Chapter 42: How to Live?

Breakfast time had just ended. The back garden of Phoenix’s Western Frontier Governor’s Mansion was quiet. The sky was clear and cloudless, the sun shone bright and warm. An autumn day in Calmy this clear made it a bit hard to believe that Phoenix’s summer months had just passed. The grass still held its deep green color, with only slight hints of yellow sprinkled among the summer hues, telling you autumn had arrived.

Constantine walked slowly along the gravel path, breathing deeply the air that carried the scent of grass. The unusually tiresome bedridden life of the past few days made moving his body feel especially pleasant. Only the somewhat harsh morning sunlight made him frown. Over the past days, the Clerics performed the Holy Light banishment twice daily, something the youth remembered painfully well — that wretched treatment always left behind an indescribable numb itch and pricking pain… and it went deep into his blood vessels, a tormenting feeling that was hard to pinpoint.

But whether the youth liked it or not, this torment had to accompany him for at least several more months.

In fact, whether it was the high-ranking Clerics or the Lich Hartdiel, both sides reached the same conclusion. The effect of this curse was transmitted through Constantine’s blood as a medium — this seemed to be a specialty of the Vampires. But precisely because of this, banishing it became extremely difficult. According to the Lich’s explanation, as long as even a single drop of the youth’s blood remained unfiltered, the curse’s effect could not be considered fully banished. Furthermore, it would absorb the host’s strength and spread again. This was why the youth always felt weak and lacking in energy.

Fortunately, this curse could not currently be activated by its caster. Therefore, the Clerics used the safest method — slowly using the Banish Curse spell to gradually, millstone-like, grind away its power until it was completely banished. This method wasn’t particularly remarkable, but it was said to be the safest and most effective.

However, regarding this method, the Lich himself always did his best to sneer at it. Perhaps because, as a Spellcaster, his demands regarding spells were always different from ordinary people: “It’s like a delicate lock. You can naturally open it with the original key, or you can split it in half with an axe. If neither meets the requirements, then find an experienced locksmith to slowly dismantle it into a pile of scrap metal. It’s the same. It’s just that this way will inevitably consume a lot of energy. Only those slavery-to-God folks would use such a boring method. Mages would never do this. They’d search for the pattern to crack it. That is true wisdom.”

“As far as I know, that method isn’t much different from a thief using a wire to pick a lock…” Constantine squinted his eyes, cutting off his magical advisor’s nagging.

In fact, this gentle method satisfied Constantine… the not-very-high-level Divine Magic wouldn’t significantly affect the Lich’s Soul within him for now. And those two relatively lower-leveled Spellcasters didn’t seem to have the ability to discover the secret in his soul either.

“Nothing interesting. Why do Humans like so much to forcibly change the forms of weaker life around them?” Unlike the youth who was full of interest, the maid following him showed little interest in the Duke’s Mansion’s backyard. It was said that Elves had an inexplicable reverence for nature and natural ways. Clearly, the neatly trimmed grass and trees here didn’t fit their aesthetic.

“Changing oneself to adapt to nature is a characteristic of most living things. But Humans, they always change nature to adapt to themselves,” the youth said with a slight smile — the always lively and impulsive Elf lady had seemed much quieter the past couple of days. When in a good mood, she would even chat with Constantine for a few sentences about interesting events she encountered on her adventures. Aside from the occasional vulgar slang that popped out, she seemed to have adapted to her current identity. This pleased Constantine, or rather, made him smug.

“Agh! Uh… Good day, Young Master Constantine!”

After walking a few more steps like this, a frightened voice suddenly rang out. Constantine looked up in surprise and noticed a flustered figure kneeling hurriedly in the distance to pay respects. His attire was made of linen, seemingly a low-ranking servant.

The youth frowned, only now realizing he had unknowingly wandered near the Duke’s Mansion’s kitchen area. This was also where those lower-ranking servants lived. So he waved his hand and turned to leave… but something he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye made him recall a matter, so he continued walking in that direction.

“Young… Young Master Constantine…”

The disturbance a few days ago undoubtedly made the youth’s reputation terrifying. These servants who came to Hayton with the Duchess were also firsthand witnesses of the incident, but after trembling all night in their rooms, their understanding of the truth was still influenced more by rumors. Seeing the young master who had become a living legend of Phoenix arrive, several servants quickly stopped their tasks and knelt respectfully, full of apprehension, to pay their respects… There was even an unintentional one who blocked the youth’s path. He was already shaking all over, perhaps afraid his offending action would bring terrible consequences… But Constantine didn’t have much interest in correcting these guys’ thoughts. He wandered in casually and then found his target beside a pile of odds and ends.

“…Young… Young Master Constantine…”

Seeing Constantine approach, that hefty servant hurriedly stopped his work. He thumped to his knees, respectfully trying to kiss the hem of Constantine’s robe. Unfortunately, he didn’t succeed — even after so many years of conditioning, the youth still wasn’t used to this almost degrading-to-human-dignity form of expression.

“Big guy… Oh, what’s your name?” Constantine looked at the big, uneasy man before him. The youth’s refusal made the other party a bit panicked. He knelt there, at a loss, secretly sizing up the youth who was now about his same height. Only when the youth asked did he respond with fearful respect — this guy was the big man Constantine had requested from the Duchess the other day. It’s just that matters had been busy these past two days, and he hadn’t found the time to implement his previous bodyguard training plan.

“In reply, young master, I have no name. But the people here call me Gordo… Young Master Constantine.”

“Gordo? Alright. From now on, you are my personal household servant. Don’t show such a fearful, shrinking expression. It looks strange. In the future, a single-knee bow is enough when paying respects. No need for extra actions.” The youth frowned. A timid and clumsy porter was not Constantine’s goal in choosing him. What the youth needed was, at the very least, someone who could be used as a bodyguard. It seems proper training was necessary.

“Personal? This, yes, my master. I swear to all Deities, I will follow you forever! I offer my loyalty, my everything!” Gordo stood up straight at his fastest speed, only lowering his head to show respect.

So Constantine immediately gave him a new task — training.

Of course, the man’s well-developed muscles all over his body was proof enough of certain things. So Constantine skipped the so-called physical fitness test part and moved directly to weapon application… After some thought, the youth chose a simple weapon for him: the Battle Axe.

The Battle Axe was an easy weapon to master. As long as you had enough strength to swing it, this weapon could deal considerable damage to opponents, especially against those who weren’t very fast. And the martial skill Constantine taught Gordo was to hold an axe and hack, slice, chop… Straight overhand chops with both hands raised above the head, horizontal sweeps at waist height, and the rest were seemingly chaotic wild swings and flourishes. Simple actions combined like this to form a routine.

It was a martial skill even a simple-minded Goblin could learn. But Constantine certainly had his own thoughts. What he focused on was quantity.

The surface order given was to chop firewood. Near the kitchen, there were plenty of logs meant for the winter hearth. The youth required the big man to simply chop them into evenly lengthed segments, then split each segment evenly into four equal parts vertically. But there was a strict requirement here: those wooden segments had to be almost uniform in size. That meant the angle and position of the axe strike had to be incredibly accurate.

And what pleased Constantine was that this big man displayed the best quality of a servant: he had absolutely no complaints about his orders. He didn’t even ask whether such training was useful, or if he could rest. He just mechanically carried it out, just as he had sworn.

“Good, now go find Walter to receive your new status…”

Nearly two Hourglasses of time passed quickly. The youth looked with satisfaction at the wood segments cut to equal sizes, repeating these extremely simple movements hundreds of times… with no deviation in each repetition. This level of physical ability was enough to become a qualified warrior — when energy was abundant, such demands weren’t difficult. But after repeating the same actions two or three hundred times, how hard it was to maintain a calm mind and steady movements!

A subordinate who isn’t very sharp might be trouble sometimes, but you had to admit they also had considerable merits… at least you didn’t have to worry about them betraying you — rigid thinking also meant stubbornness. Especially after Constantine issued a few commands, when Gordo changed into a new set of linen clothes, was assigned his own residence room, and was promised ten gold coins yearly as pay, the expression on his rugged face was enough to show his loyalty — if Constantine told him to commit suicide right then, he would probably do it immediately.

“I really don’t know what you want him for? This guy’s build is good, but he’s obviously past the best age for training. No matter how much you train, he can’t catch up to a truly strong individual. At most, he can be used to intimidate in minor situations.”

Back in his room, the Lich couldn’t help complaining. He wasn’t well-versed in warrior training. Having watched two hours of firewood-chopping with the youth, he was clearly impatient.

“A meat shield. Don’t you think a person like this can play quite a role in battle? Matched with a few others who are similarly not very skilled, they can make up for each other’s shortcomings. A small team like this could unleash an ability beyond a typically strong individual.”

He gave a common explanation. But Constantine suddenly shook his head.

Honestly, he didn’t fully understand himself why he suddenly thought of training this Gordo. Perhaps it stemmed from the heavy unease in the youth’s heart these past few days — after experiencing that Vampire’s attack, he suddenly began to feel a strong sense of frustration.

These days, thanks to bedridden treatment, the youth had plenty of time to let his mind wander. So he occasionally thought: if that Vampire hadn’t gone mad at the time, he might have died again by now — Constantine never thought about fair fights with enemies. As someone from an ancient country that valued wisdom, his understanding of combat was to use any means necessary. If he and that Vampire’s positions were swapped, Constantine even had dozens of different methods to achieve the other’s goal.

In the end, he survived relying on his pretty good luck. But luck wouldn’t always be by his side. This time, someone saved him. What about next time? Would the enemy still be careless? This time the enemy was a madman. His hysteria gave him plenty of breathing room. But next time, if what appeared before him was a calm, powerful enemy like a Greater Devil, then what?

Furthermore, Constantine realized that given his current situation, he might well encounter even worse crises than this.

Power and privilege often come with obligations of equal weight. This world that revered social class and strength would always bring him countless constraints. And he himself, without a doubt, was now caught in this vortex — His Majesty the King needed him to become Duke Connalyvis. But in Constantine’s view, this intention was clearly somewhat wishful thinking. Without some miracle happening, it wouldn’t be easy to achieve.

And given his current circumstances, even if he truly became Duke Connalyvis, so what? Could he gain the true support of the Connalyvis family? Without the backing of force behind him, even a Marquis could be driven out by a group of pitchfork-wielding farmers. In this feudal country, a respected Duke wasn’t inherently more powerful in terms of influence than a Marquis or a Count simply because of the title bestowed by His Majesty the King. Only those Marquises who held life-and-death power over a province, or Counts who held the position of military and political chief in a frontier region, were the ones in this Empire who most easily won more groveling and fearful reverence.

Moreover, holding a high position, wielding great power, and receiving the admiration and homage of the masses, this feeling might seem nice, but for Constantine, it wasn’t particularly attractive — he admitted he didn’t have the ability to plunge into this vortex and outwit those cunning old foxes.

Actually, in terms of ambition and desire, he had always been quite indifferent — an easygoing personality. Even after experiencing a major event like transmigration and living many years in this strange world, his personality hadn’t changed much. As an individual, grand ambitions had left him long ago, back in elementary school. In junior high, his past life’s Constantine most yearned for the life of a rich young master, idle all day, carrying a birdcage. But now he had gotten it, yet found it wasn’t that simple.

Perhaps he had always been proud of being different. These differences had helped him through this series of events. But now, the youth found that he seemed to be getting farther and farther away from what he imagined his goal to be.

“Although your ideas always surprise me, I think I need to remind you: this line of thinking isn’t correct in my view. You might be a Noble, but first and foremost, you are a Spellcaster. As a Spellcaster, no matter how complex the situation, your own power is your strongest guarantee. A powerful person never needs any protectors. Things like tactics can only make up for gaps in strength that aren’t large enough to create a qualitative difference.” Hartdiel’s voice interrupted Constantine’s thoughts — though sharing a body, the Lich couldn’t read Constantine’s mind. He hadn’t noticed the youth’s contemplation and was still chattering away, pointing out the flaws in Constantine’s just-mentioned plan.

So the youth shook his head with a bitter smile. As an Undead who had abandoned his Human identity, Hartdiel’s pursuit of power was undoubtedly pure. But his words did make the youth think of something.

His goal seemed to be to survive, but not just survive; it should be to live according to his own will — He didn’t particularly desire high rank or power, but at the very least, he didn’t want to grovel before anyone. He didn’t hope for countless servants, but he also didn’t want others interfering with his life.

So for his current self, titles and the like weren’t important. Strength was the number one priority. If a young Mage not only had power but also clearly possessed high potential, then his importance to the Empire would definitely not be less than that of a Marquis with real power, or even a Duke.

And Constantine believed he now had sufficient potential. As a Sorcerer, he naturally possessed greater capital than ordinary people. Moreover, a low-probability existence like a cross-Plane traveler, in the current Empire… no, even in the entire Western Continent, or the whole world, it was hard to imagine, or rather, there would absolutely not be a second person.

The most ideal plan now was to at least make himself a high-level Sorcerer capable of casting spells of the fifth circle or above. According to what Constantine learned from the Lich, once power reached this level, a Spellcaster would have a series of formidable spells to choose from. Any reasonably intelligent faction wouldn’t easily become their open enemy. Unless you were absolutely certain you could eliminate the target before anyone noticed. Otherwise, you’d only push a powerful being into your opponent’s camp. And the power of a powerful Spellcaster was something that worldly entities found very difficult to oppose.

What the youth currently lacked was an understanding of power.