Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[1 - redivivus; the transmigrator's last world]

"Your Highness."

A low voice called out, tone impassive and uncaring, irritated even. The boy's dense eyelashes quivered, but he did not open his eyes.

He felt like he had just awoken from a long nightmare, the stench of death, and the fallen bodies so vivid in his mind. It made his mind throb and his throat feel dry.

His body was sore and battered, like he had run a twenty kilometre run, which to be fair, he had done before — though he couldn't say he enjoyed it.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the rays of sun brush against his eyelids as the youthful voice near him urged him to wake up.

Slowly, the pair of chilling blue eyes opened, revealing a dazed look.

The boy had assumed he was dreaming and stared blankly at the scene in front of him.

A charming face greeted him, with the type of appearance that would have a horde of girls screaming. Deep, fathomless emerald eyes and loose black strands of hair framing the defined face. Two spots at the corner of his feline eyes seemed dramatic, but also blended in with his beauty.

The youth's face was almost deathly pale, though that added to his mysterious, unearthly aura, while his lips were a deep red, formed in a permanent frown.

Well, the handsomeness factor wasn't the focal point at the moment.

"Your Highness, Soren?" called the handsome teenager, frowning.

Soren blinked in a daze. He was still a little tired, swaying to the side as he questioned his hearing. Everything seemed to swirl, blurring in his sights.

"What?"

He widened his eyes in surprise, eyes trembling slightly.

The youthful, arrogant, but hoarse voice did not belong to him.

While the possibility of his throat being dry, as if often was during these times, was a rather real possibility, it was unlikely. A voice could not change this greatly, regardless of any reason.

"...are you alright?"

He stared at the youth in front of him, knitting his brows together as he felt a faint throb at the back of his head. It was like a hangover, but that was impossible — he hadn't drunk in years.

It was impossible... right?

"What is my name?"

The teenager in front of him frowned. A strange question, but his master had always been strange, especially after a drunken awakening.  The boy looked at him strangely before  answering in a polite tone,

"Soren Rosenbaum."

Soren Rosenbaum... the name sounded vaguely familiar, but it was hard to say from where. Likely buried under the mountains of memories shuffled around in his mind.

"Mm..." he lowered his eyes, glancing at the pale, slender fingers free of any callouses. They clearly belonged to somebody sheltered and comfortable — two things he was anything but.

Come to think of it, the teenager had said 'Your Highness.'

If the name wasn't enough confirmation, that title certainly was. No matter how far he went back in his family tree, he doubted there were any of royal blood. Though nobility was something long gone in the broken world.

More importantly, where was he?

He had already come to terms that he wasn't in his own body — he vividly recalled the tiresome sensation of death, after all. There was much of a choice but to accept the current predicament.