"My lord," said the man Ethan quickly recognized as one of his advisors, Cedric, "I've received notice that the duke's men have begun their journey from the Capital." He bowed. "They're coming to collect tax."
Saying so, Cedric left Ethan to ponder.
Tax? What?
In this world of swords and spells, tax consisted of the rarest of monster parts and materials. Priceless Relics were found in the Deadlands just out the border—lands that were full of dangers of the highest caliber, along with endless rewards. And because these materials and items were all of a higher value, not paying tax could easily put a small town like this into debt, unless the town managed to somehow attract a wealthy and profitable industry or find themselves a noble willing to spend his coin to help their people.
Such a noble couldn't be Theo, clearly. After all, he was just a run-of-the-mill spoiled brat from a prominent aristocratic family—the typical wastrel born lucky into money and power without ever needing to work a single day in his entire life.
Regardless, the tax was Ethan's issue now, and he wasn't ready to deal with it given that Theo already had quite a debt in the first place.
Ethan's eyes deadened.
***
Roland cursed under his breath as he trudged down the muddy path toward Lord Theodore's manor. The late early morning sun cast long shadows, painting the desolate landscape in an even bleaker light.
Why was it only him who had to deal with Lord Theodore's bullshit? Just last night, Roland had to take care of all the complaints from the bar he'd found Lord Theodore at. Not to mention, he had to pay compensation to the wenches from his own personal funds.
And that wasn't even half the things he'd done yesterday alone.
After all, Lord Theodore was either busy abusing his power and bullying the people of the town, gambling, drinking, getting wasted with his face stuck up a prostitute, or doing his fourth favorite activity which, naturally, was a combination of the latter three. The man wasn't the brightest, but he wasn't quite dumb enough to avoid dealing with the problems the town of Holden faced.
Roland shook his head when he made it to the estate gates. As expected, there were guards, servants, and soldiers dashing left and right, but he was ignored. It was time to beg Lord Theodore to attend to his duties. None dared stop him, for he was a [Knight] appointed to Lord Theodore by his father—Lord Alexander Lockheart—and an acting advisor while said lord was being, well, his usual idiotic and selfish self.
So, Roland did what he had to; he moved past them all, and made for Lord Theodore's sleeping quarters where a handful of maids were all fussing about like hens with their heads chopped off.
Lord Theodore's quarters were not large by noble standards, but impressive all the same. Lavish and gaudy, just as he expected. Tapestries and drapes were hung up high all about the walls, and on the ground, there were expensive fur carpets.
After moving past the maids and butlers who were currently shuffling about like a horde of ants whose nest was threatened by a boar, he stopped before a silk drape that barred the way to Lord Theodore's bedchambers.
"Lord Theodore," he called.
Silence.
"Lord Theodore?"
Nothing.
Feeling a little annoyed, Roland frowned. "Lord Theodore," he called again. "With all due respect, are you presently attired?"
Nothing but a muffled sound came from the other side. Roland grimaced, and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation before dropping his hand and tugging the curtain aside. The inside of the bedchamber wasn't much to look at. Just your average nobleman's bedroom with a canopy bed big enough to fit twelve women side-by-side.
Most did, in fact, do just that.
A bookshelf stood on each wall, and at the far end was another drape that led to an enclosed balcony where he had the gall to throw his used clothes through during summer.
"Greetings, my lord," Roland said.
Lord Theodore, however, didn't answer.
He sat in front of a full-length mirror on the dresser. He had this listless sort of look, like he just didn't know how to deal with things. It wasn't an expression he'd ever seen on the man's face.
"Lord Theodore, are you well?" Roland inquired, a sliver of unease creeping into his voice. Though he found the young lord childish—given he was barely eighteen years old—Lord Theodore was his responsibility. He'd been Roland's responsibility when he was a little brat, and even now.
Theodore gave a startled response. "Ah, Roland? Yes, I am quite well."
"My lord, with all due respect, I implore you to be truthful. Has something transpired?"
Roland was anxious now. While he harbored no particular fondness for Lord Theodore, a sworn oath bound him to protect and care for the Baron. Granted, his master, Lord Theodore's own father, had afforded him considerable autonomy within Holden's borders—heck, he could even go as far as beating up Lord Theodore without consequences, if Roland deemed it reasonable and necessary—but his code of honor held oaths sacred. The son of the house Varian would rather lose an arm and his birthright than break a single [Oath] made.
"No, truly, I'm fine."
"If that is the case," Roland acknowledged with a curt nod, "then I bear news."
Lord Theodore furrowed his brow. "Good news, I trust?"
"I'm afraid not," Roland sighed. "Yesterday, our patrol in the Deadwoods encountered a band of brigands...…"
Lord Theodore's frown deepened. "While banditry is a common occurrence, it often heralds further troubles. Elaborate, Roland."
"Indeed, my lord," Roland continued, "these brigands weren't merely causing a ruckus. Apparently, they were engaged in combat with a rather formidable creature, vaguely humanoid in form."
Lord Theodore's posture stiffened. "Vaguely humanoid? Can you provide further details?"
Roland shook his head. "Limited information, I'm afraid. Only reports of unnatural speed reached our ears; it appeared to be engaged with wolves. Both fled upon human-contact, however."
Lord Theodore stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Did our men prevail against the brigands? And this creature—surely Captain..." he paused, searching for the man's name.
"Thomas," Roland supplied.
"Ah, yes, Thomas. Holden is geographically close to the Deadwoods. Sir Thomas wouldn't simply abandon such a threat near the bordertowns, would he? He and I may not see eye to eye on certain matters, but... surely he wouldn't leave such a threat unaddressed." Lord Theodore said.
Roland hesitated. "Captain Thomas chose to bypass us and directly inform the Crown of their discovery. He remained tight-lipped regarding specifics despite repeated inquiries."
Lord Theodore hummed thoughtfully. "If Thomas deems it worthy of the Crown's attention, then it surpasses our jurisdiction. Let's hope for their swift and decisive action. What of the brigands? Eliminated, I presume?"
"So it seems," Roland replied. "All but one met their demise. The sole survivor remains in a cell, though maddened beyond reason."
"I see. Is that all for now?" Lord Theodore leaned back in his chair.
"Not quite, my lord. We've had a recent outbreak of the Blight, and we suspect it was an intentional spread. Unfortunately, the culprit remains unidentified."
Theodore's expression morphed into one of genuine shock. "Are these two seemingly unrelated issues connected, perhaps?" He asked.
"It appears to be the case, my lord." A sigh escaped Roland's lips. The Blight—a magical sickness that eats away at your life force, causes lethargy, nausea, and kills you, all while your body radiates a pervasive foul odor. It had recently taken hold on a few people of Holden. Why or how, Roland did not know.
"Those afflicted have been quarantined in a secure location far from Holden to prevent further contagion. Our physicians are doing their utmost to manage them. However, several have died already, and the remaining victims exhibit signs of feral behavior—meaning, they have already entered the late stage, I'm afraid. It's become imperative that they remain under quarantine, lest they either bite other humans—given there's hunger for raw flesh in the late stage—or they could infect the crops, causing them to decay. Consequently, the farmers, understandably anxious, have retreated into their homes."
They were likely waiting for their lord, incompetent as he may be, to deal with the situation. Yet, he had his hand up a wench's skirt more than actually trying to fix the issues... What can I do with him? Roland sighed.
Lord Theodore rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Roland."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Do you think the Merchant Guild would let me have another loan?"
Roland's lips thinned into a line, but he shook his head. "Regrettably, my lord, they would not. The Merchants' Guild has been cautious lately. There was this whole unpleasant affair with a prominent [Merchant Lord] named Bertram, you might know the name. Used to flaunt more gold jewelry than some of the highborn nobles. Turns out, he was embezzling.
"Apparently, he manipulated the Guild's books for months. Inflated trade contracts with nonexistent suppliers from faraway lands, siphoned off the extra profit into his own pockets. Clever, gotta give him that. Even forged shipping manifests to keep it all looking legit.
"Nasty business, that. Apparently, the esteemed Lord Bertram decided a little vacation was in order after everything, and wouldn't you know it, he packed a rather hefty sum from the Guild's coffers along for the ride as well. We're talking a near royal-wedding-sized dowry here, my lord. Vanished, all of it.
"The details are still murky, but rumor has it Bertram might have gotten tangled with pirates operating from the Broken Isles. One of the [Pirate Kings], perhaps—or most likely. So, the Merchants' Guild has been refraining from giving out loans. And, my apologies to say this, my lord, but you're a high-risk individual, and you already have quite the debt with them... They wouldn't want to give more."
Lord Theodore already had a mountain of debt on his name... The interest rate was more than what Lord Theodore could pay off even if the crops did better than planned. Given that the Adventurers' Guild of this sector had been rather short on manpower lately due to a dungeon incursion in the town, Corinth, lying beside theirs and given that Lord Theodore had a tendency for tax evasion and then laundering… Yeah, they were royally fucked. Even if in this situation, Lord Theodore wanted a loan for himself... Roland just gave up. Maybe it was time to return to his master, Lord Theodore's father, and just ask him to appoint him somewhere else—he couldn't deal with this scumbag anymore, not in his current state.
"I see, they wouldn't. Not surprising. It seems I'm going to have to hire a [Necromancer] by my lonesome."
Roland blinked. "That's..." a shock, Roland stopped himself from saying. [Necromancers] cost a hefty sum, and given that Lord Theodore was already under debt and likely the financial situation of Holden was anything but optimal, hiring a [Necromancer] would've put a huge dent in Holden's already meager reserves. However, Roland hadn't imagined, not in his wildest dreams, that Lord Theodore would be employing one by his lonesome.
Throughout his life, Roland had known this man to not even spare a thought to anything that wasn't his immediate self-gratification, or his amusement and satisfaction. How was the wastrel noble suddenly going to change?
"My lord, my apologies for asking, but why do you require a [Necromancer's] assistance?" Roland finally asked, schooling his shocked expression.
"Oh, I have some... theories regarding the Blight." Lord Theodore grinned. "And a [Necromancer] might just be someone who we need in order to solve this problem once and for all."
Roland was shocked to his core, once more. "But, my lord, the treatment for the Blight isn't something common folk can afford? So, how...?"
"Nonsense, Roland. Forget that rudimentary concoction they peddle as a cure. I envision a more... permanent solution. Issue a commission at the Adventurers' Guild—a [Necromancer] or perhaps a [Witch], their talents are equally suited for this task."
"Yes, my lord." Roland bowed, failing to comprehend what Lord Theodore was planning on doing.
***
When Roland left, Ethan found it easier to relax. The stiff, aristocratic manners these people employed were rather annoying to bear with. No, they were rather hard to imitate, more accurately. Because despite his efforts, he'd still found it hard to match their ways, but it was doable. Not good enough, yet, but doable.
"How should I, going forward, act, then?" he muttered. "Because if I've understood a single thing, it is this: Theo's character as I know it now will ruin any chance of me, well, earning anything, be that respect, wealth, power, or all three. Should I continue as him, then, or completely overhaul Theodore's character and pretend it's some epiphany? A spiritual enlightenment, perhaps?"
Ethan shook his head. Whatever it may be, he wasn't planning on being like Theo. Let's go with a gradual change in mannerism.
First, however, he needed to deal with the Blight issue. Which would be easily dealt with—all he had to do was pay the [Necromancer], or [Witch], from his own pouch. Then, he needed to figure out this town's financial status and everything else in order to organize a working infrastructure and create new financial opportunities. Afterwards, he could move onto his 'character', if that is indeed what his situation required. There's a lot to do.
Before everything, however, a bath.
After all, he reeked of sweat and alcohol, among other not-so pleasant scents.
...
It took no more than a few minutes for a handful of servants to prepare the bath. Hot water steamed inside the spacious tub as soap bubbles glistened—soap that was far too expensive for the common folk. Despite being a luxury, its quality was arguably trash. Regardless, this was all the people had in this world. A strong scent of lavender permeated the air and tickled his nose as he undressed. A few maids had prepared for his comfort and placed a silken bathrobe alongside a set of towels on a small table near the bathtub before he'd dismissed them, ordering them to inform the kitchen staff that he would like his meal soon.
Ethan relaxed his shoulders, took the robe with one hand, and tossed it carelessly nearby. It was fine silk. Ethan shook his head before proceeding with an easy grace into the water. It was hot. Yet, Ethan felt rather cold, despite the heat. It helped him relax, and with it, the stiff persona that was Lord Theodore faded.
Ethan sank deeper, letting his long blond locks loose. When he sank into the water and let himself relax, the mental chains that held him back from grieving snapped, and everything slowly came back. And then, he was left alone.
Deeply, achingly, and bitterly alone—
—alone in the darkness, filled with thoughts that could be neither understood nor explained. Thoughts regarding his mother, his father, his father's death, and now, how he had just vanished—or died—on earth and come here. Then, without him realizing it, his eyes stung, tears streaming down, mixing in with the water. He dipped underwater, then stayed submerged, long enough to run out of oxygen and drown. Maybe he shouldn't go up... he thought of that. It was such a tempting idea, but then he realized how unfair he was being to himself, so he went up to breathe.
Once above the surface with his eyes closed, he took a deep breath. It tasted slightly bitter and smelled faintly of lavender. Once his breathing settled, Ethan opened his blue eyes, wiped away his tears, and relaxed. It had only been a few minutes, yet somehow, he was overcome with an indescribable, oppressive exhaustion. The relaxing heat seeped deeper into his body, gradually melting away his nervous tension, leaving him with only comfort and bliss.
No time for this... Not right now, gotta deal with the fact the tax collectors will come soon, and I'm broke as fuck.
Distraction. He needed a distraction.
A quick thought made him bring his hand forward. What if... he could make a fire? Just a little one, like a candle flame. How cool would that be? He focused, willing a tiny spark to appear on his fingertip. Nothing. Just a sputter and a fizzle.
"Hmm," he mumbled, undeterred. "Maybe I need to practice."
He doubted it was just understanding. After all, the skill [Elemental Spells] had given him the barest hints of the basics of how to create a basic spark of flame. He lacked control over mana. [Magic Perception] allowed him to view his mana—flowing, fast-moving streams and spiraling, coiling vortexes. It was chaotic; it was a mess! Maybe if he calmed it down, he could actually make something happen?
Easier said than done, he quickly learned. When he moved it, it took no less effort than bending metal with brute force. The feeling was there, and the will, too. Just the act of 'moving' it alone was a herculean effort. It seemed nigh impossible.
Maybe I'm doing it wrong?
Humming, Ethan looked through the snippets of memories he'd gotten from Theodore. The memories, he found, weren't entirely useless; as his mind drifted back and forth from those flashes, he did remember something Theodore had seen last night... There! A memory from last night—a drunk mage at the bar, showing off with a fireball for some girl who didn't seem too impressed.
"Let's see how that trick works," Ethan grinned.
With [Magic Perception], he saw how the spell flowed. The "spell" was, in a way, forced outwards into reality through the use of symbols he quickly recognized as runes—at least that was what he assumed after seeing the fireball.
Ethan could easily recall the shape of the rune that'd appeared before the fire took form on top of the mage's hand.
I'm pretty sure it's not possible to view runes. I assume, at least, from what little fragments of memories I got from Theo. Anyway, let's move my mana in the shape, then.
He imagined the shape on top of his hand and willed the mana to pour into it. Soon, rune motes started forming out of thin air, ripping into reality. Forming into a shape he willed, a rune burned brightly and loudly atop his palm. As he drew his hand forward, flames burst into life, flickering before fizzling out.
[Basic Magic Script] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
Congratulations! You have gained skill: [Basic Rune Creation]!
"Whoa." Ethan stared at his hand, a wide grin splitting his face. So that's how it works! Runes, huh? That's awesome! Ethan felt like a child again. He couldn't wait to try again, this time with a smaller flame, as it appeared that a fireball was far too much for his lacking skill and control. Magic... it was epic stuff!
Before that, however, he looked at the new skill he'd gained.
Basic Rune Creation – Level 1
Type: Active
Effect: You have grasped the fundamental concept of using runes to channel and shape your mana for basic magical effects. The Connection between two of your skill—[Magic Perception] and [Basic Magic Script]—has resulted in the creation of a new skill. You can now create simple runes that allow for the manipulation of elemental energy on a small scale. As your skill level increases, you will be able to create more complex runes, allowing for more powerful and versatile spells. You may also learn to combine runes for even greater magical effects.
Ethan stared. Reading the description was a quick matter of concentration. It took him by surprise, however, when he realized it. Rune creation? Huh. Does that mean I can create anything? The thought alone was exciting. What about rune motes? Rune motes were fragments of runes, combining certain fragments could result in a full rune. I saw them congregating into the shape of a rune, but is it possible to just create rune motes and not a full rune? I should try.
Regardless of his thoughts, it was creation—
—and Ethan loved creation. Even as a child, he had never gotten tired of tinkering with things. He still recalled the time he'd gotten his first Lego set. Just putting random pieces together with no thought for a bigger picture—he'd loved that. He'd loved doing all sorts of stuff with Legos, creating different castles or other complex structures, but it was building something completely random and ridiculous, yet unique nonetheless, which gave him the most sense of satisfaction. It was fun. It was a hobby—a hobby that ignited in him a fire of passion for innovation.
It was then the thought of being a civil engineer had sprung up in his mind. To put it simply, a civil engineer is responsible for planning, designing, and constructing buildings. Though, that was just a general term. Ethan would have been perfectly happy had he chosen that. However, his father, a man whose own dreams of boxing glory had been dashed by injury, had a different path in mind. He wanted Ethan to step into the ring, to fulfill the dream he himself could never achieve. The pressure, subtle at first, grew relentless over the years. But Ethan had made his stance clear. It had ended up in a messy situation between the father and son, but that was in the past now.
It was another matter entirely that Ethan fell in love with boxing, too, as it made him feel alive. The sensation of a punching bag slamming against his fists? Nothing quite made his blood boil like that.
And oh, fighting in the ring. There was just something about the sport Ethan couldn't resist.
Something about creation, fighting, and experiencing a bit of both, had Ethan wishing he could try the other options that lay in front of him now.
Could he make a real spaceship, in this world?
It sounded silly as fuck and he knew it. Nonetheless, the temptation was still there, hovering and nagging at the edge of his mind, as ridiculous as his previous thoughts might have been.
Spaceships are cool, dammit.
That thought suddenly gave Ethan pause. "Let's just return to practice."
This time, fire flickered atop his fingertips for a second longer.
Another second was added on top of that after his third try.
The light was dim. However, it did mean something: improvement.
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
Grinning like an idiot, Ethan sank deeper into the hot bath water and brought his other hand up to repeat the exercise for the next half an hour or so, occasionally reading a notification that would come every now and then.
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 2 -> Lvl 3!
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 3 -> Lvl 4!
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 4 -> Lvl 5!
But no matter what, he couldn't get it to level up to level 6, nor could he level up [Basic Magic Script] from level 2 to 3.
Why not, though? I'm doing—
"Don't rush," he chided himself. "Your control is pitiful, shaping is trash, and your spellcasting is akin to tossing stones into the sea without even knowing how to make it bounce—guesswork is all you are, but it's a good start, I suppose."
As he set a handful of candle-like flames afloat on all five of his fingers, his lips quirked into a wide smirk. It was only a party trick. For now, that is. I need to find more about magic and learn. I've been winging it.
That was true; he didn't understand anything about magic. All he'd done so far was try to emulate the rune he'd seen in the memory snippet through the help of [Magic Perception] and cast a few party tricks. Was that impressive? He had literally no comparison to base off of, thus why he knew he needed to learn more.
Theodore's memories proved to be useless in this regard, too. His father hadn't found him worthy enough to be assigned a mage as a tutor. Theodore was a disappointment through and through, and that's why he'd been sent to rule the bordertowns.
He could cast the spell, yes, but he didn't understand the underlying concepts that fueled the magic or what the process was.
***
Ethan descended down the stairs that would lead him to the dining room where breakfast had already been laid out for him. Two maids were present as well. It was a feast of the likes he'd only ever read in fairy tales. Fried, scrambled, boiled eggs. Different shapes, sizes, and cuts. Cakes and pies in varying quantities and sizes. Grilled meat, smoked and salted. How could he ever eat everything alone?
Ethan exhaled and then dove in; however, he still maintained decorum as it was imperative to do so given that he was a noble now. Regardless, once done, he made it to the meeting room given that he had some people to meet today.
"Barely breaking even," Ethan muttered, flicking the parchment in his hand. He frowned at the financial situation of Holden, the town he was in charge of. The bordertowns consisted of a series of towns lying on the periphery of the borders. Each town was a barony in name, and nobles—especially troublesome nobles—were often sent here to practice ruling and to make them accustomed to how the common folk lived, so they could empathize with the people they ruled.
With how many bandits the region had had lately, the Blight, debt, tax, and interest that'd ramped up, Ethan's current situation was mind-fucking at best and a keg waiting to explode at worst.
I don't want to deal with Theo's issues.
Not only was this whole situation something Ethan did not want in the slightest, a whole can of worms that were Theo's problems was thrust into his hands. Ethan had held no fantasies of getting isekai'd. That was suicide in his books. He'd have been more than happy to die and meet oblivion. But now that he was here…
Leaning back into his chair, Ethan rubbed his eyes. Yeah, he needed to deal with everything and make the best of his situation to live a comfortable life. When Roland returned with a man in tow, Ethan hummed.
The man was young, younger than Roland, even. Black hair and sharp green eyes. He held himself high with confidence and Ethan recognized him instantly. Isn't he that mage from the bar?
"My lord," Roland bowed. "I have brought a [Necromancer] as per your command."
The [Necromancer] bowed and with a thin smile said, "Pleased to be at your service, my lord. The name's Jack."
Hm. So he wasn't a mage but a [Necromancer].
"Likewise," Ethan replied with a nod, then leaned forward, smiling. "Say, Jack, would you like to be part of a business opportunity?"