The Baron’s NTR System: Bonds to Break, Hearts to Claim

The dim light of a cluttered room, littered with empty soda cans, tissue papers, and a blinking computer screen, bore witness to the final moments of an unremarkable man's life.

"Damn it… this is the best one yet," he muttered, his voice low and breathless as he leaned closer to the screen.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, his glasses sliding slightly off his nose. On the monitor, his favorite scene played a beautiful woman in an ornate fantasy setting, her alluring voice cooing seductive promises.

His heart raced, and he didn't stop to think about the slight twinge of pain in his chest.

Moments later, the pain became unbearable. He clutched at his chest, gasping for air, but his focus never left the screen.

His last thoughts were far from profound.

"Just… one more…"

The world went dark.

---

Kael Vortan, the third son of a minor noble family, awoke with a jolt.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and herbs.

His head throbbed, his vision blurred. Groaning, he tried to lift himself from the bed but found his limbs weak, trembling under his weight.

"Baron Kael, please, you must rest!" A young maid, her hands rough and calloused, rushed to his side.

Her expression was a mixture of worry and relief.

"What… What's going on?" Kael's voice was hoarse, unfamiliar even to himself.

His throat felt as if it had been scraped raw.

"You collapsed again, my lord. The healer said you must avoid overexertion."

He blinked, trying to make sense of her words. Baron? Overexertion?

His last memory was…

He froze.

Wait, didn't I die?

His gaze swept across the room. The bed was massive, draped with moth-eaten velvet.

The walls were of cold stone, and the room itself was dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp.

This wasn't his dingy apartment. He reached up, feeling his face a thin jawline, softer features than he remembered.

"This… isn't my body," he whispered, panic bubbling in his chest. "What the hell is happening?"

The maid misunderstood his distress, assuming it was from weakness. "My lord, your condition has been poor since you inherited the barony. The weight of responsibilities, the stress… it's too much for you."

"Inherited?" Kael muttered. The puzzle pieces began to slot into place.

Somehow, he had died and woken up in a new world, in a new body.

But not just any body he was a baron.

A noble.

The thought sent a strange mix of fear and excitement through him.

The maid, whose name he quickly learned was Mila, helped him sit up and brought him a bowl of steaming broth. "You need to eat, my lord. Your health is fragile enough as it is."

He hesitated but accepted the bowl. The broth smelled earthy, a mixture of herbs and meat that he couldn't identify.

It tasted bland but warm, soothing his parched throat.

"Where exactly… am I?" he asked carefully.

Mila frowned, her expression concerned. "My lord, you're in your chambers in Vortan Keep. Do you not remember?"

He shook his head. "Refresh my memory."

"The barony of Vortan, passed to you after the tragic deaths of your parents, is one of the most fertile regions in the kingdom," Mila explained, her tone a mix of pride and sorrow. "But it has been a hard year. The neighboring lords are circling like vultures, and the peasants grow restless with the rumors of war."

Kael leaned back, digesting her words.

A fertile barony.

Neighboring threats.

War. It sounded like something out of the strategy games and fantasy novels he'd consumed back in his old life.

Yet, here he was, living it.

"And my health?" he asked.

Mila winced. "The healer says it's due to the poor conditions you grew up in before becoming baron. You were neglected… malnourished…" She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "And my lord, forgive me for saying this, but your personal habits have not been… helpful."

"Personal habits?" Kael raised an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flushed. "The healer suggested that… perhaps you should refrain from overindulgence."

His old life's reputation had apparently followed him here.

He coughed awkwardly, trying to shift the topic. "Right. So, what's the state of the barony?"

Mila hesitated again, her tone softening. "It is… difficult. We are prosperous, yes, but that prosperity draws envy. The Elstrand family, your closest neighbors, have been pressing claims on your lands. And… the taxes…" She trailed off, biting her lip.

"Taxes?" Kael pressed.

"The previous steward overtaxed the people. Many have fled, leaving fields untended. We've tried to repair the damage, but it's slow work."

Kael frowned. This body was weak, but his mind was sharp enough to grasp the problem.

If the people were overtaxed, they'd resent him.

If the land wasn't tended, his wealth would wither. And if the neighboring lords sensed weakness…

"Right," he said finally. "I'll need to meet with this steward and get a proper report on the finances."

Mila looked surprised. "Of course, my lord. But are you well enough to—"

"I'll manage," he interrupted. "I can't afford to sit in bed while everything falls apart."

The next few hours were grueling. Mila helped him dress in simple but clean clothing he lacked the strength to lift anything heavier than a tunic and escorted him to the hall.

There, he met the steward, a man named Edwin, who presented him with a stack of ledgers.

Kael's modern sensibilities balked at the crude accounting methods, but he quickly pieced together the problem.

The previous steward had imposed heavy tithes on the peasants to fund unnecessary luxuries.

Repairs to roads and irrigation had been neglected, and the local militia was underpaid and poorly equipped.

"This is a mess," Kael muttered, rubbing his temples. "Edwin, how long have you been steward here?"

"Since your father's time, my lord," Edwin said stiffly. "I only followed his wishes."

Kael shot him a cold look. "And what about my wishes? Do you plan to follow them?"

Edwin swallowed hard. "O-of course, my lord."

"Good." Kael leaned forward, his weak body forcing him to grip the table for support. "Here's what you're going to do. First, reduce the taxes on the peasants. Start with the poorest families, if they leave, we're all screwed. Second, I want a full list of our military assets by tomorrow. Third, prioritize repairs to irrigation. No excuses."

Edwin hesitated but nodded. "As you wish, my lord."

Later that evening, Kael sat in his chambers, staring at his reflection in a tarnished mirror.

The face looking back at him was young but pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a thin frame that betrayed years of hardship.

It wasn't the body of a warrior or a king but it was his now.

"Baron Kael," he muttered to himself, testing the name. "Well, it's better than dying in my old room with a sock in hand."

He chuckled at his own joke but quickly sobered.

This world was a far cry from the comforts of modern life.

If he wanted to survive, he'd need more than charm and wit.

He'd need strength, allies, and a plan.

"I didn't ask for this," he said aloud. "But I'll make it work. This world? This barony? It's mine now."

For the first time since waking up, Kael felt a flicker of determination.

His old life had been pathetic, a cycle of indulgence and regret.

But here, in this harsh, brutal world, he had a chance to be something more.

And he wasn't about to waste it.