Rose had no idea how much time had passed, but Henrietta returned shortly after leaving, accompanied by his father's court physician. While his sister's expression was filled with clear and visible worry, the physician did not share her alarm. Even so, deeply concerned for the integrity of his skull, Rose pushed himself up in the bed with notable difficulty. He tried to speak—to assure them he was completely fine, that there was no need to split his head open or, even worse, apply leeches to bleed him. However, the abrasive dryness of his throat made it impossible.
That inability to speak finally made him realize just how incredibly dehydrated he was due to the recent fever. In the back of his mind lingered the vague memory of a conversation in which someone had said he wouldn't last the night—a prediction that wasn't entirely false, but one he preferred not to clarify by revealing that the Demon King had sent him to occupy this body. Call him paranoid, but he doubted a stupidly devout and fanatical Christian population would take that news very well.
With that caution in mind, he allowed the doctor to examine his body carefully, quietly enjoying the man's visible astonishment when he confirmed the young man had miraculously recovered from the fever. It was obvious the physician had not expected him to survive. Surprisingly—and despite being a medieval doctor, which meant a professional almost completely inept by modern standards—the man, whose name was Ewald or something like it, at least had the ability to provide clear statements.
"You have nothing to fear, Lady Henrietta. Your brother's fever has subsided significantly, and aside from being particularly dried out, he is completely healthy," the doctor declared, issuing what in this era amounted to a certificate of good health. Rose, however, looked at him with evident disdain for claiming that dryness and dehydration were the same thing.
After that declaration, Ewald handed the young man a cup of water and allowed him to drink until he was fully satisfied—a process that required more than four full cups. Rose mentally wrestled with the urge to vomit, as the metallic, rusty taste of the cup was unmistakable. Damn it! Weren't they supposed to be nobles? he thought in exasperation. No wonder the original young man's health had been so fragile; drinking water in these conditions was practically poisoning oneself.
Still, after finishing his fifth cup and wiping his mouth with his sleeve (a gesture that already revealed his lack of concern for the customs of this era), he finally felt capable of speaking.
"Thank you, Ewald. I can always count on you," Rose said. In reality, he knew he couldn't, but he was polite enough not to yell at the man for being an incompetent quack. Mentally, he made a note: his top priority would be to create glass cups immediately. To hell with his plan to improve agriculture—first he wanted to make it to thirty, or if possible, seventy.
As for Henrietta, upon learning that her brother was finally healthy for the first time in a long while, she simply let out a ecstatic smile. It was truly wonderful news for her, since her older brother had always been prone to illness, having been born with a weak constitution and fragile body, a condition not helped by a lifestyle that was lazy even by noble standards.
"Henrietta, little sister, could you call the servants and have them prepare a bath? I need to wash all this grime off before I catch tetanus or something," Rose said, making his sister jump slightly. She didn't know what on earth tetanus was, but from Rose's tone, it sounded horrible.
The physician, however, merely snorted at Rose's claim. While baths were not unheard of among the nobility, they were certainly not as common as they had been in his native world. Still, there was a fundamental reason his father had once issued a law requiring at least one bath every three days: simple filth was a damn breeding ground for infections and diseases—something any real doctor would know.
Henrietta, for her part, gave her older brother a radiant smile, and mentally, Rose wished intensely for Desmos at that precise moment so he could shove it down the throat of any idiot who dared make her cry.
"Of course, brother. I'll give the servants their instructions at once," she said, and with that, she left Rose's room again to find the nearest attendants.
This left Rose in the uncomfortable position of having to coexist with the court physician, who stood observing him for several seconds that felt eternal. Fortunately, Ewald finally left the room, not without offering a polite excuse:
"I will go inform your father, the Baron, that you have recovered."
Rose managed only a single nod while mentally sighing in relief. He had forgotten that tetanus had not yet been discovered as a disease, and for a moment he feared they might accuse him of witchcraft or some other stupid nonsense.
"I'll leave it in your hands," he replied.
Properly dismissed, Ewald left Rose completely alone, allowing the young man to release the sigh he had been holding in. After lowering his gaze and catching the stench of his own clothes, he couldn't help but grimace in disgust, forcing his subconscious not to vomit; he definitely did not need to lose all the liquid he had just regained.
"Mental note: implement basic hygiene measures as the first task…" he muttered to himself. He decided that would be his top priority—damn everything else. He wouldn't accomplish a thing if he died from a lack of hygiene. Besides, it would improve his people's quality of life; maybe, with some luck, he could raise the life expectancy to fifty.
Setting aside thoughts of sanitation, Rose finally rose from the bed and began stretching his limbs. As he did, he heard the disturbing cracking of bones clearly lacking sufficient calcium. Was this idiot vegan or something? he thought with renewed exasperation. He had nothing against vegans—one of his favorite sisters was one—but at least she knew she had to supplement her diet to avoid dying of weakness.
Unfortunately, he had no time to reflect further on his nutritional deficiencies, because he heard a knock at the door—one of the family's servants.
"My lord, the bath is ready," one of the maids informed him.
At the news, Rose threw the door open wide with an ecstatic smile, startling the woman.
"Lead the way, fair lady," he declared outright. Maybe his father had been right, and he really was too dramatic for his own good. Meh—he was who he was, and he wasn't going to change his essence just because he was in a new world.
The servant soon recovered from her surprise and nodded before guiding the baron's son through the hallway, mentally wondering how much the fever must have affected him to turn a rather sullen young man into someone noticeably more cheerful. After a brief walk, they reached the bath chamber, where Rose quickly entered and locked the door, eager to scrub off every bit of disgusting grime covering his body.
But even that task had to be paused. The moment he finished undressing, he realized his body was quite literally a sack of skin and bones. Well, not that extreme; he had some flesh, but he wouldn't be surprised if he were anemic, and his bones were clearly decalcified. This forced him to immediately prioritize proper nutrition—for himself and for his little sister. To hell if they called him a siscon; he was a noble, this was normal. Of course, he would never sleep with her—he wasn't that level of degenerate—but he wanted her to live happy, healthy, and safe.
He let out a tired, heavy sigh, completely convinced that his current body would not be able to withstand a bath as hot as the ones he was used to in his previous life. With that precaution in mind, Rose carefully dipped the tip of one toe into the water to confirm the temperature before fully submerging.
Once in the bathtub, he was finally able to see his reflection in the water. Thankfully, he could still easily recognize his usual features: midnight-black hair, short; and his characteristic silver eyes. Most of his facial structure remained, and his skin was still pale, which only intensified the natural contrast of his eyes and face. However, he was visibly gaunt and no longer resembled the gallant, dashing prince he had been in his past life. But his father had said it: the body could be polished, and strength was earned through effort alone.
He set that reflection aside for the moment and spent the next thirty minutes scrubbing his body to excess, removing the filth accumulated during his prolonged illness. Did no one in this world understand the simplicity and efficiency of a sponge bath? Finally, once he was sufficiently clean, he stepped out of the tub and put on a fifteenth-century noble outfit that had been prepared for him. It was clean… and that was its only virtue, because it was nothing like the style he was accustomed to. Then again, that style required his previous body—broader, sturdier, and fully toned—to truly shine.
After dressing, his attention shifted to his hair which… was completely dull and lifeless. He wasn't a hairstylist, but he was certain that if he didn't do something to restore its strength and shine, he would end up bald before turning thirty. He would need to research some form of conditioner or something similar. He supposed lard could add some vigor and gloss, but beyond that, he wasn't sure what to do.
"My lord, the Baron and Baroness await you in the dining hall," came the voice of a servant who had been waiting discreetly outside the bath.
Rose simply nodded without much expression. Truthfully, he was conflicted about the whole thing—these people were not his real father and mother, but he would have to do his best to maintain at least a cordial, functional relationship with them.
"Lead the way," he ordered, and the servant bowed silently at his request.
As they walked through the castle—a journey that took over half an hour—Rose analyzed and memorized every corridor and passage with the precision of a strategist. When he finally reached the dining hall and saw his family from this world sitting patiently and waiting for him, he sat quickly and examined the food set before them. There were various dishes to choose from and, despite their low noble rank, they were wealthy enough to afford a plentiful amount of food.
Next, his father blessed the meal, and Rose mentally apologized to God for praying to Him, knowing how much He disliked it. Still, once the blessing concluded, he immediately began filling his plate with steamed fish, roasted chicken, assorted nuts, leafy green vegetables, and a large glass of milk—without looking at his family even once, entirely focused on the urgent task of putting flesh back on his bones.
Meanwhile, his family watched him with various expressions, all of which he completely ignored throughout the process. It wasn't until he lifted his gaze from his methodical work—just as he was about to eat a cut piece of fish—that he noticed their looks of profound concern. Every survival instinct in his body activated at once.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. He sincerely hoped not, as he wasn't entirely certain of table customs in this era.
Sieghard, his father in this world, was a tall and robust man with majestic features, hair as blonde as Henrietta's, a well-trimmed beard, and sky-blue eyes. He now looked at Rose with open astonishment, as until that day, his son had been strictly vegetarian. Yet half of his plate was now filled with fish and poultry, and when Rose asked if something was wrong, Sieghard felt that the answer was almost too obvious, emphasizing it by pointing at the plate.
For a few seconds, Rose tried to understand the situation and quickly reached the conclusion that the doctor had probably given him specific dietary restrictions during his recovery period.
"Am I forbidden from eating this?" he asked, fervently hoping the answer was no. He really didn't want to strangle the court physician for banning the proper diet he needed to regain body mass.
His mother, Gisela—a beautiful woman with black hair and, though he felt impure for thinking it, quite generously endowed—now looked at him with the same perplexity.
"Are you eating meat?" she asked.
It was at that moment that Rose's subconscious finally connected all the dots: the idiot who used to inhabit this body had actually been vegan. That explained why he was practically more dead than alive; he simply didn't have the protein, minerals, or vitamins that only meat could provide in this era. Without supplements, he had literally been killing himself slowly through malnutrition.
Thinking quickly of a viable excuse that wouldn't get him burned at the stake, Rose finally spoke, forming a response he hoped would satisfy them.
"After my illness, I realized my lifestyle had been unhealthy. From now on, I'll eat more balanced meals and do the exercise I've sorely been lacking, and I pray to God that I'll regain good health soon."
He had to mentally apologize again for invoking God, but in this world it was a necessary crutch to avoid being accused of blasphemy.
Hearing that declaration drew a wide smile across his father's face. The man had spent far too long worrying about the increasingly fragile health of his firstborn—who often used that same health as an excuse to be a lazy slacker. Now, Sieghard couldn't help but feel ecstatic seeing his son finally beginning to mature. With that in mind, he picked up his fork and placed a large piece of meat onto Rose's plate.
"Then eat; you'll need a full stomach," he said.
Rose simply gave him a smile as he let out a deep sigh of relief. After that, he began savoring the food—surprisingly tasty despite its simplicity. He wondered if he could pass off some of the dishes he knew from back home as his own recipes, something he would eventually have to do anyway, since he would soon need to discuss basic hygiene with the kitchen staff. But for now, he would eat without complaining… at least more than he already had been mentally complaining, of course.
Without noticing—or perhaps consciously choosing to ignore—the look that his younger brother, Lambert, was giving him at that very moment. Whether Rose noticed it or not, he made no effort to show it. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that one of his siblings might take the wrong path, and though it would break his heart if it truly happened, he would simply have to end him without hesitation.
But for the moment, he would do nothing and simply continue with the work he had assigned himself. After finishing his meal, he left the dining hall in a hurry; he needed to begin his new exercise routine as soon as possible. If he worked diligently, he could recover his body in less than a year, even if he was absolutely certain he would never be as strong as he once was at his peak back home.
And as he ran along the castle walls, he never noticed the malicious gaze watching him from within one of the tower spires—his younger brother, observing him with evident malevolence in his eyes.
"How are you still alive?" Lambert muttered aloud, unaware that certain powers beyond his understanding had conspired precisely to prevent his ambitions from being fulfilled.
End of Chapter