Exiled to a Foreign Land: Managing a Destitute Estate

Part 1

Philip froze. His legs refused to move, his mind stuck on a single, glaring realization: That dagger is heading straight for my face. It was a strange moment of clarity, the kind that only comes when imminent death is a real possibility.

Instinct kicked in—or, at least, it tried to. He lunged to the side, or rather, his body attempted what it thought was a lunge. The weight he'd been dragging around since waking up in this new, doughy form had other ideas. Instead of dodging gracefully, Philip stumbled, his feet tangling like they were conspiring against him.

Great, he thought, I'm about to be remembered as the guy who died twice because cardio wasn't my thing.

The dagger gleamed in the air, its tip glittering with lethal precision. He could feel the seconds stretch, like the universe wanted to savor his humiliation. Every muscle in his body strained to move faster, but his extra bulk weighed him down like a tragic anchor.

Then, just as he braced for the inevitable, there was a blur above him. A flicker of motion that defied logic.

Natalia.

She launched herself from the second-floor gallery like some kind of barefoot ninja goddess. For a moment, Philip thought she was flying. She twisted midair, her movements so fluid they seemed to mock gravity itself. A flip, a twist, and then a strike so perfectly timed that it was like watching a choreographed action scene in slow motion.

Her foot collided with the side of the dagger. The impact sent the blade spinning off course, embedding itself into the wall behind Philip with a resounding thunk.

Philip blinked. His brain struggled to catch up. He turned slowly, staring at the still-quivering dagger on the wall behind him. His heart pounded so loudly he was convinced everyone in the room could hear it.

Behind him, Lydia gasped audibly. Ah, yes, he thought, because that's exactly the reaction you want from your governess when your life just flashed before your eyes.

The assassin, meanwhile, stood frozen, her previously smug grin replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. Her lips parted, the words "What the hell—" slipping out in a stunned whisper. She never got to finish.

Natalia's next move was equally ridiculous and breathtaking. She delivered a high kick with such precision that her foot landed squarely on the assassin's face. The force of the blow sent the woman staggering back, her confidence obliterated as she fell forward—first onto her knees, then crashing the rest of the way down.

Philip's brain, naturally, decided to focus on the wrong thing. Natalia's long, bare, shapely leg outstretched… yup.

As Natalia turned toward Philip, her expression was as calm as if she'd just swatted a fly. She looked at him, her blue eyes glowing with a clear expectation for a compliment, almost like a puppy expecting praise from its master.

"Did you like that kick, Master?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Philip opened his mouth to respond, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of gratitude, disbelief, and infatuation. "You are amazing! Thanks, Natalia, I—"

Then the dizziness hit.

His vision blurred, the room spinning like he was on the worst amusement park ride imaginable. His body, already taxed by the adrenaline rush, decided enough was enough. He swayed, his knees buckling as the world tilted dangerously.

Oh no, he thought, I survived the dagger only to faint like a weakling. Perfect.

The last thing he registered was Lydia's panicked cry as he fell forward, his weight—all of it—collapsing toward the floor. But before he hit the ground, strong arms caught him, Lydia grunting under the unexpected effort.

"Oh dear, Master Philip!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with concern.

Part 2

Philip's eyelids fluttered open to the sound of hushed murmurs and the sensation of a damp cloth being pressed to his forehead. The world came into focus, and the first thing he saw was Lydia's face hovering over him, her brows knitted in deep concern.

"Oh, thank goodness, Master Philip," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I feared you might never wake up. Are you in pain? Dizzy? Seeing double?"

Philip groaned, shifting slightly on what felt like an overly plush mattress. "Dizzy, yes. Seeing double… no."

Lydia let out a sigh of relief and set the cloth aside. "You had us terribly worried, Master. You've been asleep for three days."

"Three days?" Philip shot up, or rather, tried to, but his body had other ideas. His extra weight pinned him down like a sack of grain. He settled for propping himself up on one elbow. "Wait, what happened? Last thing I remember, Natalia was kicking that assassin in the face, and then… nothing."

"Ah, yes," Lydia said, folding her hands primly, though a hint of amusement danced in her eyes. "The assassin, I'm pleased to report, has been handed over to the police. She claims to remember nothing of her attack, which, naturally, we attributed to… well, let's call it your martial prowess."

Philip blinked. "Wait—you attributed it to my martial prowess? Who would believe that?!"

"Well," Lydia said, her tone light and teasing, "your old fearsome reputation still lingers. There was a time when you were the bravest of cavalrymen. You had a physique like a Greek statue and were the ideal man for countless young ladies."

Philip raised an eyebrow. "I was?"

"Oh, those memories must be so glorious that it pains your mind to recall them, as they stand in stark contrast to your current state. So your mind must have locked them away. But in short, yes," Lydia said with a wistful sigh. "Practically all the young ladies on this estate were infatuated with you. Of course," she added, her voice taking on a droll edge, "not that they aren't now. It's just that these days, they're infatuated with you for… slightly different reasons."

Philip narrowed his eyes. "What reasons?"

"Well," Lydia said, trying to suppress a smirk, "your… social standing. And the, uh, wealth they assume you have." She paused dramatically. "Though if they knew the true extent of the estate's debts, I suspect their affections might cool somewhat."

Philip groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. "So, to sum up: I used to be a dashing cavalry hero who turned heads everywhere, and now I'm a broke, overweight landlord who's only desirable because people think I'm rich."

"That's a rather harsh assessment, Master," Lydia said, though her eyes twinkled with mirth. "But not entirely inaccurate."

Philip waved a hand. "Right, so what happened after I fainted? Did Natalia do more backflips? Fight off another assassin?"

"Oh, no," Lydia said quickly. "After you were drained of mana, Natalia carried you to safety and then made her way to her room. Then she passed out."

"Drained?" Philip asked, sitting up straighter despite the protest of his stiff muscles.

"Indeed," Lydia said. "Her… epic moves, as you might call them, consumed an epic amount of mana. And since you're her source of mana, well…" She gestured vaguely at him. "You were left rather depleted."

Philip's face scrunched in confusion. "So, I passed out because Natalia used up all my mana?"

Lydia nodded. "Not all your mana, or else you would be dead. She just used a huge portion. It seems her more… impressive feats require a substantial amount of your energy. It's been three days since she passed out."

"Three days?" Philip groaned again, rubbing his face. "How is she now?"

"Well," Lydia said with a wry smile, "she is awake but on 'super-slow mode' to preserve mana. You will need to visit her soon to replenish her mana, or else she'll continue to sleep."

Philip sighed, flopping back against the pillow. "Of course I will. She did save my life."

Lydia patted his arm. "Yes, and besides, she does seem quite devoted to you."

Philip blushed. "At least there's still a lady who fancies me despite knowing how poor I am."

Part 3

Philip groaned as Lydia fussed over him, brushing off nonexistent dust from his shoulders. "Lydia, for heaven's sake, I'm not a porcelain doll. Help me up properly."

With a barely concealed smirk, Lydia hoisted him to his feet, though it was clear the effort took more strength than she cared to admit. "You should take better care of yourself, Master Philip," she quipped, straightening his rumpled shirt. "I'm not getting any younger, you know."

Philip rolled his eyes. "Noted. Now, let's go check on Natalia."

The two made their way down the quiet corridor, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. They stopped at Natalia's door, which Lydia pushed open with a quiet creak. The sight that greeted them made Philip pause.

Natalia lay on an enormous bed draped in luxurious quilts that seemed to glow in the dim light. Her blonde hair spilled across the pillow like molten gold, framing her face with a softness that made her look ethereal. Her long lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted, giving her an air of vulnerability. She seemed almost too perfect, like a statue carved by a master sculptor.

"She looks…" Philip hesitated, searching for the right word. "…peaceful."

"Peaceful?" Lydia repeated, raising an eyebrow. "She looks like she's dead."

Philip stiffened. Now that Lydia mentioned it, Natalia's chest wasn't visibly rising or falling. Her stillness suddenly felt unsettling.

He stepped closer, his pulse quickening. "Is she okay? She's okay, right?"

"I'm not a physician, Master," Lydia said dryly, though worry tinged her voice.

Philip leaned over the bed, peering at Natalia's serene face. He suddenly felt tired; the unfitness of his body was getting to him. Then, as if she could read his mind, Lydia brought a chair for him, and he sat beside Natalia. He hovered his fingers above her nose, hesitating briefly, before steeling himself and placing his hand there to feel for breath. For a heart-stopping moment, there was nothing.

Then—barely perceptible—a soft exhale tickled his palm. He sighed in relief.

But before he could straighten up, Natalia's eyes flew open, their vivid blue startling against the pale glow of her skin. Philip yelped, moving backward in shock and nearly falling off the chair.

In one smooth, instinctive motion, Natalia sat up and steadied him with her right arm, her grip firm yet gentle. Their faces were inches apart, her eyes locked on his with a piercing intensity.

Philip's heart thumped erratically as they stared at each other. For a moment, everything else faded away—the weight of the estate, the assassin, the endless responsibilities. All that existed was the way her eyes seemed to hold the secrets of a thousand lifetimes.

And then, something felt off.

Wait a minute… this feels… off.

He groaned inwardly. In every novel he'd ever read, wasn't the man supposed to be the one supporting the woman with strong arms in moments like these? The strong, gallant, and rich executive protecting the delicate, beautiful lady? Yet here he was, wobbling like pudding while Natalia held him steady, her arm unyielding as steel.

As the memories of the various eastern TV series he watched with Tara flooded his mind, his face heated with embarrassment.

The System's voice cut in abruptly, its tone dripping with mockery. "I don't know what kind of drama you watch, but it certainly seems cheesy."

Philip flinched, glancing around in search of the voice. "What the—System! Where are you? Don't just—" His words caught in his throat as his balance shifted dangerously forward.

Time seemed to slow. Gravity betrayed him as his body lurched toward Natalia. In a panic, he braced for impact, but instead of the mattress, his face collided with something soft, warm, and undeniably plush.

Philip froze, his nose buried in Natalia's thigh. The world seemed to hold its breath.

There was a beat of silence before Natalia's voice broke through, her tone laced with concern. "Master, you don't look too well…"

"I am sure he is well," the System said, but only Philip could hear it.

Philip shot upright, his face blazing. "I—I'm so sorry!" Words failed him as he waved his arms frantically, nearly knocking over a bedside lamp.

Lydia, who had been stifling laughter behind her hand, finally lost it, her snorts of amusement echoing through the room. "Oh, Master Philip," she said between giggles, "you certainly know how to pick a landing spot."

Natalia tilted her head, a soft smile curving her lips. "You fell quite gracefully."

"Gracefully?" Philip sputtered, jabbing a thumb at his own chest.

The System piped up again, its bunny form shimmering into view at the edge of the bed. "If you ask me, it is a pretty smooth way to initiate some intimacy."

Not helping, System!

Philip snapped in his mind, his mortification complete.

Natalia's gaze softened as she leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet and earnest. "I appreciate your concern for me, but I really think you should stay away from me for now. Your mana level is too low. In several more minutes of close proximity, you'll faint."

Philip nodded, running a hand through his hair, eager to end the awkward encounter now that Natalia was okay. "Right. I'll get going. Rest well—and thank you for saving my life."

Natalia's smile widened, and even Lydia chuckled softly as they watched him retreat to the far side of the room.

"She is a real lifesaver," the System remarked.

"Yep, in every sense of the word," Philip replied under his breath.

Part 4

Philip and Lydia were halfway down the corridor when the thunder of hurried footsteps shattered the hush around them. A flustered Albert barreled forward—eyes wide, cheeks flushed—as though he'd just sprinted the entire length of the manor.

"Master Philip," Albert gasped, clutching a folded document so tightly it crinkled at the edges. "Urgent news, sir. We've received the final agreement from the lawyer of His Highness, the Prince of Woterbatch. It's, ah…" He swallowed. "Regarding your joint venture with Lady Rosetta."

The name Rosetta sparked a jolt of tension in Philip's chest. He turned the paper over in his hands, heart pounding. "A joint venture? With Rosetta? Since when did… I mean, what exactly is this about?"

Albert offered a tight nod and extended the document. "It concerns the Vorak Hotel Chain. You and Lady Rosetta co-founded it years ago. The final paperwork calls for a formal dissolution—next Saturday evening. A signing ceremony at the Grand Imperial Hotel in Yortinto."

Philip's pulse thudded in his ears. Dissolution, hotels, some prince… This world was determined to test him at every turn. "I… see." In truth, he didn't see at all. Another chunk of this body's life had blindsided him—just like that forbidden ritual, that assassin, and all the hidden finances.

"I'm sorry if this comes as a shock, Master," Albert continued in a subdued tone. "But after… your accident, we've been waiting for the final word on the date. Now it's set."

Philip mustered a faint smile, wrestling with the swirling confusion in his mind. "Right. There's still time until Saturday, though?"

Albert bowed, relief mingling with concern. "Yes, sir. That gives you several days to prepare. If you need anything, simply let me know." With that, he hurried off, footsteps echoing through the hall.

Philip stared at the crest-stamped envelope. Vorak Hotel Chain. Lady Rosetta. A prince. Each new detail felt like a puzzle piece from a box he had never seen. He flipped the seal open, scanning the contents with mingled dread and curiosity. Dense legal jargon described dissolving assets, final negotiations, and a formal ceremony—complete with an extravagant banquet, no doubt.

Glimmers of memory danced at the edges of his mind: a lavish hotel lobby bursting with gilded décor, the smell of polished wood and scented candles, a distant hum of streetcars clanking along cobblestones outside… So this world isn't quite as behind the times as I'd assumed. The notion of a "poor noble" felt laughable if the previous occupant of this life had rubbed elbows with city elites and financed grand ventures.

"Recalling anything?" Lydia asked quietly, noticing a flicker in his eyes.

Philip sighed, setting the document aside. "Bits and pieces. Opulent ballrooms, streetcars, posh hotels. I guess life here isn't as primitive as I'd assumed."

Lydia nodded, concern mingling with warmth. "You're still recovering, Master Philip, so don't push yourself too hard. But finding out more about Lady Rosetta and this Vorak venture is wise."

He clutched the letter more tightly. "Agreed. Could you find me a good lawyer? I'd like to study the documents that I will be signing."

She bowed her head. "Of course. I'll bring whatever I can find."

Yet, as he set off for his study, Philip's thoughts churned. The more he uncovered—about Lady Rosetta, assassins, and these tangled business deals—the more he realized just how intricate his predecessor's life had been. He must have had considerable wealth and connections at some point to pull off this many ventures.

Still, a stabbing question refused to fade: Why don't I remember enough to navigate it all? Outwardly, Lydia believed he was the same Philip she'd always known, merely struck with partial amnesia from that near-drowning. Inwardly, he felt like an intruder in someone else's biography.

Fighting a swell of apprehension, he neared his study, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar. Rosetta, a Prince, ballrooms, swirling rumors… Where will this lead me next?

What else did the old Philip hide?