"Dear, you should pray by my side, not just stand there. It's not that bad, is it?"
Maria's voice reached him as he descended the stairs from the upper gallery. She sounded worried, a slight pout on her lips. She'd managed to drag her son here for proper prayer, and all he'd done was wander off to admire the place.
Karl chuckled lightly, offering his most reassuring smile. Being part of the nobility came with obligations like this, social performances, religious displays, maintaining appearances. No one could force him to be devout, but he could certainly play the part. He kept his tone gentle, the kind of voice that could soothe anyone.
"It's my first time here, Mother. I promise I'll pray by your side next time."
Maria Theresa von Atticus smiled warmly at that, her concerns melting away. She was, at her core, a simple woman in that regard. Agree to what she wanted on small matters like this, and there would be no complications, no friction. Karl had learned that quickly.
They made their way out of the cathedral and into the waiting carriage, a polished black coach with the Atticus family crest emblazoned on the doors in gold leaf. The interior was lined with burgundy velvet, cushioned seats designed for comfort on long rides through the capital's cobblestone streets.
Several minutes later, they passed through the outer district of Gamascus and arrived at the family estate.
The Atticus mansion was magnificent, a sprawling complex that dominated its grounds. The main gate was wrought iron covered in gold plating, ornate and imposing, flanked by stone pillars topped with steel eagles.
The estate itself was built in Rococo style, all sweeping curves, elaborate ornamentation, pastel colors, and gilded details. It covered an area roughly the size of 20 football fields, a scale that had stunned Karl when he'd first processed the body's memories months ago.
Guards stood at attention along the perimeter walls, uniformed in dark blue coats with brass buttons, armed with flintlock muskets and sabres. As the carriage approached, they opened the massive gates, the hinges moving smoothly despite the weight.
Inside the estate grounds, the road was lined with carefully maintained trees, their branches trimmed into elegant shapes. Gardens stretched out on either side, manicured lawns dotted with flower beds, marble fountains, and decorative hedges.
They passed several smaller mansions, guest houses really, each one large enough to house a minor noble family comfortably. These were reserved for visiting dignitaries, business partners, or extended family members.
Servants bowed as the carriage rolled past, groundskeepers and gardeners pausing in their work to show respect. The carriage continued up the winding drive until it reached the main house.
The main mansion was breathtaking, a fusion of Rococo elegance and Gothic grandeur. Sweeping curved facades met pointed arches and flying buttresses. Pastel pink and cream walls contrasted with dark stone trim. Tall windows with stained glass inserts glittered in the afternoon sun.
Spires rose from the roofline, blending seamlessly with ornate domes. The architectural styles shouldn't have worked together, but somehow they did, creating something unique and impressive.
Karl still felt a flicker of awe every time he saw it.
At the mansion's entrance, over 100 maids stood in formation, arranged in neat rows on either side of the marble steps. His mother preferred maids to butlers, a quirk of hers that had shaped the household staff demographics. All of them wore identical uniforms, black dresses with white aprons, their hair pinned back neatly.
Karl's father, Heinrich von Atticus, was still away on business. He wouldn't return until just before dinner, handling affairs at the gunworks or meeting with imperial officials in the city.
The carriage came to a halt at the base of the steps. A footman opened the door and extended a hand to help Maria Theresa down first, then Karl.
As they stepped out, the maids bowed in perfect unison, their voices ringing out together.
"Welcome home, Lady Atticus. Welcome home, Young Master Karl."
He just waved, offering a gentle smile. The younger maids blushed and looked away.
By no means was this body ugly. In fact, if there was a ranking of handsome aristocrats in the empire, he'd be near the top without question. That wasn't narcissism, just observable fact based on the reactions he got.
Over the past 2 months, the younger maids had been whispering among themselves about what had changed in their young master, why he'd suddenly become so charming and mature. The older, more experienced maids simply noted that the Atticus heir was finally growing into his responsibilities, which was a relief given the weight of the family business he'd eventually inherit.
Karl turned to his mother. He had work to do in his own mansion, but he'd make sure to return for her afternoon tea, a small daily ritual she cherished.
"Mother, I'll head to my mansion now. I'll come back to accompany you for afternoon tea, okay?"
Maria smiled warmly, clearly unbothered by her son's busy schedule. "It's fine, dear. Do whatever you need. Just be back before dinner."
She'd always been a gentle, supportive mother, never one to micromanage or question his decisions. But watching him now, so focused and driven compared to the idle boy he'd been just months ago, she couldn't help feeling a bittersweet pang.
Her baby boy was finally maturing into a man. It made her feel suddenly old.
Karl's voice softened. "I'll accompany you, I promise. I'll go now."
He didn't wait for further confirmation, boarding his personal carriage and instructing the coachman to head to his residence within the estate grounds.
---
The carriage rolled through the estate's winding paths, passing fountains and manicured gardens before arriving at Karl's mansion several minutes later.
In the Dalion Empire, heirs of major noble houses traditionally maintained separate residences within the family compound once they came of age, usually around 18 or 19. This wasn't just about privacy. It served multiple strategic purposes.
It gave the heir space to conduct their own business affairs, build relationships with their own loyal staff, and prepare for eventual leadership without constantly operating under the patriarch's shadow. The size and grandeur of an heir's private mansion also served as a visible statement of the family's wealth and the expectations placed on the next generation.
Karl's mansion was several times larger than the guest houses scattered across the grounds, built in the same Rococo-Gothic fusion style as the main house but with his own personal touches.
Most notably, the east wing now featured a workshop addition he'd commissioned and overseen construction of just 2 weeks ago. The structure had high ceilings to accommodate tall equipment, large windows positioned to maximize natural light throughout the day, reinforced stone walls to contain potential accidents, and a dedicated ventilation system he'd designed himself to handle smoke and fumes from metalworking.
Building the workshop had cost roughly 15,000 Marks, a substantial sum by any measure. To put that in perspective, 1 Mark could buy a decent meal for a commoner family, a loaf of bread, some cheese, maybe a bit of salted fish. 15,000 Marks was more than most skilled craftsmen earned in 5 years.
But the Atticus gunworks generated over 2 million Marks annually, so the expenditure was barely noticeable in the family's accounts. Karl had justified it to his father as necessary for "personal research into improving our firearms designs," and the old man had approved it without hesitation.
Any investment that might enhance the family's manufacturing edge was worth making.
Karl stepped down from the carriage and dismissed the coachman with a polite nod. The man bowed and guided the horses toward the private stables located behind the mansion, where Karl's personal vehicles and riding horses were kept separate from the main estate's much larger transportation pool.
At the mansion's entrance, 40 maids stood in perfect formation, arranged in disciplined rows.
Staff size in the empire was directly proportional to status and wealth. A minor baron might employ 10 to 20 servants total for an entire estate. A count could maintain 50 to 100.
The Atticus family, despite holding only a baronial title, wielded the wealth and political influence of a ducal house thanks to their arms manufacturing monopoly and the vast trade networks controlled through Maria Theresa's von Galion connections. The main mansion employed over 300 staff across various roles.
Karl's personal household, as the heir, maintained 40 maids handpicked for competence, discretion, and absolute loyalty to him specifically rather than the broader family.
Their uniforms set them apart from the main house staff. Instead of the standard black dresses with white aprons worn elsewhere on the estate, Karl's household wore black dresses with deep crimson aprons embroidered with a simplified version of the Atticus crest, a steel eagle gripping a rifle.
It was a subtle but deliberate assertion of his independent authority within the family structure, a visual reminder that this household answered to him first.
The woman who stepped forward was Earla, his personal maid and chief assistant. She was in her late 20s with sharp, intelligent eyes and dark brown hair pulled back in a severe bun that emphasized her no-nonsense demeanor.
Unlike the younger maids whose duties centered on cleaning, cooking, and basic household maintenance, Earla managed Karl's schedule, handled his correspondence with business contacts and minor nobles, maintained his personal financial accounts, and coordinated logistics for everything from supply orders to workshop security.
In practice, Earla functioned more like a personal secretary or business manager than a traditional lady's maid.
"Welcome back, Young Master! I trust your trip was eventful?"
Karl smiled faintly as he walked toward the entrance, already thinking about changing into more practical clothes for the workshop. The formal aristocratic attire he'd worn to the cathedral was fine for projecting status in public, but it was absolutely terrible for actual work.
"It was fine. The cathedral is beautiful, I'll give it that. Saint Pendragon's iconography is genuinely impressive from an artistic standpoint." He paused at the doorway, glancing at Earla with a more businesslike expression. "But the whole 'nobles only' access policy strips away any pretense that it's actually about spirituality rather than social control. Anyway, is the parchland order being processed?"