In the span of a single instant, Kyle envisioned countless potential outcomes for this encounter.

The strange man might blanch in terror and flee. He might lunge at Kyle, knife flashing, leading to a desperate struggle. With luck, some member of House Lither would come bursting in to subdue the intruder…

Eyeing that gleaming blade, Kyle harbored no illusions about the man's intent.

Ill intent? More like murderous intent.

Arson, assault and battery seemed well within the realm of possibility.

In that frozen moment, Kyle's mind suddenly kicked into overdrive. What to do? Try to fight him off? Not bloody likely - in his scrawny, freshly-isekai'd body, taking the man head-on would be tantamount to assisted suicide.

Scream for help, then? Probably his best bet, certainly better than trying to brain the blighter with a water sphere. Though who could say if any guards were close enough to respond in time…

But just as he was about to let loose a mighty bellow, his knife-wielding visitor did something that defied all expectation.

He responded to Kyle's inane observation.

"Nay, I slept quite soundly. And I am not one for moonlit constitutionals. This is no fruit knife, sir, but a proper dagger. I've not once employed it for culinary ends. I imagine that would prove rather unwieldy."

"…"

Come again?

Was the man trying to make small talk? Should he recommend a good paring knife for precision citrus work?

Kyle found himself at a loss for words, unable to formulate a response.

"Then wherefore art thou skulking about at this ungodly hour instead of abed?" The AI piped up in Kyle's mind, its diction suddenly veering into the realm of community theater Shakespeare.

Still reeling, Kyle repeated the question aloud without thinking.

The man's reply was blunt and to the point:

"I am an assassin, sir. We of the shadowed profession ply our trade solely under cover of night."

"…"

Once again, Kyle was left speechless.

Well, yes, he supposed assassins WOULD tend to ply their grisly trade after dark. Hard to argue with that logic.

"Oh, I like him! So refreshingly forthright!" The AI suddenly gushed, its affected Early Modern English accent slipping in its enthusiasm.

Kyle felt the urge to projectile vomit. He wanted to reach into his own skull and forcibly uninstall the AI like a corrupted program.

Despite the man's chilling pronouncement, he had yet to actually ATTACK. But who could say what would happen next? The intruder's thought process was clearly not operating within the same sphere as a rational man's.

So what now? Judging by the man's expectant stare, he almost seemed to be waiting for Kyle to continue the conversation.

Fearing a sudden stabbing if he let the dialogue lapse, Kyle forged ahead:

"So… whom, precisely, art thou here to slay?"

The words left his mouth and Kyle immediately wanted to kick himself.

His small talk game had officially reached its nadir.

If the man replied with "I am here to kill THEE, obviously," Kyle's only possible retort would be "Then wherefore hast thou not done the deed?" To which he'd surely say "Oh, a fair point," and then it would be all clashing steel and spurting lifeblood, the end, please deposit another coin to continue.

Once again, Kyle's ability to dig his own grave was truly without equal.

He readied himself to cry out for aid one final time.

But he really should have learned by now - his dagger-happy new acquaintance's responses were IMPOSSIBLE to anticipate.

"I am come to slay Benjamin Lither," the man stated plainly.

Kyle did a double take, the cry for help dying stillborn in his throat.

Benjamin Lither…

Who in the seven Hells was that?

In that instant, he realized this entire situation had just swerved wildly off course, careening in a direction he couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I am not Benjamin Lither. I am Grant Lither," Kyle said slowly, brow furrowed in confusion.

At this, the assassin looked equally perplexed. He lowered his knife hand, scratching his pate with the other as he squinted up at the ceiling, for all the world like a jester trying to recall a half-forgotten limerick.

Kyle had rarely felt so adrift. He said nothing, merely staring at the man in mute bewilderment.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, the assassin finally spoke.

"Oh. Pray forgive me, milord. It would appear I have entered the wrong bedchamber."

"…"

Kyle wondered if he hadn't actually fallen asleep after all. Surely this bizarre encounter could only be taking place in the realm of Morpheus. If so, it was hands down the most surreal dream he'd ever experienced, even more incoherent than the time he'd imagined his employer spouting magical girl incantations.

Was this some cosmic jest at his expense? He'd like to have words with the jester, if you please.

"I don't suppose milord knows which chamber I might find Benjamin Lither in, perchance?" The assassin inquired in earnest.

"… I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest."

"I see. Well, the fault is mine entire. A thousand pardons for the intrusion. I shall take my leave anon. Fare thee well!"

"… Safe travels."

Sheathing his blade, the assassin sketched a jaunty bow before turning on his heel and quitting the bedchamber… thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

Kyle found himself at a loss for words, unsure where to even begin picking apart the bizarre encounter.

"Ah, what a kind and noble soul he is," the AI gushed.

"… Feel free to go be HIS onboard AI system, then," Kyle retorted dryly.

In all honesty, if this assassin and his malfunctioning digital companion could converse, Kyle had no doubt they'd get along famously.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Alas, I fear his intellect is simply not up to snuff. The man can't even keep straight whom he's meant to be murdering! Such a waste of my prodigious talents, to play nursemaid to one so hopelessly adrift," the AI sniffed.

Kyle had no desire to further engage with the glitching software.

Extricating himself from the sheer absurdity of the situation, a new worry began to gnaw at him. Though the immediate, if inexplicable, danger seemed to have passed, the fact remained that an ASSASSIN had just waltzed into his bedchamber bold as brass. Granted, the killer seemed a few cards short of a full deck, but could Kyle really proceed as if nothing had happened? What did it say about House Lither's vaunted security that armed men could simply traipse about in the dead of night accosting the nobility?

And what of this "Benjamin Lither" fellow the would-be murderer sought? Judging by the shared surname, the man was clearly no commoner. What if the addlepated cutthroat actually managed to locate the right room and do the deed? How should Kyle respond to such an eventuality?

"We must put a stop to this madness," Kyle declared to the AI, seized by sudden conviction.

"Oh, come off it. The man's already gone - there's no call to go LOOKING for trouble," the AI chided.

"It's not a matter of courting trouble - what if he truly does manage to kill this 'Benjamin Lither'? I can hardly pretend ignorance of the whole affair," Kyle argued. "A murder within the family is sure to prompt a thorough investigation. If it comes to light that the assassin paid me a visit first, I'll be in it up to my eyeballs."

And so, despite his fervent desire to avoid rocking the boat so soon after arriving at House Lither, Kyle felt he had no choice but to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

Besides, under normal circumstances, wasn't immediately raising the alarm the expected response to discovering an armed intruder? He could hardly allow the assassin's eccentric behavior and impromptu chat to warp his own sense of propriety.

"You needn't fret so - I assure you, no one else shall fall to the villain's blade this night," the AI proclaimed with ironclad certainty.

"And why, pray tell, are you so confident of that?" Kyle asked, brow furrowed.

"Elementary, my dear Kyle - YOU are Benjamin Lither. If the knave wishes to snuff out a life, it shall be your own. No other soul is imperiled."

"Ah, I suppose that's true enough…"

The AI's logic seemed unassailable, and Kyle found himself nodding along almost instinctively.

But the incongruity quickly reasserted itself.

"What in the seven Hells are you on about? When did I become Benjamin Lither? Is your hard drive packed with manure?" Kyle sputtered.

The AI paused for a long moment before responding, its tone positively dripping with condescension:

"Believe me, you ARE Benjamin Lither."

Though he was loath to continue indulging its antics, Kyle couldn't let such an absurd claim go unchallenged. "If that's true, then why did Michelle insist I was Grant Lither?" He demanded.

"She was mistaken," the AI said confidently.

"And what makes you so bloody certain of that?"

"I have the original owner's memories to draw upon, naturally."

The AI's tone turned almost smug as it continued. "According to those recollections, you are the firstborn son of House Lither. The very moment you entered this world, your parents bestowed upon you the name 'Benjamin,' meaning 'most beloved child.' For the sixteen years hence, all and sundry knew you by that name and no other. You've not taken on any aliases or pseudonyms. Ergo, you ARE Benjamin Lither, and the assassin's blade was meant for your throat alone."

"… You're sure about this?" Kyle asked weakly.

"As sure as the sun rises in the East."

"…"

Kyle was dumbfounded.

What in the world? He'd been operating under the assumption that his identity in this realm was Grant Lither, but now the AI claimed he was actually Benjamin?

He found he couldn't muster much skepticism in the face of the AI's detailed account. For all its myriad faults and eccentricities, Kyle doubted it would bungle something so critical, especially with the original owner's memories to draw upon.

He truly was Benjamin Lither.

But a new question presented itself: why, then, had Michelle been so convinced he was Grant? A woman of her cunning would hardly make such an elementary blunder.

Most peculiar indeed.

"Who IS Grant Lither, then?" Kyle asked, a hunch tickling the back of his mind.

"Your younger brother by blood," the AI replied without hesitation.

Kyle felt his eyebrows climb involuntarily at this revelation.

The AI continued its encyclopedic recitation: "One year after your birth, your brother entered the world as well. Your parents christened him Grant Lither. The two of you were raised here together, and by all accounts, you share a close fraternal bond."

A younger brother…

A sinking feeling stole over Kyle, his stomach twisting itself in knots.

"Oh Gods, please don't tell me we're about to re-enact the old 'talented younger brother, wastrel of an older brother' cliché, with me playing the part of the latter," Kyle groaned, a note of real dread coloring his words. He'd read his fair share of tawdry melodramas with similar premises and fervently prayed his own transmigration hadn't taken such a well-trodden turn.

"You're sharper than you look, I'll grant you that!" the AI practically crowed, its grating cheerfulness making Kyle's knuckles itch with the urge to throttle something. "The very day your brother emerged from the womb, a pillar of holy light erupted from the manor's roof, cleaving the capital nearly in twain before coming to rest upon the central statue in the cathedral square. The great bells tolled seven times in the predawn gloom, heralding the arrival of a new era. At his christening, one hundred days hence, your brother was revealed to possess unrivaled aptitude for divine magicks. Those in the know marked him as a future Archbishop… mayhap even a successor to the Holy Throne itself!"

"… And what of me?" Kyle asked, clinging to the last rapidly-fraying threads of hope.

"At YOUR centennial blessing, you were found to be utterly bereft of potential in the sacred arts, much to your family's chagrin. As if that weren't indignity enough, as the years unfolded, it became plain that you were a sickly, frail child, constitution weaker even than your year-younger sibling. Not even fit to be a knight! Little wonder you became something of a running joke among the nobility."

The AI's clinical, matter-of-fact delivery somehow only served to twist the knife.

"…"

Kyle wanted nothing more than to bang his head against the wall until blessed unconsciousness claimed him.

Though he'd tried to brace for the worst, hearing it laid out in such stark terms still landed like a punch to the gut. He'd taken Michelle at her word, assuming he'd somehow lucked into the skin of a Lither family prodigy. More fool he - this world, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor where he was concerned.

The disappointing firstborn, forever eclipsed by his brilliant baby brother… one could only imagine the indignities and slights he must have endured. Especially if his very existence had become a punchline to the nobility, as the AI so eloquently put it.

Michelle must have simply gotten the two siblings mixed up in the heat of the moment, assuming she'd snared the Lither golden boy. A pity for the genuine Benjamin Lither that he'd paid for that misconception with his life. And now Kyle had inherited the man's rotten luck, along with his less-than-enviable circumstances.

So much for his soft landing in this brave new world.

But Kyle refused to let despair claim him for long.

"Bah, what of it?" He declared, rallying his flagging spirits.

His path was clear - he would become a great mage, societal expectations and "divine potential" be damned. And as for his supposed frailty, ever since that sigil had manifested in his inner world, Kyle had felt the soothing caress of some subtle, invigorating energy. That awful sense of his lungs seizing up had all but vanished. He need not fear for his health overly much.

As for the sneers and petty cruelties of small-minded nobles… well. He'd just have to grow a thicker skin and keep his eyes fixed on the prize.

He marveled a bit at his own nigh-deranged optimism. Perhaps his brush with that batty assassin had knocked something loose in his own head - in the space of mere moments, he'd managed to push the AI's dire revelations to the furthest corners of his mind, where they could trouble him no more.

He felt almost giddy with it, punch-drunk and spoiling for a fight.

"Do try to rein in the irrational exuberance, there's a good lad. Aren't you forgetting a certain knife-happy interloper with designs on your gizzard?" The AI cut in, fulfilling its sacred duty as eternal wet blanket.

Ah. Right.

The strange man wasn't Kyle's new bosom companion - he was an ASSASSIN. One who'd cheerfully vowed to end his life, no less!

The thought was as bracing as a bucket of ice water to the face.

Now that the shock had worn off and cold logic had reasserted itself, Kyle belatedly registered the true nature of his current crisis. Addlepated or no, this mysterious cutthroat was merely a symptom of a much larger problem - SOMEONE wanted Benjamin Lither dead.

And that someone, whoever they might be, had seen fit to hire a professional.

But who could it be? And more pressingly, why?

Benjamin was the family disappointment, a mere hanger-on, a perennial target for mockery. But as galling as such treatment undoubtedly was, it hardly seemed sufficient motive for premeditated MURDER. Frankly, it was Grant who made the far more tempting target for an enterprising assassin - what better way to force a succession crisis in House Lither than slaying their wunderkind heir apparent?

None of it added up.

Just who nursed such a profound grudge against an ineffectual layabout like Benjamin Lither that they'd resort to cloak and dagger skullduggery? The man was hardly a threat to anyone's ambitions.

Kyle knew he needed to ferret out the culprit behind this ham-handed attempt on his borrowed life. He'd not spend the rest of his days in this world with one eye glued to the shadows, forever anticipating a dagger between the shoulder blades.

"You've finished compiling that stripped-down version of the original owner's memories, yes?" Kyle asked the AI, thinking hard.

If Kyle wanted to unmask his would-be killer, Benjamin Lither's past was the only logical place to start.

Had his counterpart managed to run afoul of the wrong people in his wastrel days? Were there any aggrieved parties out there, nursing a long-simmering vendetta? Who stood to benefit most from Benjamin Lither's untimely demise? If he could pin down the answers to those critical questions, the mastermind's identity would come to light as surely as the dawn.

"It's ready and waiting, boss," the AI confirmed.

"Finally, some good news."

Kyle rubbed his hands together, his smile razor-thin and coolly determined.

"Then let's get cracking, shall we?"

The time had come to truly slip into the skin of Benjamin Lither.