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Idris POV
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I looked at the window to my side, the morning sun washing through, bringing perfect temperature and light level for a morning dew. It looked refreshing to the mind, calming your heart as you admired nature.
The city below was clearly stirring awake, people starting to emerge from their homes, morning talks over tea, craftsmen readying their tools. The sound of thousands of lives starting their day. And the estate was filled with blissful silence... Excluding me.
"Ahhh... Comfy."
I sank deep into an absurdly soft couch. It felt like sitting on a mountain of feathers.
'The comforts of wealth.'
I guess the servants around felt the opposite though. I had been using Gravitas since arriving in the city, and while there's always a mental pressure serving a noble, this formless weight would make them scared.
I took a slow sip of my coffee from a small porcelain cup in my hand. I was disappointed in the size of the cups that nobles use for their stupid decorum. So I set the cup on the table and cleared my throat to get attention.
"Get me a larger cup for my coffee, it doesn't have to look fancy, just get me a larger one."
I caught Wilfred rolling his eyes from the side of the room.
"Ah, and no sugar or milk."
I had been used to black coffee even in my past life. At first I thought it was weird, why drink something so bitter? But it was a strangely addicting taste. Once I got into it I could never stop and developed a coffee ritual every morning.
Two of the servants nearby in the room quickly left to go to the kitchen. When they left, Wilfred finally spoke his thoughts.
"Making a statement, lad? They'll be talking-"
"It's not sophistication, it's vanity. Let them talk."
I laughed. Why would I engage in noble pompousness?
Before Wilfred could respond, the door opened. No servant would enter without knocking, unless they were a fool. The mahogany hair in the doorway caught my eye.
'Hmm? Ah, the first son... I think his name was Tristan?'
Tristan stood there with practiced composure. His hair neatly combed to the side, the scar on his cheek worn like a badge of honor. His face had the slightest smile, yet it was devoid of warmth. I couldn't tell if it was arrogance or a noble mask.
"Cousin Idris."
He greeted me while entering the room. His voice was flat and calm, yet it seemed insulting. Still acting like a couch potato, my eyes followed him across the room as he sat on the couch opposite from me.
"I trust your journey was smooth? You arrived sooner than expected. Certain regions can be... active this time of year."
I huffed in amusement as the servant returned holding a large mug, filled to the brim with coffee still steaming from the heat. Though his movements were stiff, he managed to place it on the table without spills.
"Your coffee, Lord Idris. Nothing added, as requested."
"Thanks."
He quickly posted up in the corner of the room where he was prior. I picked the mug off the table, ignoring my cousin Tristan for a moment.
Taking a few slow gulps of the bitter drink, I felt the heat spread through my chest. A wave of clarity rushed over me as I savored the drink.
With a satisfied breath, a bead dribbled down the side of my lips, wiped away by my thumb before it reached my chin.
Tristan's composed face faltered for a moment. His face tightened with a frown, showing an expression of distaste before returning to normal.
"...No sugar? I know you can afford it. A rather odd choice."
I shrugged.
"Just a morning ritual. Gets the gears turning."
"What?"
I shook my head, resting my arm on the back of the couch.
"Don't mind it. Now, what are you here for, dear cousin?"
"Simply welcoming my cousin to the heart of the family. Can I not? Though, I am curious about your sellswords. I have heard tales of their efficiency."
"Indeed, zero casualties tends to be efficient. Less paperwork, easy on the conscience. Assuming you have one."
He clearly got annoyed by my jab since his smile faded and he gave me a cold stare.
"Yes, it's hard to die when you're not actually fighting a war. Commanding real warriors and battlefield respect is the birthright of landed nobles after all."
I simply smiled and chugged the rest of the coffee in my mug. A new butler had arrived in the room, much older than the rest. We glanced at each other before my eyes returned to Tristan.
"Well, as fascinating as your analysis is, I'm afraid the duke summons me for the tedious ceremony formalities."
After saying this, he got up and offered a handshake. I sat up slightly, and as soon as our hands clenched, his mask vanished. He looked down at me with open contempt.
His grip tightened as hard as he could. His skin whitening from the pressure as his forearm flexed. He leaned in slightly and sneered at me.
"Remember your place, merchant boy. Count your coins and leave the fighting to your betters."
I shook my head smiling, and with a long sigh I began to rise slowly from the plush seats. I turned Gravitas up a notch when I finished standing up.
The change in his facial expression was amusing. He had not realized my actual height due to being sunken so far into the couch. I towered over his 5'10" frame. His open aggression faltered under my gaze.
I tightened my grip on his hand, slowly but constantly increasing the pressure. His sneer was replaced by a shocked face before he winced in pain. His bones creaked in my hand while I chuckled.
"A merchants hands... Strong grip. Great for grabbing opportunities."
I squeezed even tighter, his bones threatening to break. The blood drained from his face as he tried to break free, using both his hands to no avail.
I waited a second or two before releasing his hand. Tristan flung his arm back, giving me a furious glare, still wavering every few moments. Gritting his teeth, he turned around and left the room with quick strides.
As the door closed, I glanced at Wilfred, chuckling.
"Real charming fellow."
Wilfred stood, debating if he should sigh or laugh. But before he could, I started to leave, gesturing the butler to lead the way.
The walk through the inner corridors was silent except for the echo of our footsteps on the floor. I decided to keep Gravitas turned on during the ceremony to make an impression on others.
Eventually the butler stopped before a towering set of reinforced double doors, the Abellon crest carved into them with imposing detail. He pushed them open without a word, revealing the cavernous hall beyond.
'Tch. Unskippable cutscenes.'
Stepping into the hall was like walking into the stomach of a particularly judgmental beast. Dimly lit, with air that smelled of dust and aged wood. High, narrow windows cast thin shafts of light, complemented by the chandeliers. Various decorations were strewn throughout; weapons, statues and other trinkets could be seen.
The attending court members lined the walls. Their eyes assessing, calculating, and whispering judgments that were soon quieted when they felt my Gravitas. Their postures stiffened and a few subtly adjusted their collars to ease their nerves.
At the far end, sitting on a grand throne, every inch of it carved into intricate patterns, sat the Duke of Abellon.
'...Wait, shit. what was his name?'
His hair, though lined with streaks of gray, carried the same mahogany red as the others, not faded by age. He seemed immovable on that throne, like a mountain. His face looked cold, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
I walked forward, my steps slow and deliberate, echoing throughout the hall. I eventually got to a point where a priest stepped forward from aside the throne, cueing me to stop and bow. He proceeded to unfurl a scroll and clear his throat for a speech.
'Ugh. Stupid flavor text, wish I could fast forward... I guess I could mute.'
And so I did. I left myself to my thoughts as he blabbered away listing ancestors I didn't know, honoring our blood, and obligations I didn't care about. The priest's words became a meaningless jumble, background noise to my internal critique.
The priest finally paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, gesturing towards the Duke. He took a deep breath, clearly gearing up for a second part.
'Seriously, is this necessary? My character sheet already says 'Abellon'.'
After another half hour of speech, during which I thought over various spell ideas, the priest nodded in satisfaction and rolled up his scroll. I was made to take an oath on an old sword.
I placed my hand on the nicked blade. It was low durability for sure, probably an ancestors weapon. Not that it matters since I'll break the oath in a heartbeat if need be.
Once finished, everyone was dismissed except me. The nobles filed out relieved, resuming their previous whispers and remarks. In the emptied, quiet hall, the Duke's eyes were locked onto mine, the curiosity now fully visible. He got up from the throne and began walking past me.
"I've heard quite a few things about you. Follow me."
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Surprisingly, the study held no gilded trinkets or pretentious art. Though the furniture was fancy, all of it held its use, polished wood and sturdy leather speaking of function over flair.
'He seems to be more practical than other nobles.'
I decided to throw noble etiquette out the window and plopped myself into the closest chair.
'My father has probably mentioned my habits, so it should be fine.'
While I sank into the comfortable leather, the duke didn't react, standing before the window overlooking the training yard. His son was training alongside the guards, with a sour look on his face.
"Zero casualties."
The Duke didn't turn to me, still watching the ducal guards train.
"Impressive. Even for caravan escorts."
"Eh, dead mercs are bad for business. Recruitment and new equipment costs, reputation damage also. Just optimizing use and effective stat modifiers."
This seemed to catch his attention as he looked up from the training grounds below.
"Modifiers?"
He turned slowly, arching an eyebrow. He wasn't offended by my attitude, simply assessing my words.
"Magic... Not wizards with fireballs, but enchanted equipment."
I tapped a finger to my chest.
"An opponent can't fight much if their sword can't pierce my breastplate."
He walked over and sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, the leather audibly stretching.
"And if the math is against you? If you're fighting a hundred men, an arrow is bound to get lucky and slip through the gaps."
"There are numbers other than troop count. It's just that many can't see them."
"And you can?"
"Of course."
'That's why leveling matters in games. Or else 100 noobs would go fight the final boss.'
I chuckled at the thought, but it seemed the duke assumed it was with my response. His brows raised but his eyes still held curiosity. He began to tap his fingers on the desk.
"Interesting. Your father mentioned you had a... unique perspective on things."
"First however, a small test. Your first familial duty."
He let the quiet linger in the air a moment before continuing, letting the expectation accumulate.
"Fiora requires supervision today. Consider it a test of your adaptability."
I nodded my head and got up out of the chair.
"Understood. Time to see the infamous girl."
The Duke let out a weary sigh, clearly knowing all that she's done and the info spread in social circles.
As I left the room to get ready and find Fiora, I couldn't help but grin in anticipation for later.
'I wonder what kind of events will happen with that girl. Something exciting hopefully.'