lifeless bodies of the maids sprawled across the floor. Then she noticed the headless assassin.
Her eyes darkened.
"What a waste of my gold coins."
She stepped forward and kicked the corpse repeatedly, her expression twisted with irritation.
Her gaze shifted to the closed door.
"So this useless piece of trash actually managed to behead the assassin I sent."
She frowned, thinking it over.
"No… I was wrong."
Her lips curled.
"No—everyone was wrong."
She sneered.
"So what if he's smarter than we thought? He's still a cripple. A half-witted prince with a broken cultivation body. Still the Trash of the palace."
She raised her voice.
"Guards!"
A dozen rushed in at once.
"Clean this place," she ordered coldly.
As the servants began clearing the bodies, Grecia stood there, arms crossed, eyes glinting with calculation.
Inside the other room, William sat heavily on the couch.
His breathing gradually steadied as he replayed the memories again and again—over a dozen times—until the truth became impossible to deny.
He had transmigrated.
This was no longer his world.
He was now inhabiting the body of the Seventh Prince of the Dragon Kingdom.
William stood and walked to the mirror.
Staring back at him was a handsome youth—refined features, clear skin, delicate brows. Completely different from the scarred, hardened face of his previous life.
"Hmph," he muttered. "I've entered the body of a softy."
He studied himself closely.
"The name's the same—William. Different surname."
He chuckled dryly.
"From William Dunkard to William Drake of the Drake Dynasty of Red Dragon Clan."
His expression turned indifferent.
"The only good thing about this body is its looks. Everything else? Useless."
He leaned closer to the mirror.
"The Seventh Prince of the Red Dragon Kingdom. Fifteen years old. Labeled half-witted. Born with a crippled cultivation body."
His eyes narrowed.
"Still… he had one good thing."
A memory surfaced—warm, protective.
"An elder sister who did everything she could to keep him alive in this viper's nest of a palace."
His gaze hardened.
"I woke up during an assassination attempt."
A faint smile formed.
"Too bad for the idiot who pointed the blade at me."
For a brief moment, nostalgia crept in.
Even a heartless assassin like him could feel it.
His mentor—Darren.
His wife—Agnes.
The woman he loved.
The woman who betrayed him at the very end.
Even though he met his end at his wife's hands, William felt no hatred toward her. Killing had long since become numb to him—and that numbness extended even to his own death.
Yet her final words burned into his mind like a brand.
He could still hear them clearly.
You're a good man, Will.
Maybe too good for this world.
It was fate that we met—and fate that we kill each other.
If there's another life… I'll truly be your devoted wife then.
But in this life—
The echo of the gunshot snapped him back to reality.
William sat in silence for a long time.
Hours passed before he finally exhaled and came to a conclusion.
"Fine," he murmured. "I am William Drake now—the Seventh Prince of the Red Dragon Kingdom."
His gaze sharpened.
"William Dunkard died in that other world."
He lowered his eyes to his chest and unconsciously grasped the black dragon pendant hanging around his neck.
"The only thing I inherited from my past life… is you."
Even if the former owner of this body had been a fool, William was confident. He could learn this world's rules. Understand its hierarchy. Master its dangers.
What truly excited him—
Was that this was a world of magic and swords.
A world where mortals could live for centuries.
A world where strength could defy fate.
A world where immortality was not a myth.
For a top-tier assassin who had already reached the peak in his previous life, this was nothing short of paradise.
New power.
New paths.
New heights.
His heart pounded.
William laughed openly, a rare, genuine sound.
"This feeling… it's the same as when I first met Agnes," he said softly. "Just thinking about this world's possibilities excites me."
He lifted his gaze.
"Agnes—if the fate you spoke of truly exists, then I believe you are somewhere in this world."
His lips curved upward.
"I'll climb to the very top—status, power, strength."
"Then I'll come looking for you."
"I look forward to our next meeting."
A knock sounded at the door.
"What?" he barked.
Grecia's voice came from outside, sweet and respectful—completely different from before.
"Your Highness the Seventh," she said servilely, "you are hereby summoned by His Majesty. Please prepare yourself within five minutes."
William's eyes turned cold.
"This bitch," he whispered.
He sneered inwardly.
"I know her kind. She definitely had a hand in the assassination attempt earlier."
"But she's just a maid."
His smile sharpened.
"So who's the real one pulling the strings?"
He straightened his clothes calmly.
"Too bad for them," he muttered. "This isn't the William of yesterday anymore."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"This game just got interesting."
"I'll take my time—play along."
"And when I'm done…"
"I'll take them out one by one."
He looked at his reflection and spoke softly,
"Rest in peace."
"I'll make those who humiliated you and made you suffer repay it—double."