When Hughes opened his eyes, he found himself lying in bed. The bedspread was smooth and delicate, with a thin layer of velvet filling inside—warm but not overly heavy.
Not far away, there was a balcony.
The window on one side did not have expensive glass panes, but it was still fitted with finely crafted wooden lattices.
Hughes turned over, got out of bed, and walked over to push open the window.
Bright sunlight poured in from outside, and the warm, humid sea breeze lifted the curtains.
A few seagulls swept past the window, circling the mountaintop on the southern side of the island before diving sharply into the azure shallows, snatching up a small fish and stirring up a spray of white foam.
In the manor below, an elderly man was directing the servants as they scrubbed the ground.
Hearing the sound of the window opening, he turned to look at the balcony on the second floor.
Seeing Hughes, he froze for a moment, then placed his left hand on his chest and bent slightly in greeting.
Hughes smiled and nodded, his gaze lingering briefly on the servants and the carriage before shifting to the distant fishing boats on the sea. Then, he turned and walked back into the bedroom.
He needed to sort out his current situation.
Based on the memories of this body, it seemed his background this time was quite good, he was the Frontier Count of the Empire and the lord of Castel Island.
Castel meant "fire and light in the storm," and it lived up to its name.
Located in the Storm Ocean, the island even had a small volcano.
Hughes shook his head—none of that mattered.
A titled noble with both land and power!
Though the position of Frontier Count was somewhat special, he could still wield absolute authority over his domain.
No—Frontier Counts had even greater freedom.
Even the Empire’s laws might not necessarily bind him within his territory.
All of this stemmed from the institution of the "Frontier Count."
Hughes’ eyes gleamed as he organized the memories in his mind.
Originally, he had been a duke’s illegitimate son—the kind who, even after eliminating a dozen siblings, still wouldn’t qualify for inheritance.
Then, just as the Empress enacted the "Frontier County" system, he abandoned his family name, swore allegiance to the Empress, and was granted both this title and the land that came with it.
Which meant—this small island before him.
What? You say this island isn’t large enough for a Count’s domain?
In the Empress’ decree, a vast swath of ocean was marked under his rule.
Forget a Count’s fief—his territory was even larger than that of most marquises.
The Empress had even promised that any land a Frontier Count expanded into would belong solely to him.
Recalling the sea charts in his mind, Hughes couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
His territory was indeed vast, but—
Almost all of it lay beyond the Empire’s borders.
For example, the Martha Archipelago within his domain was a haven for pirates.
Further west, the Storm Ocean was filled with never-ending tempests.
Even the occasional stray gusts could cause trouble for the small island beneath his feet.
And as for what lay in the deeper parts of the sea?
Not even the charts had records of that.
Legends spoke of sunken palaces buried beneath the waves, overflowing with treasures.
Of boundless new continents where rivers ran with honey and milk...
But all of that was far too distant, too illusory.
For now, Hughes had only this small island, an old butler brought from his family, and a handful of servants.
That was all the power he possessed.
And he was facing imminent threats—pirates close at hand, unpredictable sea weather, and enemies across the ocean.
Yes, there were enemies across the sea.
The Empire had never lacked enemies.
The Empress had ruled for eleven years, and every step she took was upon a path paved with blood and thorns.
And now, Hughes—newly appointed as a Frontier Count—was caught right in the middle of those formidable foes.
It felt like being thrown into water, needing to turn into a fish before drowning.
As for support from the Empire?
It was likely only verbal.
The warehouse was stacked with decrees of enfeoffment.
Countless Frontier Counts were appointed daily, and just as many titles became vacant.
The Empire did not lack ambitious individuals.
The Empress had never been stingy—titles, land, wealth.
If you wanted it, you just had to reach out and take it.
Corpses paved the road ahead, woven into the laurels of victory.
Now, Hughes had set foot upon this path as well.
"Why does it feel like becoming a noble has only made things more dangerous?"
Hughes muttered to himself.
A servant knocked on the door.
Hughes sifted through his memories, then dressed with the servant’s assistance and stepped out of his room.
Not long ago, the butler had been downstairs.
Now, he was already waiting nearby, leading Hughes forward while describing breakfast.
"This morning, we have fish pudding, pea and bacon soup, stuffed omelet pancakes, and red wine from the Boni Cellar."
Hughes glanced at the table, half-covered with food, then at the six or seven different sets of silverware laid beside them.
According to his predecessor’s memory, breakfast was supposed to last an hour to an hour and a half, with a ten-minute break for the butler’s reports. Then, it would seamlessly transition into a morning tea session.
He was expected to spend the morning sunshine enjoying tea on the terrace, reading books, and only around noon would he go for a horseback patrol of the territory.
Such conduct was considered the pinnacle of nobility and the paragon of virtue.
After all, he did not entertain himself by whipping and abusing commoners.
Nor did he designate random land as a hunting ground, forcing peasants to drive wild animals toward his arrows.
All he did was collect eighty percent of his subjects’ harvest as tax.
"From now on, don’t prepare so many dishes. Get my horse ready—I want to tour the territory."
After a brief pause, Hughes turned to the butler beside him.
"Also, set up a house on an open space within the estate. The surrounding area must be clear, with no flammable materials. I want to use it as a laboratory."
The butler, Connor, looked a bit surprised.
Building a house was one thing—lords often had eccentric ideas.
But changing the rules regarding meals?
Hughes, as an illegitimate son, had always been particularly mindful of noble etiquette, afraid of being accused of lacking aristocratic refinement.
What had changed today?
And going out for a stroll this early in the morning?
Had he seen something from the balcony?
This place wasn’t far from the docks—perhaps he had noticed the commotion over there?
The old butler’s expression shifted as if he suddenly understood.
He had heard the rumors from earlier that morning.
It was said the fishermen had pulled up something extraordinary.
It made sense for the lord to be curious.
Nodding steadily, Connor left the room to instruct the servants to prepare the horses.
Meanwhile, Hughes sifted through his memories once more.
His eyes lit up as he walked toward a side room, pulling down the necklace around his neck and inserting it into the lock on the door.
With a click, the door opened.
Using the sunlight streaming in from the entrance, Hughes looked inside.
This was his treasury—the greatest asset he had on this island.
Documents, jewelry, and all sorts of strange artifacts filled the shelves.
But Hughes’ gaze skipped past them, landing instead on a box in the corner.
He reached out, lifted the cherrywood lid, and inside, resting on velvet, was a white flintlock pistol inlaid with ivory and emerald.
It was barely the size of a palm, crafted with the precision of an art piece.
Grinning, Hughes picked up the gun and slipped it into his coat pocket.