By the time the sun had climbed high enough to bathe the villa in warm gold, Elric had already mapped the entire room in his mind: the door creaked slightly at the top hinge, the single window faced east—perfect for morning light—and under the bed was a small chest, dusty, but locked.
Lira returned with food—a bowl of soft, overcooked porridge with dried fruit—and a steaming mug of bitter-smelling herbal tea.
He took a bite and nearly gagged.
"This tastes like sadness," he muttered.
Lira gasped. "It's your favorite, Your Highness! Dried fig porridge with monkleaf tea—it helps calm your nerves after your episodes."
"Episodes?" he asked, raising a brow.
She looked at the floor. "The fits you'd have sometimes... before the fall. The palace physicians said your mind was too 'fragile' for court duties. They sent you here to rest."
Elric almost laughed.
So the original Elric was considered too mentally unstable for politics, and they'd locked him away in the countryside? This was better than he thought.
"I see," he said, sipping the tea despite its bitterness. "And what of my family?"
Lira hesitated. "Your father, King Taran... he hasn't visited in years. But he sends letters. Your elder brother—Ceren—heir to the throne, he's... busy. At court."
Abandoned. Convenient.
Which meant: no one was watching him too closely.
"Lira," he said after finishing his meal, "I'll need parchment, ink, and a quill."
"For... writing?"
"For learning." He smiled faintly. "My mind may be foggy, but I want to remember how to be useful. Will you help me?"
She brightened instantly. "Yes, Your Highness! I'll get them right away!"
As she ran off, Elric swung his legs off the bed, gritting his teeth through the pain.
He had no CT scans, no antibiotics, no sterilized tools—but he had a brain filled with knowledge, and hands that remembered every suture, every scalpel, every emergency protocol.
And more importantly, he had time.
He looked around the room again.
This world doesn't know germ theory. Doesn't know anesthesia. Doesn't even know about blood types, probably.
He smiled.
"I'm going to turn this dusty villa into the first medical research facility in history."
---
That afternoon, parchment and ink arrived. Elric began with diagrams—simple ones at first: basic anatomy, a labeled sketch of a heart, the concept of infection and hygiene. Lira peeked over his shoulder.
"This looks like... magic," she whispered.
"No," Elric said, his eyes sharp. "This is knowledge. And it will save lives."
---
In the following days, he requested herbs, clean linens, firewood for boiling water, and even chickens—alive and healthy.
"Medical experiments," he told Lira, smiling at her confusion. "Nothing painful for the animals. I just need to study life up close."
And he did.
He began testing for bacteria—what passed as it anyway—by touching different herbs to cuts on fruit. He watched how quickly mold grew. He began boiling and sterilizing tools. He created his own version of soap using animal fat and ashes.
By the end of the week, the villa's kitchen smelled like a bizarre mixture of medicine and roasted chicken.
Lira didn't understand any of it.
But she noticed something:
The prince who once stared blankly at walls now moved with purpose, scribbled like a madman, and asked her to wash her hands before touching anything in his room.
Prince Elric was changing.
---
And far beyond the countryside, within the marble halls of the royal palace, a messenger knelt before the king.
"Your Majesty," the man said, trembling, "we've received news from the Varentia villa... Prince Elric has awakened."
King Taran's cold eyes narrowed.
"Is the boy stable?"
The messenger paused. "According to the reports... more than stable. He's requesting books.
Materials. He's begun... experimenting."
The king leaned forward.
"Interesting."
---