A Lord’s Inquiry

XII

Nika was staring at me. I could feel it even without looking. The scratching of her brush against the canvas slowed, her small hands likely hesitating as she tried to figure me out.

It was a nice afternoon. The sun wasn't too harsh, and the wind carried the scent of baked bread from somewhere in the streets below. I had a perfect view of the city from this balcony, the intricate rooftops, the streets winding like veins through a massive, living body. My brush moved across the canvas, tracing the world in soft shades of blue and gray.

Nika's painting was different.

She wasn't copying what she saw. No, she was painting how she felt about this place.

A city in muted reds and oranges. Cracked roads. Shadows stretching long, curling over people who were little more than faceless blobs. The sky in her piece wasn't blue—it was a murky, dirty brown.

I didn't comment on it.

Instead, I went back to my own work.

I now had money. A manor to operate from. Goons to command. Robin would probably come back as an elite asset after training. My short-term goals had been met far easier than I expected. If you had the power to stop time, the sky was the limit. Probably.

But I couldn't get too ahead of myself.

I shuddered at the memory of fighting Stella Amsten's blood-frenzied corpse. The raw power. The hunger in her movements. I barely made it out of that encounter alive, and I knew that if I kept going down this path, fights like that would become more frequent. More dangerous.

I sighed.

I needed goals, damn it.

I couldn't just exist in this world. I had to move forward. But toward what?

Nika's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Lorekleim?"

"Nothing," I said.

She didn't look convinced. But she didn't pry.

Instead, she dipped her brush into dark crimson and kept painting.

The manor wasn't so empty now.

I had hired a few servants—mostly from the slums and the Purse. Of course, considering their backgrounds, they were rough around the edges. They worked hard, though, and they were respectful. Or rather, they were afraid.

I couldn't blame them.

I had quickly built a reputation here in Amsten, even without trying.

An affluent painter. A mysterious man with no past. A powerful knight—possibly even a former big shot in the underworld. The rumors were ridiculous, but in a way, they weren't entirely wrong. I hadn't been flashy, but the strangeness of my Time Stop, combined with witness accounts of the things I'd done, had painted me as an enigma.

It worked in my favor.

Fear was a good tool. Reputation was better.

We took a break from painting when a maid arrived, carefully setting down a tray of tea. The silverware was polished, a few slices of bread and jam neatly arranged on small plates.

The maid bowed before stepping away, leaving Nika and me alone again.

Nika stirred her tea absentmindedly, watching the city. Her face was unreadable.

Then, without looking at me, she asked:

"Mr. Lorekleim, what are your… motives exactly?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"No matter how much I think about it, I don't see any value you could gain by helping us."

I took a sip of my tea. Still too hot.

"It's a matter of perspective," I said.

"Is it so complicated that someone like me won't understand?" she pressed, her voice carrying a note of challenge. "Because I'm a child?"

She looked curious. No—eager.

She wanted to prove herself.

I leaned back in my chair. "Robin."

Nika blinked. "...What?"

"I'm doing this for Robin," I said simply.

"But why?"

"Like I said," I shrugged. "You wouldn't understand."

Because how could I explain it?

That in the future, Robin would become one of the strongest figures in Questworks's main storyline? That he'd leave his mark in history?

That I wanted his loyalty—before he became something far greater than what he was now?

No. She wouldn't understand.

I finished my tea.

No matter how I spin it, people wouldn't believe my story of transmigration. Even if they did, I'd probably end up burnt to the stake by the religious fanatics of this world.

I was just one man.

And no matter how powerful Time Stop made me, there were things even I couldn't prevent.

Assassination in my sleep, for example.

If I could sleep in a time-stopped world, I would've done it already. But I couldn't. My ability didn't work like that.

Another terrifying thought? Waking up inside a locked box.

Buried underground. Unable to move. Unable to escape. Trapped.

I wasn't some superhuman. I couldn't punch through walls or bend metal bars. And in that kind of situation, Time Stop wouldn't save me.

That was why I needed people. People who could fight for me.

Preferably, strong ones.

Nika's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"Can you teach me how to fight?"

I glanced at her. This was the second time she had asked me something like this.

"Huh? Why?" I asked.

"You have to be a powerful knight or a mage… right?" she said, tilting her head slightly.

I almost laughed. I'd never.

I wasn't a knight. I wasn't a mage. I was just a guy with a cheat.

But I supposed it was natural for Nika to start having misunderstandings. She had been with me for some time now, watching me work in strange ways. I wasn't exactly making an effort to correct those assumptions.

It wasn't like I could tell her the truth.

"I'll think about it," I said, setting my empty cup down. "Until Robin returns."

I still had no idea how strong Robin would become after following the walkthrough I wrote for him. If he decided he no longer needed my help, he might just take Nika away.

That would be a wasted effort on my part.

When I turned to Nika, I was surprised to see her face lit up—bright and excited.

She was actually looking forward to this.

A knock came at the door, followed by the voice of one of the maids I had recently hired.

"Sir, you have a visitor."

I didn't bother looking up from my canvas. "Tell them I'm not here."

Nosy neighbors. Opportunistic merchants. Self-important sons and daughters of bitches.

I had no time for them.

The maid hesitated. "Um… sir—"

I sighed. "What?"

She looked nervous as she peeked from the door.

Something was off.

I turned to her fully. "What's the problem?"

She swallowed before answering. "It's… the Lord of Amsten, sir."

Huh?

I blinked, lowering my brush. Of all people, why him?

"Alright," I finally said, setting my palette down. "I'll meet his lordship in the guest room. Go ahead and let him know."

The maid bowed and quickly left.

I turned to Nika, who had gone right back to painting, her small hands gripping the brush with full concentration. She was far too absorbed in her work to even notice what was happening.

I quietly activated Time Stop.

The world around me froze. The sound of distant conversations in the manor vanished. The soft breeze that had been moving the curtains halted mid-motion.

I stood, stretching briefly before heading to my room.

There, I changed out of my paint-smeared clothing, opting for something more appropriate for the occasion. A well-fitted dark coat, a crisp shirt, and polished boots. The signature suit that I ordered from Wilkins.

I wasn't about to meet Amsten's lord looking like a street artist fresh out of a paint fight.

Satisfied, I ran a comb through my hair, making sure to look presentable.

Then, I let time flow again as I walked my way to the guest room. I passed by the maid as she guided Steven Amsten through the halls. She looked uneasy, her steps careful, as though afraid of offending him in some way.

Deciding to take over, I stopped and addressed her.

"Let me handle it from here."

The maid hesitated for a moment, then quickly bowed her head. "Y-yes, sir." She stepped aside, eager to remove herself from the situation.

As she walked away, Steven Amsten let out a disdainful chuckle.

"Such uncouth and meek servants," he mused, eyes flicking toward the retreating maid. "So… inferior. This doesn't reflect well on their master."

I watched the maid disappear around the corner, her posture stiff.

I shrugged. "They're cheap."

Steven smirked. "And most likely to steal from you. Your money. Your treasures. Your secrets."

He tilted his head slightly. "How about I send some of my maids over to you? I'm quite sure they would serve you well."

I didn't respond immediately, instead motioning for him to follow me into the guest room.

As we stepped inside, I took a moment to scrutinize the man in front of me.

Dark hair. Sharp features. Eyes filled with amusement.

So unlike his ancestor.

The Amsten family had a long history, and yet, looking at Steven Amsten now, he didn't resemble his ancestor even one bit.

No crimson hair.

No lethal aura.

None of Stella Amsten could be seen in his demeanor.

He was different.

And for someone in his position—as the patriarch of the Amstens—he looked fairly young.

A wild guess would put him in his late twenties.

[Level 66.]

That was the number hovering over Steven Amsten's head.

I kept my expression neutral, but internally, I was already reassessing the situation. Level 66. That was stronger than the blood-frenzied corpse of Stella Amsten. Stronger than I had any right to deal with if things went sideways.

Not that I was looking for a fight in the first place.

I decided to keep things civil.

"So, what do you want?" I asked.

Steven chuckled. Smooth. Controlled. There was an amusement in his tone, but beneath that, a dangerous undercurrent lurked.

"So direct. So crass. This is… refreshing. I am your lord, you know?"

I hadn't meant to sound antagonistic, but I supposed there had been lingering resentment in my voice. I sighed, pushing those emotions down.

"Apologies," I said, keeping my tone measured.

Steven leaned back slightly, his eyes still fixed on me. "Now, let's get to the crux of the matter."

Then, without hesitation, he lifted a hand and pointed at the ring on my finger.

His voice lost all pretense of amusement, replaced by something sharp. Dangerous.

"Where did you find that ring?"