3. The Marquisate's Wastrel (1)

"That was a close call."

Back in my room, I took a deep breath and patted my chest. Just exchanging greetings with Asella had shaved at least ten years off my life. At this rate, I'd dodge world destruction only to drop dead from high blood pressure.

"Gotta delete those bad endings fast, or my heart won't hold up."

Even as a kid, she was no one to take lightly. I should've clocked it from that look in her eyes.

"Asella triggers a ton of bad endings."

Skimming the list, there were easily fifty of them. Had there really been this many?

"Best fix would be for her to just quietly kick the bucket."

But her magic was the problem. Tricky stuff ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to handle.

"Right now, she's packing more mana than her body can control."

When death loomed, her magic would go berserk and end the world. That was the [Mana Rampage] ending. Magic wasn't my field, and no expert could even comprehend her level anyway. Not yet, at least.

"Assassination's got its own risks too."

If I went that route with Asella, I'd need a airtight plan. Dodged a bullet just now—if she'd called her guard knight, I'd be in chains for treason. The family extermination would've sped up thanks to their wastrel son. Proud of me yet, Dad?

"Why'd she call me to her room anyway?"

Not like it was even hers. Just a guest room our family provided.

"Oh?"

Grumbling as I checked the ending list, a few items glowed green with changes.

"First read was way higher. Guess the suspicion's not fully cleared."

Couldn't ignore Asella. Soon as I was ready, I'd visit her and build as much trust as possible.

"Why'd this one's odds drop?"

Hanging of the Hundred. Triggered if the hero party bombed against the Four Heavenly Kings. Paranoid citizens rioted, distrusting the heroes. Stressed-out Asella beheaded the entire party plus a hundred citizens, hanging just their heads from the city gates like grotesque ornaments. Lucky for me, my head was up there too, so I didn't have to witness it firsthand.

Other endings were unchanged.

"Means I've hit a chance to erase this one."

If Asella didn't dream up beheading a hundred people from thin air, but drew inspiration from some event... and if that event kicked off with our little meeting just now...

Changing her experience could delete [Hanging of the Hundred].

"But what do beheadings have to do with me?"

Couldn't fathom the thorny mind of that villainess. Still, if it kept me alive, no reason to refuse. I'd keep an eye on upcoming events.

"One more change."

A good ending probability appeared where there'd been zero. Lottery odds, basically—not worth banking on yet.

"What's so great about a good ending anyway?"

Checked the status window description.

"Obviously better than normal."

Unlike the original game's endings, these were tailored for me. Might even decide my fate ten years from now.

"To rack up achievements, gotta become a big shot. Makes sense it'd boost good ending odds."

Climb society's ladder, spread fame, shine in multiple fields. Achievements piled up from extraordinary feats.

"If I succeed, it'll be as a doctor, obviously."

It was my dream. No such job here yet, but ten years was plenty.

From now on: delete bad endings, aim for good ending. Clear direction.

"Time to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠move."

Heading to the annex lobby, I spotted a middle-aged man in a sharp suit sipping tea. The servants' demeanor gave him away: my father, the family head, Balduer Gotberg.

Dad looked a bit awkward spotting me.

"Son, let's talk a moment."

His voice was calm and deep, marquisly dignified, but laced with faint unease. Dealing with a son like a ticking bomb was no picnic.

"The sun's at its peak, a fine time to greet my benefactor. Well have you been, Father?"

I gave a proper noble greeting. His eyes went wide like he'd seen a ghost.

"Ras, you hurt somewhere? Too much booze finally fried your brain?"

Dad shot up, scanning me worriedly.

"Haha, no need to worry. My head's clearer than ever."

"Really? Good, then... Sibers suddenly praising you threw me, but your eyes do look different..."

Dad eyed me cautiously. The marquisate was a small city-state in scale. Running that beast weighed heavy. Even a man who endured it ached over his wastrel son like any commoner. Humanizing.

We sat and chatted.

"Heard you met the imperial princess."

Worried I'd botched my first fiancée meeting, probably.

"Yes. A woman of true grace."

"Uh... it went okay? She wasn't offended or anything?"

Dad caught his slip and coughed hastily.

"Don't misunderstand. Just checking if she liked the estate."

"No bad vibes. She even suggested a private meeting. Was heading there anyway."

"Private? Already? Hoo."

Dad stroked his beard, face full of wonder at my change.

"Been too busy to talk much, but you're dressed sharp, words refined. Must've prepped hard for today."

"Can't slack on a first meeting with my imperial fiancée."

Dad looked more surprised with every word. Stunned how to handle his suddenly sane son. I'd be too. After 17 years of nonsense, sane talk screams black magic over booze.

Time to project confidence.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Don't worry. With such an important guest, I won't tarnish the Gotberg name."

"...You've changed a lot in no time. Must've been tough prepping—grateful. I expect great things."

"You got it."

Dad smiled kindly. The Gotbergs were a powerhouse marquisate now. Later dragged into treason and wiped out, but as backup, unbeatable. I knew why—protect them later, and they'd be gold. Seeing Dad relieved warmed me too.

"Official dinner's tonight, but getting acquainted early is good."

Curiosity piqued.

"Why'd the Empress and Princess visit our house, anyway?"

"Ah, must've skipped that. They need a personal physician for the Princess. Our healer academy's competition was perfect timing. One'll be picked."

Personal physician. Intriguing.

The Gotbergs were famed for healers.

Ten years on, I was a solid senior healer. Explained it. Half-assed studies, but top bloodline and facilities.

Prefer not using healing spells if possible.

Got roped into the idiot hero party as a healer. Wanted efficient strats, but constant healing spells hobbled me. Healing magic? Sick of it. All bad memories. Never again, not for all the gold.

"Royals all have physicians."

"Yeah. Heard the Princess has been sickly lately. Previous healers made no progress."

I knew. Side effects from her growing mana.

"Any frontrunners?"

"Gis probably. Our academy's top healer."

The academy was the healer training center. Ours ranked top in the Empire; grads often served the royals. If Gis was ace, he had skills.

But Asella won't respond to healing magic?

Magic and healing were different spell lines. Her mana repelled healing spells—she told me herself. Her villainess madness partly from that power. Born villainess, sure, but the crazy? Magic's fault. Mages I'd seen were all half-mad. Asella especially—her body couldn't handle her magic level, constant agony. Pain built till magic rampaged, tragedy struck. She turned tyrant after. Healing? Useless. Straight from her.

Talent debuff, probably.

World rule: S-rank talent came with a debuff. Karma. Strong body? Weak mana. No one's got it all. Mine locked—no debuff now—but Asella had one.

What if...

Not healing—treatment. Could modern medicine nix her debuff? Maybe wreck her magic too.

Nah, too easy.

No pro drugs, basic tools, or even antiseptics here. Plus, her physician? Stuck to the court later. Delete endings fine, but avoid deep ties.

Collecting thoughts, Dad said,

"Took too much time. You're off to the Princess. Up we go—gotta host the Empress."

"Got it. Let's go."

Exited annex with Dad, knights and servants trailing. Circled central garden path, lakes and stables flanking. Massive estate. And those church-like buildings over the fence.

Healer academy.

Old host memories flickered up.

Main house: east, west, central wings. Empress central, Asella east.

At east wing, Dad stopped.

"Off to the Princess, then. She summoned you herself—no worries."

"Leave it to me. See you at dinner."

Bowing to leave, noise from beyond the fence.

"What's that?"

Servant dashed off, returned whispering. Bad news—Dad's face darkened.

"The Princess's pet dog?"

Dad hurried over. I followed.

Chaos. Lawn: massive dog down, gasping wretchedly. Asella's pet, Max. Four white-robed healers around it—indistinguishable. Huge dog, Great Pyrenees maybe. Taller ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than me, near two meters, fluffy white fur exaggerating bulk.

But dying.

"What happened?!"

Dad's roar had healers sweating.

"Collapsed suddenly...!"

"Healing now!"

Dad shed coat, rolled sleeves.

"Imperial guest's dog. Know the scandal if it dies? Gis!"

That pudgy one's Gis? No wonder the fall—sending him as rep.

"Al... almost done heal...ing."

Dad shoved Gis, pulled rosary and holy book, started healing. Divine power formed spell circle via faith. Familiar sight—I used it daily.

Dad was a master healer as head. But Max kept gasping despite healing.

Then—

"Max!"

Asella ran up, eyes wide in shock. Heard the news.

"Max, Max!"

"Princess, healers are working. Please wait."

Head maid blocked her rush. Max, huh.

Glanced at healers: academy aces fidgeting in prayer, ignoring patient.

Sneaked a peek at Asella.

"......"

Eye contact. Numbers shifted.

What'd I do? Tied to Sweet Poison now. This incident.

Right—crisis is opportunity.

Chance to delete a bad ending. Wouldn't ignore a dying dog anyway—dogs are cute.

"Tch, let's see."

Approached Max, examined carefully.

"No obvious external wounds."

Internal, then. Gasping meant respiratory. Thick fur hid it visually. Probed body.

"Young master, what're you doing?!"

Healer grabbed my shoulder, yanking.

"Finding cause. Don't interfere."

Shoved him, checked throat.

"Young master's choking the dog!"

"That wastrel...!"

No time for them. Urgent. Fingertips felt something blunt.

"What the...?"

Simple cause.

"Airway obstruction."

Something was lodged in its throat.