The Shifted Throne (Overlord)

Chapter 4: The Unwilling Prince

Ten more minutes of reading and Edmund had absorbed the final details from the diary, his mind swirling with the new information. But before he could gather his thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps outside his door caused him to freeze.

"I'm here to get the prince ready for his crowning ceremony," a female voice called out, her tone polite but professional.

"Alright, we'll check if you're hiding anything on you, then you can go in," said a stern male voice, sounding more like a guard than a servant.

Panic shot through Edmund's chest. He quickly closed the diary and shoved it back into the drawer, then scrambled onto the bed, pretending to sleep. His heart raced, the dread of being discovered weighing heavily on him. He had to keep up the act—he had no idea who these people were or what they would do if they realized he wasn't the real Edmund.

A minute passed before the door creaked open. Footsteps approached the bed, and the female voice spoke again, this time much closer.

"My prince, it is time to wake," she said, her tone soft and gentle. She gave him a light shake.

Edmund blinked and slowly opened his eyes, pretending to have just woken up. The bright light from the rising sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow in the room.

"Tis time to get ready for your ceremony," the woman continued, her voice carrying an edge of urgency.

Edmund blinked again, rubbing his eyes to complete the act. As he glanced up at her, his gaze lingered for a moment longer than it should have. She was a stern-looking woman, with brown hair pulled back into a neat bun and sharp blue eyes that seemed to cut through the air. She wore a maid's uniform that was pristine and formal.

Without thinking, he uttered something unintelligible. "Bell."

The woman paused for a brief moment, then responded without missing a beat, "Yes, my prince?"

Edmund froze, realizing his slip-up. His heart skipped a beat. Why had he said that? The name... it sounded familiar, as though he had heard it before. The muscle memory from this body, perhaps? He quickly shook his head, trying to brush off the odd feeling, and quickly rejected his words.

"No, it's nothing," he muttered, almost too hastily.

'What the hell was that?' Edmund thought, now more unsettled than before. Could it really be the muscle memory of this body influencing him in ways he didn't understand? First, he could read the strange letters in the diary, and now he was speaking a name without consciously thinking about it. It was like this body had a mind of its own, and he was simply going along for the ride.

Speaking of language, Edmund suddenly realized something else. The woman was speaking to him in a language he fully understood. It was the same language used in the diary—an unfamiliar script, but one that felt natural to him now. And just now, when he spoke, it came out in the same language. He hadn't even questioned it until now. It was as if everything about this world, every detail, had been woven into him through this body's muscle memory.

"I'll have to be careful with this muscle memory thing," Edmund thought, his mind already racing ahead. He couldn't afford to let anything slip. Not now, not when his very identity was at risk.

The maid continued to dress him, taking her time to carefully adjust his ceremonial outfit. The fabric was rich and regal, made from fine silks and embroidered with gold thread, the colors a mix of royal blue and silver. Edmund didn't feel the usual discomfort one might have in a strange situation, though. There was no resistance, no hesitation. It almost felt like this was what he had done countless times before—like muscle memory once again guiding him through.

"Come now, my prince. 'Tis time to join your family for the breaking of your fast," the maid said, as she adjusted his clothing one last time.

She led him outside the room, and as they stepped into the hall, the full weight of his new reality hit him once again. Two knights clad in medieval armor stood at attention nearby, their expressions stern and vigilant. The sight of them, their gleaming armor and disciplined posture, only reinforced the sense that Edmund was indeed in a fantasy world.

It wasn't just a strange new place—it was a dangerous world, one where every step could lead to a life-or-death decision. His mind wandered back to the information in the diary: Beastmen attacks, the looming threat of hostile kingdoms, and now this—his coronation. It seemed like everything in this world was poised on the edge of chaos. And he was about to be crowned king.

Edmund took a deep breath and straightened his posture, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He had no choice now but to go through with it. To be the prince. To act the part. But inside, he knew he was far from ready for what lay ahead.

End of chap.