The sun had begun its slow descent, casting golden hues that stretched the shadows along the cobblestone streets of Velebrandt. General Knight Rex walked with practiced ease, each bootstep echoing against the ground with measured weight. His sharp eyes, hidden behind his relaxed expression, moved constantly—scanning the bustling activity of the estate's capital town.
The people parted instinctively wherever he passed. His bearing was unmistakable. The black coat adorned with the silver trim of House Velebrandt fluttered gently in the breeze, while the unmistakable sigil—a winged lion—gleamed across his shoulder plate.
Behind him trailed the powerful warhorse that had carried both him and the young master earlier. The beast was intelligent and well-trained, but Rex preferred not to tie it up carelessly on the streets.
"Can't have Lucien's ride stolen by some idiot drunk on ale and arrogance," he muttered under his breath.
Fortunately, he knew just the place.
A few turns down the avenue, past a cluster of alchemists' stalls and a spice-scented alleyway, stood The Gilded Antler—a tall, robust tavern that blended stone, oak, and charm beneath a roof tiled in blue slate. Its sign swung gently on rust-free iron hinges, depicting a golden stag wreathed in leaves, head high and proud.
This wasn't just any drinking hole. The Gilded Antler was one of the oldest and most reliable establishments in the Velebrandt capital, known not just for its fine drink—but for being the go-to lodging for traveling knights, adventurers, and those trusted by the household.
Rex approached slowly, letting the sound of music and chatter drifting from the windows greet him like an old friend.
Outside stood two guards clad in leathers, laughing beside a barrel. They straightened at once upon noticing him.
"Sir Rex!" one of them saluted, eyes widening slightly. "Is that…?"
"Lord Lucien's mount," Rex confirmed, patting the horse's side. "I'll be lodging it here. Stay with him until I sort it out inside. If anyone tries to touch him—break their fingers."
The guards laughed but nodded seriously. "Understood."
Leaving the steed in their care, Rex stepped through the heavy oak doors of the tavern.
Inside, warmth struck him instantly—not just from the fireplace crackling at the far wall, but from the buzz of conversation, clinking mugs, and the distant plucking of a bard's lute. The tavern was alive with the vibrant noise of daily life.
The scent of roasting meat and spiced potatoes mingled with the tang of brewed ale and old timber. Candlelight flickered along the ceiling beams, casting dancing shadows across the polished wooden floor.
Behind the main counter stood a massive man with a dark beard and sleeves rolled to his elbows, polishing a mug that looked small in his large hands. When his eyes caught Rex, they lit up like a flare in the night.
"Well if it ain't the Iron Fang himself!" the man bellowed. "Come to sample some real mead for once?"
Rex smirked. "I'd need to be drunk off my ass before trusting your swill."
The tavern erupted with a few knowing chuckles from nearby patrons. Clearly, this wasn't their first exchange.
The barkeep leaned over the counter, lowering his voice just enough. "What brings you here, Rex? No way a knight like you's just out for a drink."
"I've got the heir with me."
The man blinked. "The heir…? Your young lord?"
Rex nodded. "Out on a walk. Don't spread it around. He's inside one of the family-owned stores. I just need to lodge his horse here for a while."
The barkeep grinned. "You know I'd do it even without asking. Go right ahead—stable's empty, plenty of hay and a clean trough. The Gilded Antler takes care of its beasts like royalty."
Rex turned, already heading toward the back, but paused mid-step. His eyes lingered on the various faces in the tavern—a young adventurer sharpening a dagger, a cloaked merchant scribbling notes over a contract, two beastkin laughing over a spilled ale.
All of this, he thought, is the very world that boy will one day stand above.
His expression grew thoughtful.
He's already changing.
With that, he left to tend to the horse, a flicker of pride lingering quietly in his gaze.
__________________________________________
Lucien stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of the crisp white long-sleeved shirt that tucked neatly into a pair of dark, well-pressed trousers. A simple yet refined gilet of soft charcoal gray accented his chest, sleeveless but finely trimmed with silver threading. Though modest compared to his usual noble attire, the craftsmanship was undeniably excellent—elegant but not ostentatious.
The reflection staring back at him bore a faint smirk. "I look like one of those responsible workers from the main street," Lucien whispered to himself, recalling the men he saw hauling crates and laughing heartily in the market square. It was a grounded appearance, far from the polished silks and golden embroidery he wore within the Velebrandt estate.
He stepped out of the changing room, the polished floor reflecting the soft glow of the ambient lighting above. Small, floating crystal orbs—likely magic-powered—hovered in patterned rows above the ceiling, casting a soft, natural glow like lanterns in an evening festival. The air inside the store was cool and soothing, a relief from the warmth of the streets outside. It struck Lucien again just how advanced this world was—not industrialized like his old one, but flowing with its own elegant blend of magic and craftsmanship.
The smiling salesman awaited near a threefold mirror display. As Lucien approached, the man clasped his hands together with practiced elegance and bowed slightly.
"A fine choice, young master," he said smoothly. "This ensemble speaks both refinement and humility—a rare blend, and perfectly suited to your air."
Lucien blinked, then tilted his head. "Should I just… wear it now?"
The salesman nodded, seemingly anticipating the question. "Of course, if that is your wish. We offer a swift preparation service for our esteemed clients who wish to wear their selections immediately. We'll ensure it's cleaned, pressed, and fitted in under ten minutes."
The boy's lips parted slightly in awe. "You even offer that?"
"Only for high-priority clients of the Velebrandt-owned chain," the salesman added with a courteous smile. "Please, have a seat near the counter while we handle everything."
Lucien found himself chuckling internally. Man… my family really is crazy rich. He gave a slight nod, then glanced around the store.
"Would it be alright if I looked around a bit while I wait?" he asked. There's something kind of thrilling about seeing all these old-world noble clothes. Feels like a stroll through history… or a wardrobe from a fantasy novel.
The salesman's eyes glinted with delight. "It would be our pleasure. Please take your time. I shall return shortly with your freshly prepared attire."
With that, the man turned and walked briskly into a velvet-curtained hallway leading to the back. Lucien was left in the sea of shimmering fabrics and polished wooden racks, each carrying finely embroidered garments.
As he wandered, he passed mannequins dressed in styles that wouldn't be out of place in a royal ball—tailcoats lined with mythbeast furs, feathered cloaks, and gem-buttoned vests. Each piece had its own flair. Some bore the sigils of old noble houses; others carried the seasonal designs of famed tailors. One mannequin wore a sleeveless coat with dark crimson embroidery that shimmered like moving fire, while another displayed a regal navy coat lined with sea-dragon leather.
Customers milled about, their hushed voices blending into the soft background music played by an enchanted harp floating in the center of the room.
"Do you think this makes me look more... gallant?" a pampered noble youth asked as he twirled before a mirror.
"Utterly dashing, young lord!" his servant replied, practically singing his praises while adjusting a flamboyant hat on the boy's head.
Near the far end, a pair of merchants were in heated discussion with a salesperson about matching outfit colors with enchanted gemstones.
"I said seafoam, not mint!" the woman argued, waving a delicate parasol.
Lucien laughed quietly. So this is what fashion politics looks like in this world.
As he passed by a coat rack lined with high-collared cloaks, he caught a glimpse of a more militaristic ensemble—a slim navy coat with a Velebrandt winged lion embossed on the chest. It felt familiar, and for a moment, his mind wandered to his father. He probably wore something like this back when he was younger.
He exhaled slowly, his excitement replaced by a strange blend of awe and appreciation. This world, despite its dangers, felt so alive… so full of stories waiting to unfold.
And here he was—a former Earth dweller, reborn into a legacy of war, wealth, and whispered power. The role of a villain... but with every passing moment, it was harder to remember how he was ever meant to "play it wrong."