Chapter 1: The Third Son of a Noble Apparently Has It Easy

The first thing I felt was warmth.

A lukewarm, gentle warmth that seemed to let me sink endlessly into it.

My back, my head, my arms, and my legs were all wrapped together in something white, blurring the boundaries of my body.

When I took a breath, I smelled something sweet.

The scent of milk.

The scent of freshly washed cloth.

The scent of human skin.

The inside of my nose tickled, making it itch, and only then did I realize I was breathing.

I tried to open my eyes.

It didn’t work.

My eyelids were strangely heavy.

My arms and fingers wouldn’t move the way I wanted.

I couldn’t even properly turn my head.

Yet my throat trembled on its own, and the next moment, a high-pitched cry echoed throughout the room.

“My, what a healthy child.”

It was a woman’s voice.

A voice I didn’t know.

I shouldn’t have known it, yet I understood the meaning of the words effortlessly.

Someone lifted me up, and my vision swayed.

A white ceiling.

Wooden beams.

Light.

Shadows.

And between them, golden hair flowed gently.

A face drew near.

Beautifully arranged.

That was all I could think through my haze.

What a beauty.

At that moment, something burst deep inside my head.

The whiteness of fluorescent lights.

The air conditioning in a conference room.

Rows of numbers displayed on a computer screen.

Coffee in a paper cup.

The damp night air.

A train platform near the last train.

My own face reflected on a smartphone screen.

A worn-out suit reflected in a mirror.

Everything rushed into me at once, then scattered away, leaving behind only a painful sense of discomfort.

I know.

I don’t know this ceiling.

I don’t know this smell or this body.

Then where is the thing I do know?

Before the answer could form, overwhelming drowsiness swept my consciousness away.

When I regained awareness again, I was almost certain that I had been born once more.

Even with a mind that could only think in the brief intervals between crying, drinking, and sleeping, I could understand that much.

In my previous life, I had been an ordinary salaryman.

I’d wake up, go to work, bow to my boss, bow to clients, chase numbers, race against time, eat convenience store meals when I got home late, occasionally spend my days off absentmindedly watching videos, and then Monday would come again.

I wasn’t particularly unhappy.

Nor was I particularly happy.

I was simply ordinary.

And somehow, I had probably died.

I couldn’t clearly remember the cause of death, but considering that I was currently a baby, that conclusion was probably correct.

Then what exactly was this?

I was wrapped in white cloth, surrounded by women who smelled of scented oils, being cared for in a room that looked undeniably wealthy.

On top of that, everyone called me “Young Master.”

Young Master.

I rolled the words around in my mind.

Even if a baby’s tongue couldn’t do much with them, their meaning carried more than enough weight.

I was probably the child of a very high-ranking family.

Judging by how I was treated, I didn’t seem to be some illegitimate child either.

At the very least, everyone around me treated me with respect.

Isn’t this winning at life?

I truly thought so from the bottom of my heart.

In my previous life, I had never considered myself unfortunate.

But it hadn’t been easy.

Relationships.

Work.

Vague anxieties about the future.

I had believed it was normal to live while dealing with such things.

If this was what came after that, then I’d hit the jackpot.

Then I’d protect this position.

Absolutely protect it.

It might be ridiculous to make such a determination when I couldn’t even properly hold my head up yet, but there was nothing else for this body to do.

There was no downside to deciding early.

Life as a baby was far more boring than I had imagined.

Sleep.

Wake up.

Drink.

Relieve myself.

Cry.

Sleep again.

My body was so restricted that having memories of my previous life was painful in itself.

I had the sensibilities of an adult, yet I couldn’t act like one.

When I got hungry, all I could do was cry.

Even if my back felt uncomfortable, there was nothing I could do about it myself.

Most of all, the drowsiness was vicious.

The moment I thought I’d managed to think about something, consciousness would vanish again.

During those brief periods of wakefulness, I noticed something.

There was warmth deep within my body.

Not ordinary body heat.

Somewhere behind my heart, a little deeper inside my chest, it felt as though a small flame was flickering.

At first, I thought it was my imagination.

But as I focused on it repeatedly, I realized it was definitely there.

When I drew closer to it, it swayed.

When I tried to scatter it, it blurred.

When I gathered it together, it gained a faint outline.

It was fascinating.

It was incredibly mundane, yet as one of the few games available to a baby, it was extraordinarily entertaining.

Whenever I had free time, I played with that flame.

I moved it from my chest to my stomach.

Pulled it toward my shoulder.

Raised it to my throat.

Guided it to my fingertips.

It wasn’t unusual for me to fall asleep the moment I thought I’d succeeded, but after repeating it every day, the sensation gradually changed.

The flame grew larger.

Or perhaps deeper.

It was difficult to describe, but it became easier to handle.

Separate from the heaviness and sluggishness I felt in my infant body, that warmth alone responded obediently to my will.

It was only later that I realized this might be what people in this world called magic power.

There were several wet nurses.

At first, my understanding was no more than, ‘A different face comes every time.’

But once I could distinguish them, I developed clear preferences.

I preferred those with attractive features, gentle voices, and pleasant scents.

If I was going to be held, it was obviously better if it was by a beautiful woman.

It was an absurdly honest desire for a former salaryman, but there was no need for a baby to maintain appearances.

I treated them differently depending on my mood.

When someone I liked held me, I behaved quietly.

When someone I didn’t like held me, I fussed and sometimes cried for real.

I worried that I might be too obvious, but fortunately, those around me seemed to interpret it as, “Young Master has his preferences too.”

Before long, my preferred faces naturally became the ones surrounding me.

“Young Master truly does like beautiful women, doesn’t he?”

An older maid once said that with a wry smile.

At the time, I calmly sucked on my finger.

If possible, beautiful women are better, right?

That was my unapologetic response in my heart.

Life in diapers was miserable.

It was truly miserable.

Even when my memories of my previous life were vague, I disliked it.

Once my awareness became clearer, it was even worse.

Being expected to accept that discomfort felt like harassment directed at reincarnators.

So I escaped from it as quickly as possible.

My physical growth itself was probably normal for a baby, but because there was so little to do while awake, I spent a lot of time observing the people around me.

I gradually grasped the timing and sensations involved, and my determination to avoid unpleasant things was strong.

“Young Master gave up diapers very quickly.”

The older maids laughed with admiration, but it wasn’t funny from my perspective.

I couldn’t deny that relieving myself in a diaper had felt strangely satisfying at first, in a baby-like sort of way.

But after remembering my previous life, it was impossible.

Dignity was more important than that kind of pleasure.

Not that I could say so.

Once I learned to walk, learned words, and became able to clearly understand conversations around me, the shape of this household gradually became clear.

The Mavarl Family.

A margrave house of the Kingdom of Eldia.

The castle stood in the territorial capital of Mavarl, and this enormous stone structure was Mavarl Castle.

The large city spread around it was also Mavarl.

And naturally, the territory itself was called the Mavarl Domain.

Everything was Mavarl.

It confused me at first, but after learning that the residents usually just called them “the castle” and “the city,” I found it oddly practical.

My father was Garcia Mavarl.

The head of this family and the man who governed the territory.

When I actually began meeting him, his presence was overwhelming.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

Merely standing there tightened the atmosphere around him.

The way he looked at me wasn’t exactly gentle.

It was heavy.

Even when looking at his own child, there were moments when it felt as though he was evaluating me.

Naturally.

In this world, a noble couldn’t simply be a father, even within his own household.

Even as a child, I understood that instinctively.

That was why I reaffirmed that my memories of a previous life absolutely had to remain secret.

If someone born into a family like this displayed far too much understanding from infancy or knew things they shouldn’t know, people would inevitably find it unsettling.

There was a chance I might be celebrated as a prodigy.

But I wasn’t willing to gamble on that.

Don’t stand out too much.

Don’t disappear into the background either.

Capable, but not unnatural.

That was the ideal.

Once I entered childhood, my study hours increased.

I hadn’t disliked the smell of books in my previous life, but books in this world were heavy, both in paper quality and binding.

Every page turned with a dry sound, leaving a rough sensation on my fingertips.

The ink was slightly faded, and old books carried an air of authority all on their own.

I studied history.

I memorized geography.

The borders between the kingdom and the empire.

The major roads.

The size of territories.

Tax systems.

Connections between noble houses.

Everything was unfamiliar.

Which made it interesting.

More importantly, I felt that every bit of it was knowledge directly connected to my own position.

Unlike in my previous life, where knowledge was for exams or promotions, this was knowledge that felt like, “If I don’t know this, I might die.”

It entered my head differently.

It was around that time that I properly learned about labyrinths for the first time.

The descriptions in books were straightforward.

Where the entrances were.

What kinds of monsters had appeared there in the past.

What resources had been discovered.

There were examples of labyrinths in forests that contained deserts.

Labyrinths that somehow contained giant structures despite supposedly forming naturally.

Forest-type labyrinths that produced high-quality lumber.

The content was bizarre enough on its own.

Yet the text contained neither surprise nor fear.

It was simply recorded as practical information.

Which labyrinths were highly dangerous.

Which produced salt.

Which produced water.

Which were unprofitable even when adventurers were sent inside.

Which required strict restrictions on resource extraction.

As I read through the pages, I was reminded somewhat of facility management reports from my previous company.

Troublesome things that caused damage if neglected, but generated profit if managed properly.

That was probably what labyrinths were in this world.

And managing them was a noble’s duty.

What a troublesome world.

At the same time, I understood why nobles could stand at the top so absolutely.

They possessed magic power.

They could oppose monsters.

They bore responsibility for labyrinths.

If so, the logic of their rule made sense.

It wasn’t a beautiful ideal.

But it was understandable.

I first properly met my brothers shortly afterward.

The eldest son, Dalmesian Mavarl.

The moment I heard his name, my memories from my previous life almost made me burst out laughing.

It had been genuinely dangerous.

Being a child wouldn’t have excused that level of rudeness.

But the moment I saw his face, that reaction vanished.

He was serious.

Obviously serious.

His posture was perfectly straight, and there was no unnecessary wavering in his speech.

The weight of being raised as the eldest son was visible in every movement he made.

“Let’s get along from now on, Gil.”

He spoke in a calm voice.

I nodded like a proper child.

Dal Brother has it rough, I thought.

This man had probably been expected to be “the eldest son” from the moment he was born.

I couldn’t imagine enduring that myself.

The second son, Ardis, was different.

He had a gentle atmosphere.

Yet behind that gentleness was a strange sense of practicality.

The way he listened to people.

The way his eyes moved across documents on a desk.

The timing with which he gave instructions to servants.

How should I put it?

He had the air of someone who was good at his job.

Later, I learned that Ar Brother’s mother was a commoner-born concubine.

Even so, he didn’t seem looked down upon within the household.

If anything, he seemed to stand on his own merits, making up for his weaker magical power through effort and accomplishments.

Both of them were capable.

I understood that clearly after only a few meetings.

When I returned to my room and was alone, I felt relief from the bottom of my heart.

Good.

I don’t need to work hard to stand at the front.

There’s an eldest son.

There’s a second son.

Both of them have the ability to support the family.

In that case, there was no need for me, the third son, to force myself into the spotlight.

Of course, being incompetent was unacceptable.

An incompetent third son would be disposable when the time came.

So I needed to be capable.

But I didn’t need to stand out enough to become involved in succession disputes.

Capable, but not a threat.

Useful, but an easygoing third son.

That was ideal.

Once I settled on that policy, I felt much more at ease.

Even when using knowledge from my previous life, it became easier to decide the limits.

I didn’t need to become a hero or amaze people.

I only needed to strengthen my own position little by little.

The first thing I experimented with was food.

While peeking into the kitchen, I noticed ingredients resembling eggs, flour, and sugar.

That reminded me of something.

Castella.

Pancakes.

I hadn’t been particularly skilled at cooking in my previous life, but I’d certainly eaten them.

I tried making them through imitation.

I failed.

They burned.

They didn’t rise.

They became strangely hard.

Something was missing.

Something was excessive.

I wasn’t a craftsman.

Nor was I a chef.

My sense of measurements was completely unreliable.

Even so, after having them made repeatedly, something resembling the real thing eventually emerged.

Soft and sweet.

The women in the castle found them amusing, and even the men reached for them with surprised expressions.

By then, it seemed a perception had begun forming around me.

“Young Master apparently likes making things.”

Even the way Father looked at me had changed.

He no longer looked at me as though I were merely a child.

“Go ahead and try whatever you like.”

When he said that, I clenched my fist internally.

Being assigned several personal commoner servants was a huge advantage.

My honest thought was that I had gained usable hands and feet.

Of course, I never said that aloud.

Through them, I connected with craftsmen in the castle town and began experimenting with even more things.

High-quality charcoal.

Improvements to metal fittings.

Better cooking equipment.

New styles of maid uniforms.

Improvements to carriage seating.

Most of it was trial and error.

I hadn’t been an engineer in my previous life.

I didn’t know detailed structures.

At best, I knew how finished products looked and why they were convenient.

That was all.

So there were many failures.

Things didn’t turn out as intended.

Even when they did, they were inconvenient to use.

Materials ran short.

Craftsmen told me, “That kind of work is impossible.”

Still, sometimes things worked.

One of the best examples was improving carriage rides through the use of leaf springs.

When I was placed in the prototype, I was skeptical.

But once it started moving, the difference was obvious.

The jolts transmitted through the body were significantly reduced.

The vibrations from the wheels moving across cobblestones were softened considerably, even if not completely eliminated.

“I’m impressed.”

Leticia, sitting beside me, said so in a quiet voice.

When I turned toward her, I saw her neatly tied hair and composed profile as usual.

“The shaking is much less severe.”

“It seems like people would get less tired even during long rides.”

“Right?”

My voice became unintentionally proud.

Leticia had been by my side since I was young.

She only later became what could be called my personal maid, but to me, she had always been an older woman who was simply there whenever I noticed.

When I read, she brought the light closer.

When I stayed up late, she quietly placed tea beside me.

When failed prototypes dirtied my desk, she cleaned them up without complaint.

Neither too close nor too distant.

Yet unquestionably by my side.

And she was beautiful.

Older than me.

Quiet.

With an inner strength that naturally drew my eyes toward her.

She was my type.

Of course, I never showed it.

I wasn’t in a position where I should.

More importantly, Leticia was the daughter of an influential knightly family.

She wasn’t some ordinary commoner maid.

She had cared for me since childhood.

Even I understood that she wasn’t someone I could casually make a move on.

And because I understood that, I became even more conscious of her.

Meanwhile, I continued training my magic power in secret.

At night, in a room cleared of people, I played with the flame.

The warmth deep within my chest had now become a clearly defined flow.

It felt as though the quantity had increased, and the force behind it had grown stronger as well.

What fascinated me wasn’t just its strength.

It was how precisely I could control it.

Little by little.

Thin and sharp.

Or wide and diffuse.

I formed shapes in my mind and guided it accordingly.

Spirals.

Bands.

Spheres.

Threads.

It was around that time that I realized imagining something specific made it easier.

Since I had learned that magic was fundamentally something intuitive, I was probably on the right track.

As I continued training, I gradually began to understand that my magical power was apparently not normal.

I couldn’t say for certain because I had very few points of comparison.

But when I casually observed servants and young knights during training, the warmth they produced was much smaller than what I felt within myself.

The pressure surrounding Father and my brothers was closer, but even that felt different somehow.

Well, if I was strong, then I was strong.

That probably wouldn’t cause any problems.

It was when I was thinking so casually that I tried it out in a forest within the territory and discovered that spider.

A rather large spider had spun its web between some branches.

I remember how the pale threads shone in the sunlight and looked strangely beautiful.

For some reason, it caught my attention.

And for some reason, I tried directing my magic power at it.

The moment I did, the spider suddenly started producing thread at an incredible rate, as if it had gone berserk.

“Whoa.”

The sound escaped me before I could stop it.

The threads were thin but difficult to break and possessed a peculiar luster.

As they swayed in the light, they already looked superior to any insect silk I knew.

At first, I thought it was just a harmless prank.

But after trying it several times, I realized this wasn’t merely an amusing phenomenon.

I showed it to a craftsman.

The moment he touched it, his expression changed.

“Young Master, this is…”

“Can it be used?”

“Very much so.”

It was a brief reply, but that was enough.

We gathered the thread experimentally, wove it, and turned it into cloth.

It was light.

Smooth.

And visually appealing.

When it reached the women, their reactions were obvious.

They wanted it.

The merchants’ eyes changed as well.

It sold.

And it sold very well.

As I looked at the cloth, I smiled to myself.

“Let’s call it silk.”

The moment I said it aloud, I realized that wasn’t quite right.

This wasn’t silk.

It was obviously spider thread.

Back in my previous life, I probably would’ve gotten in trouble for false labeling.

But this was another world.

And I was a noble.

I could push it through.

Being a noble really was convenient.

That thread, now called silk, generated money faster than I had imagined.

There had already been threads produced from insects similar to silkworms, but this one was apparently of higher quality.

The woven cloth was luxurious, visually striking, and immediately attracted women’s attention.

It became popular inside the castle and sold for high prices outside as well.

Father’s response was brief.

“Expand the operation.”

That was all.

But the number of people and facilities available to me increased.

Even I could understand that my accomplishment had been acknowledged.

With this, I could no longer be called merely the third son.

I wasn’t standing too far forward, yet I couldn’t be ignored.

It was close to my ideal position.

Time passed quickly after that.

I grew taller.

My limbs lengthened.

The face in the mirror gradually changed from that of a child into that of a young boy.

Even I had to admit that my features were remarkably handsome.

The me from my previous life would’ve been a little jealous.

Perhaps because of that, my interest in women became noticeably stronger.

That couldn’t be helped.

I’d always been somewhat of a pervert to begin with, and at this age, with a growing body, it was only natural for my eyes to wander.

The maids passing through the hallways.

The attendants bringing tea.

The women hanging laundry near the training grounds.

Their chests.

Their waists.

The lines of their legs.

My eyes naturally drifted toward them.

Of course, I maintained a composed expression in public.

I was the third son of a noble family.

I had no intention of shamelessly drooling over women.

…At least, that had been my intention.

One day, a newly hired maid came to introduce herself.

My gaze instinctively drifted toward her chest.

Even I knew I had been obvious.

“Young Master.”

A calm voice called out.

I immediately looked up.

It was Leticia.

She wasn’t scolding me.

She was simply standing there with her usual composed expression.

Yet somehow, my posture straightened immediately.

“Oh… she’s new?”

“Yes.”

That was the end of it.

I said nothing more.

I didn’t even ask for the maid’s name.

Not asking was the more natural choice.

In this world, nobles generally didn’t memorize the names of every commoner maid.

Because of my previous life’s values, I tended to see people as individuals, but I understood that maintaining distance was the proper approach in public.

Perhaps Leticia’s brief remark had been her way of reminding me of that.

One evening, while I was balancing between desire and appearances, Father summoned me.

I entered his room.

The setting sun streaming through the window painted the stone walls and the edge of his desk red.

Heavy stacks of documents were piled before him.

Beyond them, Father looked directly at me.

The room was quiet.

Which was exactly why his next words felt so heavy.

“Gilbert, it’s about time you received your own crest.”

For a moment, my breathing stopped.

A crest.

Not the family’s crest.

A personal crest.

A symbol belonging to a noble man alone.

I already knew what possessing one meant.

“Receiving your own crest is proof that you have been recognized as a noble man.”

Father’s voice was low and flat.

Yet the weight behind those words was unmistakable.

Recognized.

The word settled heavily in my chest.

Ever since deciding to remain the comfortable third son behind my brothers, I had worked in my own way.

I studied.

I trained my magic power.

I carefully used knowledge from my previous life.

I failed at times.

Things hadn’t always gone smoothly.

And yet, it had led to this.

I was happy.

Genuinely happy.

At the same time, another kind of heat swelled within my chest.

“If you wish, you may make use of the crest.”

Father continued.

“You may freely choose anyone who serves this castle.”

A face immediately appeared in my mind.

Leticia.

The image surfaced before I could even think.

An older woman.

Beautiful.

Always by my side.

Quiet, yet possessing a strong core.

A woman who fit my preferences almost perfectly.

My throat went dry.

My palms grew slightly damp.

The joy of having my efforts recognized.

The realization that I was stepping into a higher position as a noble man.

And the strangely vivid tension about what lay beyond that.

All of it crashed into me at once.

“What is it?”

Father’s voice brought me back to reality.

This was bad.

I had stayed silent for too long.

“…I was just thinking.”

I answered as calmly as possible.

“Then think.”

“But do not keep me waiting for too long.”

“Yes.”

I managed to respond with that alone before leaving the room.

The door closed behind me.

The air in the hallway felt much colder than inside the room.

The evening sunlight stretched across the stone floor.

In the distance, the footsteps of servants echoed softly.

I stopped where I was and let out a slow breath.

I had been recognized.

That fact alone made me happy.

But something else occupied my thoughts even more, to the point that all I could do was laugh.

Anyone serving in the castle could be chosen freely.

That basically means what I think it means, doesn’t it?

My reflection in the window was much redder than I expected.

It seemed I truly could no longer remain just an easygoing third son.