MPNS Ch 1

Chapter 1

 

A wolf the size of a house surged ahead of the formation. The knights, soaked in blood, sweat, and mud, stared at the massive beast’s back as it raced ahead.  

If a stranger had seen it, they might have called it a monster—its frame was that enormous. The wolf dashed through the snow, its hind leg muscles taut as if they would burst.  

When the wolf suddenly leapt forward, overtaking the knights, the horses neighed in alarm. It moved so swiftly that a small swirl of wind stirred up behind it.  

 

Urlich shouted toward the now-distant figure of the wolf, reduced to a mere dot in the distance.  

“Your Grace! If you run that fast, the rear guard will fall out of formation!”  

“Let him go. Do you think he can even hear you?”  

General Allewin stopped Urlich from going after him. Urlich pulled on the reins and calmed his startled horse.  

“I mean, it’s not like someone perfectly safe in the castle is trying to escape or anything…”  

“You talk too much, boy. You’re supposed to be guarding His Grace—what are you doing falling behind like that? Get going!”  

At Allewin’s scolding, Urlich clicked his tongue and sped off.  

 

Off in the distance, the fortress of Itanium reared its proud figure. Urlich had to push his horse harder to chase after the wolf, which had raced through the forests of fir.  

Yullan had abandoned his horse midway and transformed into a wolf to run directly, allowing him to reach the gate quickly. As the lord of the fortress and the archduke of Northern Iteren, Yullan Balt—recognized by his wolf form—prompted the sentries to begin lowering the drawbridge.  

 

Through the half-open gate, Yullan pushed off with his hind legs and dashed straight into the castle. He headed directly for the keep. Having avoided passing through the common dwellings by racing across the mountains, his thighs felt on the verge of exploding.  

 

Yullan finally stopped in front of the garden leading to the main residence of the castle. He couldn’t very well go in ignoring the blood and dust that clung to him.  

After a brief pause, Yullan headed toward the stables—the perfect place to wash such a massive beast.  

 

The capable butler, Finn, already sensing His Grace’s return, had prepared a large towel, clean clothes, and an antique triptych³ totally out of place amidst the hay-filled stables. The triptych was adorned in silk, embroidered with the sun god and the king from Ossinis’s founding myth.  

 

Yullan slowly began to transform. His lengthy claws vanished, and the once-furred back became smooth like a human’s. He let out a soft groan, enduring the pain.  

 

The once enormous wolf shrank, giving way to the form of a man. Yet the beast’s wild air was not entirely erased—the man had an intimidating physique, even in human form.  

Scars both large and small on his back and flanks told of the life he had lived. The savage aura did not diminish even in comparison to his wolf self.  

 

“It’s been a while, Your Grace.”  

“Mm. Where is he?”  

Nodding briefly, Yullan rolled his shoulder as if checking for misalignments before stepping into the tub Finn had prepared.  

 

It was merely a crude wooden tub, utterly unsuitable for someone of noble rank, but Yullan showed no concern and sat down. His massive frame caused the water to spill out loudly over the sides.  

 

“He is awaiting you inside. He woke up a bit late today and had pancakes with siphon berry syrup, a few slices of seasonal fruit, and some bacon for breakfast.”  

“…Did it please him, though? He doesn’t eat much.”  

“Fortunately, he left nothing behind. He praised Madam Guz’s cooking highly.”  

 

Without assistance, Yullan began scrubbing himself with soap and had Finn bring fresh water to pour over his head. Water splashed violently, but Finn, who had stepped back, bowed silently without flinching.  

 

As Yullan wiped himself, he glanced downward at the growing tension in his lower abdomen.  

Hearing that the highborn had eaten well somehow pleased him. That alone caused tightness in his gut, and his brow furrowed.  

 

Receiving a linen towel dried in the sun from Finn, he wiped himself off without assistance once more. Sunshine spilled over his sinewed, threatening body. He handed the damp cloth back to Finn and changed clothes.  

 

Then, as if struck by a passing thought, he asked again in an unconcerned tone,  

“The others?”  

“They haven’t arrived yet.”  

“…I must hurry.”  

 

I must meet him before those bastard mutts do. With his grooming complete, Yullan began walking swiftly. Though his pace was fast, his long legs and tall frame made him appear graceful rather than rushed. Finn followed behind, somewhat flustered.  

“Your Grace, at least dry your hair—”  

“…No time.”  

 

It truly was urgent. Before those mongrels came swarming in… At the final steps before entering the castle, he practically leapt. Without waiting for the servants to open the doors, he pushed them aside and entered himself.  

 

“Yullan.”  

“Your Highness.”  

 

Thankfully, inside was the one he so desperately wished to see. Seeing the platinum-blond hair shimmer dazzlingly in sunlight, Yullan tensed his lips.  

It was to stop his foolishly loosening mouth.  

 

But bliss was short-lived.  

“You came panting like a beast in heat, I see, Your Grace.”  

“…The smell of blood.”  

“Jicari, even if someone looks like a dog, it’s considered manners not to say so directly.”  

 

Raymon Boltwick, Jicari Griff, Lucian Turun.  

The pack of dogs had already arrived. Yullan gritted his teeth.  

 

That sweet person… had the sort of disposition that didn’t stop others from approaching him shamelessly. He was kind—a compassion that could pierce the heavens.  

 

Using that kindness as an excuse, they all pounced as if it was their chance. Like mangy dogs breaking into a masterless castle to seize the master’s most treasured gem.  

 

And then—  

 

“Why do you all speak like that? He clearly had a hard time. Yullan, come here.”  

 

The hero of Ossinis, Archduke Yullan Balt, failed to suppress the expression bubbling up on his face. A faint smile touched his lips.  

The only one who could make him smile like that was Nikiel Ossinis.  

 

—When Nikiel awoke from that dream, he opened his eyes in outright denial of reality.  

“Your Highness, please wake up.”  

Even my own mom never called me Your Highness. Who the hell are you people to treat me like this?  

Nikiel scowled.  

 

Three days. For three whole days, he had fiercely denied the situation he now faced.  

“Your Highness, you do need to get up now.”  

 

Yet the overly sweet tone of the attendant and the touch of the silky blanket were all real.  

“Ah… here we go again.”  

 

Awareness dawned—followed by a coughing fit.  

“Khurgh—! Ack!”  

“Oh dear, Your Highness! You’re coughing again—!”  

 

The cough tore through his throat, tasting faintly of blood. It, too, was real.  

With the reality certified three times over, Nikiel accepted his fate. He had truly entered a novel.  

And not even a good one—but a ragged fantasy wuxia novel a fellow grad student had left behind in their shared lab.  

 

*That guy… I should’ve known when he botched the stats program.*  

 

Nikiel shook beneath the silk blankets, still bleeding. He didn’t realize it only made him appear more pitiful. The descending platinum hair, glimmering faintly like melting light, also escaped his notice.  

His focus was entirely consumed by the weakness of his new body.  

 

And small wonder. The body now housing him—‘Nikiel Ossinis’—was incredibly frail.  

 

He had graduated from Korea’s top university, completed his PhD at the same school, worked as a part-time lecturer, and had been preparing to report to a national research institute when—bam.  

He found himself possessing the frail body of some prince in a fantasy world.  

 

*Why the hell did I even read that goddamn book?*  

 

That night, for some reason, he hadn’t wanted to go home. He was exhausted from constant all-nighters but couldn’t sleep. Lying idle felt miserable, so he browsed around for something to do.  

 

And there—he found it. A dreadful novel titled **“The Golden Bough of Sansvrian.”**  

 

Essentially, the story went like this:  

Nasihu, born from the primordial night, was a black dragon whose name came from ancient Sansvrian, meaning “darkness.” One day, he helped Ossinis, who had approached him for wisdom, to found a kingdom.  

 

Blessed by the black dragon, the kingdom flourished. Ossinis gained dominion over beasts through powers gifted by the mighty creature.  

The problem, however, was the black dragon’s descent into madness—a result of his immortality. Once a pure being, the dragon became a dark wyrm, slaughtering countless lives.  

 

Witnessing his dilemma, four heroes volunteered to slay the dark wyrm. For a whole month of eternal night, they fought. On the day of the final battle—when sunrise returned—the weakened dragon, sensing his end at sunset, accepted his fate.  

 

Defeated by the four heroes, the betrayed wyrm could not curse his dear friend, the king. So instead, he cursed the four heroes to become beasts.  

 

Generations passed. Nikiel—the current protagonist—sets off to lift the curse from those nobles by hunting monsters.  

 

That was the novel’s storyline.  

But Nikiel, despite being the “main character,” led a life entirely free of hardship.  

All the suffering befell the four nobles and yet the plot lacked payoff. It was dull.  

 

*Who reads this kind of boring nonsense?* he once thought. But he read it anyway. On the way home afterward, he died from a heart attack—courtesy of the chronic fatigue all Korean researchers know too well.  

No warning signs. Not even a chance to apply that one survival tip he saw on a medical episode of **”Crisis Escape No.1.”**  

 

And then he woke up…  

In the world of **“The Golden Bough of Sansvrian.”**  

 

He couldn’t believe it—but it was true.  

 

That wasn’t the only strange part.  

 

*The nobles in the story weren’t this touchy-feely with the protagonist, were they?*  

 

His dream had been weirdly vivid. Yullan, Raymon, Jicari, Lucian—they all looked at Nikiel as if he were precious.  

The story had described admiration, sure—but what he saw was more like *clinging*.  

 

*Did I misunderstand the genre?*  

Maybe.  

What if the novel wasn’t an adventure tale? What if its genre wasn’t fantasy wuxia but… something else entirely?  

People who keel over from heart attacks don’t generally recall stories accurately anyway.  

 

“Ha… insane—”  

“Ah! Your Highness, are you very unwell?”  

 

Nikiel cursed, clutching his head in despair. The attendant fretted over hearing him swear, but that wasn’t his concern.  

Sure, he had health, life, and accident insurance—but insurance against waking up inside a damn novel? Unthinkable.  

 

Of course not! Who would sell such a policy?!  

Nikiel was bewildered. But now… he had no choice but to accept it.  

 

This was the third morning he had woken not to the familiar plaster ceiling of a lab, but beneath a lavish silk canopy.  

With each sunrise, the voice in his mind urging him to accept reality grew ever louder.  

 

*Well… I lost my parents early and the only thing I had left was student debt. Being a prince might actually be better.*  

 

So he had thought. Positive and highly adaptable, Nikiel was now quick to respond to “Your Highness” with a swift turn of the head.  

 

But even with that extraordinary adaptability, what his father said to him—whom he saw for the first time since waking—came like a bolt from the blue.

 

**Footnotes**:

 

³ **Triptych**: Typically refers to a three-paneled artwork or textile. Here, it’s used to describe a luxurious, decorative cloth divided into symbolic sections—embroidered with mythological or nationalistic images. It’s an item someone of high status might wear ceremonially.