Victor stood in the familiar study of the count, but this time Alexander rose from his chair, circled the table, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
— I see you're ascending again, and soon even your father won't match your achievements, — smiling, he remarked.
Victor felt unsettled by this intimacy, as he had no father in his own world and couldn't imagine the warmth a man could offer.
Given that this man was a stranger, processing his affection proved doubly difficult. Nevertheless, collecting his thoughts, he greeted the count.
— Father, you're still young, with decades ahead to surpass anyone on this continent, — he flattered.
Alexander merely chuckled, gesturing for him to sit across the table.
— The duke and his daughter will arrive in a week, and we've decided to hold your wedding in ten days, — the man announced, seating himself.
Victor disliked the delay, desiring a speedier return home, but the timeline implied a month-long stay, leaving him no room to object.
— Tomorrow, mother will arrive, and it's time you meet your grandmother, — the count shocked him with another announcement.
"I have a grandmother? Why haven't I heard of her?" Confused, the young man searched his memory, understanding why ignorance prevailed. The previous body owner had never met her, as she relocated to Armondale upon the death of the preceding count and Alexander's father.
She was the daughter of Count Karl and Minerva Boratas of Armondale, figures of renown as celestial knights and guardians of the kingdom.
— Father, I'm unsure how to comport myself, — Victor candidly admitted, as the memory offered no guidance.
— Relax; I've already prepared a gift for Mother in your name. She simply wants to meet you and Andreas, — reassuringly, the count responded.
— As you wish, Father, — resigned, Victor turned to leave, but the count halted him.
— Victor, aren't you tempted to reclaim your heirship? — he asked seriously.
— Father, that position holds no appeal. I'm confident I can achieve more freed from a count's obligations, — smiling, Victor replied.
The count shook his head and waved dismissively, permitting him to depart.
— Oh, and thanks for the gift, — he heard as he left the study.
Outside, Victor paused to reflect on the meeting, perturbed by the offer to reclaim his inheritance, which he automatically rejected.
Living in this world, he had come to value titles, and while he would soon inherit the official title of viscount, it fell short of his ambitions. He now coveted more—nothing less than a duchy's rank.
He contemplated ways to attain it, resolving to venture northwest of his territory.
If he secured rights to develop new lands, defeated monsters there, and built castles, he could claim sovereignty over those regions. Based on size, this would merit recognition as a count, at minimum.
This goal now enthralled him. No longer content with being a baron or viscount, he craved autonomy.
It wasn't about titles or authority; safety was paramount. Larger territories and higher ranks attracted more knights.
His soldiers would form a standing army, but he doubted they could ascend to terrestrial knighthood, let alone legendary status.
How would he retain them? Knights and nobles alike sought titles and estates—the ultimate prize.
Barons ranked lowest among nobility, followed by baronets, essentially equivalent to simple knights. Viscounts fared little better.
Fourteen human kingdoms existed globally, six independent. Beyond them stretched two empires: Lidenhard Empire northeast, and farther north, Rondan Mountains separated the Orc Empire, locked in centuries-old battles with elves and dwarves.
East of Lantaris lay Corstad, bound by a nonaggression pact, and northward Armondale, currently at peace.
Unlike the treaty, the armistice provided guarantees: Corstad must notify Lantaris a year before breaking it. As part of Lidenhard Empire, such pacts were mandatory.
Lantaris itself sprawled vastly, slightly smaller than its northern neighbor. Extending six thousand kilometers west to east, bordering Corstad, and five thousand kilometers north to south, touching Armondale, most of its area lay uninhabited.
Population density was minimal. Northern, southern, central, western, and northeastern regions housed settlements, while eastern and southeastern territories lay barren, unsuitable for cultivation.
Lantaris defended a quarter of the empire's border with demons, with Armondale securing twenty percent, and the remainder divided among three other kingdoms, two bordering Armondale.
Empire weakness prevented interference in intra-kingdom wars, focusing instead on defending weak states.
In turn, kings pursued internecine struggles, releasing tension among nobles seeking glory and land.
Armondale annually invaded Lantaris, once losing territory annexed by Count Kilicito, a terrestrial knight. Fifteen years later, they still fought to recover it.
Victor questioned whether these wars targeted land acquisition or simply eliminated excess nobility.
Seeing this chaos, he appreciated the wisdom of his own world, where abolishing nobility birthed billionaires controlling power without serfdom or titles. Capitalism compelled people to work voluntarily, bombarded with propaganda that work defined life.
Yet this world lagged behind, and he opposed its evolution. Titles of king or emperor held no appeal; he feared imprisonment in a palace.
Learning this world was merely a "fragment" of a greater entity, he yearned to discover other realms and gods.
Remaining an aristocrat, above law and humanity, was essential. He wanted his subjects to thrive, but not at the cost of his privileges.
Elevated status protected him legally, immune to prosecution regardless of actions—an immunity money couldn't buy.
Democracy and governance held no attraction; humans remained human. Dictatorship wasn't inherently evil, nor democracy universally virtuous.
Victor, dictator in spirit, helped people without bounds. Why stop if his subjects lived in gilded mansions forever? Was he wicked?
These considerations surfaced as he drafted laws for implementation, realizing he sought exemption from legal constraints to avoid arbitrary executions. True independence required not only a title but an army and personal might.
Immersing in these reflections, he missed the carriage stopping at his mansion, sitting idle for half an hour.
Snapping awake, he exited, heading upstairs to the library, summoning his armor to explore its capabilities.
Since killing a man, questions lingered about the hammer. Weightless in his grip, strikes shattered bodies, defying physics.
Strength had steadily increased; if estimates held, he was now sevenfold stronger than average.
Donning armor, he examined the hammer, lifting it overhead and dropping it. Impact cracked the floor, embedding the handle.
Staring at the hole, he feared penetration to the ground level, potentially fatal if someone stood below.
Professional boxers couldn't inflict comparable damage, yet the hammer fell from mere human height.
Removing armor instantly, he summoned a servant. LuLu rushed in, observing the damage, then raced off to fetch repair crews.
Since becoming a knight-maid, she refused to remove her uniform, dodging training whenever possible.
Persuaded by Victor that she wouldn't fight, she still resisted, prompting him to abandon the issue.
Roaming the mansion, boredom gripped him. Gazing out the window at dusk, he concluded today's tasks were complete and retired to bed.
Throughout the week, he trained and read, lacking occupation.
Jewelers' deliveries and dispatching new orders to his estate briefly distracted him. Otherwise, he alternated between playing backgammon with LuLu and Linea or succumbing to tedium.
One day, a letter arrived from his grandmother, inviting him to afternoon tea. Reading it, he fretted, recalling the last social event's unpleasantness. Compounding this, she bore no relation to him, merely inhabiting this body.
Back home, he adored his maternal grandmother and often lived with them. Now, a substitute loomed.
Prepared and clutching a specially commissioned gift, he visited her.
Half an hour later, he stood before a woman who defied description as a grandmother, appearing no older than thirty.
Countess Cliossa stood in a white-walled salon, near a sofa adorned with sweets and hot drinks.
Radiating magnificence, she rivaled Alexander in beauty. Towering nearly two meters, sculpted by gods, her oval face carved from marble, two emerald-green eyes gleamed like shattered jewels, accentuating her perfection.
Graceful nose and ruby-red lips hinted at sensuality, and when she spoke, exposing pearl-white teeth, Victor swallowed nervously.
Beyond her beauty, an aura of majesty commanded attention.
Enthralled, he forgot himself, frozen in awe.
Cliossa's aura activated, engulfing him. Powerful, it nearly matched the duke's impact, leaving him breathless.
— Odd, they told me you're useless, — she commented, pointing to a chair opposite her.
Regaining control, Victor obeyed, sitting rigidly, anticipating reprimands.
— Useless, eh? You're the only promising one here, — she added. — My son's become an idiot; do you think I'm a fool?
Uncertain how to respond, Victor quietly removed the gift from his inventory, tossing it aside.
— Countess, may I retrieve the gift I prepared? — he asked, eliciting a displeased grimace from her, though she waved consent, mimicking swatting a fly.
Victor rose and swiftly exited.