The next day, Ulrich woke up earlier.
Even though he wasn't exactly Ulrich anymore all the memories and habits were there.
And one of them was waking early at 4pm at early morning and doing training in his training yards.
Ulrich was there, topless swinging this steel dull edged sword against a wooden dummy.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
HIs swings with his sword were fast and accurate and anyone watching him would know that he was an excellent swordman and he knew what he was doing.
However Ulrich knew that being a great swordsman wasn't enough in this novel.
He had to be stronger if he wanted to survive this novel.
After an hour of practicing all kind of swinging, Ulrich did his pushups, his young and toned lean body exerting at each of his movements but he kept his focused as he crossed the hundreds of pushups easily.
Following that he did a series of other muscles exercises and when it was finally 6pm he stopped.
At that timing Monika, his personally maid rushed at the perfect timing with a fresh towel.
As the sun started raising, she caught sight of Ulrich's naked top with complete mesmerizing. HIs body was pale and toned, along his abs and his arm, a leaned adn perfect athletic body with a few scars along them only making him even hotter as the sweat trickled down them.
He was only twenty years old yet he seemed to have the body of someone who trained for years which wasn't entirely wrong.
Blushing Monika thrusted her arms forward and Ulrich took it walking past her as he wiped the sweat from his neck.
"Did any of them woke up yet?" He asked.
Monika knew who he was speaking about immediately and shook her heads.
"No, My Lord, they are still asleep," she said.
"Wake them." Ulrich said.
"M—My Lord?"
"Wake all three of them. I expect them to be awake, bathed, and properly prepared by the time I return," he said without adding any words and left toward his quarters.
"Yes, My Lord!" She rushed out immediately.
Inside his quarters, the maid who had prepared his bath immediately bowed her head and hurriedly left.
After closing the door, Ulrich took his bath, letting the warm water wash away the sweat and the exhaustion that clung to his muscles, and then stepped out.
He dried himself, then carefully put on his dark trousers, boots, shirt, and vest-coat.
After ordering his hair, just a little he stared at his reflection.
Dark red hair, as though it had been rinsed in blood, and eyes the shade of two deep pools of it.
People outside called everyone from the Rubenhart family bloodsuckers, and with their pale skin and sharp looks, they could almost pass for one.
It didn't help that Ulrich himself didn't have a wide range of expressions to show people; he rarely showed anything at all. He had been an active child, but after his mother's death when he was ten, and with the strict education his father imposed, a father who was rarely present, Ulrich had grown withdrawn, keeping his father's teachings close in order to survive in a world where everyone wanted a piece of nobles like them, especially other nobles.
So when his father died two years ago, Ulrich had succeeded him at barely eighteen years old.
A few people had tried to take advantage of him, an orphan, young, burdened with too many responsibilities but they had quickly come to regret it.
Now, Ulrich held all power within his household.
Rubenhart was a rich county, famed for its legendary wine production. Wine was one of the highest-selling products in the Kingdom of Skargardia, and the Rubenhart County produced most of it and with exceptional quality so it was, unsurprisingly, very wealthy. The county also lay close to the capital, to the east, bordering the Kingdom as well, which made the movement of envoys easier whenever they were demanded, the capital, after all, was the greatest selling city.
Thankfully, having learned at his father's side for so many years, Ulrich knew exactly how to manage production. More than that, he had increased it, spending money on the workers, improving conditions, investing where others would have hoarded. He knew the benefits would return to him eventually, multiplied.
Nothing had seemed like a problem until recently.
Until he received memories of Earth, and understood that money wouldn't save his life.
After checking his reflection one last time, Ulrich turned and walked away but paused briefly in front of a shelf lined with books.
Magic spells, Skargardian politics, geography, history, and more.
He picked three of them and walked out.
The maids gathered in the living room below were uneasy.
As always, serving a Rubenhart had never been easy, and even less so recently since Ulrich had taken power and become Count. He was not someone easily satisfied, after all though on occasion they had witnessed small smiles of quiet contentment cross his face.
Right now, however, confusion reigned.
And the three reasons behind that confusion were currently seated at a table, side by side.
Ulrich had brought three girls back from a village he had devastated, and they appeared to be the daughters of a witch, of all things. It was something wholly unlike him. He despised witches, after all.
Yet he had ordered them to be properly fed and clothed. They all wore recently tailored garments, beautiful gowns befitting a noble lady of high standing.
Such whispers passed between the maids, but they quickly fell silent when Ulrich descended the stairs.
He crossed the room at an even pace and stopped before the table, turning to face the three girls.
He looked at each one of them.
First, the one who had threatened to relieve him of his manhood the previous night.
Airam.
She was staring right back at him, her long, pitch-black raven hair loose around her shoulders, her dark eyes as dark and threatening as ever. In some ways, she reminded him of himself.
Seated beside her was a girl one year younger.
Hermione.
She had long silver hair and bright red eyes. She was far more expressive than Airam, the wary glare she was levelling at him sharp and unconcealed, her hands clenched tightly on her knees.
The last one, and the youngest, was Esther.
She had long golden-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and with that gown, she looked every bit the part of a high-ranking noble girl. Contrary to her elder sisters, however, she was timid, almost frightened. When Ulrich's gaze fell on her, she quickly averted her eyes, her fingers curling into Hermione's sleeve.
Ulrich stared at all three of them in silence.
He had read about them far too many times in that book, but seeing them in the flesh, younger than he had imagined, still unbroken had something of an effect on him regardless.
Now, however, he had to deal with them. He had to make sure they wouldn't follow the same path as in the novel. That alone would spare him a great deal of pain later.
"There is no need to remind any of you that I saved your lives that day," Ulrich began. "Witches are to be executed by the King's decree, and their children sold off, in the best of cases."
He let his words settle before continuing, placing the books on the table as he walked toward them.
All three tracked his movements, tense, as if bracing for anything.
"But I took you under my protection before that could happen," he said. "Your mother, however, is dead."
"Because of you!" Hermione, seemingly having heard enough, turned and glared at him.
Ulrich's lips curved slightly.
"Because of me, yes. I led that attack, among others, and I bear full responsibility for the deaths of those people without question," he said, confirming her words.