“Your highness.”

“GWAK!” Atlas jolted awake with a strange sound. He then proceeded to immediately kick away his blanket, fell to the ground, grabbed the oil lantern placed on the table by his side, and remarked, “Aha! You’ve finally revealed yourself assassi–oh, it’s you.” His excitement immediately faded away when he realized the identity of the speaker.

“That is correct,” replied the speaker, Butler Rohm. Taking hold of the blanket that the prince had kicked towards him, Butler Rohm suddenly furrowed his brows.

Bringing the blanket closer, he sniffed at the sheet of fabric. “Lamp oil?” He questioned.

Rubbing his neck, which he had accidentally cramped during his fall, Atlas hummed in reply. “Lamp oil. Soaked in it too.”

“Why is your sheet soaked in lamp oil?” Butler Rohm uncomprehendingly asked. The lamp blanket that he held in his hand, the very same blanket that the little prince had used through the night, was positively soaked in lamp oil. And listening to the prince, it seemed intentional.

“‘Cause I soaked it. And not just that, my clothes too,” Atlas nonchalantly replied while taking a sniff at his wrist. His face immediately warped with disgust. “By the Gods, this stinks. Urgh, I’ve got to take a bath now.”

Unlike the prince, Butler Rohm wasn’t very dismissive of the topic. “Why would you soak your sheets and clothes in lamp oil?” He pressed on. No explanation had to be given about how nonsensical and dangerous such an action was.

“Obviously to protect myself,” The little prince scoffed. “Baron Helm is out of the town on a mission, leaving little old me to stay alone in this lonely manor. It is only natural for me to seek security by resorting to such means.”

“But you weren’t alone,” the middle-aged butler couldn’t comprehend the young prince’s thoughts, “I was here to protect you. Hiding inside that closet at your request.” The butler pointed to the large closet neighboring the desk. He had been there all night keeping an eye on the prince and guarding against potential assailants –not that he believed anyone would dare to attack the prince– at the Baron’s request.

“I know,” the prince pseudo-enthusiastically replied. “This was a backup plan. You know, in case someone, who’s not addressing his superior using the proper honorifics, slips up and fails to do his job.”

“My sympathies,” Butler Rohm dryly replied, unamused.

“You’re supposed to apologize,” Atlas answered, even less amused. The two men then stared at each other with neither blinking their eyes.

A few seconds of the staredown later, Butler Rohm acquiesced to defeat. “You’re very paranoid, your highness.”

“It’s because I have zero faith in you, Butler Rohm,” Atlas smilingly replied. He then let out the yawn that had been stifled within his throat and stretched his arms. Wiping the droplets from the corners of his eyes, he asked, “Why wake me up? What’s the matter?”

“It’s already morning, your highness,” obsequiously replied. He neatly folded the trussed-up blanket in his hands and placed it underneath his armpit, making a note to have it washed later. “Would you like something to eat, your highness?”

“I’ll skip my morning meal.” Atlas dared not to put any food inside his body before having it taste tested by another human being; the role usually championed by Baron Helm. Shame for him to be absent. “I’d like to take a bath instead.”

“I shall prepare it, your highness, alongside a change of clothes. Anything else?” Butler Rohm unenthusiastically asked.

“Yes. Has the rescue party arrived with the miners yet?”

“No, your highness. No messenger arrived announcing their arrival.”

“Looks like something happened over there after all,” Atlas mumbled underneath his breath. Delays usually meant that something had gone wrong. ‘I hope not too many people die. There is already a shortage of manpower as it is.’

“Did you say something, your highness?” Butler Rohm inquired, seemingly having caught a whiff of the little prince’s mumbles.

“Nope. Nothing at all. You can go now. Chop, chop! The early bird gets the worm…” After spewing some nonsensical drivel and driving the troublesome butler out of the office room, Atlas walked over and sat at his desk. Locking his fingers and placing his hands underneath his chin, he adopted a gaze of dead seriousness and began his ponder.

‘I set up such an excellent stage and the fish still didn’t take the bait. This can only mean one thing… the traitor/assassin isn’t among the town-dwellers.’

Whilst he was planning the rescue of the miners, Atlas had a sudden bout of inspiration that caused him to come up with a plan that would help him sieve through the townspeople in his search for the traitor. The plan was quite simple; Send away his publicly-known guardian (Baron Helm) under the guise of leading the rescue party. Spent the rest of the day in the company of the townspeople, making preparations for the rescue party that would eventually return, all while spreading the fact that he was alone, guardian-less, and available in the most vulnerable state possible.

Since the Baron’s manor, Atlas’ place of residence, was isolated from the rest of the town, it would be the perfect setup for the perfect assassination. If an assassin existed amongst the town dwellers, he/she wouldn’t be able to resist such an opportunity.

After all, what could possibly go wrong in this situation? The target was a little kid who looked like he weighed less than a sack of grains.

While that was how the situation appeared from a layman’s perspective, Atlas was neither vulnerable nor helpless.

Prior to the Baron’s departure, he had already ordered the man to instruct his faithful servant, Butler Rohm, to hide away inside the closet within his office and protect the prince. This way, should the assassin arrive to assassinate the prince, he/she would be caught unaware and be swiftly taken down by the butler.

It went without saying that Atlas never explained the scheme behind his plan to anyone. Had he done so, Baron Helm would’ve never agreed to it.

‘That aside, imagine my surprise when I learned that Butler Rohm was also a Knight. It seems that I have inadvertently gathered two knights around me. Huhuhu~ That protagonist halo really is doing something for me,’ Atlas gloated for a second, before shaking his head in regret. ‘Unfortunately, neither one is ideal; one’s an obsessive crybaby and the other is an unfaithful sociopath.’

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

(AN: The word ‘Knight’ here and hereafter refers to the profession/title. They are different from ‘Warriors’ and ‘Soldiers,’ and are of a higher level; goes without saying that they are stronger than the two. So when you see the word ‘Knight,’ think ‘military officer’ in terms of position, and ‘can beat five regular warriors to death’ in terms of power.)

Of course, Atlas’ schemes did not stop there. Being the ball of paranoia that he is, he planned a backup plan to supplement the main one. Just in case.

As pointed out by Butler Rohm earlier, the backup plan was dousing himself –clothes and blanket– in lamp oil. This way, should the butler fail in his duty, Atlas would at least have the satisfaction of dragging down the assassin to hell.

‘If I’m going down, I’m taking you down with me!’ Atlas did his best impression of the character while repeating those lines. Satisfied, he then turned serious once again. ‘Though, now that I think about it, my ‘Fiery Embrace of Sweet Death’-plan is shallow and full of holes. What if I weren’t able to reach the oil lantern in time? What if the assassin used poison to flood the room? What if he used a crossbow? Wait, do crossbows exist in this era?’ He would have to look into that later.

All in all, the lack of an assassination attempt confirmed that the current town dwellers did not include any traitorous rebels out to claim his head. Atlas had effectively sieved through roughly half of the town’s population. They were innocent.

‘That only leaves behind the ones that are not present in the town. Ninety (90) miners, the rescue party members, and of course, Scout Team #1.’ Atlas had not forgotten about those missing scouts. That dastardly group of liars had yet to return.

Leaning back on his chair, Atlas placed his hands behind his head. He immediately moved to regret that action for the strong scent of the lamp oil plastered on his skin and clothes stirred his stomach. A strong sense of nausea immediately assaulted him.

‘How did I sleep through this last night?’ He would never know.

Ignoring his growing sense of vomit, Atlas placed his thoughts on the big picture once again. His scheme had worked. The loyalty of the population was sieved and the search pool for the assassin had tremendously shrunk. To top it all off, he came under no actual harm during the process either. It was a victory, all around.

And yet, Atlas wasn’t satisfied. A gaping sense of disappointment filled him.

‘To stake your life on such a shoddy, half-assed scheme… O’ Atlas, you disappoint me. You’re better than this. You’re supposed to be better than this.’ Atlas admonished himself. ‘You’ve come out successful in this gamble, but who’s to say that you’ll succeed again? You’re not even a good gambler in the first place.’

‘To live life once again, in a magic world, no less. How many others can boast of such an opportunity?’ Grasping the sides of his armrests, Atlas pressed. ‘I have to do better. I have to take care of this hidden threat. I have to finish growing this town and start reclaiming my kingdom. I have to expand and create an empire!’

‘If I’m faltering here at beginner town, how am I supposed to face those Demi-Gods and ancient monstrosities out there, in the world explained by that Shadow Monarch? How can I become an emperor, if I can’t even deal with one measly assassin?’

‘I must grow my power. I need to create a dedicated powerbase. I need subordinates whom I can unreservedly trust, who will never betray me, and faithfully complete all my orders, both moral and immoral!’

But how could such people exist? Humans are innately unfaithful and sinful creatures after all. Atlas’ demands for subordinates were impossible to meet.

Reaching out with his right hand, Atlas opened a drawer on his desk. Neatly packed inside was a stack of parchments filled to the edges with strange symbols and mysterious writing. The characters written on these sheets looked unworldly and arcane.

Looking at this stack of parchments, a wry smile appeared on Atlas’ face. ‘I’ll have to resort to this, huh?’

When he arrived on this world, Atlas believed that he was denied a cheat that was part and parcel with protagonists like him. His lack of discovery during his self-appraisal and his subsequent meeting with the Shadow Monarch only reinforced this belief.

He did not possess the blood of an ancient god –to his knowledge that is.

He did not possess a convenient pocket grandpa –apparently, such things didn’t exist in this world.

Hell, he was even rudely told that he possessed no talent for wizardry –this was blatant nonsense. It was obviously the Shadow Monarch that possessed no talent to test him!

The fact that he possessed no cheat was a sore spot for a while. However, that quickly came to pass when he arrived in the town. Atlas DID, in fact, receive a cheat. He was simply too caught up in the other circumstances surrounding his sudden transmigration, causing him to ignore his cheat.

What is his cheat, you ask? Why, it was his abnormal comprehension of foreign languages!

Meeting monsters for the first time, he automatically spoke their language!

Meeting the denizens of this world for the first time, he spoke their language too!

Once was a coincidence, but twice… that was a pattern. Clearly, there was some strange power at work that allowed him to speak the native languages of this new world without any prior learning. Sure, he couldn’t read or write in their languages but those parts could be easily learned with his inhuman brain.

To comprehend and speak any and all languages, such a cheat seemed unworthy of the ‘cheat’ status at first glance. It probably was unworthy of the ‘cheat’ status. However, for Atlas, this was the most suitable cheat that he could’ve received.

(‘Actually, I would’ve taken the ‘Infinite Mana’ or ‘Can Kill a Literal God in One Punch’ cheat, if I had been offered them. Honestly, I would've even settled for a system or something of that sort.’)

This cheat allowed Atlas to finally complete a certain ‘language’. A ‘language’ that, if his mentor’s words were to be believed, would enable him to take control of the world and stand unchallenged at the peak, never to fall and never to be betrayed.

‘’A language that will enable you to take control of the entire world’. Honestly, when I say it out loud like that, it sounds dumb and full of sh*t. However…’ Atlas reached for the stack of parchments. ‘There is no harm in trying, I guess.’

Leafing through the sheets, he thought to himself, ‘My mentor handed me the initial script in its incomplete form and asked me to complete it. I spent a lifetime on it, yet never did. It was only after coming to this world and receiving that cheat, combined with learning the script of this world that I managed to improve upon my mentor’s script and make some tremendous breakthroughs. However… is it really complete? How can you even judge a language to be complete? What does it mean to be complete?’

He had asked these exact same questions to his mentor during their final meeting. To which, his damned mentor had replied, ‘You’ll know when it’s complete.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean!?’ Atlas barked. Unfortunately, the opportunity to ask that question had long since passed.

Tapping the stack against the desk’s surface to even them out, he decided. ‘I need to test this out. To see if the claims made by my mentor stand true, or were simply horsecr*p spewed by an insane person.’

Who should he test it on though? Just as Atlas was pondering this question, the door to his office swung open, revealing Butler Rohm.

“Your Highness, we have a problem.” His face showed a grave expression.

‘Hey, look. This fella can show his emotions on his face. And here I thought that he had facial paralysis or something.’ Of course, the first thought that popped into Atlas’ head was pure nonsense.