When he woke up, Loran had become a down-at-heel baron in the most desolate borderlands of another world.
Before him stood a crumbling, drafty castle, a dozen gaunt and starving subjects, barren salt flats where not a blade of grass grew, and the faint green glow of wolf eyes in the wilderness.
The kingdom's nobility saw him as a joke in exile, while the surrounding powers eyed his tiny population hungrily.
He had no divine artifact gifted by a System, no treasure left behind by a predecessor. All he had was knowledge from the modern world and a stubborn refusal to bow to fate.
