“All done, your grace,” the maid said as she finished adjusting his collar. “Are you sure this is enough?” she asked shyly. Since he planned on staying in today, he opted for comfort over display. At least, that's what he told her. In truth, the sheer volume of clothing before him was startling. A full formal attire would have felt like indoor wear to him. Instead, he had her help him get dressed in a simple, dark green waistcoat and fine trousers. To anyone who saw him, they might not think he was a duke. But the fact remained he was a simple clothing kind of guy, and wearing formal attire all day in one's own home was a horrifying prospect to him.

“Quite,” he replied with a nod. The maid, a girl named Ruby, had assisted him splendidly. Her help was especially needed in identifying the set of undergarments, little more than long drawers with ties on the ends to keep them from rising when the trousers were pulled over them. Even now, he was wearing two layers: the undershirt, which was essentially a long linen shirt, the waistcoat, and the fine trousers. Additionally, his legs were gently wrapped with some type of cloth that tied the ends of his trousers and his stockings in place before he put on some rather comfortable shoes, shiny and new.

She had managed to dress him well, and he felt rather rich. Of course, a duke needed to be rich, but still, it was his first time wearing such fine threads. It was a little dated for his tastes but more comfortable than he would have thought. Still, you couldn't beat a T-shirt and jeans. “My lord,” Ruby said as she held the door open for him.

“Wha—ah yes,” he coughed, noble thoughts, noble thoughts, “lead the way.” he commanded. He may have had a poor idea of nobility when he lived as a game developer but now that he was one, he was more than happy to adapt to the role.

“My lord?” she questioned.

Shit. Was that a no-go? Isn't a duke supposed to be led by servants and waited on? Or… no, this was his home, wasn't it? That means he's supposed to know where everything is. Crap, all I know is this room, and… there are three doors. Why does a room have three doors? Rich pricks.

Still, it was fine. Two of them had been identified already: the closet and the bedroom door. The third could have been a bathroom, but for some reason, he didn't think so. It would require further exploration later.

“You heard me,” he said, choosing to double down. He reached over her and held the door, “Lead the way.” He smiled. It's not like I know where anything is! Be a good girl and follow orders… wait… yeah… that's a good excuse, right? He smiled as handsomely as he could. “Besides, I’d like to watch you walk.” Okay, that wasn't what I meant to say, he thought, hoping his face was red from the heat and not displaying his embarrassment. The quote was looking good coming and going; all he needed to do was adjust it to match and put some romantic flair on it. How could he flub that?

To his surprise, the maid laughed a little. He couldn't tell if her smile was genuine or not, but it was one that would make him blush all the same. “This way then,” she said, still smiling. Thankfully she turned around before his ears went red. She then led the way. Just before he left the room himself, he caught his reflection in the mirror once more.

“Ah,” a note of understanding rose into the air. Of course, he was quite handsome now. Dashing even. No wonder. Okay, I definitely need to maintain this appearance. Even men would let him get away with some of the most egregious things.

Darting through the door, he followed her. In his old reality, she should have slapped him, or at least verbalized the word "ew." that was always the words, but now, she was leading him down the hall of the manor with a smile and a slight sway to her steps. Soon enough, she was pulling out the dining room chair for him with a seductive smile.

He sat at the head of the rather large table, alone in a room twice the size of his old apartment, with a window on the left side that spanned the full length of the wall, allowing a charming view of the meticulously maintained garden. It was rich, displaying a power of wealth and status that few could enjoy. Very few. He decided that no matter what happened in the future, he would never take this new life for granted.

No sooner had he sat down than a few servants strode forth and delicately placed several plates of food before him. The aroma of luxury dining filled the air, an enjoyable scent that could only be found in a restaurant where dishes weren't left in the sink for weeks before being used again. Eggs, ham, steak, and even some greens resembling broccoli and asparagus. There were also bread, jams, and more. It was far too much for one man to eat alone, yet here it was—all for him.

As this happened, a fine-looking gentleman with silver-blonde hair poured a cup of coffee, the steam rising gently as it filled the delicate porcelain cup. He was impeccably dressed in a dark blue tailcoat that matched his eyes. The coat was draped elegantly over a single-breasted white waistcoat, and his high-collared linen shirt added an air of formality. The rich silk cravat around his neck hinted at a high status, though the new Maxwell didn't know why he knew this or just how high the status was. His dark black trousers reached neatly to his ankles.

He spoke as he worked, "Good morning, my lord. I trust the night has been kind to you?" He did not pause for a reply, continuing seamlessly, "We have a full day ahead, your grace. Three appointments are scheduled, and there is an urgent missive waiting for you in the study. Firstly, a meeting with the Count of Maltese to discuss the recently unearthed iron mine in the Crimea. Following this, Baron Lorance will arrive in the late afternoon to address the unsatisfactory organization and performance of the battalion. Lastly, a representative from the Psychic Guild will attend to finalize the trade agreement."

“Tha—” he coughed again as he picked up the fresh coffee. Remember, noble thoughts. Duke, duke, duke, duck, goose. Ahem. “Understood,” he said with as much disinterest and haughty attitude as he could muster. “I will handle the missive after the meal.” He was, of course, very interested indeed. A missive sounded intriguing, and a mine? He had never dealt with a mine before. Shiny things came out of a mine. Gold, Silver, or perhaps something that could shine bright, like a diamond?

“Of course, your grace,” the well-dressed man said. He must be the butler. Hehehe, I have a butler. Struggling to keep a straight face, Maxwell began to enjoy the food before him. Today is a good day. A great day. Hell, today is just the start and—oh my god. These can't be eggs. Eggs don't taste this good! Maxwell lost himself in the delight of food cooked by an expert chef and not in a microwave.

Enjoying the heavenly meal took longer than usual. When was the last time he had such a good meal? Now he needed to deal with this important missive. Whatever that was. It sounded like a mission—did he have an important mission to complete? He was good at completing missions, at least in video games. Judging by the dress and appearance of everyone around him, his title, and the general state of the manor, mainly the lack of electrical tools, he believed this to be some world in the medieval era, or perhaps a little more developed. Their manner of dress was… Victorian? Those were his only two options since he wasn't really aware of any other periods, and they had electricity there, so it had to be medieval… right? Uh… who cares, modern history wasn't modern anymore! Hehe… “Shit, we don't have Wikipedia here…” he spoke his realization aloud.

“Your Grace?” the butler questioned him as he turned around to view him.

“Just the fatigue of the morning,” he said, shaking his head. “Continue.” He had the man guide him to his office on the pretense that he had a headache this morning. It was a weak excuse, but one meal did not give him the layout of his own home. Not good… not good at all. For now, he hoped he could get by knowing where his room, office, and dining room were. It would be great if that was all he needed to know.

“Of course.” With a nod, the butler continued to lead the way. Soon enough, they arrived at a splendid office. It wasn't ornate beyond reason but well-decorated. The smell of rich wood rose a pleasant taste in the air, something indescribable on the tongue but earthy and satisfying. The light that streamed from the windows was colored slightly by the tint, giving a warm glow around the office and making it feel warm and inviting—nothing like the office he was once shackled to, and that was a home office. He took a breath, taking it all in, and smiled despite himself.

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“Your grace, shall I retrieve the missive now?”

Of course, there was always someone more focused on work than enjoying life. Still, he was looking forward to what this mission was about. Rescuing a princess? Hehe, perhaps this was a magical world, and he could become a great and powerful mage, respected and feared by all. Well, he probably already had enough power as a duke anyway. Besides, magic was only something in storybooks, and he was breathing in the air of reality. A new reality, sure, but reality all the same. There was no magical light keeping the hallways lit, only the sun streaming in from the windows and a few oil lanterns and candles in strategic locations. A shame.

Of course, even if the missive mission was to rescue a princess, he would have the knights under him do it instead of sallying out himself. Yet, he was fine with that. Searching the countryside seemed rather... Well, let's just say he had a new favorite maid and a rather large bed at home. Like a fool he smiled.

“Of course,” he replied, realizing he had been lost in thought for a bit too long. Thankfully, the butler didn't seem to mind. With a nod, the butler retrieved a sealed document from a locked box on the mantle. Meanwhile, Maxwell moved to the desk and enjoyed sinking into the rich, lush leather seat.

“Here you are, your grace.” The envelope the butler retrieved was small, a quarter of the standard paper size he was used to. It wasn't quite a letter, being smaller in width and a tad larger in height. It was sealed with wax and strong string. On the paper opposite the wax was some lettering he wouldn't have recognized in his old world, but thankfully, he seemed able to read it here.

Oh my god, could you imagine having to learn this world's language?

‘Concord - Gracewell,’ it said, penned with an expert hand. An odd address. Given the restriction in the letter, it was a bit… cryptic. A secret message, perhaps? Oh, wouldn't that be fun. But then… what was the proper way to open this letter? The string seemed more metallic than fiber, and the wax bound it all together. Praying to whatever god was on this earth, Maxwell played a hunch. Handing the letter back to the butler, he gave a simple order. “Read it.”

Thankfully, the butler seemed to be expecting this. “So it's verified,” he muttered as he took the letter. Uh, no. It was… paper? How was he supposed to verify something just by looking at it? There was no captcha! As Maxwell was left wondering if there was something he was supposed to do, the butler walked over to the fireplace and retrieved a small silver knife from the mantle. It was placed in such a way that the hilt looked like a decorative piece of art, but when pulled, the blade was revealed. It was a rather unique scabbard.

With the blade warmed by the flame, the butler smoothly ran it over the wax until he found a loop from the string in the seal. Pushing the tip through it, he pulled the string out, revealing a bit of barb to the wire hidden behind the seal. Pulling the string out, he carefully began to remove it. Once he had it, he tossed it into the fire where it burned easily despite its metallic composition.

The butler effortlessly removed the seal with a flourish of the knife, skillfully keeping the wax balanced on its tip. He brought it to his nose, inhaling gently. “Hmm, almonds? It's faint but unmistakable... cyanide, perhaps. How dreadfully lazy.” As he muttered this, he placed the wax into a cup resting beside where he had retrieved the knife. As the wax slowly melted into the existing pool, he returned the knife to its place and proceeded to open the letter.

“Crimson extinguished, a little flame remains,” he read aloud with measured precision. No sooner had he spoken than he cast the note into the fire, watching as it was consumed entirely. “It appears the Wolf has succeeded once more.” He turned his gaze to his master, waiting in silent expectation for a response.

What the actual fu—no, wait, what. What the hell did the word "missive" even mean? This was unfair. It was wrong. How was he supposed to live in this world like this? At least start at the beginning. Most people start at the beginning, right? A bright light and suddenly being held in the arms of a beautiful woman he could call mother!?

He sighed aloud and placed his elbows on the table, resting his head on his folded hands. Okay, let's calm down first. Break it down… crimson extinguished… little flame remains? So something was… extinguished, a fire? But why make it a code? This missive thing was urgent… but what the hell.

“Your Grace, I know it's difficult, but as you said, there was no alternative.” The butler attempted to console him, further deepening his confusion. What on earth do you mean I had no choice? What have you done, Maxwell?

“Still,” the butler continued after a pause, “leaving the young miss alive would be… I comprehend your reluctance to finish a dreadful job, yet leaving her alive in the long term…” he trailed off.

The long run… leaving the young miss alive… Crimson extinguished. He understood now. Someone had been killed, someone with enough influence to require caution. Another noble, it seemed, given the butler's reference to a "young miss." Hopefully, it was true that there was no other option. Killing was something he was adamantly against. Or rather, an idea he was unfamiliar with. War, mystery, and death? That was far away from his sphere of influence. At most, a story in the news. It was something he would have to mull over later. Right now, he had to find out who had been killed, and why.

He chose a blunt approach, leaning back in the chair, striving to appear both relaxed and resolute. Silence echoed painfully in his ears. Still, this was rather important. "Well?" he pressed.

The butler coughed and straightened his posture. There was a note of guarded curiosity in his eye, yet he answered nonetheless. "The Count and Countess of Maygold, Your Grace."

"And why did I order their deaths?" He appeared lazy in his question, but on the inside, he was panicking. Counts were not simple people. Despite how video games and stories labeled them as insignificant characters, they were elites. True men and women of power and honor. No wonder everything was done Mission Impossible style.

The butler's answer was rather… disappointing. "Because they would have spread slander that could have irreparably tarnished the dukedom."

Maxwell stared at the butler, waiting for him to continue, but he held his gaze. Wait. What!? That was it? There was no ‘he threatened to kill you’ or ‘he was conspiring to steal your title,’ just that he would have tarnished the dukedom!? You don't kill people just because they might spread a bad rumor. You certainly don't do it in some shady, cloak-and-dagger, mumbo jumbo, secret squirrel type shit. My god! Do you know what ‘no choice’ means?

Maxwell folded his hand, driving a thumb into his palm. The action helped him keep calm. Unless… There was some truth to the rumor. Then it wasn't a simple matter of tarnishing the dukedom but bringing that truth to the light and perhaps exposing something that would ruin it. Somehow? “And now, the threat is gone,” he replied.

He really needed to know what was going on here. Count and Countess Maygold… what a flowery name… and a familiar one. Perhaps he was remembering something as Maxwell because the name was familiar… there was something…

“What about the daughter?” He knew they had a daughter, somehow. The butler’s "young miss" comment aside, he knew she existed. “Mysti,” a foreign word that means Melody. A note, a hint of a summer flower. “I believe that was her name, yes?”

This was good. If he could recall the duke's memories, he would be better able to adapt to this world. Perhaps there was a rather grave reason he killed them.

“She is currently still at Sunwell Manor. She will be retrieved in a few days.” Sunwell Manor? What a flowery name. And what was this about being retrieved? Although she should be a young girl, she was past the age of 12—15 if he recalled correctly. So why couldn't she remain in her family home? “Once she arrives, we will be able to find anything the Count had on your honorable mother.” Wait, what does my—or his—our? Mother have to do with this? And what is this about when she arrives?

Maxwell wanted to say something but wasn't sure what. There were a lot of questions, but he wasn't sure how much he ‘knew’ already. Probably all of it. It was no doubt that he himself ordered this to happen. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked, hoping this was the first time Maxwell had killed someone like this, meaning there was room to believe he had a moral dilemma about it.

"My lord, the Gravestone name has been built upon honor and dignity. To even entertain such vile notions is utterly unacceptable. If the Count had not been a part of the Liberty Party, perhaps he might have listened to reason. However, you know as well as I that he would have undoubtedly used every fragment of that blasphemous report to tear down the lord's good name." The butler stepped closer, placing a hand over his heart as he bowed. "Your father would have been proud, Your Grace."

“Perhaps,” he replied. Then with a wave of his hand, he ordered, “Leave, I wish to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I shall prepare you a Dutch roast.” With that, the butler left, closing the double doors behind him.

“What the fuck is going on!” Maxwell's calm persona dropped in an instant. Bringing a hand to his head, he rubbed the top, pushing through the silky strands. This was supposed to be a happy day. Isakied or whatevered into a golden spoon! But why was there suddenly murder and intrigue? Why couldn't he just be a happy, overpowered little shit? And the Liberty Party? Excuse me, that sounded like something you call the good guys. Maygold or Gravestone, who would you think was the main character? “What party am I a part of, the Axis?” Maxwell was flustered and confused. There were many oddities happening right now, but one thing he just couldn't overlook was, “And what do the Dutch have to do with this world?”