Returning with his father to the designated mansion, Victor bid farewell and proceeded to his room, only to find a servant waiting at the doorstep, delivering a letter sealed with the duke's crest.
Unfolding the letter, he discovered a message from Sylvia, inviting him to her palace garden for tea in three hours.
Taken aback by this development, the young man entered his room and summoned the maids to prepare for his rendezvous with his fiancée.
When the appointed time arrived, Victor departed for the main palace, instructing the carriage driver to slow down along the way. Punctuality was mandatory, but arriving ahead of schedule was considered rude.
Upon arrival, another butler awaited him at the entrance, guiding him through the expansive residence and leading him to a garden behind the palace, where Sylvia sat at a table beneath a tree, accompanied by an elegantly dressed young woman—presumably her lady-in-waiting.
These ladies-in-waiting doubled as companions and servants, selected from noble households. Serving as a lady-in-waiting to a duchess was highly coveted among aristocratic girls.
Specifically, this attendant might never marry and dedicate her life entirely to her mistress.
Bowing before the duo, Victor noticed that the duchess barely acknowledged him, simply waving her hand dismissively, while the lady-in-waiting pointed to a chair opposite her.
— I invited you here to clarify: you aren't my husband and never will be, — the girl blurted out, uncommonly direct for nobility. — Our engagement or wedding holds no significance; you're just a failure destined to die in obscurity.
She spoke with haughtiness, regarding him as a mere insect unworthy of her regard.
Then, intruding into the conversation, the lady-in-waiting chimed in imperiously:
— You're just a minor baron! How dare you dream of marrying a princess? Who gave you such audacity?
Victor seethed with unprecedented anger. He didn't want this marriage, but he had no choice.
"How tiresome you all are. If I'd known I'd return to Earth's miserable life after death, I would have snapped your neck right here and erased all these memories like a nightmare." Life on Earth, though far from ideal, allowed him independence and, if necessary, the ability to defend himself. Here, his pride—the sole possession he retained—was relentlessly trampled, and he couldn't even respond.
— Your Grace, this isn't my decision, and once formalities conclude, I'll retreat to my estate, assuring you I'll vanish from your life permanently, — he gritted through clenched teeth.
The girl didn't bother responding, merely waving him away.
Adhering to etiquette, Victor bowed goodbye and departed.
Left alone, the duchess glanced at her attendant.
— Why did they fail in their assignment? — Sylvia queried.
— Mistress, nearly all bandits were eliminated. Survivors claimed this baron possesses some magic, but it's false. I verified it just now; he has zero traces of magic, — the trembling attendant replied.
— Execute all survivors. We'll seek another opportunity. I refuse to become a baroness in a backwater wasteland, — the duchess sneered.
***
Victor hurriedly strode toward the carriage, gripping his fists tightly. He yearned to flee this place before committing irreversible actions.
All he desired was to escape, finalize the engagement, and focus on studying the mystery surrounding his paladin identity.
Now he had a potent drive. This world belonged to the strong; if you surpassed others, you could accomplish nearly anything. He aspired to become stronger and break this engagement, which tormented him from every angle.
Seated in the carriage, he exhaled deeply and began sifting through his memories for information about the duke and methods to nullify such engagements without repercussions.
Alas, no such solutions existed. Breaking an engagement with a duke's family would irreparably damage his clan's reputation. An assassination was guaranteed.
Reaching his mansion, Victor stormed into his room, grabbed a pillow, pressed it to his face, and screamed until hoarse. Only then could he release his pent-up rage.
Composing himself, the baron resumed training with his armor, verifying its flexibility and wear duration.
To his astonishment, the armor fit seamlessly, like everyday garments. Comfortable and weightless, it seemed immune to fatigue, though it had vanished spontaneously after the bandit fight, leaving him mildly disoriented.
Finally dismissing the armor, Victor collapsed into a chair, catching his breath and sorting his thoughts.
Four days remained until the engagement ceremony, dragging on interminably. He scoured the mansion's library thoroughly and even requested permission to visit the palace library, which was granted two days later.
Sitting amid stacks of tomes, he leafed through a book on magic, finding nothing of interest. Setting it aside, he noticed the central door of the room open, revealing Sylvia and her attendant.
Courteously bowing, he greeted her, having failed to replace the volume.
Noticing her betrothed reading, the girl chuckled, her laugh like melodious bells, briefly cheering Victor, but recollections of their garden confrontation restored his resolve.
— Still clinging to hope? I'd praise persistence, but futility remains futile, — she quipped, striding past him.
Victor replaced the book and bowed again, choosing to depart. This marked the second slight, but it no longer perturbed him. His mind fixated on developing his paladin powers.
Returning to his estate, he locked himself in his room until the engagement ceremony.
The event passed modestly by duke's standards. Attendance at such a gathering was obligatory, even for those on their deathbed, but attendees were limited to the duke's immediate vassals.
Around two hundred representatives of nobility crowded the grand hall when Victor was summoned to stand beside Alestor, poised at the foot of stairs leading to the central throne, with Sylvia at his side.
The young man took his place to the left, and the duke raised his hand, silencing the assembly.
— I've convened you here to announce my daughter's engagement to the son of my friend, Count Alexander Shermanin, — Alestor declared. — This was her choice, and I approve it fully.
He omitted mentioning Victor's name, a subtle ploy to diminish emphasis on his title and signal to all that this was a political alliance benefiting the count.
Victor scanned his memory for protocols governing engagements, comparing them to his inherited knowledge, concluding that the entire affair was a hollow farce degrading him.
Suppressing his outrage, he maintained a courteous facade, yearning desperately to flee.
Upon completion of the formalities, he slipped away from the palace, hurrying back to his mansion.
***
Returning to the county, his father awarded him two thousand gold coins—an astronomical sum in this world—provided him with servants, and dispatched him to his estate.
Victor had awaited this moment eagerly, and as soon as the carriage departed, his excitement peaked.
Joyfully bidding farewell, he grinned widely, but now his thoughts shifted to survival in this magical realm. Peace would be fleeting; if war erupted, as a nobleman, he would undoubtedly be dragged into battle.
Higher nobles could command armies remotely, but barons, baronets, and viscounts could be thrust into the front lines.
Trying to suppress these worries, he rode the entire journey, contemplating random topics, until fifteen days later, they finally reached Victor's estate, or rather, Victor Baltas'.
"Baltas"—the name of his domain, and henceforth, his surname—Baron Victor Baltas.
Those two weeks on the road proved grueling. Frequent stops in forests, attacks by minor bandits, monster incursions, and unbearable camping conditions tested both him and the knights escorting the convoy.
His father had granted him five low-tier iron soldiers and twelve novices.
This generosity, however, was wasted on the knights. Traveling to the county's border, let alone a baron's territory, especially one bereft of magic, was tantamount to stripping them of their futures.
For Victor, however, it posed no concern. He urged them to accelerate, desperate to reach the castle and inspect his holdings.
At three PM, the convoy finally arrived at the castle, a typical stone edifice with a stone wall and massive iron gates, devoid of a moat or additional fortifications.
Such a castle was basic necessity. Ownership of land mandated a castle; failure to build one rendered the territory vulnerable to claims by the king. Hence, aristocrats erected these simplistic structures to comply.
Outer walls, five meters high, could withstand bandit raids or attacks by forces smaller than three hundred men, but prolonged sieges would collapse the castle within a day.
Inside, the courtyard resembled a football field, terminating at the two-story castle, its narrow windows offering minimal visibility, and a flat roof suitable for defense if enemies breached the outer walls.
Flanking the entrance were barracks for soldiers and a stable for ten horses, all in deplorable condition.
Awaiting him at the entrance were Jinn, Lulu, and three other servants from his previous residence.
— Welcome home, milord, — the butler greeted him, stepping forward.
Previously addressing him as "young master," Jinn now adopted a more formal tone, recognizing Victor as head of his independent dynasty.
— Glad to be home, Jinn. Unpack the belongings and transport the gold to the treasury, — Victor ordered, requesting guidance to his study and following Lulu, who volunteered to accompany him.
Internally, the castle was even worse than its exterior. Corridors illuminated by torches emitted an unpleasant odor, but without daylight, these passages were pitch-black.
Far from romanticized visions, actual castles resembled crudely hewn caves, damp and murky.
Immediately upon arrival, he summoned all village elders for the next morning and instructed reports on his holdings.
Spending the remainder of the day reviewing documents in his study, what he uncovered was far direr than imaginable.
These weren't serfs; based on reports and obvious omissions, residents of his domain resembled refugees.
Supplies were scarce, and the supposed five thousand inhabitants had dwindled to two thousand eight hundred, the rest succumbing to hunger and illness the previous winter.
Victor refused to believe what he read: nearly half the population had perished, and those who survived were starving, yet no one seemed to care.
Springing from his chair, he bolted from the study, descending to the ground floor, where he confronted the butler.
— What do you know about this? — he demanded, shoving the scroll detailing the populace report in Jinn's face.
— Milord, I only recently learned of this, but we have no provisions or gold to remedy it; I'm helpless without your approval, — Jinn pleaded.
— Take whatever supplies we have and distribute them among the people. Also, allocate fifty gold coins to purchase food from neighboring nobles, — Victor commanded.
In this world, one gold coin equated to one hundred silver coins, and one silver coin to one hundred copper coins.
A family of four could subsist on five silver coins yearly; peasants might never see a gold coin in their lifetime.
His territory should have housed four thousand serfs and nearly a thousand commoners, but records indicated only two thousand five hundred serfs and three hundred commoners remained.
Jinn bowed and departed, calling soldiers to assemble wagons.
Weary soldiers groaned at another expedition, reluctantly preparing for the journey.
The closest neighboring estate belonged to Baron Hector Selitas, located six hours north-eastward. His small town was reachable within a day's ride from the castle.
After the convoy departed, Victor returned to his study, pondering his predicament. Drawing heavily on the previous Victor's memories, he formulated a strategic blueprint.
Yet implementing these plans required manpower. Buying serfs was prohibitively costly, and alternative routes entailed capturing prisoners during wars. However, the latest conflict between Kingdoms Lanteris and Armondale had concluded only six months prior, ending in significant casualties for both sides.
Peace accords stipulated a year's truce, making another war improbable anytime soon.
***
Deep into the night, Lulu entered his study, carrying a tray of food.
— Milord, please eat something, — she fretted.
Smiling at her, he tore his gaze from the scattered scrolls strewn across the table and, sliding the tray closer, noticed baked chicken and soup, evidently prepared from whatever ingredients were available.
Indifferent to culinary preferences, he devoured the meal, pushed the tray aside, and, remembering something, glanced at Lulu.
— Did you eat? — he asked.
— I'm not hungry, — she claimed, though clearly famished.
— Go feed yourself and don't return tonight; I'll finish paperwork and retire, — Victor instructed.
She started to argue but, noting his firm expression, acquiesced.
Completing his work, Victor emerged and headed to the bedroom prepared for him.
***
Awakening early the next morning, Victor stared at the ceiling, struggling to orient himself, only realizing after a minute that he was in his new home.
Rising from bed, he intended to call someone, but Lulu and two maids promptly entered, initiating his morning routine.
Once dressed, Victor strolled to the dining hall, encountering Jinn, who exhibited profound exhaustion from his overnight labors.
Seating himself at the table, he awaited his meal, deciding to inquire about Jinn's journey.
— Milord, we've secured fifty-one wagons of grain, paying twenty-eight gold coins; they refused to sell more, — the butler reported.
For two thousand eight hundred souls, this stock would sustain them for weeks, but the inflated cost was staggering. None of this should have cost so much, but Jinn confirmed sellers wouldn't budge.
— Milord, the village elders have arrived, — a guard announced.
Pushing aside his meal, Victor rose from the table and headed outside. Upon reaching the yard, five men of varying ages knelt before him.
— My lord, we came as soon as we heard, — they stammered collectively.
Their appearance matched their despair. Clearly malnourished, their threadbare clothing bore countless patches, rendering identification of the original fabric impossible.
— Rise. I summoned you to assign tasks, but first, accompany the knights to distribute rations to the villagers. Return this evening, and we'll discuss further, — Victor announced.
The elders were dumbfounded. While custom dictated that nobles sustain their serfs, these people had languished untouched for five years without a lord.
— Thank you, my lord, — they sobbed, kissing the ground in gratitude.
Discomfited by their display, Victor pivoted and retreated to the castle.