The manse was larger than it appeared from the outside. After going through the gates, Dalliance walked through well-kempt gardens filled with shrubbery and tasteful statuary, each of which he suspected could be put to use as a home shrine. It was like walking through the temple, through a hall of gods, but it was far less anxiety-inducing. Here, nobody was watching him, expecting him to know all of the right signs, chants, and prayers. He didn’t have to feel bad that he couldn’t burn incense for all of them, because he didn't have the prosperity for such offerings, and besides, he wasn’t here to worship. He was simply here to appreciate the décor.

  He had made it about halfway toward the manor house before the first manservant intercepted him. The man was older, probably in his fifties, with crow's feet at the corner of each eye, indicating a life of either smiling or possibly squinting a great deal. However, his large, scarred hands suggested a possible history as something other than a cook or cleaner.

  "Mister Rather, I presume?" said the man.

  Dalliance nodded. "This way."

  Dalliance’s new shoes, which he realized might be the last bequest from his father, were stiff and uncomfortable. It wasn't until that moment, as he stepped into the Troubles' manor, that he realized their worst feature: they squeaked.

  Squeak, squeak, went the shoes as he followed the butler down a shiny tile hall. He must have been deep within the hill before he reached the drawing room.

  What a "drawing room" might be, he didn’t know. Was it for drawing portraits? The lighting didn’t seem sufficient for that purpose. Or perhaps for drawing smoke through a pipe? He realized that he was getting distracted. It had been happening more and more since he got that last level of Wit, since the damned bird. It was stupid, he knew now, to resent the bird for the burdens associated with the very goal he himself had planned to achieve. But then, he didn’t have to be perfectly reasonable all the time; wasn’t that the whole point of being a teenager?

  "Master Rather, to see Potency, Lord Troubles, Esquire," intoned the servant.

  Dalliance blinked. So, that was how they got around saying something silly, he wondered. Just add a comma and the word 'Lord'. The thought necessitated a follow-up: Mister Best had always abstained from the same sort of sophistry.

  The man himself straightened up from his desk, putting his penknife and pen down separately, but exactly parallel to one another on its surface. "Punctual," he said, apropos of nothing.

  "One does one’s best," Dalliance said mildly. He had been putting some thought toward today’s events. He didn’t know how much of an impression it was possible to make, but he was certain it wouldn’t hurt to put in the effort to speak properly. Probably. Hopefully.

  "I see you come well turned out," said Lord Troubles genially. "It's always good to know a young man has it in him."

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  He gestured for Dalliance to follow. "Before we go to the hunt, a thought occurs. I should likely not lead with this, but . . . have you ever actually hunted something that wasn’t trying to kill you? Are you so injured that you cannot take part in our little hunt?"

  "I have, sir," Dalliance said. He stumbled over his words. "I can. I am handy with a sling, have chased off the occasional pest, and bagged the occasional . . . bird. It's mostly one-handed anyway."

  Lord Troubles looked at him thoughtfully but didn’t comment on the mistake. "'The occasional bird,' he said. "Yes. Did you bring your sling with you?"

  Dalliance was caught in a moment of indecision. He worried that having brought it might seem presumptuous or offensive, but at the same time, he suspected not coming prepared would be worse. "It was important to me to make a good impression," Dalliance explained. "So I thought it best to prepare for any eventuality, including one in which you hoped to see me actually hit something."

  Lord Troubles laughed at that. "Well enough," he said. "And you ride?"

  "I have successfully avoided falling off a horse," Dalliance said, "and guided that horse to and from Galton, but I am no steeplechaser, sir . . . Lord."

  The hasty correction did not appear to trouble Lord Troubles, but Dalliance kicked himself for it anyway. The more little mistakes he made, the more likely it felt that they would accrete into something more disastrous.

  Potency Troubles fell into a long stride and gestured for Dalliance to join him, sweeping past the boy and back into the hallway from which they had come. Dalliance fell into step beside and slightly behind him. The lord did not turn his head as he continued to speak.

  "You can tell a lot about a man," he said, "by the way that he prepares for battle." They walked for a moment, another servant Dalliance hadn’t previously seen, opening each door on their way out. "Some men," he said, continuing his thread, "drink to excess to numb their fear and try to forget their pain. Some men hype themselves up, boasting and shouting and carrying on with their friends to rouse what they imagine to be courage. And some men so engage themselves with their day-to-day lives that they can almost convince themselves that they have forgotten that anything bad is soon forthcoming. You and I, on the other hand, plan exhaustively, lest we be unprepared. I find it a gratifying trait in myself; however, I wonder that a child of your age should think to take this kind of conversation with such seriousness. Have I alarmed you in some way?"

  Dalliance didn’t need to predict it; almost anything he said would be wrong. He took his time answering anyway. It was becoming frustrating to him, this newfound knowledge that just because you could know what was going to happen, it didn't mean you had any idea how to handle it.

  "Since we are here to take one another's measure," he began, "I suppose honesty might be called for? Because you've left me no way to win."

  The lord's posture betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking.

  Dalliance pressed onward: "If I say it is due to the respect I feel for your daughter that I wish to make a good impression upon her father, you will say, 'Ah, you are matching what you expect to be my expectations for a suitor,' even though I'm not that. But if I say I'm like this with everyone, then you will conclude, reasonably, that I am paranoid. And if I claim I did not prepare myself at all, then I am simply a liar."

  Potency, Lord Troubles Esquire, smiled.

  "Say, instead," he said, "that you're far too old for your years."

  ? Phoenix Flight [Lite LitRPG - Dungeon Diving - Slow Romance] ?

  by RainyLiquid

  Weak to Strong, gathering of powers, skills, and spells.