Aric wandered further into the labyrinthine expanse of the mansion. Each archway revealed a new facet of extravagance, as if the architects had been determined to outdo themselves at every turn. One corridor led him to what appeared to be an art room.
The scent of oil paint lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the faint musk of aged wood from the antique furniture scattered about. Half-finished paintings leaned against the walls.
In one corner, a life-sized sculpture of Seraphina stood unfinished, her features only partially carved from the marble block.
It was breathtaking work but also unsettling, like glimpsing something too intimate.
Aric ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the sculpture's arm,
Whoever Vayne had hired or perhaps commissioned was clearly a master craftsman. But why would someone spend so much time immortalizing Seraphina in stone when their marriage was so fucked?
He shook his head, pushing aside the thought.
This ain't my world and I need answers. They sure as hell aren't going to come from half-carved statues or abandoned canvases.
As he moved to another room, a door caught his attention.
Unlike the ornate archways and gilded frames surrounding it, this one was understated—a simple mahogany slab with a brass handle polished to a dull shine.
Something about it felt familiar, though Aric couldn't quite place why.
Perhaps it was the way it stood slightly ajar, inviting curiosity.
Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.
The office was massive, easily twice the size of his bedroom upstairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three of the walls, each packed with leather-bound tomes and scrolls tied with red ribbons.
A grand oak desk dominated the center of the room. It was cluttered with papers, inkwells, and quills. Documents lay scattered across the floor, crumpled and torn as though someone had thrown them in frustration.
This place is huge man. Really goes to show how rich they really are. Guess all the romance manhwa came in clutch.
Aric crouched down, picking up one of the discarded pages.
His brow furrowed as he skimmed the contents: financial reports detailing staggering losses, letters marked 'URGENT'.
Demanding repayment of debts, and scribbled notes that made little sense without context.
Whatever Vayne had done during his tenure as duke, it hadn't been subtle—or successful.
[Looks like you've inherited quite the mess.] Ivy remarked dryly in his mind,
[Good luck untangling this web.]
Aric sighed and tossed the document back onto the pile.
"Yeah, thanks. Just what I always wanted—a mountain of paperwork. Every man's dream."
Before he could delve further into the chaos, the sound of footsteps echoed behind him. Turning, he saw the nervous butler from earlier standing in the doorway, holding a silver tray laden with… whiskey?
"Master Vayne. I thought you might appreciate a drink after your ordeal."
Aric staring at the bottle dumbfounded,
Whiskey? At this hour? He glanced at the clock on the wall.
It wasn't even noon yet. Am I an alcoholic or something?
"Seriously?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You think I need alcohol right now?"
The butler flinched visibly, "Forgive me, Master! I-I merely assumed…"
"That's how I operated, huh?" Aric finished for him, sighing heavily.
"Look, I don't need that. Just bring me some water and maybe toast with butter. Simple stuff."
The butler nodded, "Of course, Master! Right away!" He scurried off, leaving Aric alone once more.
Aric sank into the plush leather chair, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The weight of everything—the amnesia, the accusations, the sheer scale of this unfamiliar life—pressed down on him like a physical force.
He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. But then, a memory surfaced—not of Vayne's past, but of his own.
Back in his old life, he'd relied on caffeine to get through just about anything from long lectures and sleepless nights grading papers to surviving war.
Energy drinks had been his go-to, their icy chill and jolt of energy a lifeline during those endless days.
"I miss that. Just one can…"
And then, as if summoned by sheer willpower, a cold sensation materialized in his palm.
There, resting in his hand, was an ice-cold can of something suspiciously similar to his favourite drink—but branded differently, with bold black-and-silver lettering that read 'Chaos Brew.'
The logo depicted a roaring lion wreathed in flames, and condensation dripped down the sides.
"What the…" Aric stared at the can, dumbfounded. Then, realization dawned.
Creation Magic. I'd imagined it, and it simply… appeared.
[Well, well.] Ivy's voice chimed in, [Looks like you're starting to figure things out. Impressive really, considering you've only been at this for less than a day.]
"Huh." Aric popped the tab and took a cautious sip.
The liquid surged with flavour—citrusy and sharp, with a hint of berry sweetness and the familiar rush of caffeine hit him almost instantly. Energy coursed through his veins, banishing the fatigue that had weighed him down moments ago.
Feeling slightly more invigorated, he turned his attention back to the scattered documents on the desk. Flipping through them, he pieced together fragments of Vayne's disastrous reign.
Debts accrued from reckless investments. Promissory notes signed in haste. Letters from creditors threatening legal action.
It was a mess, yes—but not insurmountable. If anything, it gave him a starting point.
Still millions in debt, in gold no less is insanity. What the fuck did you do Vayne?
Vayne Arkwright may have ruined this place, but I don't have to let it stay that way.
I'm not bound by the sins of this Vayne or so he thought.