Chapter 2
The moment Jack made his selection, the interface vanished, leaving only a faint notation at the corner of his vision—Task Progress: Day One. It was odd, sure, but Jack rolled with the punches.
As he gathered his thoughts, Jack realized the maid was now up in his grill, their faces mere inches apart. This close, he noticed she was a tad taller than him, with striking sapphire eyes that reminded him of stormy seas.
"You..." Jack started, but before he could get the words out, the maid dipped her head and backed off, suddenly all meek and mild.
"Gail, that'll be all. I've got it from here," came a smooth, commanding voice. Jack turned to see a guy straight out of a period drama—black tailcoat, crisply tied bow tie, and gleaming white gloves. The dude was all class, from his slicked-back hair to the aura of authority he carried.
As their eyes met, the man gave a bow that screamed old-world charm. "Good morning, young master."
Jack managed a nod, feeling like a fish out of water. Any 21st-century person would feel like they'd stepped into a time machine.
Gail, silent till now, exchanged looks with Jack, who offered a polite smile. Her reaction was over-the-top, like she'd won the lottery.
"Take care, young master. I'll be off," she said, her smile radiant.
Jack felt a ripple of unease but couldn't put his finger on it, given his scant knowledge of the situation.
The tailcoat guy, probably the butler, had Jack park himself on a bench and started fussing with his shoes. "We've got horse riding this morning. Mr. Glinton's dropping by later. How about we pencil in dinner?"
"Uh, sure," Jack stammered, thrown off by the butler's down-to-earth act of untying his shoes.
Catching onto Jack's discomfort, the butler looked up, his expression softening. "For horse riding, you'll need these boots," he said, as he carefully swapped Jack's shoes, treating Jack's foot with the care of handling fine china.
Jack was speechless, the weirdness of the situation washing over him.
But really, stumbling into this "game" was bizarre enough, so what's a few more oddities?
Considering he seemed to be in some feudal European setup where nobles were pampered head-to-toe, Jack figured he must be some kind of aristocrat. Blending in was key—he wasn't about to be labeled a witch and end up at the wrong end of a torch. All he wanted was to make it through these seven days without causing a stir.
After switching his footwear, the butler straightened up, his posture impeccable. "The breakfast spread is ready in the dining hall, Master," he announced with a refined cadence.
Jack gave a nod, and the butler, locking eyes with him, ventured, "Rough night?" His voice, low and rich, seemed to vibrate with an almost tangible warmth, skipping formalities yet still oozing respect, tinged with a hint of closeness.
Jack paused, a bit thrown off. "Just a bit off my game," he admitted, his voice sounding strangely flirtatious even to his own ears. Was his new body messing with him? He was taken aback by how his words sounded.
The butler's expression subtly shifted as he proposed, "Perhaps we should skip the morning ride."
Jack, catching the butler's gaze—clear as the summer sky—felt a silent agreement. "Might be for the best," he conceded. He had zero desire to mount a horse, risking exposure for his lack of equestrian skills, not to mention the physical danger. Staying on the safe side felt right, especially if he was to last the week.
"And what about your afternoon with Mr. Glinton?" the butler inquired next.
Meeting too many people didn't sit well with Jack. He glanced up, questioning, "Would canceling come off as rude?"
The butler's response was gentle, laced with an understated warmth. "Mr. Glinton would understand, given your condition."
"Then, would you..." Jack hesitated, not knowing the butler's name. Just then, a prompt nudged him in his vision, "...could you have Lucas sort it out?"
The butler's bow was deep, filled with a respect that felt wholehearted. "It's my honor to assist, young master."
Jack couldn't help but feel a tickle of suspicion. His gaming instincts told him that tranquil surfaces often mask the deepest perils. The lavish castle, his beloved status, and the presence of a seemingly devoted butler named Lucas—it all felt too idyllic. Surviving seven days should be a cakewalk in such a setting, but Jack doubted the game's challenge was that straightforward. Was it all just to sample life as a noble? That seemed unlikely. Jack remained on his toes.
With the equestrian class off the table, Lucas dressed Jack in his daywear. Standing before the mirror, Jack couldn't help but feel out of place amid the ruffles and lace, even as Lucas offered his earnest praise, "Master, your allure eclipses all in the empire."
Handsome, sure, but how was that going to help him stay alive?
Lucas, mistaking Jack's silence for displeasure, quickly amended, "Apologies, I spoke out of turn."
Jack waved it off. "No harm done."
As Lucas adjusted Jack's sleeves, his touch grew softer, his manner more thoughtful.
After breakfast, Jack (or should we say, Cyrus Hall) dedicated his morning to the study, flipping through the pages of history and lore that made up this world. It struck him—the sheer dedication to detail, from the brush strokes in the corridor portraits to the craftsmanship of the silverware, screamed of an effort beyond the ordinary. It was as if the game's creator wanted players to lose themselves in the authenticity of this aristocratic haven.
But it was the library, a veritable treasure trove of knowledge, that truly captured Jack's imagination. Each book was a portal to another time and place, offering insights into the life and times of Cyrus Hall, a noble's son living in self-imposed exile due to familial strife, details of which remained elusive.
As he pieced together the backdrop of this grand narrative—seemingly set in a period akin to Victorian Europe, yet not quite—the peculiar mention of a vampire in a series of old newspapers caught his eye. The detailed report, complete with a haunting photograph of a young man, bore an uncanny resemblance to Gail, his maid, though this victim was decidedly male. Could there be a connection?
This revelation set Jack on edge. The notion of a vampire lurking in the shadows added a sinister layer to his quest for survival. If Gail was linked to the victim, what danger might she pose?
The day passed with an eerie calm. Gail's brief appearance to serve fruit only intensified Jack's suspicions, her fleeting smile sending shivers down his spine. Yet, with Lucas, the ever-present butler, by his side, Jack found himself trapped in a game of patience, waiting for a moment to unravel the mystery surrounding Gail.
Dinner was an affair to remember, a marathon of courses that lasted well over an hour. Jack found himself battling fatigue by the end of it, overwhelmed by the sheer extravagance of the meal.
Thankfully, bedtime followed. Under Lucas's attentive eye, Jack slipped into silk pajamas and collapsed onto the plush expanse of his bed.
"Good night, young master," Lucas intoned, his demeanor respectful yet warm.
Jack settled into his pillows. "Night, Lucas."
As Lucas retreated, his features softened in the candlelight. "Should you need anything, I'm just next door."
With a nod from Jack, Lucas departed, leaving the room swallowed by shadow. Jack, no stranger to solitude or the dark, lay in wait, pondering a clandestine visit to Gail.
However, before he could act, the room's stillness was shattered by an unexpected presence. The curtains fluttered without a breeze, and a figure shrouded in darkness materialized.
Jack's heart skipped.
Then, in a twist straight out of a ghost tale, the extinguished candles flickered to life, casting eerie shadows across the room, transforming the space into a scene more befitting a haunted mansion.
Clutching his blanket, Jack's eyes darted toward the figure now at his bedside. The man, bathed in moonlight, was a vision of otherworldly beauty—with silver hair like winter's first frost, skin as luminous as moonbeams, and features sculpted in shadow and light. Yet, it was the crimson flecks in his dark eyes that sent a shiver down Jack's spine.
Lifted effortlessly, blanket and all, Jack found himself face to face with the intruder.
The silver-haired man's voice was a melody of darkness, tinged with amusement. "Cyrus, my dear, did you miss me?"