While Kylian was savoring this moment, his arms still encircling Lyra's waist, the door opened without anyone bothering to knock, and a middle-aged man entered the room.
The butler had a severe face, his features etched by years of flawless service. His black uniform was impeccably pressed.
"Sorry, young master," he announced in a neutral but firm voice, "but the count is very angry."
He paused, his eyes lingering coldly on Lyra. The young woman, who had been nestled against Kylian, stiffened instantly.
"Lady Lyra, please," the butler continued, his voice leaving no room for discussion, "would you leave..."
Lyra looked up at Kylian, her gaze betraying some disappointment. Then she got dressed in the bathroom before leaving the room.
"I will see you soon, Lord Kylian," she murmured as she headed toward the door, her hand brushing his in a final gesture of affection. "Take care of yourself."
The door closed behind her, leaving Kylian alone facing the butler.
"Young master," the man resumed, his tone becoming graver, "the count is waiting for you in his office."
Kylian ran a hand through his white hair, trying to gather his thoughts.
"Alright... I will be there in a few minutes," he replied, making an effort to keep his voice calm. "Tell my father I will not be long."
The butler bowed his head and then left the room as well.
He headed to the bathroom and plunged into the bathtub, the heat enveloping his frail and tired body. His sore muscles gradually relaxed, while the memories continued to flood his mind.
"I really need to think about my next actions," he repeated to himself while closing his eyes. "I cannot act day by day. This world is dangerous, and I am vulnerable."
He dressed carefully, choosing a sober outfit after all his wardrobe mainly consisted of black clothes. A white shirt with wide sleeves, black pants, and a jacket with silver embroidery. He checked his reflection in the mirror, making sure every detail was in place, that his appearance would betray nothing of the worry that inhabited him.
"Come on keep calm... It will go well... Luckily I have all these memories..." he murmured to himself.
He left his room and walked down the long corridors of the manor.
At the turn of a gallery, he passed several servants who bowed respectfully as he went by. He returned their greeting with a simple nod.
He arrived in front of a heavy door. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and knocked three firm times. A deep voice answered from inside.
"Enter."
Kylian pushed the door and entered the office. The room was vast, lit by a large window that offered an unbeatable view of the manor's gardens. Shelves covered with books and parchments ran along the walls. A large desk stood in the center, covered with neatly organized documents.
Behind this desk stood a man in his thirties. He had white hair and a well-trimmed beard framing a face with marked features. His blue eyes, of an icy coldness, stared at his only son with an intensity that promised nothing good.
It was Henrik Von Hansen, the head of the wealthy county of the kingdom of Olympe. His reputation preceded him: a ruthless businessman with political power not to be underestimated.
"For all these years," the count began in a low voice, "you have been acting strangely with black leather clothes..."
He rose from his armchair and walked around his desk, approaching Kylian.
"I have never reprimanded you," he continued, his gaze never leaving his son's. "You were born without a lineage, which is already a shame for our family. In any other noble house, a child without a lineage would have been banished. But I kept you. I gave you an education, a position and my fortune."
He stopped two steps away from Kylian, his arms crossed.
"So tell me why," he insisted, his voice rising a notch. "Why?"
Kylian remained frozen, his mind desperately searching for an answer to give.
"Why do you make my task so complicated, ungrateful son!" the count finally exploded, his voice resounding in the room like a thunderclap.
"Uh... I am sorry, father..." he murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
The count paced back and forth in the room. He stopped in front of the window.
"You are doing everything to ruin the engagement with the princess," he shook his head.
Kylian raised his head, his eyebrows furrowed. An engagement with the princess? What was he talking about? He searched in his memories, and suddenly the information surfaced, clear and precise.
In the game, Kylian von Hansen was indeed engaged to the princess of the kingdom, a political alliance arranged by the two families. But the character did not care, preferring ephemeral pleasures to dynastic responsibilities.
"I will no longer commit these reckless acts, father," he replied in a voice he tried to make convincing. He raised his eyes, meeting his father's cold gaze. "I promise you."
The count stared at him for a long time.
"Good..." he finally said, his voice betraying a deep weariness. "I hope so."
He returned to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small purse.
"I suppose your pocket money is starting to run out... Do not dare waste it on frivolities, as you usually do."
He sat down in his armchair, his gaze turning away from his son as if he had already forgotten him.
"Now, get out."
Kylian approached the desk, took the purse.
"Thank you, father," he replied before heading toward the door.
'Contrary to what one might think,' he realized, 'the count loves his son more than anything. After the countess's death, he only has him left. That is why he spoiled him so much, why he gave him everything without ever reprimanding him. And that is also why the character developed this rather unpleasant personality.'
He let out a long sigh, his thoughts gradually organizing. There was one heroine and five villainesses. But since there was probably no player, that meant the six were villainesses who would follow their initial trajectories. Each of them, left to herself, would succumb to her worst instincts, becoming more and more dangerous.
'And even if I know the future of this world, it is impossible to know what turn it will take, because there was no heroine to guide the story,' he told himself as he walked along the corridor.
"Without a player to make choices, anything is possible."
"So I should really do everything possible to steer the villainesses away from their bad path," he decided. "Help them find another way. It is the only way to survive in this world."
But a bitter thought came to darken his resolutions.
'I am really weak right now. No different from a normal human. And even worse, I do not even feel the ether...'
He sighed, running a hand through his white hair. Without a lineage, without power, without the ability to manipulate the energy that permeated this world, he was easy prey.
"Anyway, there is no point in moping," he told himself while rolling up his sleeves. "I will do my utmost to improve this physique, and then I will think about how to compensate for my lack of lineage."
In the following days, Kylian put his plan into action. After each lesson with his tutor, he devoted himself to intensive physical training. He ran in the gardens, lifted weights, did muscle exercises in the manor's training room. His muscles, previously atrophied by a life of softness and pleasures, began to strengthen. His body, although still frail, gained tone and endurance.
...
At the other end of the world, beyond the sea, lay the continent of Assiah. This territory was known as the sworn enemy of humanity.
The Chimeric Empire stretched as far as the eye could see, a vast domain of arid lands and steep mountains. The cities there were built in volcanic craters. Rivers of lava flowed through the valleys, lighting the night with a red and threatening glow. The flora there was rare and resilient, composed mainly of thorny plants capable of surviving in extreme conditions.
In the center of this empire stood the great palace, a monstrous structure made of obsidian and black metal. Towers rose toward the sky and stone gargoyles stood guard on the ramparts.
In the throne room, a woman stood before an immense bay window. She had long black hair that cascaded down her back, and a slender silhouette. Her skin, of a deep black, contrasted with her hair and her striking silver eyes. Black claws, sharp as blades, adorned her fingers, and a blood-red armor covered her body, made of dragon scales and metal plates.
She was impressive, majestic, terrifying. None other than the Empress of the Chimeras, the only descendant to have awakened the lineage of Tiamat: Ereshkigal Sin Astarte.
She contemplated her vast territory, her silver eyes scanning the lands she had unified. Seven chimeric tribes, once in perpetual war, had gathered under her banner.
She was lost in her thoughts when a luminous signal appeared in the corner of her eye.
[ Sadodere System activated
Kidnap the fiancé of Princess Avery.
Reward: awakening of the fourth stigmata. ]