Corin's brain stuttered to a halt. "Prove it? As in... right now?"
Lady Catherine circled around him slowly, hands clasped behind her back. Her expression was thoughtful, assessing him like a piece of equipment she was considering purchasing.
"You're a young man," she said. "The healer confirmed you have an extraordinary constitution. You clearly show no signs of magical ability, so you must be good at something besides forging and fishing, correct?"
'Oh god, she's serious. She's actually serious.'
[Of course she's serious. Did you think this was just talk?]
Lady Catherine stopped in front of him, her blue eyes meeting his directly. "The gathering tomorrow at Duchess Veridian's estate? You're coming with me."
Corin bowed quickly, trying to hide his relief that she'd changed topics. "Of course, milady."
"Good boy." She smiled, the expression warm but carrying an edge of command. "You may leave now. I'll call for you if I need you."
Corin backed toward the door, bowed again, and practically fled into the hallway.
[You thought she was going to fuck you right then and there, didn't you?]
'Shut up.'
[Oh, this is precious. You really believed it. The great Lady Catherine was going to throw you on her bed and test your stamina immediately]
'It's not that unreasonable!'
[You've improved your stats by exactly ONE POINT each in stamina and endurance. You've been here less than a week. And you thought you'd already earned the biggest prize? The woman who runs an empire-spanning breeding network?]
Corin walked faster, his face burning. 'When you put it that way—'
[You're delusional. That's what you are. Keep working, host. Maybe in a year you'll be worthy of her attention]
'I hate you so much.'
[The feeling is mutual]
Corin rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone carrying a large wooden crate.
"Watch it!" a sharp voice snapped.
He looked up to find Mira, the third maid from his first day awake. The tall one with black hair and those intelligent dark eyes that seemed to see straight through people. She struggled with the crate, trying to balance it against her hip while reaching for the door handle.
[New Quest: Interact with Mira]
[Reward: 20 CP]
The pink screen flickered at the edge of his vision.
"Let me help," Corin said, reaching for the crate.
Mira hesitated for half a second, pride warring with practicality. Practicality won. "Fine. Take the other side."
Together they lifted the crate. It was heavier than it looked, filled with what sounded like jars and bottles clinking together.
"Where to?" Corin asked.
"Storage. Third floor, west wing." She started walking without waiting to see if he'd follow.
They navigated the corridors in silence for a moment before Mira spoke again. "You've caused quite a stir in the household."
"Have I?"
"Senna and Elara won't shut up about you. 'Corin this, Corin that.' It's exhausting." Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "Though I suppose it's to be expected. New young man in a manor full of women. Novelty factor."
Corin tried to read her expression. Was she mocking him? Testing him? Genuinely disinterested?
"I'm just trying to do my job," he said carefully.
"Your job." She snorted softly. "Yes, I'm sure that's all it is."
They reached the storage room. Mira kicked the door open with her foot, revealing a large space lined with shelves. Sacks of grain, barrels of salted meat, hanging bundles of dried herbs, jars of preserved fruits and vegetables. Everything a manor needed to survive between market trips.
Except the smell hit him immediately. Something was off. Sour, slightly rotten.
They set the crate down near the door. Mira wrinkled her nose. "It's gotten worse."
"What has?"
"The smell. We've been losing food to spoilage for the past month. First it was just a few jars of preserves going bad. Now..." She gestured at the shelves. "We're losing almost a quarter of our stores. The mistress is concerned. Food isn't cheap, especially with winter coming."
Corin moved deeper into the room, examining the shelves. Several jars showed visible signs of mold growing inside. Others had lids that looked swollen, the seals broken.
'This is a preservation problem,' he thought. 'In my old world, we'd have refrigeration, proper canning techniques, chemical preservatives. Here, they're working with medieval methods.'
He opened one of the jars. The contents were clearly spoiled, vegetables floating in cloudy liquid that stank of rot.
"What's your process?" he asked. "For preserving food?"
Mira leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Standard methods. Boil the jars, pack the food, seal with wax. Same as it's always been done."
"And the storage?"
"In here. Cool, dry, away from sunlight. Again, standard."
Corin examined the room more carefully. The temperature was decent, but not cold enough. The shelves were wooden, which was fine, but they were packed too tightly together. No air circulation. And he noticed something else.
"When was this room last cleaned?"
"We clean regularly. Once a month we pull everything out and scrub the floors."
"What about the shelves themselves? And the walls?"
Mira frowned. "We wipe them down, but... they're just wood. They don't need deep cleaning."
'There's the problem,' Corin thought. 'Or at least part of it. Bacteria and mold spores building up in the wood, contaminating new jars. Plus poor air flow leading to moisture accumulation. Plus inadequate sterilization during the canning process.'
But how to fix it with medieval resources?
"Do you have vinegar?" he asked. "And salt? Lots of salt?"
"Of course. Why?"
"And lime? The white powder used for building?"
"In the maintenance shed, yes."
Corin's mind raced, pulling together half-remembered information from high school chemistry and random internet articles he'd read in his previous life.
"The problem is contamination," he said. "You're sealing jars, but you're sealing bacteria inside with the food. Then the bacteria multiply and spoil everything."
Mira's expression shifted to skepticism. "Bacteria?"
Right. Germ theory didn't exist here yet.
"Tiny... creatures," Corin tried. "Too small to see. They exist everywhere, in the air, on surfaces. They feed on food and make it rot. Your preservation methods aren't killing them, just slowing them down."
"Invisible creatures that cause rot." Mira's tone suggested she thought he was insane. "And you know this how?"
"Does it matter? I can fix the problem."
She studied him for a long moment. "Show me."
Over the next three hours, Corin directed a complete overhaul of the storage system. Mira helped, though she clearly thought he was mad at first.
Step one: Clean everything. Not just wipe down, but actually scrub every surface with a solution of hot water and vinegar. The acid would kill most bacteria and mold spores. They pulled every jar, every sack, every barrel out of the room and assessed what could be saved versus what needed to be thrown out.
Step two: Treat the wooden shelves. Corin mixed lime powder with water to create a paste, then had Mira help him paint it onto every wooden surface. The lime was alkaline, would kill remaining spores and create an inhospitable environment for mold growth. It wouldn't last forever, but it would buy them time.
"This is going to stain everything white," Mira protested.
"That's the point. You'll be able to see when it needs reapplication. When the white fades, you treat it again."
Step three: Reorganize the layout. Instead of packing shelves tight, Corin spaced everything out. Air needed to circulate. He also moved the most perishable items to the coolest part of the room, near the exterior wall where temperature would be lowest.
Step four: Improve the preservation process itself. Corin couldn't explain pasteurization in terms they'd understand, but he could modify their methods.
"When you boil the jars, boil them longer," he instructed. "At least twenty minutes. And add more salt to the brine. Much more. Salt prevents those... creatures from growing."
"How much more?"
"Until you think it's too salty, then add more. You can always rinse food before cooking."
Mira wrinkled her nose but nodded.
By the time they finished, both of them were sweating and covered in grime. The storage room gleamed white from the lime treatment, organized in neat rows with clear space between each shelf.
Mira stood in the doorway, surveying their work. Her expression had shifted from skepticism to something else. Wonder, maybe. Or respect.
"How did you know to do all this?" she asked quietly.
"I told you. I know about the tiny creatures."
"But where did you learn? I've never heard of anything like this. No healer in the city would suggest painting shelves with lime or over-salting preserves."
Corin shrugged, trying to appear casual. "My father taught me some things. Before he died. He was... interested in unusual knowledge."
It was weak, but Mira seemed to accept it. Or at least, she didn't push further.
They walked back toward the main house in comfortable silence. The sun had set while they worked, evening settling over the manor like a blanket.
"Senna and Elara mentioned something," Mira said as they approached his room. "Tit for tat?"
'Here we go again.'
"It's a tradition," Corin said. "From where I grew up. Returning favors."
"And bathing is a favor?" A hint of amusement colored her voice.
"Helping someone bathe is effort. It deserves recognition."
Mira stopped at the junction where their paths diverged. She studied him with those sharp dark eyes, and Corin could practically see her mind working behind them.
"I look forward to when it's my turn," she said. "To bathe you, I mean."
She walked away before he could respond, her dark braid swaying with each step.
Corin stood there grinning like an idiot.
'Three for three. This world is amazing.'
[Don't get cocky. You solved a storage problem. That doesn't make you special]
'It makes me useful. That's better than special.'
He returned to his room and collapsed onto the bed. Every muscle ached from the morning workout and three hours of manual labor in the storage room. His clothes were filthy, his hands rough and dry from the lime paste.
But he felt good. Accomplished. Like he'd actually contributed something valuable instead of just being decorative.
'These people are so simple,' he thought, staring at the ceiling. 'No understanding of germs, no concept of proper food safety. But they're not stupid. Just working with limited knowledge.'
A darker thought crept in. 'Do diseases from my world exist here? Cancer, diabetes, heart disease? I died from electrocution, but I could easily die from cancer here. Does magic cure that? Can healers with glowing hands fight cellular mutation?'
He didn't know. And that uncertainty was terrifying.
'No bitcoins yet,' he mused. 'This world seems to operate on a barter economy with some gold/silver currency, but nothing standardized like modern money. Could I introduce that? Speed up their economic development? Create a banking system?'
The possibilities were endless. And overwhelming.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young master?" Elara's voice. "I've brought dinner."
"Come in."
She entered carrying a tray with bread, cheese, cold meat, and a pitcher of water. The sight of food made his stomach growl.
"Wait," he said as she set the tray down. "Eat with me?"
Elara blinked in surprise. "I... that's not proper, young master."
"I don't care about proper. I just spent three hours reorganizing the storage room with Mira and I'd like some company while I eat."
She hesitated, torn between propriety and the genuine warmth in his invitation.
"Please?" Corin added. "I want to hear about your day. And I have questions about the city. You know Millhaven better than I do."
That decided her. Elara settled into the chair across from him, hands folded in her lap while he tore into the food.
Between bites, he told her about the market trip with Lady Catherine. The dwarven smiths, the crowded streets, the way people reacted to the mistress's presence. Elara listened attentively, occasionally asking questions or offering her own observations about the city's social dynamics.
She was easy to talk to. Not flirtatious like Senna or sharp like Mira. Just comfortable. Like talking to someone who genuinely cared about the conversation rather than whatever might come after.
Corin reached for his cup and knocked it over. Water spilled across his lap, soaking into his breeches.
"Damn!" He jumped up, trying to shake off the water.
"Let me help!" Elara grabbed a cloth from the tray and knelt, dabbing at the wet fabric.
Her hands pressed against his thigh, wiping away the water. Her face was inches from his crotch, and Corin could see the red creeping up her neck as she realized the position she was in.
'Don't react. Don't you dare react.' he said to the other guy in the room.
She finished quickly, face burning, and gathered the dishes onto the tray with fumbling hands.
"I should... I should return these to the kitchen."
"Wait." Corin caught her arm gently. "Can you come back? After you're done? I really do enjoy your company."
Elara bit her lip. "Young master, that's not my station. I'm a maid, you're—"
"A servant like you. We're both working for Lady Catherine. Why can't we be friends?"
"It's not proper."
"Who decides what's proper? Come on, Elara. Just come back. We can talk more. I promise I'll be perfectly appropriate."
She wavered, clearly wanting to say yes but held back by years of training about proper behavior.
"Please?" Corin added his best smile. "I'm new here, I barely know anyone, and you make me feel less lonely."
That broke her resistance. "Alright. I'll... I'll come back. But just to talk."
"Just to talk," Corin agreed.
She left with the tray, and Corin chuckled to himself.
'Too easy. Way too easy.'
He lay back on the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. Within minutes, he drifted off.
---
When Corin woke, the room was dark. Night had fully fallen, the only light coming from the moon through his window.
And someone was sitting in the chair beside his bed.
He jerked upright, heart pounding, then recognized the silhouette.
"Young master," Elara said softly. "You're awake."
"How long have you been there?"
"Not long. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to disturb you." She smiled, visible in the moonlight. "But I did promise to return."
Corin groaned and scooted closer to the edge of the bed, near where she sat. "Oh yes. You did."
"So..." Elara tilted her head. "Why did you want me here again?"
"I was lonely," Corin said honestly. "I wanted a friend. You don't want to be friends with me?"
"Of course I do!" she said quickly. "I just... I wasn't sure if that's what you really meant."
"That's exactly what I meant. Friends. Which means..." He grinned. "Friends don't keep secrets from each other, right?"
Elara nodded slowly. "Right..."
"So I have a question for you."
"Okay?"
"Do you know the game of truth or dare?"
Elara frowned, confusion clear on her face. "Truth or... dare? What's that?"