Having killed his uncle, Aiden stood in the middle of the room, emotionless.
Blood had stained his coat, though his shirt remained pristine.
He discarded the coat on the sofa and headed toward the door. Once outside, he locked it and pocketed the key.
There, he spotted a confused Abraham waiting in front of the double doors, wondering why the room had been locked.
As soon as Abraham saw him, he rushed forward. "Young Master, how was your conversation with the master?" He made no effort to hide that his "master" was Aiden's uncle.
Observing the irritating old man, Aiden briefly entertained murderous thoughts, but he knew he couldn't act on them—not yet.
Even though Abraham looked like he had one foot in the grave, he was a retired warrior. As the saying goes, "a starving camel is still bigger than a dog."
But that didn't stop Aiden from wanting to teach him a lesson.
His patience had worn thin, and his eyes, usually calm and calculating, now burned with a fiery intensity.
"Do you think I tolerate insolence because my father is no longer here?" Aiden's voice was low, controlled, but filled with anger.
Abraham swallowed nervously, stepping back, but it was too late.
SMACK.
The sharp sound of the slap echoed through the grand hall. Abraham staggered, eyes wide in shock, but before he could recover, Aiden stepped closer, looming over him.
"Who are you to question your master?" he said, rubbing his burning palm.
"Remember your place," Aiden hissed coldly. "You serve me now. Forget that again, and the consequences will be far worse."
The butler's head remained bowed, a red mark blooming across his cheek. "Y-yes, young master," he stammered, voice trembling.
"Call all of my father's aides. Tell them my uncle is calling for an emergency meeting. They must be here in no more than half an hour," Aiden ordered, still seething.
Without waiting for a response, Aiden turned his back, dismissing Abraham like an insect beneath his boot.
The old butler kept his head bowed, muttering a submissive, "Yes, young master." But inside, bitterness churned.
'This boy thinks he can intimidate me?' Abraham seethed, jaw clenched in anger. 'He's nothing without his father. Just a spoiled brat pretending to be a noble.'
The red mark on his face stung, but it wasn't the physical pain that burned—it was the humiliation. Being struck by someone he had always viewed as beneath him.
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To Abraham, Aiden was still the weak, pathetic child he had despised for years. His new arrogance, this sudden attempt to assert control, only deepened the butler's disdain.
'Let him have his moment,' Abraham thought, fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. 'His reign won't last. When the time comes, I'll watch him fall—just like his father.'
As Aiden disappeared from view, Abraham straightened, masking his hatred behind a face of compliance.
When Aiden finally reached his room, he let out a deep sigh of relief. Luckily, that sack of bones hadn't noticed anything amiss.
In truth, Aiden would've been surprised if Abraham had suspected anything. His behavior wasn't perfect, but everything aligned with how Aiden had acted before.
Collapsing onto the king-sized bed in the center of the room, Aiden exhaled a long breath. The soft mattress made him feel like he was floating on clouds.
He closed his eyes—they burned from exhaustion, his body suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier. He had been acting as though he were fine, but the fatigue from the journey was severe.
He was running on pure will.
Despite the overwhelming desire to sleep, Aiden knew he couldn't relax yet. His plan had only just begun.
Reflecting on what had just happened, Aiden felt conflicted.
"It was my first kill," he muttered, "and I didn't feel any remorse."
It was unsettling. He felt like some sort of sociopath, devoid of emotions. But he knew that wasn't true.
In his previous world, he had been cold and detached, but he had never killed anyone, nor had he wanted to.
He'd mentally prepared for the idea of taking lives, knowing it would happen eventually. Normally, someone would feel fear, maybe even revulsion, after their first kill.
But when he had killed his uncle, it felt natural. The world had turned gray in that moment, as if what he had done was simply inevitable. He hadn't felt like he had killed a human being—just something insignificant.
In fact, he remembered feeling exhilarated by it, a rush of power coursing through his veins like never before.
"Maybe it's because I knew my uncle wanted to harm me," he rationalized. "Or because I see the people here as mere fictional characters."
Now that he had calmed down, the gravity of his actions hit him.
"That was really dangerous," he muttered, clutching his head.
His uncle had not been particularly strong, but he was still a warrior. Had his uncle reacted faster, Aiden would have been the one lying dead. As a rank 2 warrior, his uncle could have easily overpowered him.
In this world, people could become warriors, mages, or priests—depending on their constitution and talents.
There were many classes, but all followed the same ranking system, from rank 1 to rank 9, with 1 being the lowest and 9 only heard in legends.
Only a few geniuses could fight someone ranked higher than themselves, and even then, only at lower levels. At higher ranks, level difference became absolute.
Of course, the Hero was an exception. With all his power-ups, he could easily fight people two ranks above him, an unbalanced existence in every sense.
Aiden, weaker than a normal person, had only succeeded in killing his uncle because the man had never imagined such an attack was possible. Had his uncle suspected anything, Aiden would have failed.
Killing his uncle hadn't been part of the plan.
Initially, Aiden had intended to deal with him within the first month. That would have left him with two months to stabilize his power and form a terrorist group with the Marquisate's wealth.
But now, thinking about it, he realized it didn't matter. In fact, it had accelerated his plans. His uncle was dead, and now he only had to deal with the corrupted officials.
But there was still one major problem—money.
The towns and villages he had passed on his journey were in ruins. Typically, a marquis would have control over vast lands, but due to his father's execution for corruption, their territory had been shrinking, devoured by neighboring fiefdoms.
His uncle had been trying to fix the mess, but even he had been destined to fail.
"In the original novel, my uncle signed a deal with the Demon Lord when he couldn't solve the territory's problems," Aiden mused.
From the state of things, Aiden knew just how bad the situation was.