"Seriously? Why on earth did my soul end up in the body of a servant of a noble family? Couldn't it have been transferred to the body of a noble or something?" The dissatisfied grumble emanated from a stubborn-looking youth, his hair a dark blue so intense it could be mistaken for black under the dim light. His deep, black eyes reflected the crackling flames of the fireplace in the main hall of the mansion.

He was dressed in an immaculate servant's uniform, composed of a finely tailored black blazer and white linen trousers that draped over his slender legs. The uniform was a symbol of his lower social status, a constant reminder of his place in this world.

The body his soul now called home belonged to a young man named Lyon, a commoner who, through determination and hard work, had achieved a position as a servant in the feudal lord's house. Lyon was known for his ability to carry out his duties with silent, discreet efficiency, a quality he would now have to learn to replicate.

The city where he now resided was known as Green Waters, a picturesque coastal town with its white sandy beaches and gently rolling waves. However, the city's natural beauty was often overshadowed by the conflicts that arose from its popularity among the nobility. The struggle for power and dominance in Green Waters was a dangerous game, often stained with the blood of those who dared to challenge the status quo.

The coastal city of Green Waters was a gleaming jewel bathed by the blue waters of the sea. Stunning and coveted, its privileged location and proximity to the ocean made it an indispensable port for intercontinental travel. The only access to distant lands was through caravels and galleons that sailed from its docks, making the city a strategic and commercial point of interest.

The wealth of Green Waters wasn't just its strategic location, but also its unique connection to the mysterious and mythical world of mermaids. The city was the only place where one could acquire sea treasures, traded directly by these enchanting creatures. The mermaids brought luminescent pearls, vibrant corals, and ancient artifacts, whose origin was lost in the mists of time, making Green Waters a haven for collectors and lovers of exoticism.

"Lyon!" The shrill shout echoed through the mansion's marble corridors. The young man, recognizing the authoritative voice, knew it was the eldest daughter of the Vermilion family calling him. Accustomed to the nobility's haste, he dashed towards the eldest daughter's quarters.

"I'm here, miss. May I come in?" Lyon's voice was soft, respectful, yet firm. He knocked on the carved wooden door and waited for a response.

"Yes." The response's tone was sharp, cold as a steel blade. Given permission, Lyon opened the door and entered the room.

His eyes met the hypnotic figure of the feudal lord's eldest daughter. A woman of stunning beauty, with fire-red hair and eyes of the same color, which seemed to glow with a light of their own. She wore an elegant red silk dress, carefully sewn to enhance her slender figure. Her posture and attire indicated that she was about to leave, giving the situation a sense of urgency.

With the impassive expression he'd learned to maintain, Lyon bowed his head and asked respectfully, though without being intimidated, "How may I assist you, Miss Vermilion?" The words flowed with strange familiarity from his mouth, although the idea of being a servant gave him a strange feeling of discomfort. He was accustomed to a different body, a different life, but at this moment, he had to adapt and play the role imposed on him.

The noblewoman, in turn, kept an evaluative gaze on him, as if pondering his worth in silence. She answered with a voice as cold and cutting as the winter wind, "I am preparing for a festivity to which I have been invited, and I wish for you to accompany me to carry the gifts I might receive."

Lyon mildly furrowed his brow, a sign of confusion he couldn't completely hide. "I apologize for my misunderstanding, Miss Vermilion, but are we celebrating the day of your birth by any chance?" His question was filled with genuine perplexity. It would be more common, he thought, for the hostess of the birthday party to be Miss Vermilion herself.

The noblewoman, with a biting laugh and a cold look, retorted: "No, not at all. However, I am certain that I will receive a flurry of gifts from inconvenient suitors wishing to court me." The indifference in her voice was almost palpable, and with a fluid movement, she turned and began to exit the room, the silk of her dress fluttering behind her.

"She's as cold as ice," Lyon muttered to himself, watching the noblewoman's majestic figure disappear down the hallway. He couldn't help but wonder what would lead someone of such beauty and status to be so distant and disdainful. However, he knew this was not his place to question. He was just a servant, and his role was to follow orders, not question them.

Lyon took a brief pause to compose himself before following the noblewoman down the hallway. The Vermilion mansion was a maze of adorned corridors and luxurious rooms that he was still trying to get used to. However, he had a job to do and couldn't afford to get lost in his thoughts.

He followed the noblewoman to the mansion's exit, where a carriage waited to take them to the festivity. Lyon couldn't help but marvel at the carriage. It was a work of art, decorated with gold detailing and pulled by two immaculate white horses. The carriage was a clear symbol of the Vermilion family's status and wealth.

With the help of the coachman, the noblewoman climbed into the carriage. Lyon, for his part, climbed onto the back, reserved for the servants. The journey to the party venue was short, but the tension in the air was almost palpable. The silence within the carriage was only broken by the sound of the horses' hooves hitting the stone ground.

"Where are we heading, Miss Irene?" The coachman’s voice sounded, breaking the silence that hung over the carriage. His tone was respectful, but carried a hint of nervousness, as if he feared the answer that would come.

"To the Moonstone fortress," Irene's response echoed from within the carriage, her voice cold and distant blending with the soft noise of the horses' hooves against the stones of the road. The mention of the name Moonstone caused a frisson of tension in the air, as if the name itself carried the weight of nobility and rivalry.

The Moonstone family was a house of equal prestige and influence to Vermilion, ruling with iron hands and stone hearts. According to the memories that now inhabited Lyon's mind, the heiress to the Moonstone house, a woman of rare beauty and fierce temperament, was engaged to Irene.

The coachman, a middle-aged man with deep wrinkles and tired eyes, cast a curious look at Lyon who was by his side. "How long have you been in the Vermilion House, boy?" he asked, the curiosity clearly visible in his gruff voice.

Lyon, surprised by the sudden question, hesitated before answering. "Not very long," he began, the memory of the exhausting effort the former owner of this body had made to get this job still fresh in his mind. "I've only been working there for three days."

It was true - the former Lyon had dedicated himself with all his might to get this job. He had endured long hours of work, the constant pressure of competition, and the cold indifference of the nobility. All of this, just to secure a place in the Vermilion House, a symbol of status and power in the city of Green Waters.

And now, here he was, in his new skin, following the eldest daughter of the Vermilion family to a party at the Moonstones' mansion.

The journey down the stone road to the imposing Moonstone mansion was brief, but the anticipation made it bittersweet. The Moonstone estate rose majestically ahead, an architectural monument of unsurpassed grandeur and beauty hidden behind an exuberant garden. This, in turn, was a kaleidoscope of colors, with flowers of all types and colors scattered in a choreography meticulously planned by nature and human hand.

From all directions, carriages richly adorned with the coats of arms of various noble houses converged to the same destination. Each seemed to compete in sophistication and ostentation, reflecting the status of their occupants.

Lyon, with the same deference he had learned in the last three days, walked to the carriage door and opened it with a gentle, but firm gesture. He extended his hand to help Irene down, a service he considered part of his duty.

However, Irene refused the help with an icy look, the words "I don't need it" coming from her lips like a sharp knife. Without losing a second, she descended from the carriage with innate elegance, her slender figure standing out against the golden glow of the setting sun.

"Let's go," she said, not bothering to check if Lyon was following her. Her voice was as cold as the winter breeze that blew through the garden.

For a moment, an improper thought crossed Lyon's mind. He wished, with surprising fervor, to throw a stone at the noblewoman's head. But he restrained himself, swallowing his irritation and following her with rushed steps.

The greeting came from a young blond man with emerald green eyes. He approached Irene with a confident smile, their closeness revealing an intimacy that could only be shared by lovers. "Dear Irene, hello," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed Irene on the mouth, a gesture which she returned with a coolness that made Lyon shiver.

"Oswald," Irene began, her voice as cold and sharp as an ice blade. "I believe I made it clear that you would only have permission to kiss me after our marriage." The tone of her voice was so icy that it could freeze even the warmest of hearts.

"Ah, but Irene, now I am your concubine, as well as the Moonstone heiress'," Oswald responded with a mischievous smile, his words provoking a look of surprise in Irene's eyes. "I didn't expect you to be so audacious, Oswald," she said, trying to keep her face neutral, but her surprise was evident. "Well, it seems you have quite a bit of... creativity."

Irene's voice was cold, but there was a trace of amusement in her eyes as she looped her arm through Oswald's. "I've always been full of surprises, Irene," Oswald responded with a confident smile.

Then, his eyes turned to Lyon, an inquisitive look on his face. "And him, Irene? Is he also one of your concubines?" Oswald asked, pointing to Lyon with a nod of his head.

Irene laughed, a cold and crystalline sound that echoed through the garden. "Don't be ridiculous, Oswald," she replied, her gaze turning to Lyon. "He is just a servant."

Lyon observed the interaction between Oswald and Irene, a pang of discomfort forming in his stomach. He knew Oswald was a son of a baron, and yet, he had become a concubine to Irene's bride. Lyon couldn't help but find this world strange - a place where both men and women could have as many concubines as they wanted, but only one husband or wife.