Taking Things Seriously.

Screech!

The door to the office room opened with a screeching haunt. The sound of dense breathing resounded within the chilly, silent air, and was soon followed by heavy footsteps.

Creak. Squeak. The roughy, wooden floors of the office creaked and squeaked from the pressure.

From his hiding position underneath the table, Atlas managed to keep himself still and quiet. The rough breathing, heavy footsteps, the squeaks of the floor, all combined and put an untold amount of pressure on the prince's mind.

'Who is it? Could it be that the traitor has come to finish his job?' Atlas' thoughts raced. He knew for certain that it wasn't the Baron who had entered the office at this instant for he knew the sounds produced by the man's walking by memory.

This intruder, whoever he was, was someone with a lighter gait and firmer step than the Baron.

'What do I do? What do I DO?!' Panic and trepidation plagued his mind. 'Do I run for it? No! That's idiotic! Not only will I face the intruder on the way out, but he is closer to the exit than I am!'

'What about the window!' Atlas immediately raised his eyes to look at the window. It was certainly closer to him than the door was, however, there was a slight problem.

'IT'S FU*KING CLOSED!!' And there certainly wasn't any time to fumble about, trying to open it.

'Calm down, Atlas! Think!' He hyped himself. 'Think carefully! What can you do? Who can you call for help? How can you survive this damned encounter!?'

Physical quarrel? Forget it. Atlas was shorter than a fencepost and weighed less than a sack of grains.

Scream for help? That would only alert the intruder of his hiding position. Instead, he might as well come out now and offer himself to the assassin.

Continue hiding and wait for help to come? Who knew how long that was going to take! More importantly, would anyone even come?!

Sure, the deafening crash earlier was loud enough to alert everyone within the manor and there was a definite chance that the Baron should've heard it. HOWEVER! What if the Baron was already… 'dealt' with?

'Then I'm truly and completely fu*ked.' Atlas bemoaned. 'I've been in this world for less than five days and I've already faced more death flags than the 'friend' character in a second-rate horror movie.'

Then again, he probably maybe deserved such a fate considering everything he had done in his previous world.

'I'm sure that the reason all this bad stuff is happening to me is 'cause someone 'up there' got really jealous of my godly, never-seen-before talent and whatnot. How else can you explain everything that's been happening to me?'

Atlas would never admit to the evils that he had done. Not even in death.

"Your Highness…?" A voice rasped. Atlas curled in even further and held his breath in harder.

Squeak! Creak. The creaking turned sharper as they approached closer to the desk.

"Where are you?" The voice continued. "I'm here to taa~lk to you."

'Yeah right. Like I'm gonna fall for that.' Atlas snorted inwardly. He possessed enough worldly experience –as in, having watched enough movies– to know that was a trap.

At this point, Atlas' pale face had grown unnaturally red from having held in his breath for an extended period of time. His arms and chest had also begun to imperceptibly tremble from the forceful effort.

"Your Highness~? I've come for you. Are ya' hiding?" The voice hoarsely said.

There it was. The admittance. Straight from the mouth of the intruder himself.

'AHA! He admitted! He has indeed come for me!' Atlas roaringly cheered. He felt extremely glad that his guess at the intruder's identity had been validated and that this wasn't another case of paranoia.

There had been many cases where Atlas was called out for being overly paranoid. Others might call such behavior negativistic and cowardly, Atlas called it being cautious and prudent.

In any case, his bout of happiness was short-lived. His sudden cheering had caused Atlas to accidentally intake a noseful of air. This little unfortunate event resulted in…

"ACHOO!!" Atlas sneezed.

"Oh! You're here, milord!" The voice immediately identified his positions and rushed towards the desk.

"AH!" Atlas let out a sharp cry and leaped out of his hiding spot. The suddenly ballooned feelings of panic and anxiety within his mind caused him to be muddled and resulted in him not thinking clearly at the moment.

His sudden prance caused him to crash head-first into the rear wall of the office. Clutching to his head in pain, Atlas closed his eyes, curled his body into a ball, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Go on! Take my life! That's what you are here for, aren't you?! DO IT!!"

"...err, no? I'm here to show ya the plans, milord," The voice dumbfoundedly replied. Now that the voice could be heard clearly, it seemed rather familiar.

"Wait? Is tha–" Before Atlas could finish wording his question, another voice interrupted him.

"What's happening here? Why is the room so dark? Hmm? MY LIEGE! What's happened to you!? Why are you on the floor?"

The next thing that Atlas managed to see was a large-bodied, bald man dropping a bowl of hot gruel from his hands and diving towards him with his arms stretched out.

Darkness and suffocation quickly engulfed him

---

"...So to summarize; You left to cook us dinner, saw Mr. Wootz coming towards the manor from the kitchen window, opened the door, ushered the man in and made conversation with him, realize that you left the stove on and that our dinner was burning, rushed to save it, knocking down multiple furniture in the process, crashed against the edge of the kitchen door and broke it in the process."

"That was the cause of the great noise, my liege," Baron Helm guilty answered.

"Well, something allowed me to come to the same conclusion, Baron Helm," Atlas snarked. He then turned his head to face the blacksmith.

"During this time, you, Mr. Wootz, ignored the Baron's blunders and made your way to my office. You then proceeded to invite yourself into my office without permission, did not proceed to announce yourself, and acted in the shadiest manner possible. Am I correct in saying that?"

"Milord, I–" Douglas tried to explain himself, but a sharp, scathing look from the furious prince immediately shut down his resistance.

"Ha." Atlas sighed with resignation. "Why do I have such incompe–argh! Hey!" He cried out in pain and turned to look at the third member present.

Butler Rohm.

Neatly tying a bow to finish up the sling carrying Atlas' left hand, Butler Rohm calmly said, "The sling is done. It was only a minor fracture. A few days of rest should heal it."

"How can you be sure?" Atlas spitefully asked, holding the base of his left elbow. The pain earlier had originated from here; in the spot where Butler Rohm had finished tying the knot.

"Because I'm the person in-charge of the Medical Center," Butler Rohm unflinchingly replied. "To quote your highness, 'You are the most capable medical professional currently available in town. You will be the pillar of our community, and will be of better effect nursing the townspeople as opposed to serving the Baron.'"

This was the speech that Atlas had given to the man when he had come to his office to contest his reassignment earlier.

Hearing his words repeated to him, Atlas uninspiredly replied, "Touche." Inwardly, he thought to himself. 'This Butler Rohm definitely dislikes me. Could he be the hidden traitor? No, that wouldn't make any sense. He's had ample opportunity to deal with me, yet here I am.'

Butler Rohm was the person who had tended to Atlas during his weakest moments. If the man was a traitor with unkind intentions towards the prince, he could've killed Atlas during his period of unconsciousness and simply blamed it on failed resuscitation.

Atlas still living was proof of the man's innocence. Still, a mutual dislike existed amongst both parties.

The two of them continued to stare at each other through narrowed eyes. This standoff lasted for a few seconds before being broken by Butler Rohm, who turned his gaze away.

Packing the bag containing some basic medicine, spare gauze, and the likes, the man advised.

"Try not to make any drastic movements with your left hand during this period."

"Guess I'll lay off from my coal shoveling job for a few days then," Atlas sarcastically answered.

Butler Rohm simply sighed and did not engage the young prince in his banter. Ignoring him, he turned to face his master, Baron Helm, and spoke.

"You do not have to engage yourself into servant duties, master. I shall take care of the chores around the house before heading to the Medical Center."

"Rohm, but you…" Baron Helm tried to protest but was shot down by the butler.

"It's no trouble, master. Serving you is my duty and my highest honor. You will not deny me of my honor will you, master?" Butler Rohm sharply asked.

Facing his servant, a man who had accompanied and taken care of him since his birth, Baron Rohm did not have the heart to deny him his earnest request.

Sighing out loud, Baron Helm replied, "...Do as you wish."

Butler Rohm bowed and left the room.

Throughout the entire conversation, Butler Rohm's expression changed not one time. He remained as strict and expressionless as ever.

Atlas noted his point and inwardly remarked to himself, 'This is a man of strict principles and morals. He is fiercely loyal to the Baron and only to the Baron. I suppose I can understand where his dislike for me comes from.'

To see his master being servile to a little brat –even if said brat was the First Prince of the kingdom– was quite the frustrating experience for Butler Rohm. Nevertheless, he was still mindful of their difference in statuses and hence observed proper decorum.

'In any case, as long as I don't overly mistreat the Baron, I'm not under any threat from the butler. I can even rely on him to a certain extent.' Closing his eyes, Atlas recalled the fear and dread he had felt an hour ago.

The whole situation with the would-be assassin was a great misunderstanding and seemed like a comical situation at first glance. However, that didn't discount the fear and trepidation that Atlas felt in those few minutes of misunderstanding at all. If anything, this event only served to remind him of a crucial fact.

'I am alone and I am weak. I shine brightly atop the stage while the enemy lurks in the shadows. Today's event might have been born out of a misunderstanding, however, if it had been real; if an assassin had actually come for me… I could've died.'

While Atlas liked to frequently joke about death and dying, he did not desire it at all. He craved to live a long life and prosper, just like every other living organism inhabiting this world.

He needed to survive. He needed to prosper. He needed to win.

'I'm Atlas Constantine, a genius. How can I be satisfied with dying an early death in the middle of nowhere to some nobody?'

'I'm Atlas Constantine, the main character of this world. And I will settle nothing less than the greatest of glories. When I die, I will die a legend. A mighty figure of the likes that this world has never seen before.'

'I'm Atlas Constantine and I… need to take this seriously. Relaxation is the luxury of those in power. And right now, I cannot afford them.'

The only thing greater than a peerless genius was a peerless genius with motivation and the determination to work hard.

Opening his eyes, Atlas settled his calm gaze on the blacksmith and asked.

"Are you done with the task I have given you?"

Grinning, Douglas spoke, "I was waiting for ya to ask me, milord." He then handed over the bundle of parchments that he was carrying in his hands.