Nathan – POV
The following morning, we set aside our usual training in swordplay and magic. Instead, we gathered beneath the shade of a great oak tree, where Mother had prepared a lesson in aristocracy. The air was cool, the leaves whispering above us, and for a moment it felt less like a battlefield drill and more like a classroom from another life.
I had some inkling of these matters already, fragments of knowledge carried over from my education back on Earth. As I listened to Dianne’s voice; calm, precise, and filled with authority; I couldn’t help but notice the parallels. Feudal Earth was not so different from feudal Hovdenia. The ranks, the obligations, the political makeup; they mirrored one another almost perfectly.
Was this divine providence, some universal law of civilization, or simply the natural philosophy of organized societies? Whatever the case, it seemed inevitable that the other systems I knew; democracy, socialism, industrialization; would eventually emerge here as well, if history followed the same linear path.
For now, however, I would not attempt anything reckless like introducing democracy. That would be premature, even dangerous. I would work within the current system, but I fully intended to bring forth the Industrial Age when the time was right. Steam, steel, and invention would give us every advantage, and I knew we would need them. Enemies awaited us in the shadows of the future.
Lessons in Nobility
Mother’s lecture continued, her words weaving a tapestry of hierarchy and tradition.
“The noble ranks,” she explained, “are as follows: knights at the lowest rung, then barons, viscounts, counts, marquises, dukes, and finally kings or emperors.”
Knights, she said, were the backbone of the aristocracy; the pinnacle of military strength, whether stationed in castles, cities, or towns. Mages could also be knighted. Jennie, for example, though a healer without sword or armor, could be granted knighthood, and with it nobility for her family.
Yet there was a distinction. For ordinary knights, the title was not hereditary. Only barons and above could pass their rank to their heirs. Knights could, however, be awarded the management of a village in service to their lord. This was called Manorial Authority. Typically, such authority was not hereditary, but in Shaxaian lands, it was. A knight granted manorial authority could pass both land and title to his heir.
Perhaps this was what my parents meant when they spoke of land being given to them.
I raised the question aloud.
“Yes, Nathan,” Mother replied with a smile. “That is the plan for our new retainers. When we have our own territory and new villages sprout, we will need capable people to manage them. Anda and his companions will be ideal candidates.”
I nodded in agreement. Since Anda and his people were now bound to our family, it would be wise to tie them further to the land. What better way than to entrust them with villages of their own?
A Family Classroom
The lesson unfolded like a small academy beneath the tree. Mother sat poised, her presence radiant, while five wide?eyed children gathered around her. For a time, it was peaceful, almost idyllic.
But peace rarely lasts.
When the topic shifted to dancing and noble etiquette, the mood soured. Serena frowned, Christine drifted into daydreams, Shive began to nod off, and Jack stared blankly into the distance.
“I know it seems dull,” Mother said patiently, “but aristocracy is built upon social norms. You must learn how to dance, how to eat properly, how to carry yourselves with grace.”
“I don’t need to learn how to eat properly. I already do that,” Serena declared.
Jack smirked. “You eat like a stock pig.”
“Who are you calling pig, you jackass!” Serena shot back, her voice rising.
The verbal scuffle reignited, sharp words flying like arrows. Mother had to physically separate them before Serena’s fists found their mark. I sighed, accustomed to these quarrels, and let my thoughts drift elsewhere.
I thought of Shaxaian—of the uncertainty that awaited us there. No one knew the true state of the land. There would be struggles, perhaps wars. I prayed silently that we would live long enough to enjoy the dinner parties and dances Mother spoke of, rather than perish before the dream could take root.
The Arrival of the Slaver
Later that afternoon, Jennie and her companions returned. But they were not alone. Ten young girls followed, shackles heavy upon their necks and wrists. Their eyes were downcast, their steps hesitant. Behind them waddled a fat merchant, his silken robes straining against his bulk. His face was oily, his smile false. A slaver.
Disgust welled in me, but I held my tongue.
The man bowed with exaggerated courtesy before my parents.
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“My lord, my lady,” he said, his voice dripping with false reverence. “I am Jardon, purveyor of such fine women. I am here to facilitate the magical slave contracts for all ten.”
Father’s expression remained composed. “Good afternoon, Master Jardon. Please proceed.”
The slaver bowed again and lined the women before us. From his satchel he produced ten scrolls, each shimmering faintly with mana. Magical slave contracts, I realized.
“Please indicate the name of your noble house and sign here… here… and here,” Jardon instructed.
My parents read the contracts carefully, then inscribed the name of our newly founded house and signed their names.
When they stepped aside, I drew closer, curiosity burning within me.
Jardon moved to each girl in turn, pricking her finger and letting a drop of blood fall upon the parchment. Ten contracts for ten souls. As the blood touched the scrolls, each contract glowed, and a crest appeared upon the chest of every girl.
It was our sigil...the very one my mother had designed.
I froze, stunned. The system itself had recognized our house. This was no mere formality; it was legitimacy, woven into the fabric of the world.
Heart pounding, I summoned my status page. What I saw there left me speechless.
Status:
Name: Nathan Mayweather- Abensberg
Noble House: Mayweather – Abensberg (member)
Class: Shadow Mage, Warlock Demonologist, Affliction, Destruction
Title: Otherworldly Knowledge
Name: Nathan
Class: Shadow Mage, Warlock Demonologist, Affliction, Destruction
Title: Otherworldly Knowledge
Level: 50
HP: 500
MP: 4750
Strength: 51
Stamina: 51
Agility: 51
Dexterity: 51
Intelligence: 655
Constitution: 51
Affinity: Shadow SSS+, Fel Energy SSS+
Active Skills: Shadow Bolt 7, Immolate 6, Summon Imp, Shadow Tendrils 10, Corruption 5, Curse of Weakness 5, Life Tap 5, Curse of Agony 5, Fear 2, Summon Voidwalker, Drain Soul 3, Create Healthstone , Health Funnel 6, Drain Life 5, Curse of Recklessness 3, Unending Breath, Searing Pain 5, Create Soulstone (Greater) , Ritual of Summoning, Summon Succubus, Summon Incubus, Rain of Fire 3, Demon Armored Skin 4, Eye of Kilrogg, Shadowmeld 1, Drain Mana 3, Sense Demons, Banish 2, Summon Fellhunter, Subjugate Demon 2, Hellfire 2, Curse of the Elements 2, Shadow Ward 3, Detect Invisibility , Summon Felsteed, Howl of Terror 1, Death Coil 2, Curse of Shadow 1, Soul Fire 1, Detect Greater Invisibility, Summon Infernal
Passive Skills: Mana Sense 3
One-handed Sword Mastery 1
Two-handed Sword Mastery 3
Spear Mastery 2
Dagger 2
Mounted Combat 1
Holy crap. I now had a family name...and our house was listed there as well. I stared at the glowing text on my status page, unable to believe what I was seeing. This was unreal. Everything was laid out clearly, as if the world itself had acknowledged our existence.
At first, I thought having a family name was just a symbolic gesture, something special but ultimately cosmetic. Yet the system disagreed. There were no bonus points, no sudden surge of power, but the implications were staggering. A family name separated us from the common people. It marked us as distinct, recognized, and legitimized by the very framework of this world.
Identity theft, I realized with a chuckle, seemed impossible here. The system itself acted as a safeguard.
“What’s amusing?” Serena asked, narrowing her eyes at me.
“We have a family name now… check your status,” I whispered.
She gave me a puzzled look, then froze as her own page appeared before her. “Wow… this is so cool!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement.
Jack leaned in. “Me too. I have it.”
I turned to Shive and Christine. Both were quiet. Shive remained nonchalant, her expression calm, as though this revelation meant little to her. But Christine’s face fell, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“What’s the matter?” I asked gently.
“I… I don’t have a family name,” she whispered. “I’m not part of the family.” Her voice cracked, and tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
My heart clenched. “Don’t cry. There has to be some kind of ritual to make you part of the family. We’ll ask Mother later.” I tried to sound reassuring.
Jack chimed in, his tone softer than usual. “Yeah, don’t cry, Christine. I bet there’s a ritual or something.”
“Yup, cheer up,” Serena added, though her words carried more energy than comfort.
I turned to Shive, the succubus who wore the form of a little girl. “What about you?”
She straightened proudly. “My status is as it should be. Servant to my lord, Nathan Mayweather?Abensberg.”
I smiled faintly and patted her head.
When my gaze shifted to the ten young women standing nearby, I realized with a pang that they were barely older than us...teenagers, shackled by circumstance. Why had Mother insisted on young women? The thought unsettled me, though I kept it to myself.
The contracts were handed to Mother. She placed them carefully into a wooden box, then passed it to me with a whisper: “Store this in the pocket dimension.”
I nodded and complied.
As soon as the fat slaver departed, Mother lined the ten girls before us. Her voice rang clear, commanding yet warm.
“Girls, these are my children; Jack, Serena, Nathan, Shive, and Christine. You are to serve them and help them properly. They are not like other noble children, who grow useless and spoiled. My children are capable of anything, and I would prefer that you not prevent them from doing chores themselves.”
One of the girls stepped forward hesitantly. “My lady, that would be inappropriate. We will gladly serve them.”
Mother shook her head firmly. “No. Please refrain from spoiling them. They can do chores as well as you. Assist them if they need help, but let them learn responsibility. You will find that we are not your typical noble house. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lady,” the girls replied in unison, bowing low.
“Good. Now, please change into the clothes Jennie and Belle purchased for you. Once done, prepare our dinner.”
The girls bowed again and hurried to obey.
And just like that, we had servants; our household complete, our family now resembling any other noble house. Yet beneath the surface, I knew we were different. Our bonds were forged not only by blood and title, but by choice, struggle, and the recognition of the system itself.
