The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

It had been two days since Elara’s Awakening.

Two days.

Forty-eight hours.

Approximately enough time for a person to recover from one moderately unpleasant social gathering.

Unfortunately, House Vortex apparently believed moderation was a sign of weakness.

The last two days had been hell.

Not the dramatic kind.

No demons.

No murderous beastkin.

No kidnapping.

No one trying to stab me.

Honestly, I might have preferred some of those.

Instead...

Banquets.

Two nights in a row.

Two.

Entire.

Nights.

The first had been the official celebration for Elara’s SS potential.

Reasonable.

Annoying.

But reasonable.

The second existed because apparently one banquet wasn’t enough to properly communicate that my sister was talented.

I still didn’t understand what additional information the second banquet provided.

Everyone already knew.

The Orb had been very clear.

SS.

Large glowing letters.

Difficult to misinterpret.

Yet nobles had returned anyway.

They ate.

They drank.

They congratulated Father.

They congratulated my stepmother.

They congratulated Marco for reasons I still didn’t understand.

Some even congratulated me.

I had contributed absolutely nothing.

Then they tried talking to me.

Repeatedly.

"Young Lord Alash, I’ve heard remarkable stories about your time at the border."

"Young Lord Alash, what are your thoughts concerning the Academy?"

"Young Lord Alash, my daughter will also be attending Zenith this year."

"Young Lord Alash, perhaps our families could..."

That particular conversation had ended when I pretended not to hear him.

Unfortunately, nobles possessed remarkable persistence when political opportunity was involved.

I had discovered something important during those two nights.

Fighting wounded soldiers was easier than avoiding noble parents with unmarried daughters.

At least soldiers respected retreat.

Nobles considered retreat an invitation to follow.

The only thing keeping me sane had been Dream Haven.

I currently carried the pillow beneath one arm as I walked through the estate.

Actually...

"Carried" might no longer be the correct word.

Dream Haven had spent so much time against my body that it was beginning to feel less like an artifact and more like an additional organ.

Arm.

Leg.

Head.

Pillow.

Perfectly normal anatomy.

[It is not.]

’I wasn’t asking.’

[You have carried it continuously for forty-six hours.]

’I slept during some of those.’

[You even bath with it.]

’Exactly. Efficient.’

There had been consequences.

Rumors.

So many rumors.

Apparently half the nobles who attended Elara’s ceremony were now convinced my pillow was some mysterious artifact I’d obtained from the border.

Technically...

Correct.

But not in the way they thought.

Mundane Veil concealed Dream Haven’s true nature, so everyone could only sense an ordinary object.

That hadn’t stopped speculation.

One noble claimed it improved mana recovery.

Another believed it enhanced meditation.

Someone else had apparently decided it was part of a secret Vortex family inheritance.

That one was particularly impressive considering Marco and Elara clearly didn’t have matching pillows.

I had considered correcting the rumors.

Then decided against it.

Mostly because hearing grown adults seriously discuss the strategic importance of a pillow was entertaining.

[You also enjoy believing they are jealous.]

’They are.’

[Delusional.]

That word again.

The System had become far too comfortable.

Fortunately, not everything about returning home had been terrible.

My siblings had become...

Comfortable.

That was probably the word.

Marco still spoke to me like he wasn’t entirely sure whether I was his brother or an unexplained natural disaster that had wandered into his life.

But he spoke to me.

That was progress.

Elara was considerably easier.

Too easy.

Within two days, she had apparently decided five years of missing sibling interaction needed to be recovered immediately.

She followed me.

Asked questions.

Tried touching Dream Haven twice.

Failed twice.

Asked about the border.

Asked about Master Valerian.

Asked whether I had ever killed anyone.

Then became strangely quiet when I didn’t immediately answer.

After that, she’d switched to asking about the Academy.

Much safer.

She was energetic.

Annoying.

Curious about everything.

And...

I didn’t particularly mind.

Disturbing.

Perhaps I was becoming tolerant.

[Character development.]

’Don’t.’

Still, compared to the endless nobles, spending time with Marco and Elara had been almost peaceful.

Almost.

Which was why being summoned by Father this morning concerned me.

Nothing good ever began with:

His Grace wishes to see you in his office.

Nothing.

I now stood before Father’s office door.

Dream Haven beneath one arm.

My other hand raised to knock.

I stared at the wood.

Perhaps if I remained here long enough, Father would forget he summoned me.

[He knows you are outside.]

’How?’

[You have been standing directly in front of his door for two minutes.]

’That doesn’t answer the question.’

[He is SS-ranked.]

Fair.

I knocked.

"Enter."

Immediate.

No escape.

I opened the door.

Father’s office hadn’t changed much.

Large desk.

Bookshelves.

Maps.

Documents.

More documents.

Several stacks of documents that appeared to be reproducing while nobody watched.

Terrifying.

Sunlight entered through the windows behind him.

Father sat at his desk, reading something.

His hair was neatly tied back.

His expression was calm.

Tired.

Always tired.

Seeing his office immediately reminded me why I had no interest in inheritance.

There was barely enough space on his desk for a pillow.

Tragic.

I entered.

Closed the door.

Then sat in the chair opposite him without being asked.

Father looked up.

His eyes dropped toward Dream Haven.

Then returned to me.

He said nothing.

Good.

Acceptance.

I placed the pillow across my lap.

"You called?"

"Yes."

He set the document aside.

That concerned me.

Father usually continued working through conversations unless the subject was important.

I leaned back slightly.

"What did I do?"

His eyebrow moved.

"Why do you assume you’ve done something?"

"Experience."

A pause.

"Nothing."

Excellent.

My shoulders relaxed.

"Then this should be quick."

"It won’t."

My shoulders returned to their previous position.

Of course.

Father folded his hands.

"Your return to the border has been canceled."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I waited.

Perhaps there was another sentence coming.

There wasn’t.

"No."

His expression did not change.

"That wasn’t a question."

"I know."

"Then why did you answer?"

"I disagreed."

"You cannot disagree with a decision that has already been made."

"That sounds dangerously authoritarian."

"I’m a Duke."

"Exactly my concern."

Father exhaled slowly through his nose.

I recognized that expression.

Master Valerian used it frequently.

Interesting.

Apparently I had a universal effect on authority figures.

"I thought we already discussed this."

"We did."

"You agreed I could remain at the border."

"I agreed before you returned."

"That is generally how agreements work."

"Circumstances changed."

I frowned.

"What circumstances?"

"You are entering Zenith Academy in six months."

"I knew that before."

"Correct."

"I’ve been training at the border for years."

"Also correct."

"Then nothing changed."

Father studied me.

"Your healing has."

I paused.

That wasn’t what I expected.

He continued.

"Valerian sent me your latest progress reports."

Traitor.

Of course he did.

Master believed privacy was an obstacle to efficient training.

Father leaned back slightly.

"Your ability has advanced beyond what the border infirmaries can properly utilize without drawing unnecessary attention."

I frowned.

"I’ve been healing there for years."

"And people noticed."

"I know the soldiers."

"I’m not referring to soldiers."

Ah.

That.

Rumors.

My existence at the border had stopped being particularly secret a long time ago.

Most people knew Duke Vortex’s SSS-potential son was training there.

But they didn’t know everything.

Especially not how quickly my healing and barrier abilities had developed.

Father continued.

"You’ve also completed most of what Valerian intended to teach you before the Academy."

"Most."

"His word was enough."

"I disagree with his word."

"You usually do."

Fair.

I shifted Dream Haven.

"So you’re keeping me here for six months?"

"No."

Good.

"Then..."

"You’ll be working."

Silence.

I looked at Father.

He looked at me.

I glanced toward the door.

Then back.

"Working."

"Yes."

"That word has several meanings."

"Not in this context."

Unfortunate.

I narrowed my eyes.

"What kind of work?"

"Medical."

That was slightly less terrible.

Slightly.

"Where?"

Father reached for another document.

"Lord Declair owns one of the largest private infirmaries in the our territory."

I blinked.

Declair.

Penelope.

Right.

"Her father owns an infirmary?"

"Several, technically. But one primary institution."

I frowned.

I had known the Declair family was wealthy.

Obviously.

Penelope was the daughter of an Earl.

Our engagement had originally been arranged because her family’s wealth and commercial influence made them politically useful.

But an infirmary?

That was new.

"I didn’t know that."

Father gave me a look.

I immediately became defensive.

"Nobody told me."

"You’ve been engaged to Penelope for five years."

"That’s not the same thing as receiving her family’s financial portfolio."

"You could have asked."

"Why would I ask whether her father owns an infirmary?"

Father paused.

Then apparently decided that argument wasn’t worth pursuing.

Good decision.

He continued.

"The Declair family has invested heavily in medicine, alchemical production, and private treatment facilities for decades."

Interesting.

That actually explained a few things.

Penelope had always seemed unusually comfortable discussing healing supplies whenever they came up.

I had assumed she simply listened well.

Apparently there was more to it.

Father picked up the document.

"Penelope has been handling much of the infirmary’s administration for the last year."

I stared at him.

"Penelope?"

"Yes."

"Administration."

"Yes."

"At the infirmary."

"Yes, Alash."

I frowned harder.

"She’s fifteen."

"So are you."

"That’s different."

"How?"

"I don’t manage anything."

Father’s expression became completely flat.

That argument might have worked against me.

I ignored it.

"She’s been doing that for a year?"

"According to Lord Declair, yes."

I leaned back.

That was...

Unexpected.

Penelope had never mentioned it.

Not once.

Yesterday we’d talked about family.

Awakenings.

The Academy.

Even my inability to remember important information.

She had somehow neglected to mention that she had spent an entire year helping run a major infirmary.

’System.’

[Yes?]

’Did you know?’

[No.]

Good.

At least we were equally uninformed.

"She never told me."

Father looked down at the document.

"You haven’t exactly been available for casual conversation."

Unnecessary.

Accurate.

But unnecessary.

I thought back.

Letters.

Penelope had sent letters occasionally.

I answered...

Some.

Eventually.

Sometimes months late.

Hmm.

Perhaps this information had been somewhere inside one I never properly read.

[Likely.]

’Quiet.’

Father continued.

"Lord Declair wants her to understand the institution before she eventually takes greater responsibility within the family’s businesses."

That sounded horrible.

Poor Penelope.

Meetings.

Records.

Staff complaints.

Budgets.

Schedules.

All at fifteen.

I suddenly understood why she’d been so angry when I forgot her Awakening.

She had apparently developed into an actual functioning member of society while I was at the border carrying a pillow and getting attacked by wildlife.

"That’s unfortunate."

Father’s eyes lifted.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Probably safer.

I looked toward the mountains of paperwork on his desk.

Then back at him.

A terrible suspicion began developing.

"No."

Father’s eyebrow rose.

"I haven’t said anything."

"You were about to."

"You don’t know that."

"I know enough."

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Then he confirmed my fears.

"You’ll work at the Declair infirmary until the Academy term begins."