Book 1: Chapter 3

Last Life

MY EYES TRANSFIXED by the dim energy bursts in the phial, I didn’t notice at first that I was holding my breath. Clearing my throat in agitation, I tried to get myself together.

Just think! A real energy potion! Vadoma told me about these. Her great-great-granny was a very powerful witch who could brew elixirs like this. But that was only if she could forage ingredients from places of power.

In my time, all places of power were private property belonging to aristocrats. So my teacher and I had to make do with normal herbs, which simply could not be made into energy potions no matter how badly we may have wanted to.

But in this world, apparently, things were not quite the same. Even common servants could afford potions like this. After all, the doc couldn’t have sold it to Bertrand only for my sake. So everything came down to money. Which in my world would have been complete nonsense on its face. Stuff like this was exclusively for the privileged. Its high price was secondary.

By the way, the question of gifted people had taken on a new urgency. They did exist here, and most likely in much greater numbers than in my world. Who else could be brewing these elixirs? Especially given common servants could afford them.

“How much he shake you down for?” I asked Bertrand.

The question embarrassed my servant.

“It’s of no importance, monsieur...”

“You can tell me, old fellow,” I encouraged him. “I have to know.”

Our gazes met. The old man was clearly planning to stick to his guns. Alright... I won’t insist. The most important thing now is not to overdo it. I would only risk making matters worse.

“Alright, old fellow,” I nodded, pretending I had given in to his admonishments. “You win. But we will come back to this topic.”

The old servant’s face beamed. His eyes contained so much concern and adoration. Was this Max Renard really such a raging brute that he didn’t notice what an amazing man he had at his side?

If so, it would take me a very long time to get past that. Otherwise, everyone would notice the sudden personality shift. Although the headwound would always make a good excuse for the young Max Renard rethinking his old life.

“Very well, young master,” the old man started clucking around me like a broody hen. “You must regain your strength. You have your whole life ahead of you. But money? What good is money? What use is it to old Bertrand with his master at death’s door? That’s just what I told the physician when you were brought in after the duel. But at that time, he said the elixir would be no use, and you would die no matter what. Which was why he wouldn’t sell it to me. It would have been a waste of a rare potion he said. But now, it’s another matter! The gods have heard my prayers!”

I just barely heard my servant’s mumbling, but I took good note. So, energy potions were indeed uncommon, though not quite as rare as in my world. The doc meanwhile, despite the risk of losing the money Max owed him, was in no rush to save his life. Curious detail. I’d have to remember that.

But still, to draw any conclusions, I would have to figure out just how effective the elixir was. So, now I would try it.

Bertrand, holding my head tenderly in his left hand, raised the phial slowly to my lips with his right, and the mouth had a small narrow nozzle. Made of some kind of metal, it had an elongated shape and looked like a dropper.

“The physician warned me you should only take one drop a day,” the old man came, keeping a close eye on the narrow opening.

I wanted to ask whether the doc said what would happen if we exceeded that dosage, but I was too slow. The little fiery crimson droplet fell onto my tongue with a cheery glimmer.

I tensed up... But sadly, there was no super miracle or anything. The alien energy just accelerated the processes I’d initiated in my energy system earlier and only for a short time. My bright blue energy channels instantly swallowed up the dim crimson droplet as if it was never there. A wave of pleasant warmth ran through my physical body. And that was it. As an aside, Vadoma’s stimulating potion made of regular plants had a longer and more pronounced effect. In fact, so did mine.

The doc was right. This elixir was no panacea. It couldn’t have clawed Max Renard back from the grave. At the very least, not with such a low concentration of crimson energy.

I opened my eyes and saw Bertrand looking tense. His face contained so much hope and expectation. I also got the feeling he was surprised somehow.

“Thank you, old fellow,” I didn’t let him down. “Now I feel a lot better. I’ll be right as rain in no time.”

The old man’s lips stretched into a happy smile, and tears welled up in his eyes.

“Oh, gods! I’m so pleased!”

“By the way,” I seized on the moment. “I’m sure nothing bad will happen if I drink this whole phial down right now.”

The old man looked at me fearfully and slowly hid the phial behind his back.

“I’m under strict instructions not to do that,” he stated.

I had a hard time resisting rolling my eyes and telling him exactly what I thought of the physician. I was not yet in any hurry to tell Bertrand about my abilities. I couldn’t tell if the old man could keep secrets. Much less if the news might frighten him. I figured he had enough on his plate with my amnesia.

“How about this?” I started softly.

My tone only made the old man tenser. Hm... My predecessor had clearly used similar intonations before when he was about to do something nasty.

“I mean, I’m not planning on chugging it. Let’s say one droplet every half hour. Should do the trick. Look at me. Is there any sign the medicine did any harm?”

“But the physician...” the old man started.

“You know what these physicians are like,” I snorted. “They don’t want to take risks because they might come back on them.”

In my world, that tactic would have definitely worked. Everyone loved blaming their troubles on anyone but themselves. Ordinary folks were particularly fed up with, “worthless do-nothing doctors.”

But with Bertrand it was the opposite. He got even more tense.

“Monsieur Robert knows his stuff. He is one of the best physicians in this city. I am personally acquainted with several people who he helped.”

Ah... A miss. Ah, if only my body started listening to me faster! My helpless state was starting to bother me.

“But I suppose you are right,” Bertrand came unexpectedly. “I have seen red hollowstone dust elixir in action on one person. One drop immediately put him to sleep for several days. But his wound was nowhere near as severe as yours. And it looks to me like you’ve actually perked up a bit.”

So it must have not just been me. Bertrand was surprised that I hadn’t passed out right after taking the medicine. The energy potions must have had a different effect on normal people than gifted ones.

“So you see!” I lit up.

“Two hours,” Bertrand came quickly.

“What?” I didn’t understand.

“Between doses. Two hours. And if I see you losing consciousness — we stop.”

Bertrand pulled the phial out from behind his back.

“Agreed,” I nodded.

“Then let’s wait two hours,” Bertrand stated, and took a small pocket watch on a tin chain out of his vest pocket. “It’s quarter to five now. I say we administer the medicine after dinner.”

I looked over at the servant’s watch, which he then put back in his pocket. Clearly silver. How did a common servant get his hands on a thing like that?

When he saw where I was looking, Bertrand took the watch back out and showed it to me with a glum smile.

“A gift from your late mother,” he came with a sigh. “It’s never let me down before. The Bergonia watchmaker’s shop knows what they’re doing. You used to love playing with this watch as a child. Too bad your mother didn’t live to see you all grown up.”

There was my opening to start asking questions.

“While we wait, could you tell me about her?” I asked, adopting his doleful tone.

And the old man gradually started laying out all background information on Max Renard and his family thanks to my leading questions. Bertrand spoke incessantly, as if trying to seize on his master’s sudden mellow turn to let out many years of pent-up emotions.

I then in my turn was a grateful audience. When needed, I sighed sadly, at times shaking my head indignantly and bulging my eyes out in surprise — basically I was doing everything I could to keep the old man talking. We even missed the second scheduled dose of medicine. Or rather, Bertrand did. I meanwhile never stopped keeping track of the time. Still, I never even thought of stopping my old servant — the things he was saying were just painfully interesting and shocking.

He only started slowing down when twilight fell in the room. After giving me yet another dose of energy potion, Bertrand told himself off for talking too much and scurried off to prepare dinner. After he left, I breathed a heavy sigh and closed my eyes.

Yep, I had really landed in it. But it could have been worse.

Max Renard had sure gotten up to some nasty things for a man who had yet to even complete his twentieth year. But based on Bertrand’s retelling of my lookalike’s adventures, it was expected behavior for the young scions of great houses. In fact, to a certain extent, it seemed to be the rule. Highly placed parents meant one could act with impunity. Then multiply that by wealth, surging hormones, and a permissive environment. In other words, Max Renard was hardly an exception.

But there were caveats. In particular, his being branded illegitimate. Max was the bastard of Count Ferdinand de Gramont. I had to give his dad his due though — despite being born out of wedlock, he officially recognized his offspring and had even played an active role in raising him. Still though, as was standard for bastards, Max inherited his last name from his mother.

Bertrand said the count loved Max’s mother very much and, although not an aristocrat, she was the daughter of a rich capital-city merchant named Pascal Legrand. His favorite daughter who, sadly, died during childbirth. Max was, like me in my past life, the cause of his mother’s death.

Despite the fact that Bertrand tried to only say good things about Max’s mother, I had no trouble reaching my own conclusions.

Basically, his mother was a real wild child. When she reached age eighteen, she eloped with a handsome guardsman from up north. That was how she became Anna Renard.

A little while later, when the money and things she’d taken from her father’s house ran out, she found herself no longer able to afford the happy and dissolute lifestyle. And that was when the young Anna, daughter of a merchant of the golden hundred, accustomed to luxury and an army of nannies since childhood, realized that a life without money was no life at all.

She wrote a teary letter full of contrition to her rich daddy, who immediately ran off to help his beloved child. He quickly settled a divorce with her guardsman husband, paying him a handsome compensation, aided by the fact that he was no longer so hot on the idea of living with the spoiled wild child himself. But in the end, Anna came back to the capital a Renard.

At first, she lived as a recluse, playing the role of unhappy widow. The ability to tell that tale was precisely why her daddy paid off the guardsman. But a few months later, she started making weekly visits in her personal carriage to a capital city theater and attending receptions. And so, big city life again took hold of the young Anna and whisked her off to new adventures.

At one such reception, she fell in love with Count Ferdinand de Gramont, who was already married with two sons and three daughters.

Their affair quickly caught fire and ended with the birth of Max and death of Anna.

Pascal Legrand was stricken with grief after losing his favorite daughter and got into a terrible feud with the count. He didn’t want to hear anything about his newborn grandson. He forbade his entire family from so much as mentioning the bastard or his count father who in his estimation was responsible for the death of his beloved daughter, saying anyone who disobeyed that rule would lose their inheritance.

In the end, Max Renard was raised as a true aristocrat, just not in the count’s home, but rather in the old capital where he had a mansion, servants, and a tutor.

The only link to the other side of his family, strange as it may have been, was in fact Bertrand who had served Anna Renard her entire life and, in accordance with her last wishes, had been left to the young bastard.

And that was the very reason Max had such a distaste for the old man — he served as a constant reminder of his origins. And hence his repugnant manner of treating the poor man, which only got worse year after year. Particularly in light of recent events, which had turned the young man’s life upside down.

The thing was that Ferdinand de Gramont and another several dozen people from among Vestonia’s most ancient houses had taken part in a conspiracy against King Carl III the Victorious.

The traitors had been defeated and Max’s daddy had been beheaded along with all his coconspirators. The majority of the count’s property had been seized by the treasury, while the rest was inherited by Ferdinand’s brother, Count Heinrich de Gramont. Incidentally, it was his little brother who informed the chancery of the conspiracy, which was how he ended up getting part of his traitor brother’s property. The king showed generosity to his allies and supporters, particularly given the mass executions of the eminent conspirators on the main square of the capital city.

Ferdinand’s sons, who had also taken part in the conspiracy, were executed alongside their father while their snitch uncle took it on himself to support the count’s daughters and slightly batty wife.

Max meanwhile, being a bastard, no one took too seriously. His uncle gave him three hundred silver crowns and threw him out of the home his father had given him by the scruff of his neck. Along with that came an order to stay away from the capital and find somewhere new to live near the borders of the kingdom.

And that was essentially how Max Renard had ended up in a small town in the west of the kingdom of Vestonia called Abbeville, where he’d spent the last nine months.

Without the usual nannies and tutors looking after him, he found freedom alluring. He amassed a small gang of hangers on consisting of various leeches who saw him as an easy mark. Loud carousing and drunken benders, expensive outfits, gifts to hookers, cards and dice — Max was blaring full steam into a chasm, which was exactly where he ended up.

Three hundred crowns by local standards was an incredible amount, but he’d managed to spend it up in just under three months. But the now penniless Max didn’t let that get him down and started taking out loans from local aristocrats, hiding shamelessly behind his uncle’s name.

At first, people were eager to loan him fairly large amounts, which he continued to spend left and right. But when Abbeville’s aristocrats caught wind that he was a bastard and had been chased out, everything changed.

Respected citizens then refused to loan him money, or even let him visit their homes. Max moved out of his fancy downtown apartment into the small annex of a guesthouse in the merchant quarter.

After that, he started venturing out to pawn shops and brokers, where Max unloaded the last of his even slightly valuable property. And the cherry on top of it all was that the young bastard issued a challenge to a professional duelist over some talentless actress.

As an aside, the duel didn’t seem all that straightforward to me. I would have to dig into that a bit deeper — my intuition was telling me this Vincent de Lamar was not going to leave me alone so easily. All the worse for him.

I would have preferred to leave this little town quietly. Which I hinted at in conversation with Bertrand. But that was another miss. The very idea frightened the old man. As it turned out, the moment I secretly left town without informing all my creditors, I would be declared a wanted man, and any guard would be free to arrest me in the next town I reached.

The only reason Max had yet to fall into a debt trap, was the Count de Gramont’s name, which still held weight in the kingdom, particularly after Heinrich sacrificed his own flesh and blood to prove his allegiance to the crown.

Beyond that, his creditors were still consoling themselves with the hope that his influential uncle would take pity on his wayward nephew and pay off all his debts. And whether I was a bastard or not did not matter. The ancient blood flowing in my veins — that was what counted. Sure, today I was a wayward nephew in disgrace, but who could say what tomorrow might bring? Perhaps His Lordship would decide to bring his brother’s bastard back into the fold. Such things happened all the time.

But while listening to Bertrand, a completely different picture was painted in my head. Max’s uncle was a grade-A jerk. He’d betrayed his brother in order to take his property. And he didn’t give a crap about his nephew. He had probably already forgotten about him.

Basically, I hadn’t inherited all that much. But there were also upsides. I was alive.