A Begotten Son's Warzlement

| 03 |

+
"Venture out. Not too near nor too far."
+

꧁Title? What Title?꧂

In spite of the tightly shut windows, thick frost had long crept between the gaps and had lined along the frames and sills.

It had been a much welcomed surprise to realize it was currently winter, but the enthusiasm soon died when snow storms after another blocked the scenery below, which, much to Myko's dismay, was his only entertainment.

The good butler who had been apprehensive about Myko's obedience had tried to provide distractions because perhaps it really was too unusual of a person to only sit and stare outside a window for two whole days. But alas, toddler toys could only do much (even for a toddler, anyway. What of an older child?).

Fortunately, Doctor Nicolai concluded his confinement with a gruff voice, muttering something about missing out on days of fun.

As if anyone could have that much of a fun in the middle of another snow storm.

What was two days though from the years he could procrastinate in the palace before the dreaded plot beginning when time to him had long lost its essence: every moment merely fleeting seconds of just existing?

Nesting in such a fine room was clearly the better option if only his life was up to him. He had a game to survive, after all, and a role to avoid, and a family to please—all of which would be easier if hibernation just extended to humans.

Unfortunately, obedience was a much preferred tactic than seclusion. Perhaps he could do both? Too much of the two definitely did not bode well for at least a sufficient future.

Oh, he wasn't delusional, alright? What golden path? What golden finger? Despite the stacks of webnovel physical copies he had collected, it would only take a single pinch of his own arm to ground himself to reality.

Who actually believed the world would revolve around one person?

Anyone who'd think they could conjure some elaborate scheme to rule a very, very foreign world clearly needed some headbangings on a wall.

Okay. Maybe it could be possible, but only with an impossible number of IQ and resources. Were normal people ever granted such privilege though?

Exactly.

"We might have to cut Your Highness' hair." Oh, how dreadful. "For another time."

Myko didn't know what to feel about that.

Vincent, or Mr. Walter as a proper address, had taken liberties making him presentable—as per the butler's standards and Myko feared his ignorance more than the discomfort of multilayered clothes—and had quite frankly pointed the mediocrity that was his hair.

It was, apparently, too dry. Normal-person-Myko begged to differ, but after receiving a stern look from a man who'd been gentle since day one, Myko decisively cut himself off and pretended he wasn't about to point out that his hair was definitely not lackluster.

It's silver! Silver!

A haircut wouldn't be bad if his hair was really as untidy (Myko could confirm; he'd seen the uneven chops of his hair), but it would feel like wasting silver coins, the unwillingness akin to the reluctance of using an expensive pen.

"Please turn around." Long, nimble fingers moved to carry out the request. Myko obediently let Mr. Walter spin him around at will. Then there was a clap. "All done!"