Down to Earth

Part 1

He turned his gaze out the window, letting the scenery distract him. Rows of quaint brick houses stood side by side, many with tidy gardens still speckled with late-summer blooms. A few children in caps and suspenders dashed around the sidewalks, chasing a battered hoop or passing a rag ball back and forth. Their laughter carried in the air, blending with the steady clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages and the occasional growl of an engine. Newer motorcars like his were still a novelty around here.

Lydia checked the gear, letting the car pick up speed as the road widened. "We have a good thirty minutes before we reach the orchard district," she explained, sparing Philip a glance. "Did you want a short tour of the suburbs first? It might do you good to see more of Yortinto's daily life."

Philip nodded. "That sounds great. Take the scenic route."

She offered a hint of a smile. "As you wish, Master Philip."

He tried to suppress a grin. Since regaining consciousness in this strange new life, Philip realized it was the first time he had been outside the estate. Seeing more of the city—especially the quieter outskirts—felt oddly refreshing. The suburbs reminded him of places like the outskirts of Bortinto, where people sought a calmer life. Here, though, the architecture evoked a distinctly 1900s aesthetic: squat buildings of wood or brick, picket fences, and narrow lanes lined with rough-hewn sidewalks. Only the scattered glow of mana crystals in store signs and streetlamps betrayed the era's magical twist.

As the motorcar trundled past a local grocer, a handful of pedestrians paused in curiosity. Over the past few years, Yortinto had welcomed more motorcars, but they still turned heads wherever they went. Philip noticed an elderly gentleman in a flat cap gawk as the vehicle sputtered by, then doff his hat in a polite—but slightly wary—greeting. Some children cheered and raced alongside for a moment, thrilled to see a gleaming machine powering down the road without the aid of horses.

The System, once again in the guise of a giant white bunny, perched on the leather cushion of the back row, her fluffy ears brushing the low roof. Her pink nose twitched, and her big eyes sparkled with mischief.

He suppressed a groan. Only he could see her, thanks to her intangible, quasi-astral presence. Still, the image of a giant rabbit with a permanent grin looming behind him was distracting.

Why the bunny form now? he asked in his mind, careful not to move his lips too much. If Lydia caught him chatting to "thin air," it might worsen his reputation for instability.

The bunny's voice resonated directly in his thoughts.

I believe you can guess. Last time, I took on a… more stimulating form as your private tutor, and your "physiological response" nearly got you in trouble. Plus, we're in public. If you suddenly get flustered by my shapely figure again, Lydia might think you're having some kind of… episode. Not good for the whole "prove your sanity" endeavor, yes?

Philip swallowed, recalling how it felt each time the System tested his willpower with her various sultry guises.

Point taken, he replied inwardly.

The bunny wiggled its whiskers.

Anyway, in giant rabbit form, I'm too cartoonish to inspire certain urges or overreactions. And since no one else can see me, you can just stare blankly if you want. No risk of embarrassing blood flow surges.

A low cough escaped Philip's throat. She was right—this body was still quite "active" in certain respects.

Thanks, he thought sarcastically.

Always here to help, the bunny teased.

His gaze shifted to Lydia. She focused on the road, deftly guiding the automobile around a slower carriage. The faint hum of the engine underscored the click of hooves from passing riders and wagon teams, forging a symphony of old and new. Meanwhile, Philip's mind churned with the question that had dominated his thoughts since leaving the bank: if the imperial government didn't know about Natalia, then who was behind the assassinations?

Quietly, he sent the query to the System.

You said if the government discovered I'd summoned Natalia, they'd have me executed for violating the Constitution—makes sense. But maybe they're being sneaky? Trying to avoid a scandal?

The bunny scratched one of its ears.

You're overthinking, dear Host. The Constitution you speak of was written precisely to avoid hush-hush murders. They'd do it by the book. Summoning a sentient being is a capital offense. The monarchy or the empire would have you publicly arrested, put on trial, and then executed in a grand spectacle to show the realm that no one is above the law.

Discreetly burying me with assassins would be off-brand for them? Philip asked in thought.

Exactly, the System replied.

If the government discovered Natalia, they wouldn't fret about your grandfather's standing; they'd be compelled to show the empire that summoners of forbidden magic get hammered by justice. Plus, the sensational coverage in Yorgoria's newspapers would probably boost their credibility.

Philip frowned.

So it's definitely not them. Then who?

The bunny giggled.

I see you're morphing into a regular Mr. Holmes wannabe. Take it one step at a time, detective. Let's not label your killers just yet. Besides, you have more urgent tasks—like not going bankrupt and not fainting from mana drain. Focus on that first.

He sighed inwardly. She was right. Still, the idea that an unknown party wanted him dead gnawed at him like a persistent itch.

Part 2

With Lydia behind the wheel, they navigated a set of winding streets that branched off from the main boulevard. The houses here were smaller, fronted by narrow lawns or vegetable patches. Many sported wooden porches with rocking chairs or battered stools, where residents sat to watch the day pass.

Yortinto's suburb boasted a curious blend of progress and old-fashioned living. One moment, a roadside lamppost might flicker to life with a pale green glow—powered by a cheap "mana stone." The next moment, they'd pass a blacksmith's shop exhaling columns of smoke while a sturdy fellow pounded iron on an anvil. Even the passersby reflected this half-modern, half-historic vibe. Some wore crisp suits and pocket watches, others strolled in plain working-class garb reminiscent of the 1800s. Every so often, well-dressed ladies carried parasols despite the bright day, shading themselves in a manner that wouldn't have looked out of place decades ago.

A group of young men in off-duty soldier uniforms—brownish-green tunics with stiff collars—lounged around a cafe, their rifles nowhere in sight but presumably stored inside. They raised their eyebrows at the motorcar and offered friendly waves. Philip nodded back, recalling that the standing armies in this world were large, thanks to the frequent small-scale wars. The Realm Guardians prevented total wars from breaking out between nations, but regional conflicts persisted through conventional warfare.

"My father told me once," Lydia said quietly, "that this area used to be farmland before the city expanded. Now you see small factories and shops cropping up. It's changing." She paused, exhaling softly. "But not always for the better. The poor gather where there's work, and there isn't always enough to go around."

They passed a row of cramped tenements. The laundry lines strung between the buildings fluttered with tattered garments. Groups of women, many wearing faded headscarves or modest bonnets, supervised children chasing each other in the alley. A distinct tension hung in the air, one that tugged at Philip's conscience.

They paused at a corner while a horse-drawn wagon ahead unloaded crates. A policeman idled nearby, checking papers and occasionally swatting at flies. As the motorcar waited, Philip noticed a woman in threadbare clothes crouched by the curb, shoulders hunched. A ratty scarf covered her hair, and in her arms, she cradled a baby wrapped in a thin shawl. She held out a trembling hand toward passing pedestrians, but most hurried by with barely a glance.

Philip felt a tug of sympathy. In Bortinto—back in his former world—he'd encountered more men than women on the streets, at least among the visible homeless population.

There seem to be so many struggling women here, he noted inwardly, addressing the System.

The bunny in the back seat nodded solemnly.

Remember how I told you: due to the nature of the leyline and other complicated magical principles, each realm could only sustain one Realm Guardian. Hence, something similar to nuclear deterrence does not exist in this world. Warfare didn't become obsolete. Instead, large armies remain in constant rotation, especially in the fringes of the various global empires. Countless men are conscripted or enlisted for what they assume is a stable career. But in reality, warfare rages, albeit in different places, almost constantly across the globe just for the sake of small territorial changes. Many men don't come back. So, widows are a common sight.

Philip stared at the woman again. She looked up for a fraction of a second, her eyes dull with exhaustion, then cast them down once more. Perhaps her husband had died in some skirmish a world away.

So, the bunny continued, her voice quiet in his mind, many of these impoverished families lose their breadwinners. There is no direct welfare system. The empire invests more in the military than in social programs. A large portion of the younger men are overseas or in training camps. That is why you see a lot more working women in this world than in your world in 1900. But unemployment is high, especially in the suburbs.

That's tragic, Philip responded mentally. I guess that's the cost of having these unstoppable living weapons. They're basically nuclear deterrents that only get used if the entire empire is threatened, so normal warfare rages on. And men die constantly?

Precisely, the bunny said, shaking her furry head. All that heartbreak fuels a constant cycle of widows, children without fathers, and families uprooted from rural areas seeking meager city wages.

Philip's chest tightened. Guess this world wasn't all romantic ballrooms and magical wonders. It had plenty of shadows, too.

The wagon finally moved, letting Lydia accelerate again. As they pulled away, Philip glimpsed the begging mother cradle her baby more tightly, hoping the next passerby might spare a coin.

He hesitated a moment, then leaned forward. "Lydia, can we… do something for her? Give her a job at the manor?"

Lydia's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "A job, Master Philip?" Her tone was measured, but curiosity laced each word.

"Maybe a position helping with the orchard or the gardens," he said quietly. "I can't just leave her—someone like that—on the streets."

Lydia paused, and the engine's hum filled the silence for a moment. "We do need extra hands. The orchard requires weed clearing and fruit picking." She coughed politely. "But, Master, you should be aware: everything you do might be misconstrued by the local press. They look for any scandal, especially involving you, a disgraced noble with a… complicated history. Hiring a vagrant woman might spur unsavory rumors. They could claim you're an evil noble collecting young widows for your personal harem or some inhumane experiment."

A pang of guilt twisted in Philip's gut. "That's ridiculous."

"I know. But tabloids will spin anything for a headline," Lydia said gently. "We must be discreet if we're to rehabilitate your image—and the estate's."

He couldn't deny she had a point. Still, he loathed the idea of turning a blind eye. "So what do we do?"

Lydia slowed the motorcar slightly to steer around a pothole. "We can arrange a more subtle form of assistance—like renting a small apartment for her near the orchard. Maybe she can work part-time. But the arrangement must be very discrete."

Philip exhaled, half relieved. "Let's do that, if we can afford it."

A faint smile played on Lydia's lips. "We're short on funds right now, Master, but if you finalize that Vorak Hotel Chain dissolution with Lady Rosetta, you'll free up approximately six hundred thirty-five thousand Continental dollars."

He almost choked on his own spit. "Six hundred thirty-five thousand? Are you sure? I know the old me was loaded, but that's practically an entire fortune in one project."

Lydia chuckled softly, keeping her gaze on the road. "You said it yourself—back then, you spared no expense for Lady Rosetta. Any venture involving her was worth limitless sums. You were willing to sign away your life, if necessary."

Philip gave a short, humorless laugh. "Must've been very devoted to her."

"More like obsessed," Lydia murmured. "But yes, once that money is liquid, you'll have the means to fund small acts of charity. Or large ones, if you wish. Just try not to attract negative press."

Philip's jaw tensed. "I'll be careful."

Part 3

They continued along a broader avenue flanked by recently erected three-story shops and residential buildings. The motorcar hissed and rumbled as it maneuvered around a slower streetcar carrying a gaggle of women in plain dresses. One or two stared openly at Philip, some with curiosity, others with mild disapproval. A well-dressed older couple in the streetcar gave an almost haughty tilt of the chin, as though to say, We disapprove of that showy contraption. But aside from that, they faced little trouble.

Not five minutes passed, however, before a new clatter of hooves—louder and sharper than the typical commuter carriage—rose behind them. Lydia glanced in the mirror. "There's a carriage approaching rather fast."

Philip craned his neck, glimpsing a sleek, midnight-blue carriage with elaborate gilding on its edges. It bore a large crest on its side, though from this angle, he couldn't make it out. The driver—a tall man in a trim uniform—urged two powerful horses forward at a near gallop.

A prickle of tension arced across Philip's skin. "Is he racing us? That's dangerous in these narrow streets."

Lydia tried to steer to the side to let the carriage pass. The motorcar belched some smoke as she eased off the accelerator. But instead of simply passing, the carriage accelerated and cut across with practiced precision, placing itself directly ahead of them. The horses snorted and slowed, effectively blocking their path. Lydia slammed the brakes, causing the motorcar to shudder to a halt, the engine protesting with a sputtering cough.

"Are they trying to run us off the road?" Philip snapped, trying not to let panic creep into his voice. All around, pedestrians and passersby gawked at the spectacle—some hurrying away, wary of a potential altercation.

The big, polished carriage angled just enough to force the motorcar into a complete stop behind it. Philip could now see the crest more clearly: some noble's signet, a stylized hawk perched on a shield. Lydia's eyes widened in recognition.

"Master Philip," she said slowly, her voice taut with caution. "That crest belongs to…"

She trailed off, swallowing hard, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. The driver of the carriage hopped down, apparently to approach them.

Philip felt his heart hammer. "Not another assassin, I hope," he muttered. Then he shot a sideways look at Lydia's tense posture. "Or is it… an old fling? Don't tell me the old me tried a drunken pass at some fiery noble lady who's back for revenge?"

Philip's pulse pounded. Who in the world would have the nerve—and the rank—to force the grandson of a duke to stop in such a brazen manner?