Seven sat rigidly at the desk, dragging the tip of the fountain pen heavily across the rough parchment.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The mechanical clock resting on the corner of the desk marked the passage of exactly twelve hours since his abrupt arrival in this world.
Scribble, scribble.
"This should cover all the major turning points. I just hope my memory hasn't failed me on the finer details."
Seven exhaled slowly, setting the pen down.
Before him lay a comprehensive list of every major incident scheduled to happen in the novel over the next seven years.
Rising from the chair, Seven stretched his stiff torso and then turned his gaze toward the calendar pinned to the bathroom door.
"The first day of Bruma. Year 769. I still have a full year before the official plot starts. Under normal circumstances, that should be a good thing."
Seven narrowed his eyes.
"…Except for the part where I only have six days left to live."
According to the timeline he remembered, his assassination was scheduled for the seventh day of Bruma.
Seven tilted his head back, his fists clenching tight at his sides as he stared blankly up at the chandelier on the ceiling.
Ding!
> [ The ceiling is quite captivating, isn't it? ]
"...?!"
The system interface suddenly flickered into existence directly in his line of sight.
Seven clenched his fists and grit his teeth, but that initial irritation morphed into a mocking smirk.
"It absolutely is, especially tonight. I think I could die happy right now."
> [ /////// ]
Bright and jagged red lines slashed across the interface before it abruptly vanished into thin air.
"...Are you serious?"
Seven stared at the empty air, momentarily at a total loss.
Flabbergasted.
It was his first time seeing a blushing system interface in real life. Then again, didn't he just accept the system's proposal?
"Well, that was entertaining. At least."
Seven folded the parchment into seven folds and tucked it inside the desk drawer.
He then shook his head.
The information contained within it was far too volatile to be left in plain sight, so after a brief hesitation, he slid the paper beneath the mattress instead.
Back to the desk, he pulled open the primary desk drawer.
A book lay inside, and it had no title. Curious, he flipped through the opening pages before promptly snapping it shut with a dry look.
"A slice-of-life story about a common errand boy climbing ranks to become a high-class defense attorney in another world…?"
Seven blinked twice.
"That was a surprise. Who would've known that this world also has its own thriving isekai subgenre."
In the primary drawer lay several more thicker books. Tales of fabled knights. Voyages of sailors. Legends of other living races.
But most importantly, manuals detailing basic sword techniques. The pages were also worn, indicating a daily use.
"Oh."
Seven extended his right hand, flexing his fingers thoughtfully under the dim light.
"Despite these smooth and callus-free palms, it seems the old Seven really did try to master the sword."
In the first place, Seven would not have subjected himself into those agonizing daily meditation attempts unless he harbored a burning desire to walk the path of the sword.
Besides, the circled dates across the dates of the calendar were already proof enough.
"Still, there are more story books than these kinds of manuals…."
The entire other drawers were practically filled with them.
Seven picked up the attorney novel again.
It told the life of a young newspaper delivery boy who rode a bicycle, grew disillusioned by the unreliability of local media, and ultimately secured a scholarship to study law.
Time slipped by, unnoticed.
At some point, the book in his hands slid from his loosened grip and dropped flat against his face.
Thud.
A faint bubble formed at one of his nostrils as he slept.
— – - 777 - – —
Morning light filtered through blue curtains.
The calendar bore a fresh circle around the second day of Bruma.
Seven stood quietly by the window, holding a porcelain cup of herbal tea. Wisps of steam curled into the cold morning air as he took a cautious sip.
"Grrah! Still nasty."
The bitterness clung stubbornly to the back of his tongue.
With a shrug, Seven casually tilted the cup and poured the herbal tea straight out the open window.
Splash!
The tea drenched the potted plants below, instantly melting the light layer of morning snow resting on their leaves.
He set the empty cup back onto the saucer.
Down in the courtyard, two patrol knights trudged across the snowy yard. Pale plumes of white breath rose from their lips as they exchanged idle conversation.
Seven frowned.
"Strange. Why aren't they wearing the typical shining armor of an elite house?"
Their equipment was sparse: leather boots, a solitary iron poleyn buckled over one knee, and a standard arming sword resting at their hips.
They looked less like elite guards assigned to protect the youngest child of the Hart household, and more like that of a low-budget mercs hired to secure a remote roadside tavern.
"Damn it. No wonder Seven Hart ended up dead at the hands of some assassin. The guards are absolute leftovers."
Seven scanned the bleak horizon.
Even if the main Hart estate was seven days away on a carriage, logistical supplies and funding should never have been an issue.
There should have been more than enough gold to afford the proper equipment for all of the knights stationed here.
"...!"
Suddenly, Seven did a facepalm pose.
The inherited memories provided him with the missing puzzle pieces he badly wanted to know. That is, the budget supposed for the knights is halved, as the other half was used for the young lord's medication.
As it turned out, those atrocious mages cost a fortune.
Specifically, mages of the continent that are in paragon stage and above periodically visit the manor to assess his deteriorating state, and mind you, every single session costs double the monthly wages of each knight stationed here.
Seven's face contorted.
"All those exorbitant sessions, and not a single one of those supposedly paragon mages managed to notice a curse taking root in my heart. Talk about incompetence."
In reality, he knew that those mages are competent enough to earn their prestigious titles, as a paragon was a one-in-a-thousand rarity across the continent.
It was simply that a curse tied directly to the Cardinal of Envy was an anomaly that had always bypassed conventional magic.
"Yawn. How troublesome."
A long moment of silence filled the room as Seven stretched his body.
Knock, knock!
Iria entered the room and walked by the desk to collect the breakfast utensils.
"My lord, forgive my boldness. I cannot help but worry. Would you like me to inform the Archduke regarding the issue of the curse?"
"No."
Seven replied almost immediately.
Informing the Archduke wouldn't change a thing. It might even be a bad decision.
The Hart household, after all, has that one unchangeable rule applicable to all of the children:
> You shall not intervene with your younger siblings' ascendance rite. The path is sacred and inviolate; each child must walk it alone. Should any elder sibling conspire, interfere, or bear influence upon the ascension, their life shall be forfeited.
That is, because the Archduke might suspect one of his children as responsible for such action. If none admits honestly, then all of them will suffer the same fate.
That sounded an easy way out, but his gut is strongly against it.
'Of course, that is still included in the last of the list as a desperate choice if I run out of options.'
"Father must not know about this."
"As you say, my lord. Then at least let me find a knowledgeable magician specializing in curses."
"Do as you wish."
"Yes."
Iria bowed, picking up the tray and ready to leave.
"Ah. Forgive me, my lord, I nearly forgot. Please dress in casual attire today and accompany me below, as you requested last week. That will be all."
"Below?"
"Neamh, my lord. The village below this manor."
Iria looked him straight in the eyes before finally making her way and closed the door shut.