The sun slowly dipped toward the horizon, staining the grimy glass of the study in crimson tones. Ludwig was expected to appear soon. The thought that he might flee with the money seemed unlikely. Escape would be a foolish move for the manager, and Ludwig was anything but a fool. The mention of the scaffold had seared itself too deeply into his memory.
"Now he will crawl back, even if he has to collect those coins from across the entire city," Victor thought.
At the appointed hour, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Ludwig stumbled into the room, breathing heavily. The manager's appearance was piteous. His face resembled a gray, crumpled rag, his jacket hung wide open, and his tie had slid somewhere under his ear. Clumps of manure clung to his boots, filling the office with a sickening stench.
With a dull thud, he dropped a heavy leather pouch onto the edge of the desk. The gold inside chimed sweetly. It was the only nice sound on this long day.
"It's... all here, my Lord," he uttered, wiping sweat with his sleeve. "Three hundred crowns for the horses and another fifty from me... a gesture of goodwill, so to speak. I have corrected all the errors in the calculations."
Victor's gaze slid over the pouch. His fingers itched treacherously. An urgent need surged in him to dump the coins and stack them into neat towers of ten.
"Steady. Now is not the time for a perfectionist fit. If I show greed or weakness, the image I've created will collapse like a house of cards," he checked himself.
"A gesture of goodwill?" Victor gave a short smirk. "To call the return of stolen property 'goodwill'... You are remarkably presumptuous, Ludwig."
He untied the drawstring. The gold gleamed dully in the light of the dying candle. Victor scooped up a handful of coins, feeling their pleasant weight, and allowed them to slowly filter through his fingers.
"It is not enough, Ludwig."
The manager turned so pale he seemed almost transparent in the gathering dusk.
"M-my Lord? I swear, that is everything I had on hand!"
"What's missing is your honest confession about the blacksmith and the overseer."
Victor leaned forward. With a sharp flick of his fingers, he extinguished the candle. The sudden gloom and dancing shadows turned his face into the motionless mask of a dead man.
"You didn't think I would limit myself to your pocket, did you? I know about every piece of iron and every sack of grain that left for the neighbors under the cover of night. Do not try to play hide-and-seek with me; it will end badly."
Ludwig could not withstand the pressure. He stumbled and fell to the floor, almost hitting his forehead on the big desk.
"I beg of you... Lord Hellsworth... They forced me! I was simply doing what they asked..."
"Stand up. I have no interest in your sniveling. I need your utility. Since you have become so skilled at thievery, you will now seek out those who steal from me."
Victor pushed a pre-prepared list toward him.
"By noon tomorrow. A full report on every crown for the past three years. With dates and names. If even one person I know about is missing from that list—you will go to the gallows in their stead. Consider this your final chance at redemption."
"Y-yes... yes, my Lord. Everything will be done!" Ludwig cried out, scurrying toward the exit.
"Dismissed. And don't forget to wash; you reek of the stables."
When the door slammed shut behind the manager, Victor froze, counting ten seconds. Only when the echo of footsteps in the corridor finally died away did he allow his shoulders to slump.
"Finally... I think I managed. At least for today," he exhaled, feeling cold sweat trickling down his back.
His body, tired from years of the last owner's drinking, protested with each moment of forced sobriety. He felt sick. His head throbbed, and everything ached. He wanted to apologize to the kids for the "original" bastard's antics.
Any attempt to show kindness now would be perceived as the ultimate form of mockery. Victor knew that to them, he was a monster who could snap at any moment. Years of tyranny are not erased by a single breakfast.
A memory from the body's past washed over Wu Jin, so vivid that the tips of his own fingers stung from an imaginary heat. He remembered an episode from this body's memory.
A small library, the smell of scorched leather, and Ethan's scream. Back then, the old Victor was furious. The boy had taken a book without asking. In his anger, Victor almost burned his fingers over a candle flame. Now it was clear why the boy flinched at every rustle.
"Bastard," Victor confirmed.
His gaze fell once more upon the scattered gold. The itch beneath his skin became unbearable, turning into genuine torture. Now that there were no witnesses left, he no longer held back.
His fingers flew over the table with frightening speed. Coin to coin. The obsessive itch faded when the three hundred and fifty gold crowns turned into thirty-five perfect, identical towers. His obsessive-compulsive disorder was the only anchor keeping his mind from collapsing into the abyss.
However, exhaustion was taking its toll. Gray spots floated before his eyes, and his stomach twisted with spasms of nausea. He desperately needed to lose himself in sleep, if only for a few hours.
Victor placed the gold in the pouch and locked it in the desk drawer. Then, he left the office and walked through the dim corridor. The flickering torchlight made the shadows on the walls move like living creatures. A silhouette flickered ahead. Little Leon. The boy pressed against the wall, hoping his father, often dead drunk, would walk by and not see him.
"Why are you not in bed?"
Victor's voice sounded sharper than he had intended. Leon flinched, his lips trembled, and his fingers gripped a tattered toy even tighter. Victor stepped closer. His sharp gaze, focused on detail, quickly spotted a flaw. The child's shirt had its top button in the second loop. This made the fabric twist into a messy, uneven fold.
To Victor, this was akin to physical pain.
"Come here."
The boy took a step, his knees knocking together from terror. Victor dropped to one knee, bringing himself to his son's eye level.
"If you cannot even handle your own clothing, how do you expect to survive in a world that is only waiting for the chance to devour you?" he said quietly.
His fingers moved quickly and precisely. Unfasten. Align. Thread. Once the button occupied its rightful place, Victor smoothed the collar with his palm.
"Go to your room. And if I see you in such a state tomorrow, I will order all your toys to be taken away."
Leon, not waiting for a second command, bolted away. Victor watched him leave. Guilt from the body's past owner stirred inside him, mixing with his own exhaustion.
Soon he entered the bedroom. The servants, clearly terrified by his actions this morning, had scrubbed the room until it sparkled. The strong smell of vinegar filled Victor's nose. He found it much nicer than the heavy taste of old alcohol. He fell onto the fresh sheets without undressing. The darkness wrapped around him.
The morning echoed heavily in his head. Victor sat up in bed and smoothed a wrinkle on the blanket. Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open without warning. Kyle stood on the threshold. He was the embodiment of slovenliness. His disheveled hair, dusty boots, and dark circles under his eyes showed he had a sleepless night.
"Your report."
Kyle carelessly tossed a scroll onto the bed. The parchment fell askew, disrupting the neat line of the blanket Victor had just smoothed. His eye twitched involuntarily.
"Fix yourself, Kyle. You look like a coachman after a week-long binge."
His son only bared his teeth in a snarl, turned, and left, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Apparently, dealing with the eldest would be more difficult given his temperament. Victor had to stay alert. He needed to keep everything in control. Otherwise, the boy might stab him in the back at the first chance.
Victor sighed and unfurled the scroll.
The reading took about half an hour. The results were depressing. Out of forty guards, only twelve could be called combat-ready. The rest were either frail old men living out their days or mere youths. The armory was empty, the armor eaten away by rust, and the horse feed supply would last two weeks at most.
"Death at the hands of his own children. That is the ending prepared for the original Victor," he mused, looking out the window at the training grounds.
According to the plot, Kyle was supposed to plunge a sword into his heart right here in this bedroom. And Evelyn... she would set the manor on fire so that ash would erase the very memory of their tyrant father. In the future, they would turn into monsters. Their names would be whispered in fear across the continent.
"But if I change the conditions of their survival... If I give them resources instead of hatred... Perhaps they will hesitate with the sentence. Kyle hates me, but he is attached to this house and fears for the younger ones. That is the leverage I can use."
Victor went down to the courtyard. Servants froze and pulled their heads into their shoulders at his appearance. He went out to the guards, whom Kyle had already lined up in a row. Victor instantly caught a defect. The fourth soldier in the second row had a shoulder piece hanging crookedly.
For a man in his condition, the world was literally splitting at the seams from this tiny asymmetry.
"Into formation."
"What?"
His son frowned in confusion.
"You are the commander of this... misunderstanding. Stand at the head. Or do you believe that discipline is meant only for your subordinates?"
Kyle gritted his teeth but obeyed.
However, his obedience was merely superficial, as his uncomprehending gaze betrayed utter bewilderment. He couldn't understand why his father had called them together today. This confusion bothered him more than the order itself.
Victor walked along the line. The silence was so deep that the sound of his footsteps seemed like claps of thunder. He stopped in front of the poor soul with the crooked armor.
"What is your name?"
"H-hans, my Lord..."
The soldier squeezed his eyes shut, instinctively expecting a blow.
But no blow came. Victor reached out and adjusted the shoulder strap. He positioned it perfectly horizontal. Then he moved on, straightening crooked belts and fixing collars. Finishing his rounds, he stood before Kyle. In his son's eyes, fury had been replaced by absolute bewilderment.
"From today, the guards' rations are doubled. Manager Ludwig has 'found' additional funds. Everyone is to be issued new boots and a change of linens."
Without giving Kyle a chance to say a word, Victor turned and headed back to the house. He sensed many eyes on him, trying to figure out who now controlled their old Lord's body.