Humans have been accompanied by alcohol since ancient times.
Some drink for the taste, others to liven the mood or grease the wheels of social interaction; alcohol itself possesses many positive meanings.
However, once one becomes dead drunk and loses their senses, they become a presence that everyone in society avoids at all costs.
One avoids excrement because it is filthy.
As for drunks, they are prone to shouting loudly, making trouble for police stations and hospitals, and eventually escalating into violent conflicts—who would want to get close to such a fellow?
Reasonably speaking, such people should be given a few lashes to improve their memory.
Yet, in modern society, we must protect the human rights of these drunks who violate the peace of others; it is truly a ‘wonderful’ era.
But if placed in the distant past, perhaps it wouldn’t be beyond reproach to pump a few lead bullets into a drunkard just for being noisy.
After all, that was the nature of those times.
Of course, this is by no means behavior worth advocating.
Because in the past, there existed things more powerful than human rights.
For instance, bloodlines and noble titles.
…
The Austro-Hungarian Empire at the end of the nineteenth century.
“Wahahaha!
Hey-yah!
I am Archduke Otto of Austria!”
If any pedestrian on the roadside saw this scene, they would likely be unable to resist spitting: “That old bastard is at it again!”
Riding a horse stark naked was shocking enough in itself, let alone the fact that he was pouring a bottle of wine into his mouth with one hand, full of a desire to perform; calling him an “expert” would not be an exaggeration.
His horsemanship was truly astounding.
Even though he was swaying from being drunk, he never once fell from the horse’s back.
But more lethal than this was the fact that this crazed drunkard held the title of “Archduke.” In the Austro-Hungarian Empire, “Archduke” was a noble title reserved solely for members of the Imperial Family.
Since the Habsburg Dynasty, this title symbolized the core of bloodline and power.
Faced with such a person, no one dared to stop him.
Who would dare touch the body of royalty?
Rather than saying they were disgusted by the filth, it was more that they had to avoid him out of genuine fear.
The only ones who could stop such a person would likely be nationalists with extreme beliefs and ideologies, or perhaps the lead bullets of so-called “Reds.”
Originally, this was considered a common sight.
Such things didn’t just happen for a day or two.
Archduke Otto’s outrageous behavior was not only widely circulated within the empire, but even rumors from foreign eyewitnesses often made it into the tabloids.
Perhaps he was the most famous “stripper” of this era?
But today was different.
“Your Highness!
Please, stop at once!”
The servants attending Archduke Otto were uncharacteristically panicked, desperately trying to stop him.
Because the person riding the same horse as the Archduke made them anxious with worry.
Even more precarious than the drunken Archduke was a young boy!
That was none other than Archduke Otto’s eldest son.
Once a child falls from a horse, it is no longer a simple accident.
Just imagining the scene of falling from a horse’s back makes one’s heart stop; what if he were then trampled by hooves?
That was an underage member of the Imperial bloodline; His Majesty the Emperor would never just sit by and watch.
At the very least, no one present could hope to escape unscathed.
Even if their heads were spared because it was the Archduke’s own fault, their careers would certainly be finished, and all sorts of misfortunes would follow in succession.
People would avoid them like the plague.
Several people quickly exchanged glances, secretly making up their minds.
For the sake of their futures, they had to block the way with their own bodies.
Even if they were kicked by the horse’s hind legs, even if their bones were broken.
Just as those who gathered their courage were the first to approach the horse—
“Ugh?!”
The thing they least wanted to see happened.
Noooooooo—!”
They watched helplessly as the Archduke’s young child fell headfirst.
And precisely at this moment, the Archduchess, who had arrived upon hearing the commotion, saw the moment her son hit the ground headfirst; before she could even scream, she collapsed silently to the ground.
“Aaaaaah—!”
“Your—Your Highness!
Aaaaah—!”
The cries of the servants and the neighing of the horse mixed into a chaotic mess.
It was truly an extremely peaceful afternoon, and the beginning of an extremely unpeaceful turn of events.
…
Death should be something for which anyone is respected.
But if that way of dying is truly too ridiculous, rather than respect, one is more likely to become the world’s laughingstock.
Choking to death on cola while playing a game doesn’t even count as a laughingstock; it only deserves a way of dying that is “so pathetic it’s not worth noticing.”
And yet, this way of dying had fallen upon him.
Does this make sense?
He wasn’t some hardcore gamer addicted to games; how did he just suddenly die like that?
At first, Karl was still doubting: was he really dead?
But as the scene before his eyes gradually became clear, he could no longer deny reality.
“Didn’t I tell you to drink less!
How did you get the child involved this time!”
“Didn’t I already apologize?”
“You call this an apology…!”
In a room as vast and magnificent as the interior of a castle, a man and a woman were arguing fiercely.
The woman’s fists were tightly clenched, her eyes were red, and she was aggressive, while the man had a look of indifference, sitting crookedly in a luxurious chair as if he didn’t understand what he had done wrong, merely shrugging his shoulders impatiently.
The two people before him were, in a biological sense, Karl’s father and mother.
At this time, Karl, with thick bandages wrapped around his head, was sitting quietly against a large bed, watching them argue.
He couldn’t be bothered to intervene in a couple’s quarrel.
Compared to them, Karl was more concerned about this body of his.
The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of fair and delicate little hands; this was not an adult’s body, but clearly that of a child.
Through the mirror to the side, he could also see his own appearance; with black hair and black eyes, he actually bore some resemblance to the model he had customized in the game before transmigrating.
And in his mind, there coexisted not only the memories of having lived as a modern person in the twenty-first century but also the memories of a young child.
In his second life, his name was also Karl, though his full name was—Karl Franz Joseph Ludwig Hubert Georg…
it was ridiculously long.
Simply put, his name was: Karl von Habsburg-Lorraine.
In other words, a member of that famous Habsburg Family, the man who would become the last Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire twenty-some years later, Karl I.
Oh, how shocking~
He clearly died while playing a game, yet when he opened his eyes, not only had his appearance changed, but he had also become someone from the past.
Forget it, there’s nothing to be done about being dead; what else can happen now that it’s already occurred?
Moreover, his current status was that of a member of the Imperial Family—not the “Real Madrid” kind of royalty, but royalty in the true sense of the word.
If he had been reincarnated into a poor family that worried about what to eat tomorrow, Karl would probably only be able to wail and shout for a system at the air.
But since he was royalty, he could only accept it.
As long as he could live a grand and decent life, even without the various conveniences of modern civilization, it would be happy enough.
Inconvenient things could just be left for the servants to do.
However, Karl’s joy ended there.
Karl I?
The future Emperor?
That wasn’t important.
What was important was that he knew the future.
Karl knew he would ascend the throne during World War I, followed by the dissolution of the empire due to defeat, losing his property and being expelled from the country to start a life in exile, and finally dying lonely in poverty because he couldn’t even scrape together the money to treat pneumonia—this was the established fate of this body.
It’s fine for life to be short and exciting, but even a short life must have “a sense of proportion,” right?
Two years is far too short!
“Enough, I don’t want to hear any more from you.”
“Please, wake up!”
“So noisy.”
The father muttered a word, simply stood up, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Regardless of whether his parents were still arguing, Karl quietly moved his body, enduring the faint pain in his head, climbed down from the bed, and slowly walked to the window.
The view outside the window made his mood ease slightly.
The place where he currently lived was a magnificent castle.
Not the kind of dull, stiff fortress built for defense, but a palace truly grand enough to be breathtaking.
Looking down from the room, there was a lake as clear as a mirror, and behind it stretched an endless, lush forest.
No wonder people always say houses with good views are the most popular.
The standards for a prime location seemed to be exactly the same regardless of which side of the Earth you were on.
Thinking that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy such a place for his entire life made Karl feel even more depressed.
If he weren’t the future Emperor but just an ordinary member of the Imperial Family, perhaps he could think of a way.
But everything would collapse in World War I; what meaning did the status of Emperor have?
You in front of the screen, tell me, can becoming a last emperor change everything?
But how could he win a world war against Britain, France, the Russian Empire, Italy, the United States…?
The time left for him to prepare was twenty-some years at most.
Should he start preventing the world war now and win over more allies?
Was that possible?
Karl’s current status was the son of the second son of Archduke Karl Ludwig, the second younger brother of the current Emperor Franz Joseph I.
To put it bluntly, he was currently miles away from the line of succession.
It was only by sheer luck, with all the heirs ahead of him dying one after another, that he was eventually pushed onto the imperial throne.
The real problem was his uncle, Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
The world often called him Crown Prince, but his formal title was still Archduke; he was the very person involved in the Sarajevo Incident and the fuse that ignited World War I.
Precisely because of Archduke Ferdinand’s assassination, the right of succession would fall to Karl.
Before that, it was almost impossible for him to intervene in the empire’s politics.
With the first-in-line heir present, would the current Emperor and Archduke Ferdinand sit by and watch if the second-in-line tried to meddle in affairs?
Even if those two acquiesced, the people around them would never let him off.
Perhaps it wouldn’t come to assassination, but various constraints and hindrances would inevitably follow.
A young and rootless second-in-line heir was destined to have little actual power in his hands.
In the original history, this body indeed did nothing before Archduke Ferdinand’s death.
Then…
flee to America?
That was a land of opportunity and a safe soil far from the flames of war.
Although America also had conflicts with Mexico and would later join World War I, so it wasn’t completely without problems, compared to the European meat grinder, it was simply paradise.
And as long as the American government didn’t go insane, they wouldn’t go so far as to forcibly shove an exiled royal of his status into the army.
But at the thought of the option “go to America,” someone’s head began to throb faintly.
It was as if once he made up his mind to set foot on American soil, the body would again surge with that terrible feeling of choking on cola before death.
‘You can’t stop working yet~’
It was as if such a voice was echoing in his ears.
Damn it, does that bottle of cola have such a strong aftereffect?
Since that was the case, he could only give up on the idea.
In fact, the trip to America itself was unrealistic.
With Karl’s current age, on what basis could he cross to the other side of the ocean?
A short trip might still be permitted, but if he were to leave for a long time, no one in the Imperial Family would ever agree.
Moreover, once Archduke Ferdinand completed his morganatic marriage and renounced his children’s succession rights, his own value as the next heir in line would only skyrocket; the Imperial Family would be even less likely to leave him abroad.
In any case, they would find every possible way to recall Karl to the country.
“…Fuck.”
A curse word involuntarily escaped Karl’s mouth in a low voice.
It was as if saying: there is only one road, and even if you have to risk your life, you must charge forward.
Whether he wanted to or not, he had to do it.
This was an inescapable fate.
To put it bluntly, doesn’t this empire just need him?
Once it dissolves in WWI, the fates that the various successor states will encounter will be anything but ordinary.
In World War II, Austria was annexed by Nazi Germany, Hungary joined the Axis powers, the Czech lands and Slovakia were abandoned and then annexed, and some regions even saw the outbreak of civil wars accompanied by ethnic cleansing.
Since he was destined to endure suffering anyway, what’s wrong with letting himself do something about it?
This was truly an empire that could not do without him.
Thinking this way, his mind actually cleared up.
The worst-case scenario was simply to transfer part of his property overseas and hide it in advance.
There was still plenty of time to accumulate funds.
If he really gave it his all and still failed, then there was nothing to be done.
After the empire’s dissolution and his exile abroad, perhaps some small country would need the “great bloodline of the Habsburgs” to decorate its facade.
In Europe, it was never anything new to find a prestigious noble or even a former monarch to serve as a king.
When the time came, he could go to a country willing to accept him, live a grand life, and enjoy honor and respect; that wouldn’t be bad either.
Then, by relying on his knowledge of the future to make some investments, living a comfortable life wouldn’t be a problem.
And wasn’t this exactly the life he once longed for?
Not as a powerless ordinary person, but as an Emperor, ruling an empire, controlling a powerful army and a united nation, leading them forward.
Yes, I must lead them.
Only I can do it.
Just as someone clenched those delicate little hands into fists and his blood boiled,
“Karl, are you alright?”
He was grinning foolishly at the lake when his mother had walked to his side at some unknown point, asking with a worried expression.
His father was nowhere to be seen.
He had likely run off somewhere again to drink while holding some mistress.
“I’m truly sorry…
I didn’t want you to see such a scene…”
His mother seemed full of guilt, speaking with a dejected expression.
How could Karl possibly care about such things.
Since he was born into royalty, a degree of family discord like this didn’t count for anything at all.
One must know that if born as a commoner in this era, what would greet you would be countless upheavals and a terrible environment like a world war.
He was someone born as a “second-generation royal”; what right did he have to complain?
Being royalty is truly wonderful.