“Apologies for the delay, Young Master,” she whispered, closing the door softly. “The hallway near the library was still busy with guards. I had to wait for them to pass.”
“I appreciate you getting these, Layla,” Arthur said, forcing a casual tone. “You can leave now. I just got a bit curious and wanted to kill my boredom.”
Layla blinked, surprised by the request. As far as she knew, her Young Master hated studying more than he hated vegetables. But she didn’t question him. She curtsied and slipped out the door.
Back in the stillness of the night, Arthur pulled the bundle from under the covers and unfurled two parchment maps across his lap.
The first was the world map.
After careful examination, he saw that the world was divided into five major continents:
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The Central Continent: Human Territory
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The Eastern Expanse: Beast-kin Territory
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The Western Forests: Elf Territory
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The Northern Tundra: Dwarf Territory
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The Southern Wastes: Demon Territory
“Standard fantasy geography,” Arthur muttered with a chuckle.
But one detail caught his eye. Above the Central Continent, a question mark was drawn in the sky, labeled Draconic Continent, with an arrow pointing upward.
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“Hm. That means the dragon territory is hidden—or literally floating in the sky. Interesting…” He massaged his aching forehead. “That’s a problem for another day.”
He set the map aside. “Alright, let’s see where I actually am.”
He focused on the Central Continent. It was divided into three major nations. The largest, where he was currently located, was the Kingdom of Valeria.
The kingdom was split into six Great Regions, each ruled by a Duke House. Below them were Counts, Viscounts, and Barons. Above them all stood the capital, Solara, ruled by the royal family, House Valerius.
“Now, let’s zoom in on Ashborn territory,” Arthur whispered, tracing his finger to the western edge of the map. “Let’s see how bad it is.”
It lay in the far west. To the west stretched the endless ocean separating them from the elves. To the east and north, the territory was boxed in by the Ironwall Mountains.
“It’s isolated,” Arthur realized. “Merchant access is a nightmare.”
He squinted at the resource legends. The only raw materials marked were iron ore and darkwood timber.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he murmured. “Iron and timber are high-value resources. They should be rich. But the house is declining.”
He tapped the mountain range. “It’s the logistics. They have the goods, but they can’t move them out efficiently. Transport costs probably eat all the profit.”
His eyes shifted to the blue lines marking water sources. “At least water is abundant. Rivers flow down from the mountains. Agriculture shouldn’t be this bad unless…”
Arthur exhaled sharply. “What a pain,” he muttered, the Japanese phrase 'mendokusai' surfacing from his anime-watching days. “Even the territory is in worse shape than my body.”
He slumped back against the bed, hiding the maps and quill beneath the mattress. His mind buzzed with plans—roads, irrigation channels, trade routes—but his body screamed for rest.
“Gathering information will be my priority,” he whispered to the ceiling. “I need to learn the history of this place… all while maintaining the facade of a thirteen-year-old boy.”
A long yawn cracked his jaw. “I should sleep.”
His thoughts dulled quickly, a testament to the limited stamina of his poisoned body. The last image before darkness claimed him was Elena and his parents waiting for him.
His heart ached, Elena’s smile lingering in the shadows of his mind. But for the first time since waking, he had a path forward. And in this crumbling house, every step he took would decide whether Ashborn rose again—or collapsed for good.
(To be continued …)