The carriage ride back to the Blackwood Estate was a nightmare of physics. Every time the wheels hit a pebble, Julian's skeleton performed a percussion solo that left him whimpering.
"Elara! I will deduct the cost of my future spinal reconstruction from your wages if you hit one more bump!" Julian yelled, though it sounded more like a pathetic wheeze.
Forget the pain, do you know how much a carriage of this caliber costs to repair? The leather alone is worth a commoner's yearly salary, and I'm currently bleeding on it, Julian thought, eyeing a small bloodstain on the seat with genuine heartbreak.
By the time they pulled up to the manor, Julian didn't step out; he essentially slid out like a wet noodle. Lyra, the silver-haired "Final Villainess," stepped out behind him, her presence making the nearby flowers wilt in intimidation.
"Welcome... cough... home," Julian gasped, leaning so heavily on a confused butler that the old man nearly toppled over.
"Young Master!" the head chef cried out, rushing toward them. "Who is this... terrifying woman? And why do you look like you've been through a meat grinder?"
"Staff, listen up," Julian announced, his voice trembling as his knees buckled. "This is Lyra. She's my... future moneybag—I mean, friend! My 'Final Boss' insurance policy. Treat her with respect. And by respect, I mean don't touch her, or she'll probably delete this entire zip code."
"Zip code?" the butler whispered, looking at the Saintess in terror. "Young Master, what is a 'zip code'? Is that some kind of ancient, forbidden spell?"
"It's... never mind. It's a term for a very specific, very expensive disaster," Julian wheezed, waving a shaking hand. "Just know that if she gets angry, the taxes in this region won't matter because there won't be anyone left to pay them."
The staff stared in silence. Lyra crossed her arms, her purple eyes glowing with a cold light. "I am not his 'associate,' you idiots. I am a prisoner who moved to a slightly more comfortable cage."
A cage that costs a fortune to maintain, Julian added internally. Her mana signature is so high it's probably going to fry the magical lamps. I need to find a way to monetize this. Maybe high-tier mana crystals charged by her presence? Yes... at a 400% markup.
Julian tried to pat Lyra on the shoulder to look like a confident leader, but his hand made a sickening CRACK upon contact.
"ARGH! My metacarpals!" Julian shrieked, collapsing into a nearby chair.
"Lyra... I'm too weak to even feed myself. You have to stay. If I die, who's going to pay for your high-grade silver-care hair products? They're imported, you know. Very expensive."
Just as the butler was bringing over a plush silk cushion, a frantic messenger burst into the room.
"Young Master! A magic-letter just arrived from the border! It's... it's encrypted with the Golden Lion seal!"
Julian's heart did a nervous little skip that made his chest ache. "The Golden Lion? That's... that's my father's personal crest."
The letter hovered in the air, projecting a voice like grinding tectonic plates. "Julian. I hear you've survived your 'incident.' I shall be at the estate by nightfall to see if you have finally grown a spine, or if I must discard the Blackwood heir once and for all. Do not be late for dinner."
Julian turned a shade of white that matched the Saintess's hair. My father? The man who thinks a 'broken neck' is just a lack of willpower? He wasn't just thinking of any parent; he was thinking of Duke Alaric Blackwood, a man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded war hero was only surpassed by his complete lack of sympathy for "weakness".
"Lyra," Julian whispered, his voice cracking as he clutched a nearby mahogany table for support—only for his wrist to give an audible POP. "Change of plans. Forget the tea. We need to look like we're running a shadow empire in the next four hours, or my inheritance—and my life—is going to be voided by Duke Alaric himself."
If he sees me like this, he won't just disinherit me; he'll probably try to 'fix' my posture by throwing me into a pit of spikes, Julian thought, a cold sweat breaking out. And I can't afford a funeral right now. The burial fees in the Blackwood family plot are astronomical.