An Unlucky Lord

Eric Miller, a slight 18-year-old with earbuds still tucked in his hair, pedaled his battered bicycle home from high school, his mind already drifting toward solitude and the soft glow of his television. With few friends and even fewer extracurricular distractions, he often found the chaos of social life pointless—preferring instead the quiet world of anime marathons, immersive movies, or the many video games scattered across his room. His escape, however, was routinely interrupted by his mother's insistence that he join her in nightly kitchen collaborations and slog through homework before finally settling in his sturdy, familiar home. Still, on days like this, his heart yearned for nothing more than a languid evening spent conquering a new strategy game.

"I'm going to get home and play that new strategy video game I wanted to, 'Castle Keepers'," Eric murmured to himself, his lips curling into a hopeful smile as he imagined the night ahead.

That hope shuddered violently as he crossed a quiet street, his solitude punctured by the abrupt sound of a shout from a group of adults waiting by the roadside. "Hey! Wait, kid!" one of them bellowed, his voice carrying on the cool wind. Eric glanced over his shoulder, dismissing their call, when suddenly a car—its headlights blazing and engine roaring—barreled around the corner. Time slowed as the vehicle struck him squarely, slamming him against the unforgiving pavement. He was thrown, his frail body meeting the asphalt with a force that would soon make the world around him tremble with shock.

In the chaos that followed, a young woman clad in crisp nurse’s scrubs rushed forward. Her eyes widened in horror as she knelt beside Eric’s broken form, her skilled hands quickly peeling away his dark, soiled blazer to reveal the pale shirt beneath. A gruesome scene unfolded before her: a disturbing pool of red had formed around his stomach, and as her fingers gingerly traced the area, she confirmed multiple broken ribs and a shattered pelvic bone. Her clinical touch paused when her gaze caught bruises along his breastbone—clear marks of assault, perhaps from his school's bullies, rather than the aftermath of an accidental collision.

"Call it in! This boy's dead!" she cried into the stunned silence of passersby, voice jangled with urgency as she continued her examination with meticulous care. Her whispered judgment, "Poor guy... Seems he was getting bullied," hung in the air before she allowed the uniformed medics to lift Eric’s lifeless body away.

In that final, doomed moment, Eric’s consciousness began to fade. The din of the city became an indistinct murmur as he slipped from life, his body slowly dissolving into darkness—a drifting vessel in the absence of sound and sensibility.

Then, with an inescapable pull, his spirit was yanked from the stygian gloom into an expansive white void. The sensation was grotesque—a force as if an all-consuming drain had sucked him in, tossing him into a disorienting spiraling plunge. His vision blurred into smeared ribbons of light, and his senses were dulled to nothing until, as abruptly as it had begun, the void unraveled into a serene, ethereal landscape bathed in a soft, golden glow. No shadows lurked here; every surface was aglow with an almost sacred illumination. Before him stood a statuesque woman, compact in stature, her long honey-colored hair cascading like molten gold down her back.

"Hello, my name is Selphy, the Goddess of Rebirth," she announced with a voice that resonated like chimes in a gentle breeze. "I have just plucked your poor soul from Earth and brought it to my divine domain. I want to transplant you into my world of Aetherweld—a realm as enchanting and fantastical as the video game 'Castle Keepers' you were longing to play this afternoon." As she spoke, she snapped her fingers, her lithe form bounding effortlessly onto an enormous, plush purple cushion that hovered in midair. With a calm grace, she reclined, shifting her flowing white gown to reveal the subtle power that shimmered around her.

Eric, still suspended in disbelief, watched every detail of Selphy’s presence. The goddess’s golden locks, shimmering like a river of sunset hues, framed her radiant face. The intricate embroidery of her gown—a delicate dance of silver and gold threads—seemed to capture the light and stir the very air around him with whispered promises of a new beginning. When she beckoned him closer with a slender, alabaster hand, he could not help but feel his entire being slow in quiet wonder.

"Wait, I'm dead?" Eric gasped, his voice tremulous as he struggled to comprehend the marvel before him. "And you’re offering me a chance to live in the video game I wanted to play, 'Castle Keepers,' without any harm coming my way?" His words were a breathless mix of shock and desperate inquiry. 

Selphy’s honey-colored eyes sparkled with gentle amusement as she nodded imperceptibly, confirming his wild suspicion. His pulse quickened, and before he knew it, Eric found himself taking an involuntary step forward. "There has to be a catch..." he murmured, his hand lifting with uncertainty to rest under his chin as he tried to piece together the surreal situation.

"There is one," Selphy admitted with a soft sigh, shifting her position atop the cushion so her flowing hair cascaded over its edge like a shimmering waterfall. "I'll place you in the body of a young lord, newly assigned to his own lands and castle. Your new name will be Theo Greymont." Her tone was matter-of-fact yet laced with a mysterious smile.

"You want me to live as a lord in the game I wanted to play?" Theo demanded, his voice a mix of disbelief and anger. "Why not just send me back? I was going to play that game in my free time anyways!"

"I understand your frustration," Selphy replied, her tone harsh yet tinged with sympathy, as she pointed a finger at him. "But as a Goddess of Rebirth for the world of Aetherweld, I have no authority to put you back in your body. Your body died back there on Earth, and there's nothing I can do about it. If you insist on going back there, I would have to erase your soul completely and rewrite it as someone new. If you become Theo Greymont you'll at least get to keep a small bit of your old self."

"What? So there's nothing you can do without resorting to such drastic measures?" Eric's voice wavered as he fell to his knees, torn between the finality of her words and the slight longing for his past life.

"Look, I am not supposed to," Selphy said, her voice softening as she clasped her hands together tightly. "But I will give you a nice starter skill in your new life if you choose to go to Aetherweld." Her plea hung in the air, leaving Theo caught between the remnants of his former life and the uncertain promise of a new existence.

"I don't see any problems with that idea," Eric announced, extending his hand in a tentative gesture of acceptance. He expected, based on Selphy's demeanor she wasn't an evil goddess like the ones found in some Isekai stories, so he trusted her as of right now.

Selphy’s eyes lit up as she reached out, her delicate fingers interlacing with his in a grip that radiated warmth and promise. The touch was akin to a gentle summer breeze, and a quiet hum of energy pulsed between them, sending tingles coursing along every nerve. "I'm glad you're agreeable," she whispered, her low, melodious voice wrapping around him like a soft lullaby.

Abruptly, she added, "He's gotten into a bit of trouble, but nothing you won't be able to handle," her words trailing off as her form began to dissolve into a silvery mist. Even as she faded from view, her smile and that mischievous glint in her eyes remained, leaving Theo both intrigued and apprehensive.

The golden light shimmered and ebbed away, and Theo felt an inexplicable sensation—a tearing and reassembling of his very essence. His vision swam, his body felt weightless, and before he knew it, he was waking up in a different reality.

In a modest, dimly lit bedroom with a faint hint of lavender and old wood, he experienced a sudden, jarring physical blow: an unexpected, hard slap against his face. The sting of alcohol and the sharp tang of regret seemed to cling to hin like a second skin. Blinking against the harsh light, he found himself face-to-face with an elven lady whose purple eyes flashed coldly in silent rebuke. She sat, unclothed and unashamed upon a bed, her white skin illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby lamp, as she slid off the bed with her rounded belly and stepped out of the room and into an adjoining bedchamber.

Within the chaos of his new body, a shrill tirade punctuated the air—a voice laden with betrayal and offense. "You promised me you wouldn’t make out with me like this! Liar!" The words cut through the disarray like shards of broken glass.

"Selphy... Where the hell am I? Who am I again?" Eric—now Theo—yet still half Eric in his thoughts—asked aloud, his voice a tentative murmur desperate for guidance from the unseen goddess. He grasped his forehead as he felt his mind spinning from inebriation.

In the quiet that followed, a disembodied explanation filled the space as if conjured by magic. "You're in the game 'Castle Keepers,' in a world known as Aetherweld. You are the newly appointed Lord of Greymont. Due to your skill, 'Lover's Host,' the previous host, Theo Greymont, left a chaotic trail through the Kingdom of Mystveil—ruining women's lives by indulgently embracing them in sexual interactions—until you, or rather, he, ended up with Lia Greymont, who is now expecting his child, crowning you as a new lord." Her words tumbled out, each carrying the weight of a world turned upside down.

Theo's eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, trying to piece together the jumbled puzzle of his new existence. The concept of being a noble... endowed with a peculiarly named skill... was dizzying enough to spin his thoughts into a vortex of confusion. As the silence deepened, the reality of his fate settled like a heavy cloak upon him. She had said that Theo had problems but he didn't consider it would start out this bad as smelled alcohol on himself.

Forcing himself to rise, he discovered a neatly arranged dark blue suit with crisp gold buttons—eerily reminiscent of his old school blazer but with an air of regality. Clad in these new vestments, he stepped toward a solid oak door that divided his quarters from those of a woman whose presence he now recognized as Lia.

Tentatively, he murmured, "Hey Lia..." uncertain how to address a legitimate noble companion.

The door creaked open to reveal Lia herself—a figure of temper and beauty wrapped in a flowing black dress cinched with a red ribbon, her grey hair tied back in a sleek ponytail with an additional black ribbon dangling gracefully. Her eyes flashed with irritation as she snapped, "What do you want? I'm finishing getting dressed here, milord."

A pang of regret shivered through him as he rested his head against the cool wood of the door. "I wanted to apologize," he said quietly, his words laden with sincere remorse. "And... start over."

Her surprise was palpable. "That's a first! I’m meant to be here for you as your wife, but last night, you were unbearably rough!" Lia’s voice boomed, the echo of her exasperation filling the narrow space as she stepped fully into view, the fine fabric of her dress swishing around her in measured elegance.

A nervous smile tugged at Theo's lips as he reached out, taking her hand in his. "I hope you can forgive me, Lia. I’ve been distant as well as terrible to you, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind—but I want to make it up to you. I think you look absolutely stunning today." His voice wavered with earnestness as he studied the intertwining of their fingers.

Lia’s eyes softened slightly, and for a heartbeat the tension melted away. "Eric, what are you doing?" she whispered, almost inaudibly, watching their joined hands while adding as if revealing his innermost truth. "You're a like a completely different person."

Theo’s heart thudded against his chest as he stared into Lia’s concerned eyes. "I don’t even know… I suppose I’m just trying to find my bearings and become nicer to you. I can’t quite remember what being a nobleman is supposed to feel like," he admitted, his words laced with both vulnerability and wonder.

After a moment of silent understanding, Lia’s gaze grew tender, and she gently squeezed his hand. "It's alright, Eric. You’ve been through a lot. Let’s take this one step at a time, okay?" Her voice, soothing yet determined, wrapped him in a cocoon of reassurance as she escorted him out of the room and into a office where a plush, inviting chair waited. He sank into the chair's soft, yielding cushions, letting the comfort envelop him even as his mind whirled with uncertainty.

But as the quiet intimacy began to settle, the calm was abruptly shattered by the sharp snap of Lia’s fingers. A maid—her uniform impeccably pressed and her movements swift—entered the room carrying an imposing stack of papers. With a scowl, Lia flung the pile across the table toward Theo. "Let's get you started on the territory paperwork you foisted off on me, dear, all this time!" she sneered, sliding the mountain of documents in front of him as if it were a challenge to be met head-on.

The overwhelming details of this strange new life pressed in on him—papers rustling, the scent of ink mingling with faint hints of alcohol, and the echo of a past life that now seemed as distant as a half-remembered dream to him. He was in serious trouble if he didn't grasp what the situation he was in this world. He hunched over the paperwork and started reading.