Exiled to a Foreign Land: Managing a Destitute Estate

Part 1

Philip froze in the doorway of the sunlit room, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the woman could hear it. Her blonde hair fell in glossy waves around her shoulders, catching the afternoon glow. She was tall—easily taller than 170 centimeters—with long, shapely legs, a curvaceous figure, and an ample bosom that threatened to make his pulse skyrocket. Her face was a perfect oval, and her nose had just enough definition to give her a regal air, like a princess from some grand painting.

The moment their gazes locked; he felt a strange jolt in his chest. Was it attraction, or something more mystical? He could only stare, tongue-tied, as though the entire estate and its problems had dissolved.

"Master," she said again in that lilting voice, "are you feeling okay?"

He swallowed, realizing he still hadn't answered her first question. "I… was just… um…"

Yes, very coherent.

A soft smile curved her lips, tinged with gentle sadness. She gracefully walked toward him; her movements so graceful they almost defied physics. At that moment, Philip felt as if an invisible tether was drawing him closer. Her blue eyes were so vivid they seemed almost unnaturally bright, yet they brimmed with warmth.

When she finally stopped, just an arm's length away, he managed to sputter, "You're… the same lady from before, right?"

She inclined her head, letting out a quiet laugh. "Yes, that was me."

Her voice was gentle, but there was a strange innocence in her eyes. She reached out as if to touch his face, then paused. A faint flush touched her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "I'm still… learning how to behave like a human."

Philip blinked. Like a human? He had half-expected her to be some noble guest or a secret servant. Instead, her words carried a bizarre finality.

Before he could inquire further, the sound of sparkling light broke the silence behind him. He turned around just in time to see a familiar shimmer appear in midair—like a hologram on the fritz.

"Host," came the System's voice in its cute, flustered tone, "I see you've discovered your… new companion."

He tensed. "System? You mean—this blonde woman is the—"

"Familiar, yes," the System confirmed, materializing in an ephemeral form. She was, fortunately, still a bunny—no fishnet stockings this time. "Congratulations on stumbling upon her so soon."

The blonde woman tilted her head curiously. "Are you not feeling well, Master?"

Philip and the System-bunny exchanged looks. He cleared his throat, about to ask for details on the Familiar, only to be struck by an unexpected surge of memories that weren't his own.

It began with a childish curiosity: a much younger Philip, perhaps ten or eleven, slipping into his father's study while the mansion's staff were preoccupied elsewhere. His father and mother were so often away—one obsessively expanding a hospital network in distant lands, the other tirelessly serving as a frontier nurse for the Osgor Kingdom. They left behind only traces of themselves in this house, including a mysterious old book perched on a lectern near an imposing desk.

He remembered sliding open the study's heavy door, heart pounding with equal parts excitement and dread. The book's worn leather cover crackled under his small fingers, and its pages revealed arcane diagrams etched with strange symbols, promising magical wonders in exchange for "appropriate offerings." To a lonely boy starved for attention, it was both terrifying and mesmerizing. But the more he read, the more nightmares it spawned, until Lydia had to sleep beside him for months to quell his screams—an embarrassing ordeal the original Philip could never forget.

The recollection then jumped to a later time, after Rosetta canceled their engagement, and Philip's heartbreak plunged him into unrelenting despair. He recalled returning to that same study, older but more desperate. With trembling hands, he reopened the ominous book, eyes darting to the ritual pages describing how to bind a beloved's heart using valuables—the Law of Equivalent Exchange. Driven by longing, he assembled a mountain of jewels and ornaments worth a substantial fortune. To him, it seemed trivial compared to the staggering sums he had already spent lavishing Rosetta with gifts and extravagant events.

The final flash took him to the mansion's basement, a cold and unfurnished stone room. On the floor, a pictogram drawn in chalk sparkled with raw magical energy. A pile of jewelry—heirlooms, gold bracelets, diamond-studded brooches—glinted under dim lamplight. Philip stood in the center, eyes blazing with desperation, chanting something from memory.

I want Rosetta's heart back, his voice echoed in the memory, becoming more frantic. Bring her to me… bring her back…

A radiant flash flooded the chamber, so brilliant it appeared to sear away the shadows clinging to the ancient stone walls. The jewelry dissolved into swirling mana, shards of gemstone spiraling upward like fireflies caught in a tempest. From that blinding light, a figure emerged, slowly taking shape—a woman of unearthly beauty, her presence like a living dream.

She knelt at the center of the circle, her skin faintly glowing with an otherworldly sheen. Her face was exquisitely delicate, as if carved by a divine sculptor, yet her nose bore a subtle definition that gave her a regal air. Her large, innocent blue eyes were framed by such long, fine lashes that they cast shadows on her porcelain cheeks. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her back like liquid sunlight, each wave magnifying her allure in the flickering lamplight.

Philip's eyes traversed downward, drinking in every inch of her impossibly perfect form. Her legs, long and shapely, commanded attention with their sculpted elegance. Her curves were mesmerizing, her bosom generous, and her waist narrowing into hips that flowed with an almost hypnotic grace. The translucent fabric of her gown clung to her like a second skin, hinting at what lay beneath while still concealing enough to leave his subconscious guessing.

Philip's pulse raced as blood surged through his body, rushing hotly to his face and lower regions alike. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, a near-deafening drumbeat of excitement he could not quell. He stared, utterly entranced, all rational thought drowned beneath a tide of raw, visceral awe.

Then, she moved her eyes—twin pools of innocent blue—and looked at him. The connection felt electric, so pure it seemed to pierce his soul.

For a fleeting moment, he was lost, entirely consumed by her. Yet then, like a snapping rope, comprehension blindsided him. This wasn't Rosetta. The realization blasted through Philip's mind like a sledgehammer, and his newfound joy splintered into shards of despair.

"No… no, no, no, no," he mumbled, voice cracking as he stepped back unsteadily. "You're not Rosetta. You're not Rosetta."

The words poured from him in a frantic torrent, each breath ragged as though the room had constricted around him. His knees threatened to buckle, but he forced himself upright, violently shaking his head in a futile attempt to banish her from his mind.

"Rosetta is gone! Rosetta is gone! Rosetta…" he whispered, his voice cracking into fragments. His trembling hands rose to clutch his temples as raw panic surged within him. With a strangled cry, he turned and fled, his footsteps echoing hollowly as he escaped the room.

A gentle touch from the blonde woman pulled Philip out of the flashback, her warm hand somehow steadying him. "Master?"

Philip's breaths came in shallow gasps. "I… just remembered something," he muttered under his breath. The old Philip's memories had hit him like a sledgehammer. He still reeled from the intense loneliness, the embarrassing nights with Lydia, and the bizarre summoning that devoured priceless treasures. But now he understood why one of his tasks was to prove his sanity—the old Philip had plainly lost his mind.

He turned slowly back to the blonde, who stood there with a calm, if slightly puzzled, expression. She was that Familiar—the very one the old Philip had conjured in his desperate effort to claim Rosetta's heart. She wasn't Rosetta, but she stood before him now, living and breathing, full of innocence and curiosity.

"So… you're my… familiar," he said aloud, his voice quivering.

Part 2

To break the awkward silence, Philip searched for a practical topic. "So, Miss… Familiar," he began, trying to sound casual. "How do we proceed? Do you eat normal food? Sleep? Have hobbies?"

She blinked, her golden hair shimmering as she shrugged. "I do not need food," she replied plainly. "But I do require frequent bathing. For that, I need your presence. However, given your current… physical condition, I recommend minimizing direct interactions with me."

Philip blinked again. Did she just say bathing? With him present? Surely not. Is she some kind of succubus? Also, did she mention his "current physical condition"? Was she slighting his health or implying he was out of shape? This is one rude succubus!

Before his mind could spiral further, the System piped up. "Don't jump to conclusions, Philip. Ask for details before you embarrass yourself."

Already mortified but determined to clarify, Philip took the plunge. "Why," he coughed, "do you need me around when you, uh… bathe?"

The Familiar tilted her head, both confused and faintly amused. "Because I require your mana to function," she said, matter-of-factly. "I need close proximity to draw mana and power my body."

Oh. Philip felt heat creep up his face. He suddenly felt incredibly foolish—and yet more flustered than ever. Sure, that explanation made sense, but it did little to erase the mental image of her in a tub, rubbing soap along her outstretched, shapely leg while he stood by, wholly awkward. His imagination ramped up, and he had to quash the thought before he risked another nosebleed.

"So," he managed, regaining a bit of composure, "that's why you suggested I avoid you right now? Because of the continuous mana drain?"

She nodded. "Yes. In your current state, more than three hours in my company would leave you bedridden for days."

The System, ever the helpful bystander, cut in again. "So, no real action until you hit the gym, buddy."

Philip groaned inwardly. "I wasn't even thinking about that," he snapped mentally at the System, taking care not to speak aloud. He didn't need the Familiar—or anyone else—thinking he was unhinged, especially when part of his to-do list involved proving his sanity.

Suddenly, the Familiar stepped forward, so close he felt her gentle breath. His heart jolted as she smiled sweetly. "Since our time is limited, let us do something important."

His heart pounded. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I'm still waiting for my name, Master," she said. Her voice was so melodic and sincere that it nearly melted him on the spot.

Philip blinked, caught off guard. Right—the old Philip had bolted from the basement without giving her a name. "How about Natalia?" he suggested, recalling the name of a cherished childhood cat—loyal and beloved.

To his surprise, Natalia's face lit up. She flung her arms around him in a jubilant hug, her obvious delight palpable. The feeling of her ample bosom pressed against him sent a dangerous rush of warmth both to his face and downward. Quickly, he pulled back, before any physiological reaction could leave a lasting impression. Yet a slight flush and puzzlement already appeared on Natalia's face.

Philip straightened himself, clearing his throat. "Right, um, moving on." He prayed she hadn't noticed his physiological reaction.

The System, of course, seized the moment. "Now that was the response I was expecting for our first meeting, not the nosebleed fiasco."

Philip muttered something unintelligible, grateful no one else could hear the System's commentary.

Natalia, unaware of his turmoil, tilted her head, her expression tinged with hurt. "Why did you pull away, Master? Are you still upset at my existence?"

"I… I… I'm just shy," he stammered, inwardly wincing at how lame it sounded.

Thankfully, she nodded in understanding, her smile returning. Seeing it both relieved and unsettled him in equal measure.

The System hopped impatiently in bunny form. "Look, lovebird, you've got half a dozen crises waiting beyond this door. Don't linger too long."

Philip shot it a glare. "Yes, I know." The memory of his to-do list—repairing the estate, evading assassins, clearing debts, proving he was sane—pricked at his nerves. "You said she's my main mission, right?"

The System wiggled its nose. "Sure, but remember: she drains your mana. If it runs out, you're finished. But as she gets 'cultivated,' or 'levels up,' she will drain less and less of your mana. And as she levels up, she will be a real helper, especially against those assassination attempts on you. Of course, she will also become more opinionated—could be a boon or a curse. But hey, just love her a quarter as much as you did Tara, then she will help you make a real difference in this world."

Just as the thought of the sacrifices he had made for Tara brought back some heartbreaking memories, he forced it out of his mind. For now, he needed to focus. He guided Natalia into the corridor, where she latched gently onto his arm. The sensation of her curves pressed against his side was both thrilling and distracting, yet he managed to keep calm.

The System, trotting alongside, gave him a knowing glance. "Keep an eye on your blood pressure, Host. It's a silent killer, especially here, where medicine is iffy."

Philip sighed. But with Natalia by his side, he suddenly found in himself a determination to survive the slew of challenges this world had in store for him.

Part 3

Philip was just starting to breathe easier—despite his hammering heart—when Lydia suddenly rushed upstairs. The moment she spotted him and Natalia, her expression flipped from mild surprise to borderline panic.

"Master Philip, you must hide… her." She pointed an exasperated finger at Natalia. "We have a visitor from that newspaper enterprise you—er—created to help rebuild your reputation. She's already in the foyer, demanding your presence!"

Philip gaped. "A newspaper enterprise? I—when did I—?" He broke off, head spinning. He was unearthing old Philip's business ventures the way one might stumble upon rats in an abandoned cellar. "Let's hope this isn't yet another ticking time bomb," he muttered under his breath.

"Time bomb or not," Lydia declared brusquely, "you have no choice but to meet her. But we can't let her see…" Her voice trailed off to a whisper. "If a forbidden ritual is exposed—God forbid—your reputation would be more ruined that it already is."

Natalia nodded obediently and, without a word, glided down the corridor to her room. Philip and Lydia then headed downstairs toward the foyer, Lydia practically hovering at his shoulder.

Standing in the foyer was a woman who commanded attention the way a blazing torch catches every eye in a dark hall. She stood around 170 centimeters in her boots, yet her regal poise made her seem even taller. Her reddish-brown hair, a cascade of polished mahogany, was swept back with careful precision, accentuating the graceful slope of her neck. She wore a dress unmistakably modeled after mid-19th-century European fashion, though the hemline was daringly high—well above her ankles—revealing leather boots that looked slightly out of place for the era.

Her figure was another delicious contradiction—voluptuous and sensual, yet cloaked in an air of authority that made her presence more entrancing than overbearing. The gown's bodice hugged her with unapologetic precision, flaunting an exquisite, shapely behind, and the neckline—respectable by most standards—hinted at a generously endowed bosom that rivaled anything Philip had encountered back in Bortinto. Her features were soft yet sharply defined: a gently sloping nose, full lips perpetually flirting with a sly smile, and eyes the color of burnt sienna that seemed to survey the entire room in seconds.

Lydia mumbled something under her breath, but Philip was too lost in his thoughts to catch it. He felt simultaneously intrigued, wary, and—a reluctant part of him admitted—extremely flustered. His heart hadn't even recovered from his earlier run-in with Natalia, and now it pounded like a war drum.

The woman's gaze locked onto him with unsettling accuracy. She raised a finely arched brow. "Master Philip, I presume?" Her voice was rich—a contralto edged with amusement. She took a deliberate step forward, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished floor.

Just as Philip opened his mouth to respond, the System popped up by his side in its bunny form, eyes gleaming with mischief. "So this must be the reason why Philip funneled money into that newspaper enterprise, huh?" it teased, letting out a playful snicker.

Heat rushed up Philip's neck. "I'm sure that's not…" he began, but trailed off as his gaze followed her right hand tracing a slow, suggestive path down the curves of her body, then along the contour of her shapely leg.

Her movements were so hypnotic that Philip nearly forgot to breathe. Her sly smile turned razor-sharp. Then, without warning, her hand dipped beneath a fold of her upper skirt. In one swift, practiced motion, she drew out a narrow stiletto dagger.

Philip's eyes went wide, his heart seizing in his chest. But it was already too late. Her arm flicked forward, and the blade shimmered under the foyer's chandelier like a deadly streak of lightning. It spun straight for him with lethal intent, her poised smile never faltering.