Victor crashed into the back of a bandit who was standing with his back turned to him and struck him in the back with full force. The hammer did not stop upon impact but fell together with the bandit onto the ground, pinning the poor wretch beneath it and flattening his body against the earth as they hit the ground.
Seizing the opportunity, the knight lunged forward and decapitated the second bandit, then swung around to cleave off the head of the third one.
Shocked by what they had just witnessed, the remaining bandits exchanged glances before fleeing for their lives. The knight stood there with his sword raised high, and after the bandits disappeared from sight, he sank down on his knees. All of his mana had been depleted during this battle, leaving him hanging on sheer willpower alone.
Seeing the fleeing cutthroats, Victor relaxed, only to have his armor and shield vanish instantly, as if they never existed at all.
Immediately following the disappearance of his weapons, dizziness overcame him, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was Lulu running towards him.
When consciousness returned, he found himself shaking inside a carriage, cushioned by pillows, while a petite maid looked anxiously at him from nearby.
— Where are we? — he asked as soon as he regained awareness.
— You've been unconscious for two days now, and we're almost arriving at our destination, — she replied. — I'm so glad you woke up. I feared that you wouldn't wake again. — She began sobbing once more.
Victor tried calming her, feeling uncomfortable with such an emotional display since his mother's death.
On Earth, people were becoming increasingly cynical, with constant exposure to information from the internet and TV desensitizing them. It became difficult to empathize even when someone died, given how frequently deaths were shown everywhere.
But this girl genuinely cared about him, not herself or her future. Her tears were real.
It felt strange to feel anything toward anyone else, because experiencing emotions like these was unfamiliar territory for him. For the first time, he felt sorry for another person, whereas previously, he spent most of his life pitying himself.
Each day passed in self-pity about life's unfairness, though he wasn't envious of others' wealth or luxuries. He simply wanted some semblance of normalcy, enough money and food beyond subsistence level, dining out occasionally, buying decent clothes.
Now sitting next to him was a girl whom he pitied sincerely, wishing she would calm down and stop crying.
— It's okay, Lulu, don't cry anymore. I promise I won't sleep for too long again, — said Victor reassuringly.
Wiping away her tears and trying to smile, she requested the coachman to halt, explaining that they'd be reaching the estate shortly and she couldn't remain in the master's carriage any longer.
After switching carriages, the carriage resumed its journey and arrived four hours later at the mansion.
As he stepped outside, Alganis, a filthy-looking knight covered in bloodstains, gazed admiringly at Victor.
His lord didn't understand why the knight stared at him like that, but nodded politely and walked toward the manor house.
Servants lined both sides of the entrance hall, including the elderly butler.
— Welcome home, young master, — greeted the old butler, Taross. Unlike Jina, whose greetings carried genuine warmth, his tone lacked sincerity entirely.
In fact, it sounded sarcastic, disguised behind etiquette, much like a knife wrapped in cloth where everyone knew there was a blade hidden within, yet no one could openly accuse him of doing wrong.
Victor recalled everything associated with this butler. According to previous memories, this old man always behaved this way and preferred Andros, son of the countess and daughter of marquis, whom the father married two years after Victor's mother's passing.
Unlike him, whose mother came from a completely extinct baron family, his father loved her deeply despite her untimely demise during childbirth.
Not only did he lose his mother, but he also discovered he possessed no magical abilities whatsoever.
By contrast, Andros, born to the Count and Marquise's daughter, displayed genius-level talent. Even Victor thought it rightful for him to inherit the title, holding no grudge over it.
He remained humble throughout childhood, inheriting that trait from his late mother.
The nanny told stories about how quiet she used to be, rarely drawing attention unless the Count laughed at her jokes.
Now here stood this butler, attempting to provoke Victor knowing well that he wouldn't dare respond. However, things changed: he wasn't the same boy anymore.
Walking past the butler, feigning a stumble, he leaned heavily against the old man, knocking him hard to the floor.
— Thank you for your help, forgive me, what is your name again? Completely forgot! — Victor spoke casually, brushing himself off as if dirtying himself.
Without waiting for an answer, he left.
The aged butler dared not raise his gaze lest others notice anger in his eyes. Such behavior might quickly lead to fatal consequences among nobility.
Regardless of treatment, Victor was still the true-born son of the Count, and should servants begin resenting him, it meant they lost their place and risked severe punishment.
Having exacted minor revenge, satisfied with himself, he entered the manor assigned solely to him, proceeding directly to bed.
Exhausted from travel and recent events, his weakened post-disease body required rest.
Awakening early next morning, three maids entered carrying washing supplies.
Morning bathing was uncommon among aristocrats; instead, servants brought water-filled basins and wiped bodies clean using damp rags, ending daily hygiene routines abruptly. Common folk often went months without bathing altogether.
Dressed by attendants, which felt awkward and unusual for him, a servant entered bearing a tray containing a letter addressed to him. Unfolding it revealed an invitation from his father requesting his presence afterward lunch.
Yet another cumbersome rule, dictating even trivial matters like scheduling meetings via letters rather than verbally through servants.
Victor put aside the note and headed to the dining room, finding his place already set at the table's head.
Breakfast consisted minimally of boiled eggs, oatmeal porridge, a drink resembling herb tea rather than actual tea, along with bread rolls.
Initially searching for butter, unable to find any, he consulted the former owner's memory and realized there was none available here generally.
Finishing breakfast, he made his way to the library, spending hours studying books related to magic. They provided general knowledge regarding magic itself but offered little practical guidance.
Time passed until lunch, followed by departure to meet his father.
The entire Shermainin estate spanned roughly the size of a small village. Distance between Victor's residence and main building amounted to approximately three kilometers.
A carriage transported him there, exiting near a fountain flanked by two maids and the butler Taross.
The structure resembled a three-story palace shaped somewhat like the letter 'P,' complete with windows seemingly added haphazardly after construction concluded.
Guided through massive oak doors, he ascended wide stairs leading upstairs to the hallway.
The office lay far down the corridor, located opposite the staircase.
Upon arrival at the door guarded by knights, the butler instructed him to wait briefly while reporting his presence.
Minutes later, invited inside, he encountered his father face-to-face for the first time.
A forty-year-old man sat behind a desk, identical copies save age difference existing between the two men.
Standing nineteen feet tall, slender build, dark hair framing brown eyes, elegant facial features highlighted strong cheekbones, straight nose, thick eyebrows, and neatly combed-back hair.
Perhaps the sole distinction separating them was grey streaks appearing amidst father's locks.
Count Alexander glanced upward momentarily, pointing at a chair across the table using a quill pen.
Victor took his seat silently awaiting acknowledgment from the seated figure.
Ten minutes elapsed before Count Alexander cleared papers aside and tossed the quill aside.
— I heard you fell ill and fainted, but apparently you're fine now, — announced the Count.
— Thank you for your concern, Father, I'm perfectly healthy, — responded Victor carefully choosing words.
— That's good news because we're attending Duke Alesstor Leomvile's reception announcing your engagement to his daughter, — continued Alexander observing his son's reaction closely. — She appears nearly as inept as yourself.
This common practice among nobles aimed to conceal children lacking potential by arranging marriages capable of hiding their inadequacies.
Unlike Victor, the duchess' daughter held minimal mana levels, effectively making her a magician albeit barely functional compared to ordinary peasants. Finding husbands within higher echelons proved futile anyway.
For Victor, however, marriage didn't matter; being incapable of decision-making rendered it irrelevant regardless.
No matter who she was, relationships among nobility tended to remain open-ended, limited merely by individual desires. Wives maintained lovers freely, men wed multiple wives simultaneously, indulging countless mistresses.
— Whatsoever you decide, Father, — was all he managed to say.
Leaving the study, intent on returning to his own residence, he bumped into stepmother and younger brother.
— Dear Victor, it's rare seeing you visit us and neglect visiting your mother, — remarked the woman looking no older than twenty-five years, walking arm-in-arm with a youth.
Andros bore striking resemblance to his mother, slightly shorter than Victor, blonde-haired blue-eyed beauty attracting droves of female admirers due to his talents combined with looks.
— Apologies, Mother, my frail health prevented proper respectfulness toward you, — answered Victor.
Clearly, she didn't regret his absence; indeed, it served as subtle reminder he wasn't welcome nor allowed frequent visits unlike themselves.
Had it been the former Victor, he'd have worried immensely over this slight, but current circumstances left him indifferent to petty intrigue especially concerning his nonexistent father figure.
Living without paternal influence beforehand robbed meaning from the term itself.
— Hello dear brother, considering your fragile condition, perhaps staying indoors avoids unnecessary risks, — stated Andros sarcastically.
— Thanks for worrying, Brother. That's exactly why I plan to return to my estate immediately, — declared Victor excusing himself politely before departing.
Being surrounded by them felt unbearable disgustingly repulsive; moments lingered before frustration overwhelmed desire to rip masks off faces and punch each squarely in the jaw. Yet neither his talented sibling nor stepmother's household status posed challenges surmountable currently.
Back at his residence, Victor retreated directly to the library, spending hours seeking answers concerning occurrences troubling him ever since the incident.
Origins of shield, hammer, armor, methods recalling them vanished eluded comprehension. After exhaustively scouring every bookcase, despair setting in, he settled into a chair reflecting.
Library stretched across enormous chamber spanning roughly two hundred square meters filled ceiling-high shelves brimming with volumes.
However, pages contained mere ten-twenty words written laboriously across specially treated animal skins bound crudely forming books usually consisting fewer than four hundred pages per volume.
Reading them presented difficulty considering complex script composed multiple interconnected lines constituting characters.
Sitting quietly contemplating information gathered thus far yielded nothing conclusive explaining his experience.
— If this isn't native to this realm, maybe I brought it here myself? — pondered Victor closing eyes reflectively.
Considering possibility, he attempted summoning familiar fantasy elements typical newcomer narratives included default systems, failing miserably.
Rising suddenly, centering himself mid-room, closing eyes again focusing intently recalling details surrounding combat encounter earlier.
Replaying vivid images, concentrating intensely reliving sensations fully engulfed him once reopening eyes clutching trusted shield and hammer firmly grasped hands.
Completely encased within heavy plate mail, Victor approached copper mirror corner examining reflection.
This heroic image portrayed armored warrior brandishing massive shield.
— Young paladin, henceforth lies thy path, choose wisely how thou shalt walk it. Mayest live happily, — echoed voice resonating mind.
Attempting conversation yielded silence; attempts failed repeatedly.
Despite changes occurring, now armor felt inherently familiar akin possessions utilized extensively over extended periods.
Thinking removal desirable resulted instantaneous dissipation. Testing equipment demonstrated seamlessness enabling automatic activation whenever spoken aloud command executed.
Calmed eventually settling chair deep thoughts emerged questioning origin mysterious voice identity definition paladins nonexistence present context.
Aloud uttering question rhetorically solidified uncertainty: "Am I truly a paladin now?"
Victor reflected inwardly hoping clarity manifest sooner than anticipated.