Tyranny Of Steel Chapter 2: Life as a Barons Heir

Henrietta returned shortly after departing, accompanied by the court physician. Her face displayed profound worry, yet the doctor showed no such compassion. Berengar propped himself up in bed, struggling to speak as his throat parched severely. Clearly, the fever had sweated out nearly all excess fluids from this body. Scarcely anyone believed he would endure the night.

The physician meticulously inspected Berengar and stood astonished to discover the youth had overcome the fever, when prior hopes for his life were faint. Though a medieval healer lacking any true medical insight, Ewald revealed a measure of skill through his proclamation.

"No need to worry, Lady Henrietta, your brother's fever has broken, and aside from being particularly parched, he is completely healthy."

Upon delivering those words, Ewald offered Berengar a glass of water, permitting the young man to gulp it down until his thirst fully subsided. After draining the glass and wiping his lips with his sleeve, Berengar nodded to the physician and voiced his gratitude.

"Thanks, Ewald; I can always count on you in my time of need."

Berengar's praise rang hollow within; still, two lifetimes had drilled into him the folly of airing contempt openly. Hence, he comported himself politely, as suited a Baron's heir.

For the first time in ages, upon learning her brother was hale, Henrietta's face lit up with rapture—this news thrilled her deeply. Berengar had long suffered ailments, born with a feeble frame and delicate health. The idle existence of a medieval noble had only intensified these woes.

Her brother's subsequent remark caught her off guard, far from what she anticipated from him.

"Dear sister, do you mind fetching the servants and instructing them to get the bath ready? I feel as if cleansing the grime from my body would be good for my health."

Ewald scoffed at Berengar's demand. Baths occurred among nobles, yet far less often than in the modern era. Undeterred by the physician's disdain, Berengar urged his sister to comply.

Henrietta beamed as she replied to Berengar, "Of course, dear brother, I will go and instruct them this second!"

With that, she departed once again from Berengar's vast stone chamber to carry out his bidding. The physician, sensing his role complete, took his leave.

"I shall go and inform your father the Baron that you have recovered..."

Berengar nodded again, his face a mask of apathy.

"You do that."

Those words spoken, Ewald abandoned Berengar to solitude. Berengar exhaled heavily, peering downward to sniff his garments, foul with sweat and dirt. The reek made him wince before he sighed once more.

"When I inherit the title, there will be some serious changes around here..."

He resolved firmly: upon seizing power, his initial decree would enforce hygiene standards across the Barony, perhaps erecting public bathhouses akin to those of the Romans. Anything required to instill cleanliness among his domain's folk.

Having risen from bed and extended his limbs briefly, Berengar heard a knock at the door from a household servant.

"Milord, the bath is ready."

He yanked open the door, his face alight with eager anticipation, which jolted the servant.

"Lead the way."

Regaining composure, the servant nodded and guided the Baron's son as bid. A brief trek along the corridor brought Berengar to the bath chamber, where he swiftly secured the doors and doffed his attire.

With dismay, he scrutinized his puny physique—not skeletal, yet bones fragile and muscles nonexistent. A shift to a protein- and calcium-packed diet loomed essential. Before supplanting his father to unleash his swirling reforms, bulking his frame and safeguarding vitality must come first.

Scrubbing off the fever's caked sweat and grime marked an excellent beginning. Thus, he tested the wooden tub's heat with a toe prior to immersing himself entirely.

Once he slipped into the bathtub, Berengar examined his reflection shimmering in the water. Short golden-blonde hair crowned his head, while his eyes gleamed like precious sapphires. Regal and striking facial features marked him, and his milky-white skin heightened his noble aura. Without that scrawny bag of bones, he would seem utterly princely. Reincarnated into frailty though he was, it barely fazed him—his handsome looks remained a boon. The body could be tempered like steel, but his appearance stayed fixed forever.

Nearly half an hour passed in the bath as he scrubbed off the grime from his skin and the mental burdens from his transmigration before he finally climbed out. A 15th-century nobleman's outfit lay prepared for him, its cleanliness standing out as the garment's greatest virtue.

Clad in the clothes, he focused next on his short golden locks. No professional stylist, yet he managed to comb them back using the oily remnants from the tub. Pomade invention was essential to perfect his preferred style. With hair arranged, he exited the bath chamber and spotted a servant standing by.

"Milord, the Baron and Baroness await you in the dining hall..."

Berengar nodded, his face stoic and impassive.

"Lead the way."

The servant bowed deeply in response to his order.

"Yes, milord."

After navigating the castle's halls for some time, Berengar reached the Dining Hall, where his family sat waiting patiently for him. He claimed his seat at once and surveyed the table laden with diverse dishes. Even as a lesser noble household, they possessed the wealth for lavish daily spreads.

Grace recited, Berengar swiftly loaded his plate with steamed fish, baked chicken, assorted nuts, leafy greens, and a tall glass of milk. He avoided his family's eyes entirely while heaping his dish full. Ravenous hunger urged him to devour it immediately.

Various expressions crossed his family's faces as they watched him, which he ignored until raising his eyes from the plate to meet their concerned stares. A slice of fish already carved, Berengar paused before eating upon noticing their looks. The awkward tension prompted him to speak up.

"What is it?"

Sieghard stood tall and sturdy, boasting noble features, short blonde hair, a matching beard, and piercing sky-blue eyes. As Berengar's father and Baron of Kufstein, he stared at his son in shock; his heir had always shunned meat as a vegetarian. Now fish and fowl crowded half his plate. When his son questioned the surprise, Sieghard deemed it plain and pointed toward the loaded dish.

A puzzled look crossed Berengar's face, for the body's memories had yet to fully integrate.

"Am I not allowed to eat this?"

His mother Gisela, a voluptuous blonde beauty, fixed her sparkling sapphire eyes on him with equal bewilderment.

"You're eating meat?"

Suddenly it clicked for Berengar—their confusion stemmed from his vegetarian history, which now explained the inherited body's sorry condition.

Berengar grinned at his stunning mother and nodded affirmatively.

"I've decided to make some changes in my lifestyle. Starting today, I will eat meat and get some much-needed exercise. I can't go on living life as a vegetarian wastrel!"

A wide grin broke across Sieghard's face upon hearing his son's bold words; too long had the youth idled behind health excuses, but now he was maturing at last. Seizing his fork, he plopped a hefty beef cut onto Berengar's plate.

"Then eat up; you will need a full stomach."

Berengar smiled broadly and tucked into the savory feast. Hygiene lessons for the kitchen staff loomed in the future, but for the moment, he savored every bite without gripe.

Lambert, his younger brother, bore the family's shared traits. Yet malice lurked noticeably in his ocean-blue eyes as they locked onto Berengar. Unclear on what had irked the boy, Berengar registered the hostile glare and swore to tread carefully around his sibling henceforth.

Upon finishing his meal, Berengar hurriedly exited the dining room; he was eager to launch his training routine without delay. Through diligent effort, he could reshape this feeble body of his into a soldier's form in a year or even shorter. He was determined to tackle this transformation as swiftly as possible.

While Berengar jogged along the castle walls, he remained utterly oblivious to the venomous glare directed at him from within a tower spire. That hostile stare came from none other than Lambert, who chewed on his lip while murmuring softly to himself.

"How are you still alive?"