OBT 05

Chapter 05

Lord of Albert 

“What… what is this?”

All I did was wish to come here. Yet it really happened.

In the blink of an eye, I had teleported from my bedroom to the dark castle walls.

“What the hell…? It’s like a warp. No—this is a warp, isn’t it? But how?”

Ian, staring blankly in the direction of his bedroom, turned around and placed his hand on the castle wall’s railing.

Beyond the walls, a vast village stretched out.

Though it was night and difficult to see clearly, judging by the scale of the lights, it was a fairly large settlement.

“A warp…”

Still replaying what had just happened, Ian shifted his gaze to the left.

The sound of boots echoed—one of the guards was approaching along the ramparts.

“Should I try it again?”

If he didn’t move, he would run into the soldier in a moment.

The problem was, he was standing there in nothing but his underwear. Embarrassing.

“Let’s try.”

Focusing on the bedroom, Ian thought of being there.

Nothing happened.

The soldier was getting closer. Growing anxious, Ian concentrated harder and tried again.

“Bedroom!”

At the very moment he shouted inwardly, a thunderous noise rang out and the space between the ramparts and his chamber folded like paper.

“It’s working!”

His face lit up in delight as he watched the walls and his bedroom collapse into one another in a breathtaking spectacle.

Even though it was only the second time, it was still too mysterious, too overwhelming for words.

Swish.

With a faint sound, his body was suddenly back in his bedroom.

Having avoided the guard by a hair’s breadth, Ian quickly shut the window and turned around.

His face was flushed with excitement.

“I can teleport. And without the warp devices those outsiders built.”

The last time a warp malfunctioned, his body had been destroyed, and his consciousness had ended up inside the body of blue-eyed Ian.

And now… he had gained the power of warp itself.

“Good. I lost my Qi Gong power, but at least I’ve got this. That makes things less unfair. Hahaha!”

For the first time in ages, laughter welled up from deep within him. But suddenly, his body wavered, overcome by dizziness.

A nosebleed followed.

It seemed to be a side effect of the warp.

Collapsing onto the bed, Ian tried to rest—but then sat bolt upright with a thought.

“…Could I use this ability to return to Earth?”

Half-skeptical, he focused his mind on the underground militia base in Bupyeong.

Hands pressed to his temples, he poured every ounce of focus into the attempt for a long while.

But in the end, he failed.

His warp ability simply didn’t extend that far.

Disappointed, Ian poured wine into a silver goblet and drank deeply.

“No need to despair. If the gods of fate lend me a hand, perhaps one day I’ll return. If not… then I’ll live out my life here as a lord.”

Having discovered his new ability, Ian’s expression shone with hope. He emptied two whole bottles of wine and staggered out into the corridor, carrying a fresh cask of fragrant vintage.

“Oh, even at this late hour you’re diligently keeping watch for me.”

“My lord!”

The soldiers guarding the lord’s quarters all bowed deeply, startled by his sudden appearance.

Their lord swayed unsteadily, clearly drunk.

“Where’s Rondo?”

“He went to rest in his quarters.”

A different officer, in charge of the night watch, replied in a loud voice.

“Ah, I see. Well, nothing to be done. Here, take this.”

Ian offered his goblet. After some hesitation, the officer accepted it with both hands and drained it in one gulp.

Though smaller in stature, his sharp eyes gave off a dependable strength different from Rondo’s.

“Useful,” Ian thought with a faint smile, then casually asked:

“I’ve seen you often enough, but I don’t know your name.”

“Harmond, my lord!”

“Ah, Harmond. You look brave.”

“Thank you, my lord!”

Harmond’s voice was calm, yet steady with power.

“Now, you men—come and share my cup as well.”

The ordinary soldiers froze, wide-eyed, not daring to step forward.

The gulf in status between a lord and his men was immense.

“Harmond, these soldiers ignore my words?”

“What are you waiting for! Step forward!”

Spurred by Harmond, the soldiers hurriedly knelt before Ian and, one by one, accepted the wine their lord bestowed.

To drink from a cup personally handed down by the lord—this would be a tale to boast of for a lifetime.

“We pledge our lives to you, my lord!”

Hearing their bolder, more spirited oaths, Ian nodded.

“Your lives… no need for that. Still, I appreciate your service.”

Leaving behind their heated gazes, Ian stumbled drunkenly back to bed and collapsed.

“Finally… sleep comes.”

Meanwhile, in a dark alley, a man in a faded brown monk’s robe walked quickly, head low.

Moonlight glinted in his eyes, sharp with wariness, darting side to side. Whenever someone passed by, he pulled his hood down further to hide his face.

At last, he stopped at a house and knocked urgently.

Light flicked on inside.

“Who is it?”

A woman leaned out from the second-floor window.

“It’s me, open up!”

The man tugged back his hood, looking up at her.

“You!”

“Shh! Quiet, open the door.”

“W-wait!”

Her voice trembled with shock and joy. It was her husband—vanished two years ago.

The man’s heart swelled at the sound of her voice. Soon, he would crush her in his arms. And then their son as well.

Smiling despite his weary face, his body suddenly lurched.

Blood spurted from the back of his head as he collapsed, staring weakly at his attacker.

Standing there like a demon in the darkness was Hicks, one of the treasurer’s thugs.

“Son of a bitch. Where the hell have you been hiding?”

The hulking, two-meter brute kicked the fallen man in the face, then slung him over his shoulder with ease.

The door burst open. The woman stood blocking Hicks.

“What are you doing?!”

“What do you think, bitch?”

He swung his club, splitting her forehead.

Blood dripping as she slumped against the doorframe, Hicks loomed over her.

“Interfere again and I’ll take your brat too.”

Terrified, she averted her eyes, trembling.

Grinning like a hunter with his prey, Hicks strolled off into the night, heading toward the treasurer’s estate.

The treasurer’s mansion, in the western quarter of town, was more fortress than home.

Encircled by high stone walls, bristling with guards, it was near-impossible to approach unscathed.

That he maintained dozens of private soldiers apart from the lord’s army was proof enough of his power.

“It seems the young lord is not doomed to an early death. He’s risen again, against all expectation.”

Jeraden, a merchant guest of the treasurer, set down his goblet.

“I was worried sick. If he had died, we’d have had to curry favor with the royal court once more. What a relief.”

The treasurer nodded, though his expression was strained.

If Ian, sole heir of House Albern, had died, the crown would have claimed the domain.

For Jeraden, the current treasurer was a far better arrangement than a royal appointee—greedy enough to overlook any crime for coin.

“And yet, you don’t look relieved. You look annoyed.”

Jeraden observed keenly.

The treasurer tapped the ledger he carried everywhere, even to drinking tables, and cleared his throat.

“Do I?”

“You do. Is there something I shouldn’t know?”

“Not exactly… it’s just… the lord is a different man.”

The treasurer slowly explained what had happened that day, and Jeraden could hardly believe his ears.

The puppet lord had defied him and issued a decree to recruit mercenaries—without permission.

Unprecedented.

“Incredible.”

“The impudent whelp. Daring to play lord before me.”

The treasurer drained his cup and tore into spiced meat.

Jeraden, watching him closely, ventured, “Can a man truly change so much, even with memory loss? His nature should remain the same.”

“That’s what troubles me.”

“Could it be he’s been deceiving us all along?”

“Deceiving…?”

The treasurer flinched, pork leg in hand.

“He’s fifteen. Still young, but old enough to stand before his people.”

“Nonsense. He’s always been a timid recluse.”

“But not today. He wore a dagger at his waist and commanded both you and the magistrate before many witnesses. If this continues, he will shed the title of puppet lord—and your influence will decline. He will become the true lord.”

“The true lord…”

The treasurer’s eyes hardened.

It was hard to believe Ian had faked his weakness—his illness had seemed real enough.

But the more he asserted himself, the more the treasurer’s grip would slip. Jeraden was right.

“Measures must be taken.”

With those words, Jeraden departed.

“Measures…”

The treasurer frowned.

Perhaps it was too soon to judge. Only a day had passed. Yet unease gnawed at him.

“I need something to draw his gaze away from the domain. Something… a woman, perhaps? Or…”

He brooded in the moonlit garden—until Hicks appeared.

“Master, I caught Galato at his home.”

Thud.

He dropped the unconscious man at the treasurer’s feet.

“Galato.”

“T-treasurer…”

“It’s been a long time.”

Beneath a quaint old building inside the castle lay the apothecary of Nekamo the healer.

Once a wine cellar, it had been remodeled by Ian’s late father and entrusted to Nekamo.

A few old casks still lingered in a corner—fewer now, thanks to Nekamo siphoning some off over the years to sell.

“Where’s that red lizard tail…”

Expecting Ian’s death, Nekamo had already packed his things. Now he unpacked, rummaging among pouches until he found the dried tail and tossed it into a bubbling blue concoction.

A foul stench filled the room.

Adjusting the fire, he sat and waited for the potion to thicken.

“This should help restore his memory.”

The young lord had awoken from his coma with no recollection of the past. Perhaps this would aid recovery.

Yawning widely, Nekamo fought fatigue. He had slept little during Ian’s coma.

“All done.”

He ladled the potion into a bowl—but then recalled a conversation with Rondo the day before.

“Is it really necessary he returns to normal?”

Rondo seemed to prefer the new Ian.

“What if…? If he drinks this, he’ll go back to who he was.”

Ian standing tall against the treasurer, commanding a monster subjugation—that had looked like a true lord.

“The treasurer tried to punish me…”

After a long hesitation, Nekamo poured the potion onto the floor.

“I won’t give him what he wants.”

Instead, he began brewing a different medicine—made from the giant centipedes of Yanka Volcano, which accelerated growth.

Years ago, the young lord had vomited it up, unable to swallow. But now might be different.

“Hurry up, will you?”

“I’m coming!”

Linda, his daughter, shuffled down the steps, eyes puffy from oversleeping. She reached for the bowl.

Three years older than Ian, she had long been tasked with delivering her father’s medicines to the lord’s chamber.

“Wash your face at least.”

“Yes.”

She pouted, splashed her face with water, then smoothed her tangled hair with a comb.

In a moment, the clumsy girl had transformed into a graceful young lady.

“Your clothes?”

“Oh—right!”

She slapped her forehead and ran back to change, returning in a white robe identical to her father’s.

Her figure in the robe shone like an angel.

“Let’s go.”

Handing her the bowl, Nekamo led the way across the fresh morning garden toward the lord’s manor.

“Father, isn’t it a miracle the lord awoke?”

“A miracle? No—it was my skill as a healer.”

“You told me he wouldn’t make it. That he was doomed.”

“Quiet!”

He stopped, glancing around, and whispered,

“It was thanks to me. Remember that.”

“Alright. But what about the horses?”

“We’ll sell them back. Since the lord survived, there’s no rush to leave. Go into town today and sell them.”

“No need.”

“What do you mean?”

Nekamo blinked.

Passing the fountain, Linda scooped up water to drink, then smiled brightly.

“I never bought them.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because running away like that is cowardly.”

She lifted her gaze to the lord’s windows.

“If he dies, then we leave. Properly, with respect.”