This cat’s quite fickle, I judged while recalling my tabby cat's sassy personality, a pet that we, I mean my previous family, had back at home.

“Sir Dorian,” George spoke first, greeting the cat with a butler-like mannerism. “My master wants to read some books,” he continued, “I'd be grateful if you could provide us some guidance.”

The feline twirled his whiskers once more. His pupil constricted. “Oh, interesting. Did he finally trade his brain for a bird's?” Dorian's mouth upturned, his angular shoulders raised.

Lucas's animosity spread far and wide, I secretly mused. Puffing my chest forward, I crossed my arms trying to appear as haughty as possible—externalizing what Lucas's response would be in this situation.

“My head's all fine, Dorian,” I interjected. “Is my presence unwanted here?”

“Ha! Denying entry to the supreme swordsman's son? Nobody wants to irk that father of yours,” Dorian shrugged. “So, what kind of books are you looking for?”

“History.”

“History?”

“On this empire and its people.”

"I didn't think you were much of a historian yourself," Dorian chuckled, his long whiskers bouncing.

"I'm not."

"Really? Why history then? It would be understandable if you were looking for references about your...body," he countered, sizing me up.

"Sir Dorian! Mind your words!" George interrupted.

I held George back with my arm. "Did you know?"

"Was it supposed to be a secret?" The cat cocked his head.

I waved my hand dismissively. "Never mind that. Just give me the history books. As for my constitution, I'll find out about it later."

Then, there was a pause. Dorian narrowed his eyes on me. "Alright! But since you didn't specify anything, you might as well stay here if you want to read them all."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," he smirked.

Having finished his sentence, the cat shut his long eyelashes and fanned out his arms apart, his red robe fluttering behind his back. Dorian's mouth rounded as his tongue moved. Immediately, I could sense the abrupt change within the atmosphere. It felt like the flow of mana had changed its direction. As if to confirm my suspicions, about five neon green magic circles appeared one by one and floated vertically in the air, encircling Dorian as he chanted magic incantations.

Then, rumbling noises started coming from the bookshelves. In the next moment, a steady stream of books slid out of the bookshelves and swooped inward, mid-air of the library. I watched in bewilderment as a whirlpool began to form in the middle of the space as books continued to pirouette in the air above our heads. As the whirlpool of books grew in size and velocity, the surrounding air whirred, producing sharp whooshing sounds. However, as soon the cat dropped his arms, signifying the end of his spell, the whirlpool also came to a halt—leaving all of the books suspended in mid-air.

Then, as if they had a mind of their own, the books eventually came tumbling down, stacking themselves neatly on the rounded desks. After the stacks of books reached twenty or so, the following books moved to the next empty table and continued stacking themselves on top of each other. This went on for a while until there was a single book left in the air.

“Here's for you,” Dorian said abruptly, throwing me off guard.

“What—” I replied, before noticing a book hurling itself toward me with great velocity from above. I spread my arms wide, surprised, to catch the incoming missile. However, failing to discern the book’s weight and size, I fell to the ground after it landed straight on top of my abdomen. Groaning in pain, I sat up slowly and scrutinized the book on my lap. The leather-bound book, no, the tome measured at least half a foot across and a foot in height with its thickness as thick as my thigh which explained its considerable mass. I could’ve gotten killed just now! I glared at Dorian, secretly cursing the cat.

"Nice catch!" Dorian burst out laughing.

"Sir Dorian, what you just did was unacceptable," George said, his face contorted with disapproval.

"You asked for guidance, and there it is – my guidance!" The cat exclaimed, gesturing to the giant tome in my arms. "Since I'm a busy man, entertain yourself with the books I painstakingly sorted out for you. I'm not sure if you'll be able to finish them all, but have fun!" Dorian's tail swayed from side to side before he vanished into thin air.

I stood up, tucking the heavy tome under my arm and making my way to an empty desk. A cloud of dust flew off the book as I placed it on the desk, causing me to cough uncontrollably as I inhaled the nasty particles. Once the dust settled, I traced my fingers over the title etched into the leather-bound cover, reading "Record of Treia's."

"Treia..." I whispered to myself, then turned my gaze to the mountains of books Dorian had given me to my right. Ten desks full of them – about two hundred books in total.

"George," I said, "don't disturb me except for my meals or when it's time for father's departure."

"Yes... Master," he replied, before leaving me alone.

Alright, here we go, I thought to myself as I cracked my fingers and twisted my neck from side to side. Slowly, I opened the first page of the tome.

◈◈◈

Every five o'clock in the morning, George awoke from his slumber, awoken by his own biological clock. His bedroom wasn't huge, but it was roomier than those of most of the servants at Arrendhart's manor. As usual, he changed into his butler garb after a quick shower. Faced with his own reflection in the windowpane of his room, he primed himself by neatly combing his dirt-brown hair that matched his hazel eyes and adjusting his monocle.

He took a few steps toward the exit, picked up his pace, and walked out of the room. He marched briskly down the corridor, his spine perfectly vertical, greeting other servants as they passed. Although each and every one of them was scuttling about heading to their own destinations, they all greeted him out of formality due to his higher position.

After walking for some time, his nose was soon tickled by the tantalizing smell of breakfast being prepared in the kitchen. As he entered the kitchen court, a din of noises and a sweltering heat greeted him. One individual in particular stood out from the crowd.

"Where's the goddamn lettuce!" An old, stout man yelled while stirring a big bowl with his hand.

"Sorry!" A young boy cried as he snaked his way around kitchen servants with lettuce heads in his arms.

Although these people had noticed his arrival, they all continued with their task. Not a single greeting was uttered. Their hands were either busy chopping, washing, cutting, grilling or stirring some kind of food ingredient. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation for all of them. George, however, was not bothered by their indifference. He knew that this kitchen was a warzone of its own. No one dared test their mettle against these folks. Otherwise, there'd be no food to feed hundreds of mouths inside the manor.

George made his way to a wooden island in the middle of the court and observed the latest handiwork of Russo, a principal chef of Arrendhart's. Inside a large ceramic bowl, a handful of salad, berries, eggs and nuts were being mixed together with white condiment.

Sparked with curiosity, he asked, "For Lady Lilia?" his eyes fixed on the bowl.

Russo's thick brows slanted downward as he smashed down another egg with his golden spatula. "You're joking, aren't you?" he scoffed. "That pig requested this an hour ago," he added, "and that all his meals be made like this one here in the future," Russo jutted the bowl toward him.

George flashed a brief surprise. Another anomaly, he noted. Though he had been able to write off two strange occurrences in recent days as coincidences, his opinion began to change after the third one. He rubbed his cufflinks with his fingers. A habit he displayed whenever his nerves were frayed.

"I see."

"But he seemed a little off," Russo remarked abruptly. "He's calmer now. I think it's puberty."

"You think so?"

"I have a grandson just like him. That brat was wild too before puberty hit him. Now that I think about it, I was a scoundrel myself before I met my sweetheart!" Russo leaned back, hands on his potbelly. Then, a roaring laugh reverberated throughout the kitchen.

Suddenly, George heard a frenzied shuffle coming from a distance. Without even looking, he knew who it was. Reina. His mind raced.

"Sir George!" Reina yelled as she came to a stop. "Master Lucas, he's he's—!" Her words faltered as she struggled to catch her breath. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.

George rubbed his temples. "What now, Reina?"

The petite girl rushed to him. "M-Master has been injured in the arena!" she said, her voice shaking.

“What?” he exclaimed in surprise.

Soultist

History books are a start, right guys?