A week had passed since I arrived at the Wynmor estate, and in that short span, I had come to feel both awed and overwhelmed by its sheer scale. The estate sprawled over what could easily be mistaken for a small city, its tall white stone walls enclosing manicured gardens, sparkling fountains, and winding cobbled paths. Every turn seemed to reveal another wing of the manor, a new fountain, or a courtyard I hadn't noticed before. The air smelled faintly of blooming roses and polished wood, an aroma so refined it made my stomach twist with discomfort.
The manor itself was a marvel. Three stories of arched balconies, sweeping staircases, and vast stained-glass windows made it feel less like a home and more like a fortress of wealth and tradition. Each morning, I wandered through its endless corridors, bumping into the occasional servant bowing so deeply it seemed their foreheads might scrape the floor. Paintings of stern-faced ancestors lined the walls, their eyes following me with silent judgment. Even after seven days, I still got lost between the eastern training courtyard and the main dining hall.
Every morning began with the ritual of the maids, which was as terrifying as it was absurd. Five of them would enter my room in perfect unison, carrying trays, adjusting my bedding, pulling back curtains, and fussing over my collars and cuffs. The first day, I nearly fell out of bed in shock. By the fifth day, I had given up trying to manage anything myself.
Why do they need five people to do one person's laundry? I had muttered to myself that first morning, and the thought still lingered.
One maid would bow as she handed me a cup of tea, another would straighten my sleeves, while a third would glance around the room like a hawk to ensure nothing was out of place. I tried to protest once, saying I could manage, but they only bowed deeper and whispered it was their "honor" to serve me.
Honor? For folding my socks? I had thought. The strange formality of Wynmor unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
At breakfast, the long table could seat twenty people, but it was usually just Mother and me. She always carried a calm presence, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she sipped her tea with perfect posture. Her healer's aura seemed to calm even the frantic energy of the servants bustling around. Occasionally, she teased me softly about the way I fumbled with the silverware, making me feel like a child once more.
Father, however, had been away at the royal palace for the past week. Every evening, he sent brief letters via courier hawk — terse reports about his audiences, the King's requests, and updates on border patrols. I had read them dutifully, though much of the politics and etiquette eluded me. I often felt like an outsider, even in my own home.
Today, though, there was a tangible shift in the estate's energy. The corridors buzzed with hushed whispers and hurried footsteps. The front gates gleamed under the sun, polished as if expecting a grand parade. Carriages had been readied, guards were stationed strategically, and even the flowers seemed to bloom a little brighter, as though aware of the occasion.
I asked one of the butlers what was happening. He smiled and said simply, "The Grand Duke is returning, young master."
Grand Duke's son… the words felt strange on my tongue.
By noon, the main gates opened, and a gilded carriage rolled in, sunlight catching the golden crests along its edges. I stood with Mother, watching as Father stepped out, his long white hair shining brilliantly, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm. He looked exhausted, undoubtedly from travel and endless court meetings, yet the moment his gaze landed on us, his commanding presence softened.
Then, as if aware of my stiff posture, he threw himself into a bow so low it seemed a performance worthy of the theater. "Rio!" he bellowed theatrically, "come behold the return of your heroic father! I, Amane of Wynmor, have survived the King's court, pleased His Majesty with my cunning, and returned bearing gifts, glory, and… well, a slight headache from all the laughter at my jokes!"
A headache from impressing the King? I blinked.
Father straightened with exaggerated solemnity and rubbed his temple. "Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking: 'Father, stop being ridiculous.' But it is true! The King personally rewarded me for my bravery at the border. And, of course, he laughed at all my jokes—though admittedly, his humor is questionable."
Mother giggled. "Do not let him inflate his ego too much."
"Inflate?" Father gasped, pretending to clutch his chest. "Me? Never! Rio, my son, come closer! You must hear of how I single-handedly persuaded three neighboring lords to ally with us using nothing but charm, wit, and a perfectly executed curtsy!"
Curtsy? Really, Father? I groaned silently.
He leaned on the railing, waving his hands dramatically. "The King clapped, the courtiers gasped, and even the royal cat seemed impressed! A standing ovation, Rio! You should have been there!"
He really is shameless.
Despite myself, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. Even in his ridiculousness, there was a warmth and charm that reminded me he wasn't the distant figure I remembered from childhood. He was approachable, playful, and somehow even funny, all while remaining undeniably commanding.
By evening, after tales of exaggerated feats, mock sword duels with invisible foes, and a minor lecture about "proper cat etiquette at court," Father clapped his hands. "But now, Rio, for your surprise!"
Mother's eyes sparkled. "Yes, it will help you adapt to life here."
The next morning, I woke early. The maids, ever alert, dressed me in formal tunic embroidered with silver thread.
"You must wear this today," one said, "your parents requested it."
I frowned. "We're not attending another audience, are we?"
She only smiled. "You'll see."
Descending the grand staircase, I froze. Two young women were seated with my parents, sipping tea as if it were a ceremony. Both looked around my age, yet their composure suggested maturity beyond their years.
The first, seated nearest Mother, had long black hair tied with a ribbon. Her calm gray eyes were serene, and her movements deliberate and measured.
The second, lounging beside Father, had fiery auburn hair and golden eyes that practically sparkled with mischief. Her sword rested casually at her side, hilt polished, posture relaxed.
Father sprang to his feet. "Rio! Behold your future—or perhaps your torment! These two extraordinary ladies shall guide you to greatness… or at least test your patience!"
Mother added softly, "As we mentioned last night, these are your instructors."
Father bowed theatrically. "Arisa, sword mistress and mischief incarnate! And Mina, the calm and composed magician! Bow, young master!"
Both girls rose gracefully. Arisa smirked, "An honor. I will see how clumsy you are first-hand."
Mina inclined her head, serene. "I shall guide you carefully, Lord Reikotar."
Sword teacher teasing, magic teacher calm… perfect.
Later, the courtyard became our battlefield. Arisa stood opposite me, grinning. "Show me your stance."
I sighed, taking position. As her blade came toward me, I immediately realized all my past-life sword knowledge was nearly useless here. The footwork, angles, and forms were alien.
Years of training… wasted?
Arisa struck quickly, forcing me back. "Better than I expected!" she laughed.
Better than expected? I'm barely staying upright.
Mina observed calmly. "Flow with the motion, not against it."
Arisa teased mercilessly. "Move like a deer, Rio! Show me you're human!"
I stumbled through multiple swings, each one highlighting how unfamiliar this new world's sword style truly was. My previous-life techniques worked against intuition here, leaving me awkward and flustered.
How am I going to survive this?
We continued sparring until the sun began to set, painting the courtyard in warm gold. Each swing, block, and pivot demanded full concentration. The sisters exchanged soft words, correcting each other, laughing occasionally, making the scene almost domestic despite the intensity.
Finally, Arisa dropped her sword with a dramatic groan. Mina closed her book with a faint sigh. "Barely two hours, and you're exhausted."
"I call it efficient exhaustion," Arisa said, stretching dramatically.
I caught my breath, glancing at my father watching with a wide grin, chuckling to himself. Despite the chaos, the teasing, and the strain, his pride and playful energy made everything somehow bearable.
Maybe I can survive this after all…