Aeneas slipped into his room and, in a few swift movements, shed the gold-embroidered peplos for something far simpler. The fabric was plain, yet surprisingly soft—no ragged hand-me-downs here; even the storeroom knew better than that.
After a brief fussing, he studied his reflection in the bronze mirror from every angle, convinced he now looked like an ordinary young man. Satisfied, he rose onto his toes and tiptoed toward the side door.
Just as he reached it, a clear, mischievous voice rang down the corridor:
"Master, why do you creep about so early like a cat stealing fish?"
Aeneas froze mid-step.
He turned slowly. Terani was there, cradling a small bag of herbs, tilting her head with innocent curiosity—those wide eyes of hers practically screamed: What are you up to?
His heart skipped a beat, but his face snapped into a solemn expression. He straightened his back and spoke with the gravitas of a man announcing some grand decree:
"Nonsense! I—"
His eyes flicked, and without missing a beat, he carried on with perfect composure:
"This is my new morning exercise! Leg-strengthening, you see—walking like a cat: light, silent, agile."
Terani gasped, eyes sparkling as if she'd discovered a hidden treasure.
"Really? Master, you're amazing! Who would think of something so clever!"
Aeneas nearly burst out laughing and ruffled her brown hair.
"Of course it's true! Now, I'll—uh—continue my…'practice.'"
He wore a mock-serious face, though the corners of his eyes betrayed a grin. Terani obediently stepped aside, clutching her herbs like a little pup watching her master leave.
Just as he was about to step out, her voice called again, urgent and breathless:
"Master! Wait!"
She dashed up, rummaging in the bag before finally producing a plump little leather pouch, offering it to him with both hands.
"This is for you!" Her eyes shone as if presenting a priceless treasure.
Aeneas raised an eyebrow and took it, feeling the reassuring weight in his hand.
Before he could ask, Terani leaned closer, lowering her voice in an exaggerated mimic of Aresya's tone:
"Madam said, have fun exploring the estate, but do be careful, okay~" She drew out the last syllable with a playful coo.
Aeneas froze for a moment, then stifled a laugh. The girl had it down perfectly—even the faint trace of worry was spot on.
"And there's more," Terani puffed out her chest and pressed the pouch into his arms. "There's one mina of silver inside! Madam said, if you see anything you like, buy it! Eat whatever you want!"
One mina—no small sum. With barter still the norm, silver was the hard currency; this could pay a soldier for three months.
Aeneas felt a warmth in his chest and couldn't help but think: Mothers really are the most generous.
He shook the pouch, teasing lightly,
"All right, all right~ Don't worry, I won't challenge any wild boars today, okay?"
"Hmph, you better not!" Terani placed her hands on her hips, pouting, though the curve of her eyes betrayed a smile.
Aeneas waved dismissively and stepped over the threshold. Sunlight spilled through the side door, highlighting his broad shoulders.
Terani lingered at the doorway, herb bag in arms, watching him go. She muttered softly,
"Honestly~ Master always keeps me so worried…"
Yet her eyes sparkled, full of the expectation for some legendary tale to unfold.
Around seven in the morning, the sun had just crested the ridge of Mount Ida, spilling golden light like a river over the land and slowly chasing away the night mist. The air was crisp, scented with warmed earth and the subtle perfume of dew-kissed plants.
Aeneas stood at the manor gates, hands on hips, back straight, like a commander about to inspect his troops—though below him stretched only the Dardan Valley, still dotted with glistening dew.
He surveyed his domain. Smoke spiraled lazily from the chimneys of the largest village, as if some housewife had decided to rise unusually early.
Further afield, the Scamander River gleamed silver, winding through emerald valleys. Three tiny villages perched along its banks like stones casually scattered across a green mosaic, quiet and almost forgotten.
Turning toward the rear of the estate, he glimpsed another tributary, sparkling in the morning light. By its edge, a small village emerged from the shadows—its thatched cottages few and humble, nearly swallowed by the surrounding forest, as if the trees themselves had grown them.
The scene was pristine, almost painfully so: no smoke, no chaotic buildings, just faint traces of human life, like nature had reluctantly granted them temporary residence.
Aeneas inhaled deeply, tilting his face toward the sun, murmuring to himself:
"So…this is my domain, huh? Pure, untouched, zero pollution, one hundred percent organic."
Squinting slightly, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Well…maybe a touch too pristine. Turning this into fertile farmland paradise? This is shaping up to be harder than 'Caesar IV' on nightmare mode."
He ruffled his dark-gold curls, tousled by the morning breeze, shrugged his broad shoulders as if issuing a silent challenge to the world, and stepped down the stone stairs with a confident stride.
Aeneas followed the winding dirt path down the hill, the thin leather soles of his sandals crunching over gravel. Today, he'd swapped his usual finery for a rough linen tunic, tied at the waist with a simple cord, blending in as a village youth might. Were it not for his posture and striking features, no one would have guessed his true status.
Olive trees flanked the path like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with unripe fruit. The wind whispered through the leaves. Aeneas looked up, eyes lighting with delight.
"Blimey!" he murmured, voice barely audible, as if he'd discovered treasure. "Olives! Olive oil! Liquid gold of the ancients…more like hitting a gold mine—well, an olive grove, anyway!"
He almost danced along the path, footsteps light, mind ticking with possibilities: "Upgrade pressing techniques, double the yield, improve quality…money, money, money!"
Humming a discordant modern tune, his voice bounced oddly through the valley. A few startled sparrows took wing, fluttering toward the distant woods.
Completely absorbed in his "olive oil fortune plan," Aeneas barely noticed how absurd he must have looked—dressed like a peasant, grinning as if he'd stumbled upon treasure.
He patted his thighs as he walked, daydreaming about the villages in the valley, the markets of Ilion, perhaps even far-off shores. His gaze flitted between the dappled shadows of green trees, seeing this land truly for the first time.
Only one detail escaped him: any servant or villager who spotted him would likely wonder just what new game the young lord was playing today.
As he hummed along the path, rounding a bend, three armed guards suddenly appeared. Their steps were measured, armor glinting coldly in the morning light, expressions sterner than any magistrate's. The eldest, at the lead, furrowed his brow, eyes sharp as an eagle's, clearly on routine patrol.
And just like that, his gaze locked onto Aeneas.
"Stop right there!" The man swung his hand sharply, voice booming like a brass horn. "Who are you? Where do you come from? And what on earth are you doing wandering in the lord's forest at this hour?"
Before the words had even left his mouth, the tips of three long spears swung in unison toward Aeneas, sending a palpable chill across the space between them. The two younger guards spread to either side, and together, the trio formed a practiced little pincer.
Aeneas froze for half a beat. A comedic "ding!" went off in his head. Oh no! I forgot this part! Strolling around my own land at dawn dressed like this… I look like some petty thief scouting the place…
He almost smacked his own forehead.
The elder guard stepped closer, spear tip tilting upward, but his eyes wavered, catching something familiar. He studied Aeneas' face, frowning, then loosening, then tightening again, clearly torn. No… no way. The young lord dressed like this? Am I seeing things?
Aeneas squirmed under that gaze, forcing out a nervous smile.
He raised a brow, about to speak and ease the tension, but internally groaned: Great, if this gets out, my reputation goes from 'blessed young lord' to 'suspicious intruder'…
Suppressing his spiraling thoughts, he plastered on a polite, composed grin, as if someone had just caught him sneaking around in borrowed clothes. He raised his hand and spoke evenly, with calm authority:
"Relax, warriors. It's me—Aeneas."
Even in rough linen and plain sandals, the voice carried natural poise and nobility.
The elder guard blinked, squinting to take in the handsome face, as if struck by lightning.
With a resounding "thud," his spear planted on the ground, he dropped to one knee, voice quivering:
"Lord Aeneas! Forgive us! We didn't recognize you! Please pardon our rudeness!"
His face was a portrait of panic.
The two younger guards immediately followed suit, dropping to the ground so their heads nearly touched the earth, spines rigid as bows. Centuries of ingrained peasant deference to nobility surged up all at once.
Aeneas hurried forward to help the elder guard to his feet, mentally sighing: Good heavens… this feudal etiquette could crush a man.
Outwardly, though, he kept a warm smile and gentle tone:
"Stand, quickly. You've done nothing wrong—you were simply diligent in your duties. It was I who went for an early stroll without warning. You did well."
The elder guard almost choked back tears, utterly flustered after being personally helped to his feet by the young lord. He stammered upright, cheeks burning crimson. The two younger guards scrambled up as well, yet didn't dare meet Aeneas' gaze, eyes wide with a mix of awe and bewilderment—who could have guessed the young lord would stroll about like this? And personally help a lowly soldier?
The tension had melted into a strange blend of awkwardness and reverence. They stood rigid, movements so cautious that even breathing seemed deliberate, fearful of offending the "blessed son of the gods."
Aeneas let out a wry mental sigh but kept his face calm, wearing a polite smile as if nothing unusual had happened.
Seeing the three guards still stiff as boards, he brushed imaginary dust off his tunic and chuckled lightly:
"You on patrol, I presume? Perfect timing. I'm heading down to the town for a look around. Care to join me for a stretch? We can talk about how the estate's been faring."
The guards exchanged glances, as if blessed by fortune itself, unable to hide their excitement and honor. The elder guard swallowed hard, voice stiff but obedient:
"As you command, my lord!"
He gestured for his companions to stay alert while cautiously falling into step just behind Aeneas—never ahead, never behind.
Aeneas suppressed a grin. Good, this is the perfect chance to gauge my own military strength.
Outwardly, though, he appeared utterly casual, hands clasped behind his back like any bored youth on a leisurely stroll.
He strode forward, eyes skimming over wild grass along the path and the glinting valley beyond, pretending to ask casually:
"So, patrols like yours… how many do we usually have in the estate? And in total, how many warriors?"
The elder guard straightened immediately, voice formal and respectful:
"My lord, the estate maintains three hundred professional warriors, stationed across three garrisons. Together, they are tasked with guarding the manor, securing the town below, and patrolling the main roads and olive groves. Additionally, the lord retains fifty loyal slave-warriors, dedicated solely to manor protection."
Though still vigilant, the younger guards couldn't help sneaking glances at Aeneas, as if confirming whether the fabled young lord truly cared about such details.
Aeneas noticed the furtive looks and returned them with a deliberately knowing smile, raising an eyebrow and murmuring:
"Relax, I'm not here to test you. And even if I were… you'd all pass, no worries."
The younger guards froze, bewildered by this cryptic "joke from the future," yet still managed awkward smiles:
"My lord, what do you mean? Test? Pass… what?"
The elder guard pretended not to hear, though his step faltered, lips tightening in a silent mutter: Even his casual jokes are so deep… could the rumors about his 'divine insight' be true?
A breeze rustled through the pines. Aeneas walked on lightly, carefree as if out for a morning stroll, yet his eyes missed nothing, scanning every reaction as he quietly mapped out the state of his estate.