The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

The carriage was too quiet.

Not peaceful.

There was a difference.

Peaceful silence was warm.

Comfortable.

The kind that encouraged sleep.

This silence felt suspicious.

I sat on one side of the carriage with Dream Haven resting comfortably against the window.

Penelope sat across from me.

Straight posture.

Hands folded over her lap.

Perfectly calm expression.

She had been like that since we left the estate.

Too calm.

I narrowed my eyes.

She noticed immediately.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Her eyebrow rose.

Apparently everyone in my life hated that answer when I used it.

Interesting.

I looked outside.

The Vortex territory moved past the carriage window.

Wide stone roads.

Shops.

Carriages.

People.

Too many people.

I had spent years at the border surrounded by soldiers, tents, mud, wounded men, and the occasional attempted assassination.

Somehow this was louder.

Cities were unnecessarily energetic.

"So."

Penelope spoke.

I looked back at her.

"So?"

"You wanted to talk to me."

Ah.

Right.

I had.

Yesterday.

Immediately after leaving Father’s office.

Unfortunately, finding Penelope had been more difficult than expected.

She had apparently spent most of the afternoon dealing with preparations for our first day at the infirmary.

Which was already concerning.

Our first day.

Together.

At a place where she had been working for an entire year.

I adjusted Dream Haven.

"You knew."

Penelope blinked.

"Knew what?"

"Don’t."

Her lips twitched.

There.

Evidence.

"You knew Father was sending me to the infirmary."

"Yes."

"Since the day before yesterday:."

"Yes."

"And you didn’t tell me."

"No."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see your reaction when your father told you."

’System.’

[She is dangerous.]

’Finally, something useful.’

Penelope smiled.

"How bad was it?"

"He told me I had a job."

"You do."

"I already had one."

"You healed soldiers whenever you felt like it."

"Whenever they were injured."

"And slept whenever they weren’t."

"Excellent work-life balance."

She sighed.

"You need this."

Betrayal.

"You’ve spoken to Father."

"No."

"Then Master Valerian."

"No."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Then why are you using their language?"

"Because they’re right."

Worse.

Independent betrayal.

I leaned back.

"Everyone has become strangely committed to ruining my final six months of freedom."

"Freedom?"

"Before the Academy."

"You were planning to spend most of it sleeping."

"Exactly."

Penelope looked toward Dream Haven.

Then back at me.

"Your father told you what you’ll be doing?"

"He said healing."

"Mostly."

There was that word again.

I immediately became suspicious.

"You said that the same way he did."

"Because healing isn’t the only thing you’ll do."

"No."

"I haven’t explained yet."

"Preventive refusal."

"That’s not how employment works."

"I’ve been discovering many flaws in employment."

Penelope crossed one leg over the other.

"You’ll be assigned to the treatment wing at first."

"Good."

"You’ll work with the senior healers."

"Good."

"You’ll follow the infirmary schedule."

Less good.

"You’ll keep treatment records."

Bad.

"You’ll attend morning briefings."

Terrible.

"And you’ll help me when necessary."

Absolutely not.

"No."

She smiled.

"I wondered when we’d reach that part."

"What does help mean?"

"Help."

"Unacceptable definition."

"Sometimes patient reports."

"No."

"Supply records."

"No."

"Checking inventory."

"No."

"Reviewing healer schedules."

"No."

"Assisting with emergency allocation."

I paused.

"That sounds medical."

"It is."

"That one is acceptable."

"How generous."

I ignored the sarcasm.

Then something she had said registered properly.

"Morning briefing?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Seven."

I stared at her.

She remained completely calm.

"Seven?"

"Seven."

"In the morning."

"That’s generally when morning occurs."

"Penelope."

"What?"

"The sun is barely committed to being awake at seven."

"So you’ll have something in common."

"This is abuse."

"No, this is employment."

"Those concepts are becoming increasingly similar."

[Delusional.]

’Stay out of this.’

Penelope looked toward the window.

"We’ll arrive around seven forty-five today."

I immediately relaxed.

"Excellent."

"Because your first day starts at eight."

Reasonable.

"Tomorrow, seven."

My relaxation disappeared.

"You planned this."

"I don’t control time."

"Suspicious."

"I also don’t control the infirmary schedule."

"You control administration."

"Part of it."

That reminded me.

I sat slightly straighter.

"Why didn’t you ever tell me?"

Her expression changed.

Only slightly.

"About the infirmary?"

"Yes."

She looked at me for a moment.

Then shrugged.

"You never asked."

That sounded familiar.

Uncomfortably familiar.

"That’s not fair."

"You didn’t know my potential."

Low blow.

"I apologized."

"You forgot my Awakening completely."

"I’ve apologized for that too."

"You didn’t know what I had been doing for five years."

"I was at war."

"You sent me three letters last year."

I paused.

Three?

That sounded low.

Maybe four.

No.

Probably three.

"Letters are difficult."

"Writing?"

"Remembering."

Penelope stared.

I chose to move on.

"So you’ve been working there for a year."

"Yes."

"Why?"

She seemed surprised by the question.

"My father wanted me to learn."

"Administration?"

"His businesses."

I remembered what Father had explained.

The Declair family had invested heavily in medicine, alchemy, and treatment facilities.

"You’re going to inherit them?"

"Some."

"That sounds terrible."

She laughed.

"Not everyone considers responsibility terrible."

"They should."

"I like it."

I stared at her.

She meant that.

Actually meant it.

Strange.

"Why?"

Penelope glanced outside.

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

"Because I’m useful there."

I frowned.

"You’re useful everywhere."

Her eyes shifted toward me.

I hadn’t meant the sentence to sound significant.

It was simply obvious.

Penelope was organized.

Observant.

Competent.

Alarmingly persistent.

Those qualities were useful in almost every environment.

Her expression softened for half a second.

Then disappeared.

"At the infirmary, I can see it."

"See what?"

"The result."

She looked down at her hands.

"When I reorganized supply requests, shortages decreased."

I listened.

"When I changed scheduling for the evening healers, patients stopped waiting as long."

Her voice became slightly more animated.

"If I notice a medicine is being wasted, I can correct it. If a department is understaffed, I can move people. If someone makes a mistake in records, I can find it before it becomes a larger problem."

Interesting.

She genuinely enjoyed this.

Not the paperwork itself.

Probably.

But the effect.

"I thought you would hate it."

She frowned.

"Why?"

"Paperwork."

"You hate paperwork."

"Everyone should."

"I don’t."

"Concerning."

She rolled her eyes.

Then looked toward Dream Haven.

"You brought it."

I immediately pulled the pillow slightly closer.

"Obviously."

"Your father said you weren’t supposed to."

I froze.

"He told you?"

"He sent a message this morning."

Traitor.

I narrowed my eyes.

"And?"

"And I told him it was fine."

I blinked.

"What?"

Penelope smiled.

"You can bring the pillow."

My opinion of her improved substantially.

"You’re a reasonable administrator."

"Under conditions."

There it was.

Of course.

"What conditions?"

"You don’t sleep during treatment."

"Obvious."

"You don’t sleep during briefings."

"Less obvious."

"Alash."

"Fine."

"You don’t sleep while patients are waiting."

"I wouldn’t."

That one wasn’t difficult.

If someone needed healing, I healed them.

Sleeping could happen afterward.

"And."

Her expression became serious.

"You do not turn an empty patient bed into your personal sleeping area."

I looked away.

"That was extremely specific."

"Because I know you."

"You knew me when I was ten."

"You arrived at your sister’s Awakening carrying a pillow."

"Unrelated."

"You tried sleeping during the ceremony."

"I yawned."

"You closed your eyes for forty-three seconds."

"You counted?"

"Yes."

Concerning.

"Why?"

"Because Marco and I were taking bets."

I stared at her.

"Marco?"

"He said you’d last ten minutes."

"How long did I last?"

"Eight."

Traitor.

My own brother.

"I want my share."

"You lost."

"I wasn’t informed I was participating."

"That’s not how bets work."

"This family lacks ethics."

Penelope laughed.

I turned toward the window again.

The city had changed slightly.

The streets were wider here.

Buildings taller.

Cleaner.

More expensive.

We were entering one of the central districts.

I spotted several healer signs.

Apothecary shops.

A large building with blue glass windows.

Then another.

"How large is the infirmary?"

Penelope considered.

"Large."

"Useful answer."

"Four main treatment wings."

I looked back.

"Four?"

"General treatment, advanced care, long-term treatment, and emergency."

Interesting.

"Apothecary?"

"Separate building connected behind the main structure."

"Laboratory?"

"Several."

My attention sharpened.

"Several?"

She noticed.

A dangerous smile appeared.

"Oh."

"What?"

"So that’s what your father used."

"Used?"

"To convince you."

"I wasn’t convinced."

"You’re interested."

"Different."

"You’re definitely interested."

I ignored that.

"What equipment?"

"You’ll see."

"Ingredients?"

"You’ll see."

"Formulas?"

"You’ll see."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You’re enjoying this."

"Very much."

Terrible woman.

She had changed.

The ten-year-old Penelope I remembered had been shy.

Polite.

Nervous.

Easy to embarrass.

This version was considerably more dangerous.

Probably my fault.

[Likely.]

’Nobody asked you.’

I looked outside again.

"How many healers?"

"Thirty-six permanent."

That was more than expected.

"Apothecaries?"

"Eleven."

"Patients?"

"Depends on the day."

"Average."

"Between two and three hundred across all departments."

I paused.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

Every day?

My thoughts shifted immediately.

Healing experience.

Different injuries.

Illnesses.

Conditions I had never seen at the border.

And

Objectives.

My eyes narrowed slightly.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

[You are thinking about the Akashic quests.]

’Maybe.’

[You could make significant progress.]

’I know.’

The infirmary suddenly seemed less offensive.

Penelope watched me.

"You just changed your mind."

"No."

"Your face changed."

"My face didn’t do anything."

"You became interested."

"I’m always interested."

"Yesterday you called working there a violation of your freedom."

"People evolve."

"In twelve hours?"

"Rapid character development."

She laughed again.

We continued in silence for a while.

This time it felt different.

Lighter.

Actually comfortable.

I rested my head slightly against Dream Haven.

Penelope noticed immediately.

"I’m not sleeping."

"I didn’t say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"Apparently thought isn’t a crime."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You’ve been talking to Elara."

"She told me about that."

Of course she did.

My sister had known Penelope for approximately two days and already created an information network.

Dangerous.

"She likes you."

Penelope said it casually.

I looked at her.

"Elara?"

"Yes."

"She barely knows me."

"She’s wanted to know you for years."

That landed harder than expected.

I didn’t answer.

Penelope continued.

"Marco too."

"Marco wants to surpass me."

"Those aren’t mutually exclusive."

I looked down at Dream Haven.

Maybe.

Sibling relationships remained unnecessarily complicated.

Penelope watched me for a moment.

Then thankfully changed the subject.

"You should know something before we arrive."

"What?"

"Most of the staff know who you are."

I groaned.

"Why?"

"You’re Alash Vortex."

"Unfortunately."

"SSS potential."

"Also unfortunately."

"Unique title."

"I know."

"Son of Duke Vortex."

"You’re repeating things."

"And the heir."

"Debatable."

She sighed.

"The point is, people will watch you."

"People already watch me."

"At the infirmary, they’ll be watching how you work."

That was different.

I considered it.

"Because they think Father placed me there."

"He did."

"That doesn’t make the assumption less annoying."

"Some will think you’re there because of your name."

I looked at her.

"And?"

"And prove them wrong."

Simple.

I blinked.

Penelope shrugged.

"You’ve spent years healing soldiers. You’re good at it."

That was unexpectedly direct.

"How do you know?"

"Your father told mine."

Ah.

Political information networks.

Terrifying.

"Apparently Master Valerian spoke highly of you too."

I stared.

"Master?"

"Yes."

"Valerian?"

"How many masters do you have?"

"One. That’s why I’m surprised."

She smiled.

"He said you’re talented."

Suspicious.

"Exactly those words?"

"No."

I knew it.

"What did he actually say?"

Penelope thought.

"Something like, ’His ability is exceptional when he can be convinced to remain conscious long enough to use it.’"

That sounded like Master.

"Selective praise."

"Very selective."

The carriage began slowing.

I looked outside.

A large structure appeared beyond the window.

White stone.

Blue roofs.

Several connected buildings surrounded a central courtyard.

People moved through the entrance constantly.

Patients.

Healers.

Carriages unloading supplies.

A silver emblem hung above the main doorway.

A staff wrapped in flowering vines.

The Declair infirmary.

Penelope gathered the small folder beside her.

"We’re here."

I looked at the building.

Then at her.

Then down at Dream Haven.

Six months.

Five days a week.

Morning briefings.

Patients.

Alchemy laboratories.

Penelope ordering me around.

I frowned.

"One question."

She paused.

"What?"

"Since you’ve worked here longer..."

Her eyes immediately brightened.

No.

I already regretted asking.

"...that doesn’t make you my superior."

Penelope smiled.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

"Officially?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"Penelope."

She opened the carriage door.

"Welcome to the infirmary, Alash."

"That didn’t answer me."

She stepped outside.

I followed.

"Penelope."

She began walking toward the entrance.

I tightened Dream Haven beneath my arm and followed after her.

"Penelope."

She didn’t turn around.

Her shoulders were shaking.

She was laughing.

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

[It appears your senior has abandoned you.]

I stopped.

’Do not call her that.’

[Senior Penelope.]

’System.’

[Yes, Junior Alash?]

The next six months were going to be very long.