The stone walls of the castle retained the damp chill of the autumn night, a cold that seemed to seep into the very bones of the ancient structure. Liszt stood before the arched window of his study, his fingers tracing the rough-hewn granite sill. Outside, the world was painted in shades of charcoal and slate, the moon struggling behind a thick veil of clouds.
Below the castle, scattered across the darkened valley, were the faint, flickering orange lights of Flower Town.
It was a meager sight. A handful of torches, a few hearth fires, and then nothing but the oppressive darkness of the countryside. There was no bustling nightlife, no glowing streets, no sound of carriages or merchants hawking their wares late into the evening. Only silence, broken by the occasional howl of the wind whipping through the valley.
*Eight hundred souls,* Liszt thought, his mind still adjusting to the weight of the memories that were not entirely his own. *Eight hundred people scratching a living from soil that seems determined to starve them.*
He turned away from the window, his gaze falling on the heavy oak desk that dominated the small, drafty study. Parchments were scattered across its surface—tax ledgers that hadn't been updated in a year, supply requisitions that were half-filled, and a map of the territory that looked suspiciously like it had been drawn by a drunkard.
*This is what remains of the Tulip Family's benevolence,* he mused, a bitter taste in his mouth. *A title, a crumbling castle, and a town that is barely holding on.*
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since the fever had broken, since the consciousness of a modern man had merged with the fading echoes of the original Liszt. The original had been a wastrel, a third son who drank away his days and gambled away his dignity, dying of a "wasting sickness" that was likely just a poisoned liver giving up.
But the new Liszt was not content to fade away. He had been given a second chance, a strange lottery ticket in the cosmos. He was a Baron. A noble. In a medieval world where nobility was the difference between living and merely surviving, he had been handed the winning card. He would not squander it.
A soft knock interrupted his reverie.
"Enter," Liszt said, his voice steady, recovering from the hoarseness of his convalescence.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Thomas, the young valet, stepped inside. The boy held a silver tray with a single beeswax candle, his posture stiff with anxiety.
"Sir," Thomas said, bowing slightly. "I've brought additional lighting. The kitchen fires are being banked for the night. Is there anything else you require before you retire?"
Liszt looked at the young man—perhaps nineteen, with a thin frame and nervous eyes. Thomas was terrified of him. The original Liszt had been prone to throwing things when drunk, and Thomas had often been the target.
*Fear,* Liszt thought. *It is useful, but it is not loyalty. Loyalty is far more valuable.*
"No, Thomas. That will be all," Liszt said gently. "You may retire for the night. I will see myself to bed shortly."
Thomas blinked, clearly surprised by the dismissal. Usually, the Baron demanded that his valet help him undress, a process that involved far too much fussing for Liszt's modern sensibilities.
"Are... are you certain, Sir? I can prepare your nightclothes, or warm the bed—"
"I am certain. Goodnight, Thomas."
"Goodnight, Sir." Thomas retreated, closing the door softly.
Liszt sighed and picked up the candle. He held it up, illuminating the corners of the room. The shadows danced, stretching like grasping fingers. He walked back to the window, staring out at the lights of the village.
*Flower Town. A beautiful name for a place that produces nothing but weeds and misery.*
According to his predecessor's memories, the town had once been a modest supplier of iron ore, but the small mine had collapsed decades ago. Now, the primary industries were subsistence farming and the occasional logging venture. The soil was poor, the harvests were meager, and the people were tired.
*I need to change this. But where do I start? I have no funds. My knights are disillusioned. My family ignores me.*
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. There was something else—a sensation that had been tickling the edge of his consciousness since he woke up. A sense of... waiting. A visual phenomenon he had dismissed as hallucinations during his fever.
He opened his eyes.
And there it was.
Rising from the candle's flame, twisting in the air like a living thing, was smoke. But it wasn't drifting upward with the heat. It was coiling, gathering, forming shapes.
Liszt held his breath.
The smoke thickened, turning from a grayish wisp into a dense, white mist. It swirled in front of his face, ignoring the draft in the room. Then, characters began to form within the mist.
They were serpentine—letters that looked like intertwined snakes, glowing with a faint, ethereal blue light.
*Serpent Script.*
The common written language of the Kingdom of Steel Ridge. The original Liszt had known how to read it, though he had never applied the skill to anything useful. But this... this was different. The original Liszt had seen these smokes occasionally, faint and unreadable, assuming they were tricks of the light.
The new Liszt, however, could read them as clearly as if they were printed on a page.
**[Mission Detected]**
The words floated in the air, suspended in the mist.
**Mission Content:** As a Lord, one must first know their domain. You are ignorant of the land you rule. Tour Flower Town, inspect the living conditions of your subjects, identify potential hazards, and assess the territory's resources.
**Mission Reward:** Battle Aura Ascension (Minor).
**Mission Status:** Not Accepted.
Liszt stared. His heart hammered against his ribs.
*Is this... a game system?*
He reached out a hand, his fingers passing through the mist. It felt cool, like water vapor, but there was a strange static tingle upon contact. It wasn't a hallucination. It was real.
*Battle Aura Ascension.*
In this world, knights cultivated Battle Aura—a mysterious energy that granted them strength, speed, and durability far beyond normal men. The original Liszt had been lazy in his training, barely reaching the level of an Apprentice Knight. If he could ascend his Battle Aura, he would be one step closer to real power.
*I've read about this in novels,* he thought, a wry smile touching his lips. *The Golden Finger. The cheat code. It seems even in this harsh world, I haven't been left entirely unarmed.*
He looked at the floating text.
"How do I accept?" he whispered.
As if in response, the text shifted.
**[Do you accept the mission? Y/N]**
"Yes," Liszt said firmly. "I accept."
The mist swirled violently, then dissipated instantly, vanishing into the air as if it had never been there. The room was just a drafty study again, lit by a single candle.
But Liszt felt different. A weight had settled on his shoulders—not a burden, but a direction. He had a goal.
*Tour the town. Assess the danger.*
He looked back at the window. The lights of the village below seemed to flicker with a new significance. They weren't just lights; they were his people. His responsibility.
"Tomorrow," he muttered to the empty room. "Tomorrow, I begin."
---
The following morning arrived with a grey, overcast sky that promised rain.
Liszt woke early, eschewing Thomas's help to dress himself. He chose practical clothing—leather riding breeches, a simple linen shirt, and a thick wool coat. He left the frilly collars and velvet doublets in the wardrobe. If he was going to inspect a working town, he needed to look like a man who understood work, not a fop playing dress-up.
He descended the stone spiral staircase to the ground floor. The castle was small, more of a fortified manor than a true citadel. It had a moat—currently a stagnant, green sludge-filled ditch—a single drawbridge that hadn't been raised in twenty years, and a crumbling outer wall.
*Carter really has his work cut out for him keeping this place standing,* Liszt thought as he entered the dining hall.
The dining hall was a long, narrow room with a high vaulted ceiling. Tapestries depicting the Tulip Family crest—a golden tulip on a field of blue—hung on the walls, though they were faded and moth-eaten.
Carter, the butler, stood by the sideboard, supervising two maids as they set the table.
"Good morning, Sir," Carter said, bowing with practiced elegance. "You are up early. Breakfast will be served shortly. I have taken the liberty of inviting the tutors as per your request last night."
"Thank you, Carter," Liszt took his seat at the head of the table. "Is the kitchen managing?"
"The supplies are dwindling, Sir," Carter admitted, his face impassive. "We have enough flour for another week, and the preserved meats are running low. However, the cooks have prepared a decent breakfast today."
Liszt nodded. The food situation was critical. He added it to his mental list.
Moments later, the door opened, and the two tutors entered.
Gort, the administrative officer and scholarly tutor, entered first. He was a man of forty-five, with a receding hairline he tried to hide by combing his golden hair forward. He wore a tailcoat that was slightly too tight, giving him the appearance of a puffed-up pigeon. He had been a knight once, but a scandal—rumored to involve cheating at cards or a duel, depending on who was telling the story—had seen him stripped of rank and exiled to the Tulip family as a retainer.
"Ah, Liszt! Up with the sun, I see!" Gort exclaimed, his voice booming in the quiet hall. He smiled broadly, though his eyes remained sharp and calculating. "A remarkable change from your usual... recuperative habits."
"Good morning, Gort," Liszt said evenly.
Behind Gort came Marcus. The knight instructor was a stark contrast to the flamboyant Gort. Marcus was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the silent, coiled grace of a predator. He had a square jaw, close-cropped dark hair, and eyes that seemed to judge everything they saw. He wore simple leather armor, and a longsword hung at his hip.
Marcus was an Earth Knight. In the hierarchy of this world, he was a force to be reckoned with—a warrior who had condensed his Battle Aura into solid form. Yet, he was landless, a commoner who had clawed his way up through talent and blood, only to be assigned as a babysitter for a Baron's useless son.
"Sir," Marcus said, his voice low and gravelly. He nodded once, his face betraying nothing.
"Sit, both of you," Liszt gestured to the chairs to his right and left. "Let's eat."
Breakfast was served—porridge made from oats, a few strips of salty bacon, and bread that was slightly stale. It was a far cry from the feasts Liszt remembered from his modern life, but in this world, this was considered a decent meal for a Baron.
As they ate, Liszt observed his companions.
Gort was making conversation, rambling about the weather and the incoming harvest, but his tone was slightly patronizing, as if speaking to a child. He clearly viewed Liszt as a means to an end—a paycheck and a quiet place to live out his days.
Marcus ate in silence. He chewed methodically, his eyes fixed on his plate. There was a tension in his shoulders, a barely contained frustration. He had been promised glory when he was assigned to the Tulip family. Instead, he was stuck in a backwater, teaching sword forms to a boy who couldn't hold a blade without tripping over his own feet.
*They don't respect me,* Liszt realized. *Gort sees a puppet. Marcus sees a waste of time.*
He needed to change that perception. Starting today.
"Gort," Liszt said, cutting through the man's monologue about the quality of local timber. "I want the census records updated."
Gort paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "The census, Sir? I assure you, the records from three years ago are quite... adequate for taxation purposes."
"They are outdated," Liszt said. "I want to know exactly how many people live in Flower Town. Their names, their trades, their families. I want it on my desk by the end of the week."
Gort blinked, then recovered with a smile. "Of course, Sir. A... most diligent request. I shall see to it personally."
"And Marcus," Liszt turned to the silent knight.
Marcus looked up, his expression flat.
"I want to tour the town today," Liszt said. "I need to see the farmlands, the river access, and the outer boundaries. I need you to escort me. And while we ride, I want you to tell me everything you know about the security situation here. Are there bandits? Beasts? Any threats I should be aware of?"
Marcus raised an eyebrow. For a second, the mask slipped, revealing a flash of surprise. "You wish to inspect the perimeter, Sir? Not just a hunt?"
"Not a hunt," Liszt confirmed. "An inspection. I intend to know every inch of this territory."
Marcus set down his fork. He looked Liszt in the eye, perhaps searching for a sign of the old, lazy Liszt. He found nothing but a steady, calm gaze.
"Understood," Marcus said. He didn't smile, but the stiffness in his posture seemed to relax slightly. "I will have the horses ready within the hour."
"Good."
Liszt leaned back in his chair. The porridge was bland, the bacon was tough, and the castle was cold. But for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt a sense of control.
He had a mission. He had a direction.
*Let's see what Flower Town has to offer.*
---
An hour later, Liszt found himself on horseback, riding alongside Marcus down the winding path from the castle to the town below. The rain had held off, but the air was damp and heavy.
They passed through the outer gate, its iron hinges groaning in protest. The road beneath them was a mixture of packed dirt and gravel, deeply rutted by cart wheels.
"Tell me about the town's defenses," Liszt said as they rode.
"Defenses are non-existent," Marcus replied bluntly. "The town wall is a wooden palisade that would barely stop a determined pig, let alone a raiding party. We have a militia of sorts—twenty men with pitchforks and rusted spears. They drill once a month, if they remember."
"And threats?"
"Bandits in the hills to the west. They mostly target merchant caravans, but they've been getting bolder. And the forest to the north... there are rumors of mutated beasts. Wild boars the size of ponies. Wolves that hunt in daylight."
Liszt frowned. *Mutated beasts. A sign of this world's magical nature.*
"What about the knights? How many do we have?"
"Myself," Marcus said. "And three soldier apprentices who have barely mastered the basics of Battle Aura. If a real threat comes, we cannot protect the entire town. We can only protect the castle."
The bluntness was refreshing, if depressing.
They reached the edge of the town proper. The smell hit Liszt first—a mixture of woodsmoke, unwashed bodies, and animal manure. It was the smell of poverty.
The houses were small, cramped structures made of wood and mud. Thatched roofs sagged under the weight of years. The streets were narrow and muddy, filled with chickens, stray dogs, and half-naked children.
As Liszt rode through, the peasants stopped what they were doing. They looked up with dull, guarded eyes. When they recognized the crest on his coat, they quickly bowed their heads, tugging their forelocks or curtsying.
"My Lord," they murmured.
But Liszt saw the truth in their eyes. They didn't love their Baron. They barely knew him. To them, he was just another mouth to feed, another tax collector in a fancy coat.
*They are starving,* Liszt thought, observing the gaunt faces and the thin limbs. *This isn't just a management problem. This is a crisis.*
He saw a woman drawing water from a communal well. The bucket was leaking. He saw a blacksmith trying to repair a plowshare on a anvil that looked like it had been used for target practice.
And then, the mist appeared again.
It didn't rise from the candle this time. It swirled around the head of a young boy who was running past. The boy didn't notice it, but Liszt did.
The Serpent Script formed instantly.
**[Hidden Clue Detected]**
**Target:** Male Child, Age 7.
**Status:** High Affinity with Water Element.
**Potential:** Suitable for Aquaculture or Water Magic training.
**Note:** A diamond in the rough. Do not overlook the small fry.
Liszt pulled on his reins, bringing his horse to a halt.
He stared at the boy, who skidded to a stop, terrified to see the Baron looking directly at him.
"S... Sir!" the boy stammered, dropping into a clumsy bow.
"What is your name, boy?" Liszt asked.
"M... Micky, Sir. Micky Baker."
"Baker?" Liszt glanced at the woman by the well. "Your mother?"
"Yes, Sir. She... she washes clothes."
Liszt looked at the boy again. *High affinity with water. In a town with a river and no fishery.*
He made a decision.
"Micky," Liszt said, his voice projecting so the onlookers could hear. "I have a task for you."
The boy trembled. "Y-yes, Sir?"
"Go to the castle. Ask for Mr. Carter. Tell him I sent you to help in the kitchens. You will be fed, and your mother will receive a copper coin for your labor today."
The boy's mouth fell open. The people nearby gasped. A job at the castle? Food? A copper coin? It was a fortune to them.
"Go now," Liszt said. "Don't dally."
"Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!" The boy scrambled away, running faster than before.
Marcus watched the exchange, his eyebrow twitching. "That was... unexpected. You noticed something about that boy?"
"I noticed he looked hungry," Liszt replied smoothly, nudging his horse forward. "And I need loyal people. It starts with the young ones."
He didn't mention the mist. He didn't mention the hidden clue.
*This system... it's not just giving me tasks. It's showing me the truth of the world. It's pointing me toward resources I didn't know I had.*
He looked at the muddy streets, the dilapidated houses, the weary faces.
*This is my territory. And I will turn it into a paradise.*
The mission was just beginning.
**[Mission Progress: 5%]**
The Serpent Script flashed briefly in the corner of his vision before fading away.
Liszt smiled.