Undoubtedly, Baroness Lamud was a dignified and noble lady.
The atmosphere at the dining table was not overly stiff. The graceful and elegant Lady Boianca Lanzworth Lamud set down her teacup, her expression warm as she gazed lovingly at her eldest and youngest sons. She listened as Owen animatedly recounted his recent maritime adventures while watching Don lower his head, poking at the vegetables he disliked on his plate, muttering something under his breath.
"It seems this voyage was quite eventful."
"However—" Lady Boianca suddenly shifted the topic. Don, a Seer by profession, immediately sensed what was coming and buried his face even deeper.
'Here it comes… the dreaded 'motherly affection.'
"A few days ago, Viscount Audewell paid a visit to your father." She turned to Owen, whose face stiffened as if recalling something unpleasant. "You've reached the age where marriage discussions are appropriate, Owen. Both your father and I are quite pleased with Viscount Audewell's youngest daughter."
Covering her mouth with a light chuckle, she added, "Of course, your father and I are not so rigid. The Goddess encourages matrimony, as well as equal and proper interactions between the sexes. The final decision is yours. If you do not favor the young lady…"
The Kingdom of Loen, established by the Augustus family, primarily worshipped three orthodox deities: the Evernight Goddess, the God of Craftsmanship, and the Lord of Storms.
Unsurprisingly, Lady Boianca was a devout follower of the Evernight Goddess.
"The Goddess's teachings are always so gentle," Owen replied awkwardly, then shot a helpless glance at his brother.
Don, still nursing his grudge over this morning's rude awakening, only gave him a look that said, "You're on your own."
Help him? If Don didn't fan the flames, Owen should count himself lucky.
"Mother, I've finished eating." To avoid the fire spreading to himself, Don wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood, ignoring Owen's frozen expression. He needed a walk.
"Come to think of it, Don might also need your attention, Mother," Owen blurted, desperate to divert the conversation.
"Owen is right. Don, you should also consider your future—not just lineage, but…" Lady Boianca smiled as Don's footsteps noticeably quickened.
Don fled the dining room as if escaping disaster, discreetly flipping Owen off on his way out.
Owen responded with a gesture only the two of them understood.
Don: "I really want to punch him."
---
Declining the servants' company, Don stepped out of the medieval-style castle and into a modest, underdeveloped town.
Lamud Town—the territory of his father, Baron Wilbert Lamud. A small settlement that barely qualified as a town, serving as a trading hub for nearby villages.
The baron himself, a man who had once been an amnesiac vagrant, had joined the Loen military to prove himself worthy of his now-wife, a noblewoman. Through merit, he earned his title and this less-than-ideal fiefdom, along with its malnourished peasants.
Don inhaled the fresh air. In this pre-industrial era, where society still relied heavily on agriculture, the lack of convenience was offset by the cleaner environment.
"Today's task: deepen my understanding of the Marionettist's acting method." He mused. "Though I already know the principles and have seen the process from a third-person perspective…"
His left teeth clicked twice as he activated Spirit Vision.
Countless illusory black threads materialized around him—thin, dense, and innumerable. They stretched infinitely upward, vanishing into the void, eerie and unsettling.
Frankly, anyone with trypophobia would have fainted on the spot.
"And extremely sanity-draining."
Pulling up his System Panel, Don checked his status.
Though the damn System kept nagging him to switch pathways, it was undeniably useful at times. For instance, it displayed his HP and Spirituality in precise percentages, tracked his digestion progress, and—most importantly—provided something else.
Unlike the Fool's Gray Fog, which served as a portable warehouse, carrying multiple mystical items or storing rare materials would normally be a headache.
However, upon reaching Sequence 6 (Faceless)—the mid-tier of the Beyonder ladder—the System had unlocked a 10-slot storage space, expanding by another ten slots with each subsequent advancement.
Now at Sequence 5 (Marionettist), he had twenty slots. Convenient, undetectable, and in some ways, even more practical than the Gray Fog.
"After all, a magician never performs unprepared."
Don retrieved a mystical item from his storage—a slender iron chain coiled around his left wrist, its tip embedded with a crimson gemstone. Disguised as an ornament, it hid easily under his sleeve.
---
Nobles and their subjects rarely mingled closely. The aristocracy preferred to distance themselves from the peasants, avoiding the unsightly realities of poverty—filth, waste, and desperation.
In the Kingdom of Loen, where one-third of the population struggled to afford basic sustenance, hygiene was a luxury. With the nation still unstable and embroiled in border conflicts, survival took precedence over cleanliness.
From the castle to the marketplace, a leisurely walk took about twenty minutes.
Using his Faceless abilities to alter his appearance, Don familiarized himself with the world through a Marionettist's eyes while performing a quick divination.
The iron chain around his wrist served as a pendulum. When it swung abnormally, his brow furrowed.
"Moderate danger, but not critical." He analyzed the results. "An intruder? Not high-sequence… likely lower than me. A mid-to-low sequence fighter, or a physically oriented Beyonder."
---
(End of Chapter)