程岩 felt someone calling him.

"Your Highness, wake up..."

He turned his head, but the voice didn't disappear, instead, it grew louder. He felt someone reach out and gently tug at his sleeve.

"Your Highness, Prince Your Highness!"

Cheng Yan suddenly opened his eyes. The familiar screen was gone, the desk was gone, the wall covered with notes was gone, replaced by a bizarre scene—low brick houses, a crowded circular square, and a door-shaped gallows erected in the center of the square. He was sitting on a high platform opposite the square, not on a soft swivel chair, but on a cold, hard iron chair. A circle of people sat around him, staring at him intently. Several women, dressed like Western medieval noblewomen, were covering their mouths and snickering.

What the hell is this place? Shouldn't I be rushing the drawings? Cheng Yan's mind was blank. Three consecutive days of overtime had pushed his mind and body to their limits. He only remembered that he couldn't hold on any longer, his heart rate was fluctuating, and he wanted to lie on the desk and rest for a while...

"Your Highness, please announce the verdict."

The speaker was the guy who had been tugging at his sleeve. He looked old, about fifty or sixty years old, wearing a white robe, looking a bit like Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings.

Am I dreaming? Cheng Yan licked his dry lips. Verdict, what verdict?

But he soon found out. The people in the square were all looking at the gallows, waving their fists and shouting, and occasionally a stone or two would fly towards the gallows.

Cheng Yan had only seen such ancient instruments of torture in movies—two pillars about four meters high, with a wooden beam on top, an iron ring inlaid in the middle of the beam, and a yellowed coarse rope passing through the iron ring, one end fixed under the gallows and the other end around the prisoner's neck.

In this bizarre dream, he found that his eyesight had become surprisingly good. He couldn't see the words on the screen without glasses, but now he could see every detail on the gallows fifty meters away.

The prisoner was wearing a hood, with her hands tied behind her back. The rough gray tunic was as dirty as a rag. She was thin, and her exposed ankles seemed fragile enough to be snapped by hand. Her chest was slightly bulging, so she was a woman. She was shivering in the wind, but still trying to stand up straight.

Okay, what crime did this guy commit that so many people are waiting for her to be hanged with such righteous indignation?

As soon as the thought came to him, the memory in Cheng Yan's mind seemed to be suddenly connected, and the answer appeared almost at the same time.

She is a "Witch."

Corrupted by the youhuo of the devil, the embodiment of the unclean.

"Your Highness?" Barov urged cautiously.

He glanced at the other person. Uh, his name isn't Gandalf, Barov is his real name, the assistant to the Minister of Finance, sent to handle government affairs for him.

And he himself is the fourth prince of the Graycastle Kingdom, Roland, here to govern this area. The residents of Border Town caught a witch and immediately sent her to the police station—no, to the court. The warrant for the execution of the witch is generally issued by the local lord or bishop. Since he is in charge here, issuing the warrant is also his duty.

The memory presented the questions he needed to answer most one by one, without screening or reading, as if this was his own experience. Cheng Yan was confused for a while. No dream could be so detailed. So, this is not a dream? He had traveled to the dark ages of medieval Europe and become Roland? From a draughtsman working overtime to a dignified fourth prince?

Even though this kingdom's territory looks so barren and backward, the name Graycastle Kingdom has never been seen in history.

So, what should I do next?

How this unscientific thing of time travel happened can be studied later, but this farce must be stopped—attributing disasters and misfortunes to some poor souls is the norm in uncivilized civilizations, but to hang people to satisfy the dark psychology of onlookers, Cheng Yan really couldn't accept this foolish act.

He grabbed the warrant that Barov was holding and threw it on the ground, stretching.

He yawned, "I'm sleepy, we'll judge it another day, everyone can leave today!"

Cheng Yan did this not recklessly, but carefully recalled the prince's style of doing things in his memory, reproducing the self-willed and profligate energy. That's right, the fourth prince himself is so screwed up, with a bad personality, doing whatever comes to his mind. Speaking of which, how much self-cultivation can you expect from a prince in his early twenties who is uncontrollable?

The nobles sitting on the high platform had a look of indifference, but a tall man in armor stood up. "Your Highness, this is not a joke! Once a witch's identity is confirmed, she should be executed immediately, otherwise, what if other witches come and take her away? The church will not sit idly by."

Carter Lannis, this upright-looking man is actually his chief knight. Cheng Yan frowned, "What, are you afraid?" His chiluo naked mockery in his words was not entirely acting. A strong man whose arm is thicker than the other person's body is actually worried about being broken into prison, and really regards the witch as the devil's spokesperson? "Wouldn't it be better to catch a few more in one fell swoop?"

Seeing that he was no longer speaking, Cheng Yan waved his hand and summoned the guards to take him away. Carter hesitated for a moment, then followed the team and walked beside the fourth prince. The other nobles stood up and bowed, but Cheng Yan's eyes could see the undisguised contempt in the eyes of these people.

Returning to the palace—that is, the castle located in the south of Border Town, he ordered the guards to stop the anxious minister's assistant outside the hall, and he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

As a person who spends ninety percent of his time dealing with computers, being able to put on such a performance in front of everyone is already an over-the-top performance. Cheng Yan found his bedroom according to the location in his memory, sat on the bed and rested for a while before suppressing the violent heartbeat. The most important thing at the moment is to find out the situation. As a prince, why didn't he stay in the royal city and come to this remote place?

It was okay if he didn't think about it, but as soon as the idea came to him, he was shocked by the answer.

Roland Wimbledon came to compete for the throne.

The origin of everything came from the bizarre decree of Wimbledon III, the King of Graycastle: if you want to inherit this kingdom, it is not the eldest prince who has the highest priority, but the one who is most capable of governing the country can take charge of quanbing. He sent the five adult children to various territories under his rule, and after five years, he would decide who to make the crown prince based on the level of governance.

Whoever is capable will live there, plus equality between men and women, which sounds like a very advanced concept, but the problem is that the actual implementation is completely different. Who can guarantee that the starting conditions for the five people are the same? This is not playing real-time strategy games. As far as he knows, the territory that the second prince got is much better than Border Town—uh, in this way, it seems that none of the five people are worse than Border Town, it's simply a bad start.

In addition, how to evaluate the level of governance, population? Military? Economy? Wimbledon III did not mention any standards, nor did he xiànzhi the competition in the slightest. What if someone secretly plays the assassination game, how should it be calculated? Would the queen just watch her sons kill each other? Wait… he thought about it carefully, okay, another bad news, the queen passed away five years ago.

Cheng Yan sighed. It was obvious that this was a barbaric and dark feudal era. It could be seen from the wanton hunting of witches that being dressed as a prince was already very high. Besides, even if he didn't get the throne, he was still the blood of the King of Graycastle. As long as he could survive, being awarded a title and land would be considered a local lord.

And… what if you become a king? Without the Internet, without the nourishment of modern civilization, would he have to be like these natives, burning witches for fun, living in cities where feces are dumped at will, and finally dying from the ravages of the Black Death?

Cheng Yan suppressed the chaotic thoughts in his heart and walked to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the bedroom. The person in the mirror had light gray curly hair, which was the most distinctive feature of the Graycastle royal family. His features were still upright, but he looked listless and lacked temperament. His complexion was pale and lacked exercise. As for whether he was addicted to wine and sex, he recalled that it seemed okay. He had several "qingren" in the royal city, all of whom were voluntary, and he hadn't done anything to force them.

As for the reason for his time travel, Cheng Yan also guessed roughly—it should be the inhumane urging of progress by Party A and the sudden death caused by the boss's arrangement of working overtime overnight.

The protagonists of such cases are mostly related to coders, mechanical dogs, and engineering lions.

Well, no matter what you think, this is at least equivalent to an extra life, and you shouldn't complain too much. In the days to come, he may be able to slowly change this kind of life, but the most important task at present is to play the role of the fourth prince well, so as not to be discovered and tied to the stake as a demon possessed.

"Since this is the case, let's live well first," he took a deep breath and whispered to the mirror, "From now on, I am Roland."

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