After a soothing warm bath in his room with Gwen and another maid grooming him, Horus frowns at his sight.

"...Do I need to wear this?"

Gwen and Merla, who soon finished strapping Horus with all sorts of luxurious garments in full regalia, let out confused glances at one another.

'I asked them to help me look presentable, but I'm already sweating beneath.' Horus clumsily wobbles like a tight burrito as he turns to the two, urging them to say something. "What?"

"Y-young master... but this is the designer attire you had ordered in the capital last week." Merla bows slightly, apologetic, then proceeds, "Wasn't this to your liking, sir? Shall I ask the butler—"

"No need," Horus interrupts, sighing as he inspects the two nervous maids.

'They seem good at their job, but why do they seem afraid of me?' He decided not to think further of this, but he knew for sure: 'Horus Durkton doesn't hit people.'

He sighs once more as he signals. "You may leave."

Moments later, Horus tidied his sloppily worn attire by strapping a random accessory below his neck. It's an emerald tie brooch that seemed to fit nicely with the monochrome of his clothes.

'I guess this should do—'

"Son." A rough voice chimed after a soft knock.

Mildly surprised, Horus quivers in the discomfort of his clothes. 'Hmm... the Count?'

He then rushes to hide the reading books Gwen fetched for him just in time before the door creaks open.

"My Hoky, is everything alright?"

And what appeared was a tall, tanned burly man with a distinct concerned look below his ashen hair.

This man—the very Count Glen Durkton himself—gives off a rather barbaric aura that may be due to his rough outward features as a former Grand Knight. Only the man's fancy, luxurious clothing with a griffin-insignia brooch would make one think he is indeed a nobility and even a Count at the very least.

'So this is Horus' father? He sure had a strong voice, but this man looked tired and restless.'

Awkwardly standing by the doorframe waiting for his son's response, the Count continues, "The butler, Gil, told me you are feeling unwell again. Perhaps your mother's punishment of you was too much. And I know you have been training for months for the ceremony tomorrow, but you don't have to push yourself too hard—"

Horus finally manages to talk, "Father." And he indeed plans not to make this conversation long. "Do not worry. I know what I am doing."

"Oh, I see... I suppose I worry pretty much lately. Do you, perhaps," the Count halts to let out a slight cough, "want something?"

With a tiny grin, Horus responds with no hesitation. "I do, father."

The Count chuckled and presented a tired smile, perhaps relieved upon thinking this was undoubtedly his son. "What is it, Hoky? I suppose it's been a while since you asked me for something."

"Money." Horus sits on the bed, shifting his tone to a pleading one. "I might need a million colts."

The Count pauses for a moment. "...Come again, son?"

"A million, father," said Horus, contemplating if his demand was too much. 'Maybe I should have made it five hundred instead.'

"Oh, I thought I heard it wrong." The Count shoots a surprised stare and then sighs. "You know you can speak to butler Gil if you only need a small amount, right?"

'Small.' It sounded so wrong to his ears. 'Did this man know that a thousand colts are much enough to feed a family of six in a week? I can even buy land with that much. I thought I was asking too much, but well...'

Horus soon realized how the Durktons accumulated their wealth for centuries. Considering the alpine, mountainous geography of the Durkton territory, the family heavily invested in mining and manufacturing metals, gems and jewels, and even precious mana stones to establish the territory's economy. Just by the thought of them doing this for centuries, he somewhat understands why the man in front of him seemed surprised.

"I know... I only need it for something."

The Count raises an eyebrow. "Okay, then... do you need anything else?"

Now that's a million colts settled—and Horus never felt so relieved. He then smiles and closes his eyes to wonder. And after thinking of something that might help him in the future, he turns to the Count, who is still waiting for his answer.

"I want an attendant of my own."

Horus has been thinking of having an attendant since this morning. He needs a hand that will tolerate helping him do his future shenanigans. Though, he plans on making it strategic, considering there are eyes in this estate that watches every movement of the Durkton Count and maybe him, too.

"A personal attendant? Ah, I guess you find the maids lacking, perhaps. Then I shall talk to Gil to raise the estate's recruitment standards—"

"Father." Horus slightly tensed, unaware that this father would turn out to be a particularly doting one—ignoring the man's vicious appearance. "You don't have to. I am just thinking of having one."

Count Glen settles down, then lets out a concerned stare. "Ah, well. Do you have someone in mind?"

The evening soon came as Horus was about to finish roaming around the estate. He's been in awe inspecting the estate's distinct, gothic stonework architecture from the high ceiling down to the uniquely patterned floor.

His walking posture is slightly off, but he does it slowly, making it unnoticeable. It is his way to get accustomed to his new body as soon as possible, especially since the sword ceremony is tomorrow.

'Well, as if I would participate.' He assures himself. 'I'm only going to watch and then slack off right after.'

Hands in his pockets as Horus went hallway after hallway, maids and servants would quietly bow as they passed through him. Some would shudder and avoid him by pivoting to other passages.

And well, as if he cared about their deal with the past Horus. He even preferred things this way—especially since anybody here could be a spy sent by the royalty. Who knows, one of them might be a skilled poison expert or a trained assassin with a high aptitude in pretend play as a loyal servant.

Just the thought already makes his hair stand on end. 'I should be careful around.'

With no destination in mind, he soon found himself in the manor's courtyard, where a bunch of estate knights is on patrol, seemingly on the hype for tomorrow's sword ceremony.

They all bowed in sync as they noticed Horus glancing around them, seemingly unbothered by their half-naked bodies in the middle of the night.

Horus stops as he realizes, 'Huh, she is not here now... or yet?'

"Young master, a good evening," the lieutenant among the knights greets with an awkward smile. "Are you looking for Captain—your older brother Luther?"

"No," responds Horus. He is not here for Luther, but he is looking for someone now that he is here. Someone who is particularly strong-willed yet desperate—and Horus plans on making this someone an attendant of his own. 'I guess she will arrive soon?'

"Then, may I ask—"

"See you tomorrow." And as just the lieutenant knight asked further, Horus was already strolling away, waving a hand without turning as his figure soon disappeared onto the corridor.

The knights can't help but look at one another, trying to process what just happened.

"Sir Landon," a redhead and one of the knights calls out to the lieutenant knight. "What was it just now? The young master..."

"I do not know, either." Landon shrugs.

"His Lordship assigned you to train the young master recently, right? Did something happen?" the redhead asked.

"That kid only knew how to swing a blade," sneered a buzzcut knight behind them. He walks forward as he resumes, "He doesn't have what it takes to become a swordsman and what else a knight. We're lucky the Lord has two sons, or else that dullint will be the doom of the territory—"

The redhead smacks the buzzcut's shoulder. "That's way too harsh, Rajiv. However dense or ill-mannered the young master can be at times, he is one of our Lords!"

"Hush, if somebody caught your blabbering mouths, our position will be at risk," another knight chimed in.

Lieutenant Landon finally speaks, "Silence, you three." He then shakes his head and returns to his patrol. "Let's just see what he can do tomorrow."

Unaware of the chatter of the knights, Horus soon arrives in his room, exhausted from exploring only half the vast estate. He then flops on a couch with the reading book Gwen fetched for him this morning. It was a book used by scholars to teach noble toddlers how to read—it's better than not having one, right?

Learning the character system of the Kruman language—the most prominent language in the continent—was no sweat for Horus somewhat. And after an hour of reading and scribbling, he can at least read simple phrases and sentences.

Horus stretches as he yawns. 'I should call it a day.'

And just as the time he shuts the mana-powered lamp off, a sudden headache—yet, again—reverberates throughout his skull. "Hell... again?!"

Confused by the seemingly frequent headaches, Horus staggers and tries to hold onto something but to no avail. He falls and curls on the floor as his visions blur to emptiness.

"Y-young master,"

Horus felt his body shaken by a small hand. He squinted and tried to regain himself, realizing it was already morning and he had slept on the floor.

"A-are you okay, sir?" said Gwen, kneeling beside him.

Horus trembles as he stands. "What time is it?"

"7 AM, sir, but please drink first." Gwen offered a glass of water to Horus, who did not hesitate to take it and chug every drop of it. "S-should I call the doctor? Butler Gil told me to wake you up, young master. He insists on your attendance since the ceremony is about to start soon."

"Tell father I cannot attend," said Horus as he sat on the bed. If one is looking for a probable reason for him not to attend, this is it. Why waste time on a sword ceremony on his second day of transmigration? He had more pressing things to do. "I don't feel well. And yeah, send the doctor."

And for today, he plans to spend his day reading books to learn about this world, eating delectable foods, and perhaps slacking off, too. Just how great life could be.