"Speak to me. Who are you really?"
Count Gerhart's voice was calm, but his gaze pierced through me like a blade honed by years of suspicion and battle. I froze—my throat tight, my mind blank.
How do I even begin to explain? That I came from a place of concrete towers and touchscreen dreams—21st-century Tokyo. That I awoke here in a world filled with blades, bloodlines, monsters, and magic... in a body that wasn't mine, eighteen months ago. No gods appeared. No quest was given. No prophecy foretold this. I simply... was.
In truth, I had been improvising this entire time. Taking each step by instinct, by moral compass, by whatever little sliver of rationality I could salvage from the old world.
And now—for the first time in this strange new life—I had no clever answer. No escape. No spin.
I swallowed hard.
Should I lie? Should I pretend? Should I cover it all with the comforting veil of ignorance?
No. That wasn't me. Not then. Not now.
I took a deep breath, gathering what I still had: not the truth, but what mattered more—the intent.
"Count Gerhart, sir," I began, slowly and deliberately, "I do not fully grasp what it is you suspect... or what you hope to achieve by making such a claim. But I can say this—"
I met his eyes, steady this time.
"Whatever I am, whoever I once was... I mean no harm to this land. I have no desire to undermine your vision. On the contrary, I am here to support it—with every ounce of skill, wit, and loyalty I possess."
He studied me in silence.
Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward, unhooking the war hammer from his belt. The runes etched along its handle shimmered faintly. He held it upright before him—and in a flash, light burst forth, bathing the room and wrapping around me like a living aura.
Warmth. Pressure. Truth.
The air felt thick, charged with something sacred. Ancient.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. The light wasn't just around me—it was inside me, searching, probing, judging.
And through it all, Count Gerhart never looked away. His gaze remained locked on mine, cold and unwavering. Testing me. Measuring me.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the light faded. The weight lifted. Silence fell once more.
He lowered his hammer.
And for a moment… neither of us said a word.
"You are indeed telling the truth," Count Gerhart finally said, his voice calm yet laced with something ancient and immovable. "Had you lied... the hammer would have smitten you with holy fire."
I gulped.
Goodness me. So he really wasn't bluffing. One wrong word, and I would've been reduced to ash on the chamber floor.
But he wasn't finished.
"Then answer me this," he continued, his voice sharpening like the edge of judgment. "What did you do to Leonhart Aldric? The real Leonhart Aldric?"
I let out a long, tired sigh—my shoulders slumped, my heart heavier than ever.
No more hiding. No more games.
"My name is Kensuke Arime, Count Gerhart," I said, with as much composure as I could muster. "I'm forty-two years old, from another realm. A different world. One day, I simply... woke up in this body. It happened on the day of your investiture as Count."
He listened, unmoving.
"What happened to the original Leonhart? I don't know," I confessed, each word cutting into me like glass. "Why I'm here? I don't know either. But what I do know is this: I will use what I have—my knowledge, my skills, my judgment—to help you build a future worth living in. I'm not your friend from the past... but I can be your ally for the future."
There was a long silence.
He didn't look at me immediately. Instead, he walked toward the great oaken chair by the hearth, sat down slowly, and rubbed his forehead with a weary hand. A deep sigh escaped him—one not of anger, but of heartbreak.
"Leo..." he murmured, almost to himself. "Leonhart... was the oldest companion I had in this life."
He looked up again, but his gaze wasn't on me anymore—it was somewhere far behind me, buried in a memory.
"We met as infants in the orphanage, growing up in the streets of Wulfgarde, now laid in ruins of war. He was shy, timid. Always getting pushed around, never speaking up. I used to pull him out of trouble more times than I can count." His lips curled into a small, distant smile. "He barely talked, but he listened. Listened like no one else ever did. We learned letters together from a kind old scholar who used to feed us moldy bread in exchange for reciting alphabets."
His smile faded.
"During the demon war, I dragged him with me. Not because he was a warrior—but because I was terrified they'd draft him and toss him into the frontlines like cannon fodder."
And then, Gerhart turned to face me—eyes heavy, brows creased with a different kind of grief.
"Then, on the day of my investiture... he woke up different."
He leaned back in the chair.
"Confident. Sharp. Full of ideas. He laughed, he drank, he even traveled to foreign settlements and met different people. That wasn't the Leo I knew... but I didn't stop him. I thought maybe the burden had lifted from his soul. Maybe, finally, the war had freed him."
He let out a bitter chuckle.
"Turns out, the Leo I knew may have died without me ever realizing it."
The chamber grew quiet.
The torchlight flickered across the stone walls, and for a brief moment, I felt as if the very room itself grieved the man whose name I now carried.
He motioned for me to sit across from him, the weight of suspicion now replaced with a curious intensity. When I settled into the chair, he leaned forward, his voice soft but firm.
"Then please
tell me, Kensuke Arima. Tell me about your world. I want to understand. And please—call me Gerhart, like Leo did."
So I did.
I told him everything.
About the world I came from—the twenty-first century. A time of wonders, of breathtaking achievements born from centuries of struggle and bloodshed. I told him how humankind clawed its way from medieval darkness into cities of glass and steel, of flying machines and lightning-fast communications, of medicine that could cure plagues and rockets that could touch the stars.
But I didn't stop there.
I told him of the rot beneath the surface. Of how nature was ravaged in the name of progress. Of endless wars waged not for honor or survival, but for profit and pride. Of racism institutionalized, of the working class shackled by invisible chains, of the loneliness gnawing at millions despite being surrounded by billions. I told him about unrestrained capitalism—how a few sat atop mountains of gold while many drowned in debt, laboring longer for less, all under the illusion of freedom.
Gerhart listened in complete silence, eyes never leaving mine.
And then I said, quietly but with conviction, "I don't want this world to become like mine. I see the same seeds already growing in the cracks. But we can still choose differently. We can make this place better. More just. More compassionate. And I believe you are the one who can lead it. You have the heart, the will, the vision. I will stand with you—as Leonhart Aldric, if that is what it takes. The time for change starts now. And it starts here, in Tharros Vale."
Gerhart's eyes darkened—not with fear, but with resolve. Then he spoke, his voice low and steady.
"No child shall go hungry. No one shall sleep in the cold. The sick will be healed, and all shall learn to read and write. That... is the realm I dream of. I don't care for titles or songs written in my name. I don't wish to build wealth or carve legacies into marble. I only want to build a future where dignity is not a luxury."
I nodded slowly. "And that is why there is hope, Gerhart. Because you—Count Gerhart Ironwill of Tharros Vale—have chosen to become more than a noble. You are a defender of the weak, liberator of the enslaved, and champion of the forgotten. And I, as Leonhart Aldric, will stand by your side. As your squire. Your brother. Until the very end."
A faint gleam appeared in his eyes.
He extended his hand.
"Then let us keep working, Kensuke Arima—no. Leonhart Aldric," he said, a smile breaking through the iron mask of his face. "For the future. For the realm. For everyone."
I took his hand and clasped it firmly.
In that moment, a pact was forged—between two men of two worlds, bound by purpose, forged by truth.
The mystery of Leonhart Aldric's past had finally been laid to rest.
But his true story—
Had only just begun.