The path for a new journey

I desperately try to calm myself. I don't like this kind of feeling. I had to say something—anything. This wasn't just about me—it was to save all of us from the prince madness.

"We need to work together to accomplish decoding one of these scrolls efficiently," I said, trying to sound calm even though the room felt tense after what happened.

But no one seemed to like my idea, as they replied with only silence, and then for a while I heard a few whispered talks behind my back.

They looked away quickly as soon as I looked at them. 'Coward!' I hissed

I could feel them watching me, as if judging me. That I wasn't one of them—I was new and a peasant at that. No one said it out loud, but I could feel it in my skin. The way they stare and move away from me.

"For what? To show off to His Highness and take all the praise and credits? You're not that great either," Easton scowled, breaking the silence.


My ear pounded to what I just heard, wanting to immediately confront him, but I held back.

Now is not the good time to do that. I wasn't trying to steal credit—I just wanted to save us all from the prince's wrath. But their distrust was like a wall I couldn't break through. My heart sank to the realization.

I was told that these so-called historians are experts in different fields. No wonder this group is not working at all; we are like a group of people thrust into one room with each of their own goals. Some are doing it to take credit, and some for their own indulgence. I am neither of those—all I want is to survive and go back home in one piece.



"I am not great, but at least I know—I am decoding way better than you." I scowled back at him.

Silence rippled the room as I said the sharp yet truthful words back at him.

"Stop. Those who wish to join the group, stay here until midnight. Those who still want to decode their own task, do your best to meet the prince's expectation," Leon, who managed to compose himself, said, stopping a fire that was about to lit.

I know I shouldn't do this; I don't need to share my knowledge and help them, but I had to protect Leon and the rest from the prince's fury.

They had done so much to help me adjust to this world—how could I abandon them now? I owed them at least that much. At least for these four people.

In the end, only four of us remained, huddled together in the dimly lit room, our breaths shallow and hearts pounding with the urgency of our task. For a week and three sleepless nights, we pored our time decoding over the scroll assigned to Rowell.

My vision started to blur, letters swimming on the parchment until I had to blink furiously just to refocus. Every breath felt heavy, as though my lungs were weighed down by exhaustion.

My fingers ached from gripping quills for too long, knuckles stiff and sore. Conversations were reduced to whispers, each word feeling fragile, like a precious secret that might shatter if spoken too loudly.

Every insight we uncovered was a small victory, but it came at the cost of our sanity. The tension in the room was suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in on us.

I discreetly offered suggestions to the few words I already knew, subtly guiding them toward the correct translations, yet careful not to reveal too much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we cracked the code. The most complex scroll, the one assigned to Rowell, was finally deciphered.

As the last symbol was translated and the final sentence was read aloud, we all exhaled as if we had been holding our breaths for weeks.

Relief washed over the room, and for a brief moment, our exhaustion was replaced by the quiet joy of accomplishment.

Their faces, once etched with fear and anxiety, lit up, eyes bright with the victory we had earned together.

But even in that moment of triumph, a shadow hung over my heart. The prince's power and ruthlessness were ever-present, a cold reminder that our success might only buy us time, and our next mistake could very well be our last.

As much as I wanted to savor our achievement, the fear of what might come next gnawed at me, like a dark void swallowing any sense of peace.


Rowell smiled widely after he read the scroll's content, each word with a heavy meaning.


📜


"Keep thy piece in one's heart as I live and pay the price for what I desire. May forgiveness bestow upon me, as I leave behind the path for a new journey. With no malice in my intentions, as I shared with the O mighty dragon."

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As he finished reading, the words hung in the air like a riddle, their meaning just out of reach.

'Piece in one's heart... a path for a new journey...' What was this scroll leading us toward? The mention of the dragon—it couldn't be a coincidence.

I watched as Leon leaned back, his eyes wide with wonder and exhaustion. His face was pale, as if his body couldn't process the weight of our discovery.

"I think we've found something," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "The path... the one the prince was searching for."

'Am I the only one who doesn't know what this is all about? ' I muttered to myself. For a moment, we let ourselves believe it was over. Days of endless work had left us exhausted, but the exhaustion now felt like a hard-won trophy.

We lay down, one by one, on the scattered cushions and parchment, giving in to the overwhelming need for rest. The air was now calm, our breathing slowing in sync as the room hushed.


Whoever said taming a tyrant was easy had clearly never met The Prince of Marceau.

All those fantasy stories made me believe princes were supposed to be charming, redeemable, or at least hopelessly foolish in love. If only that were the case here. Instead, I'm stuck with a prince who could cut someone down with a single stem.

The only confession I'm making is that I wish I was in a world where princes were clueless, not deadly. A story where the prince might've been oblivious, but he didn't make you feel like one wrong move would turn you into a human pin cushion. He'd sweep you off your feet, not drag you into a war room to decode ancient texts while popping grapes, completely unfazed.

But my reality slapped hard. The prince I got isn't turning into a lovesick puppy anytime soon. If anything, even hinting at rebellion would bring down a storm.

How badly I wished I was transmigrated in one of the books I read instead of this another alternative world where I have no clue how I was thrown into.

If I ever make it out of this alive, I will make sure to get a bountiful amount of gold for the payment of all my suffering in this world.

Wait—Maybe a soul exchange is possible here. I might find some sort of ritual or portal but in order to do so, I think I need a volunteer.

So, are you up for swapping with me?