The flying island was not merely an enormous and expansive landmass; it resembled a small city, or more accurately, a fortress. Its towers, arena, defensive systems, and the mansions it housed all appeared lavish and imposing. Yet in truth, the island was inhabited far below its carrying capacity, leaving vast sections completely empty. As Areth gazed over these vacant areas, he envisioned a future in which he would fill them.
For now, however, his priority was to explore this world, to understand its power system, and to learn its political and governmental structures. With that in mind, he took his seat in the most extravagant and largest study on the island.
Standing before him was Lysandra, documents in hand. He had chosen her as his aide because of her exceptional composure and her rigorous training as a mage. She now stood across from him, reading through the papers she carried.
Yet what first caught Areth's attention was not the documents, but her hair. Yes, her hair. Just a few days earlier, she had worn long, straight white hair. Now it had been cut shorter and styled into a gentle wave. It suited her well, but that was not the point. What mattered was that she had altered her appearance of her own volition.
Although Areth had accepted that this world was real and that these people were not merely fragments of written code, witnessing such details firsthand felt strange. He had known every detail of these characters, had seen every line of dialogue multiple times. Now, however, he found himself curious about new things concerning them.
"Lord Areth… are you listening?"
Areth slowly tore his gaze away from Lysandra's hair and made a show of focusing on the desk before him, or rather, the documents on it. In truth, he had not read a single line.
"I am," he replied calmly. His tone was as it always was, measured, distant, and authoritative in the way one would expect of a lord. But Lysandra wasn't stupid. She lowered the parchment in her hands and frowned very slightly.
"No," she said plainly. "You are not. Your mind is elsewhere."
It was a bold observation, but not a disrespectful one. Lysandra represented one of the rare forms of honesty Areth allowed in the game. Because she was also a character who had a romantic relationship with Areth, and therefore, unlike the servants, she could behave more intimately with him.
He did not suppress the faint smile that formed at the corner of his lips. "What were you saying?" he asked.
"With our current mana reserves, we can remain airborne for only three months. Using the island's emergency resources, we could extend that period somewhat. Still, we will need to land the island soon. But in our current situation… how are we supposed to do that? We are in an unfamiliar world, and we must find a suitable location."
Areth did not answer immediately. He slowly traced his fingers along the wooden surface of the desk. This silence was not hesitation, but a deliberate pause. Lysandra recognized it and did not speak.
"Three months," Areth repeated at last. "That is sufficient time, more than enough. Do not worry. We will find a place soon. Is there anything else?"
Lysandra nodded faintly, but this time she was the one who hesitated. She shuffled through the documents and drew out a thinner, unsealed sheet. As she read it, her voice softened for the first time, if only slightly.
"There is, my lord. But it is not a technical matter."
Areth lifted his gaze from the desk. He knew that such statements usually carried complications.
"Go on."
"Some of your subordinates," she said, lowering her head slightly as a faint blush crept onto her face, "especially the women, wish to spend some time with you."
The room fell into silence.
This silence was not like the ones before. It was neither strategic nor intentional. Areth's fingers stopped moving atop the desk. For the first time, his mind was truly blank.
"I see," he said a few seconds later.
His voice was calm, containing neither surprise nor pleasure. That, in itself, made the situation feel stranger than Lysandra had expected. She looked up at him, but could read no expression on his face.
"Is this a request," Areth asked, "or a problem?"
Lysandra exhaled slowly. "Neither, for now. But it may become a problem in time."
Since reincarnating into this body, Areth had forgotten one detail. He was, in a sense, the owner of a harem. In the game, this had been represented through random events. But here, there were no events. Or rather, there were no events governed by game logic.
Areth closed his eyes and took a brief breath. Not to escape, but to bring his thoughts into order.
Yes. He had forgotten.
This body, this name, this position. They were not merely part of a "lord" package. In the game, such situations were simple, almost comical random occurrences. A notification would appear, a few options would present themselves, and the results would be calculated.
But here, there were no option windows. Time did not stop. And the people standing before him were not background decorations.
"I understand," he said again, more slowly this time.
Then, inwardly, he lamented, 'What exactly do I understand?!'
He had been an unemployed, asocial, irresponsible, and inexperienced man. Strictly speaking, he was not entirely a virgin due to an incident in his past, but he had never been particularly good with women. Most of his life had been spent earning money through temporary jobs, quitting, and then spending months immersed in games, books, and other things he loved. That had been his former life. But in this body, he carried responsibilities.
None of these thoughts showed on Areth's face. Yet the unease within him settled over his chest like a faint weight.
His former life… even the phrase sounded strange now. There had been no responsibility there. No expectations. The cost of a bad decision was usually limited to cutting one person out of his life. Here, every decision affected living people, people who were absurdly powerful beings. And more importantly, people who loved him, revered him, and held expectations of him.
"Lysandra," he said at last. His voice was controlled as always, but this time it carried a subtle fatigue beneath it.
"Yes, my lord."
"I want you," he continued, "to manage this matter on my behalf."
Lysandra raised her head. "What do you mean?"
"I need someone who will decide with whom, when, where, and in what manner I spend my time. A kind of schedule should be created so that I can allocate equal time to everyone. That way, no one will envy anyone else."
For a moment, Lysandra did not respond. This silence was different from the others. It was not shock or hesitation, but the silence of weighing the gravity of what had been said.
"I understand," she said finally. Her voice was calm, but no longer carried the tone of a formal report. It was more personal, more careful. "I will appoint someone to assist you in dealing with so many women, my lord."