Mustache Man's face had gone an interesting shade of purple that John would have found fascinating if the man wasn't currently screaming at him.
"You absolute feckin' muppet! Ye stand there runnin' yer gob like a damn fool while yer betters approach? Have ye got rocks in yer head instead of brains? Do ye have any idea what they do to servants who don't show proper respect? They'll have ye in the stocks, or worse, they'll take a finger, maybe two if the lord's in a mood!"
John opened his mouth to respond, maybe to ask about the specific legal code that governed punishment for servants or to inquire about the frequency of such punishments because that would give him insight into how brutal this world's justice system actually was compared to the sanitized versions in most isekai anime where peasants were usually just comic relief.
But Mustache Man had gone completely silent and rigid.
Then he dropped to his knees so fast John heard the crack of bone on cobblestone.
John blinked, confused, and turned around to see what could possibly cause such a dramatic reaction.
The young lord had arrived.
He was maybe eighteen, possibly nineteen, with hair so blonde it was almost yellow, styled in a way that suggested he'd spent more time on it this morning than John had spent on personal hygiene in the last month. The fashion was what really caught John's attention though. The lord wore black compression clothing that hugged a build that was both skinny and shredded, the kind of physique that required either dedicated training or really good genetics. Over that, a golden yellow jacket hung off his elbows, not quite worn, not quite discarded, just sort of draped in a way that screamed "I'm too cool to wear my clothes properly."
The whole ensemble was topped off with a grin that didn't quite reach the young lord's eyes.
John's first thought, the one that bubbled up before he could stop it, was that this guy looked kind of gay.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, obviously, John considered himself very progressive and had watched plenty of BL anime, but it was just unexpected for a fantasy setting, especially one that seemed to be going for a more traditional medieval aesthetic. Maybe this world was more accepting of different expressions of masculinity? That would actually be interesting, a fantasy setting that didn't default to heteronormative gender presentations.
He shelved that thought for later analysis and focused on what was important. This was the young lord. The heir, presumably, to whatever noble house controlled this territory. Which meant he probably had magic, or at least access to magic items. This was John's first real opportunity to see what the power scaling in this world looked like. If this guy was considered a prodigy, what could he do? Fireballs? Summoning? Enhancement magic? What were the limitations? The cost? Was it mana based or something else entirely?
Did they use a numerical system for power levels or was it more qualitative? If there were rankings, what determined them? And more importantly, where would John fall on that scale as a newly arrived otherworlder? Most isekai gave the protagonist some kind of cheat ability or unique skill, so what was his? He hadn't checked his status yet, assuming this world had a status system, which it should, because every good isekai had some kind of quantifiable progression mechanism.
Maybe he should ask. Just straight up ask the young lord about magic systems and power scaling. That would be valuable information and surely a noble would be flattered by a servant's interest in their capabilities.
The slap came faster than thought.
One moment John was standing there, lost in internal monologue. The next, his head had whipped to the side hard enough to make his teeth clack together, pain exploding across his cheek for the second time in ten minutes.
"You insignificant worm!" The young lord's voice was high and sharp, edged with genuine fury. "You dare stand in my presence? You dare look upon me with your filthy peasant eyes while I arrive?"
John, stunned and reeling, looked down at the cobblestones where Mustache Man and the other two volunteers were all kneeling, heads bowed. Right. Kneeling. That was a thing in feudal societies. He should have remembered that from literally every piece of medieval fiction he'd ever consumed.
"Sorry, sorry!" John dropped to his knees quickly, probably too quickly, definitely without any grace whatsoever.
The kick caught him in the side of the face.
It wasn't a slap this time. It was a full boot to the jaw that sent John sprawling sideways onto the cobblestones, his vision going white with pain. He tasted blood.
"Wrong!" The young lord stood over him, still grinning that awful grin. "Three paces back, you absolute fool. Neck outstretched, face down, kneeling on the RIGHT knee with your left arm resting upon it. Not the left knee. Not both knees. The right knee. Do I need to draw you a diagram, or are you simply too stupid to understand basic courtesy?"
John scrambled backwards on his hands and knees, counting three paces in his head, trying to process the specific instructions through the ringing in his ears. Right knee down. Left leg up. Left arm on left knee. Neck stretched out. Face down.
He arranged himself into what he desperately hoped was the correct position, his neck straining at the awkward angle, his right knee already aching against the stone.
From his position staring at the ground, he heard the young lord huff, a sound of supreme dissatisfaction.
"Pathetic. Train your servants better, Horace, or I'll have them replaced with ones who know their place."
"Yes, m'lord. Apologies, m'lord." That was Mustache Man, apparently named Horace.
Footsteps, the distinctive click of expensive boots on cobblestone, moving away.
John stayed frozen in position, not daring to move, his mind racing. Okay. So this world had very specific social protocols. That was fine. He could learn. He was adaptable. This was just part of the experience, right? The fish out of water protagonist learning the rules of a new society. Classic isekai setup. He just needed to pay attention and not let his internal monologues distract him from basic survival.
The sound of more footsteps, multiple people this time. John risked the tiniest glance up and saw several more men in servant livery arriving, leading a carriage that looked like it cost more than every building John had ever lived in combined. They moved with practiced efficiency, attaching the carriage to two of the horses from the stable.
"Right then," Horace's voice, still tight with stress. "You three, you're accompanying the young lord on his hunt. You'll serve as baggage carriers and horse handlers. Try not to embarrass me further, especially you." John was pretty sure that last part was directed at him specifically.
The young lord was already settled in the carriage, visible through the window, looking bored and beautiful in equal measure.
John stood up carefully, every muscle tense, waiting for another correction or blow. When none came, he moved toward the carriage, figuring he was supposed to ride along. That made sense, right? How else were they supposed to accompany the lord?
He had one foot on the step up to the carriage when a boot planted itself in his chest and shoved.
John tumbled backward, landing hard on his ass for what felt like the hundredth time today.
"What in the blazes do ye think yer doin'?" Horace stood over him, looking like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led to this moment. "Servants don't ride in the carriage, ye daft bastard! Ye walk in front of it, leadin' the horses!"
"Walk?" John's voice came out higher than intended. "Like, the whole way? How far are we going?"
"As far as the young lord wishes to hunt! Now get up front before I add another boot print to yer collection!"
John dragged himself to his feet, every part of his body protesting. His face hurt from two slaps and a kick. His knees hurt from kneeling on stone. His pride hurt from the growing realization that this isekai experience was significantly less fun than he'd imagined.
He moved to the front of the carriage where the other two volunteers were already in position. The younger kid shot him a look that clearly communicated "you're an idiot" while the older one just shook his head.
Horace thrust leather reins into John's hands. "Hold these. Walk steady. Don't let the horses wander. Don't go too fast or too slow. And for the love of all that's holy, don't speak unless spoken to."
The reins were heavy and rough against John's soft, uncalloused hands. The horses were enormous up close, all muscle and barely contained energy. One of them snorted, and John flinched.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
In every isekai he'd ever watched, the protagonist either got immediately recognized as special, or got swept up into an adventure, or at least got to ride in the damn carriage. They didn't have to walk in front of it like some kind of medieval Uber driver.
"Move out!" Horace's voice cracked like a whip.
John tugged gently on the reins, and miraculously, the horses started walking. He stumbled at first, trying to find a rhythm, his legs already tired from the earlier walk.
Behind him, safely ensconced in cushioned luxury, the young lord's laughter rang out, high and cruel.
This was going to be a very long day.