Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

Dawn City, Royal Palace.

Charles VI put down his quill and rubbed his temples.

The pile of parchment on the table seems endless:

A letter from a lord in the North complaining about the Winter Empire's raids, a tax collector in the East warning of a poor harvest this year, several viscounts in the West arguing about a border dispute and demanding arbitration from the capital... and then there's the South.

His gaze fell on the briefing from the Southern Noble Council.

The briefing mentioned a conflict between two viscountries, one of which, Gavin Hossman, was defeated by his neighbor Lynn Cole, who then took over the former's territory.

Such things are not uncommon in the Southern Territory. Mergers between nobles happen every day, and as long as taxes are paid on time, the capital usually does not interfere.

But isn't Lynn Cole the heir of that viscount family who was just exiled?

Charles VI had some impression of Lynn, but not a deep one. He only vaguely remembered that Marcus Bell, the Duke of the North, accused him of incompetence, and Lynn was subsequently exiled according to the law.

It hasn't even been two months, and he's already annexed Gavin, who is also a viscount?

In the corner of the briefing was a handwritten note, the handwriting scribbled: "Viscount Cole is suspected of using unconventional weapons, with immense power. The Grand Duke of the Southern Territory is aware of this."

Charles VI stared at the footnote for a few seconds, then folded it up and set it aside.

He picked up the next document—a draft approval of the Order of the Purifying Knights' funding application.

Duke Roland, the cousin of the leader of the Purifying Knights, requested a 30% increase in next year's budget, citing "the rising frequency of monster activity, especially in parts of the southern and eastern borders of the empire, necessitating strengthened patrols and suppression measures."

It's the southern border again.

Charles VI felt a familiar headache coming from his temples, a dull ache.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the high-backed chair of the throne.

The gold thread embroidery on the back of the chair was digging into the back of my neck, which was quite uncomfortable.

"Your Majesty." A gentle voice sounded beside him.

Charles VI opened his eyes. The court physician, Maurice, was standing below the throne steps, holding a small silver tray with a cup of amber liquid and a deep red pill on it.

"It's time for your medication." Maurice bowed slightly. "You've been overworking lately and need some rest."

Charles VI nodded. Maurice had served the royal family for nearly twenty years, taking care of his health since he was a prince.

He took the pills and swallowed them with the bittersweet liquid.

The liquid was somewhat viscous and had a bitter herbal taste, but after drinking it, my headache did start to ease.

"Thank you, Morris."

"This is my duty, Your Majesty." The physician put away the silver tray.

"In addition, dinner is ready. As you requested, tonight's meal is roasted pheasant with mushroom soup, and chilled wine brought from the North."

"Alright," Charles VI waved his hand.

After Maurice left, only the king remained in the study.

As dusk settled outside the window, the servants began to light the candlesticks on the wall. The flickering flames cast swaying shadows on the ornate carpet and oak wainscoting.

Charles VI stood up and walked to the window.

From here, you can overlook most of Dawn City. At dusk, the city is shrouded in a soft, golden light, with smoke rising from the chimneys of thousands of homes, pedestrians hurrying along the streets, and guards patrolling the city walls.

Everything seemed calm and orderly.

But he knew that beneath this calm surface, undercurrents were surging.

The increase in monster activity is true. The reports from the Purge Knights are not exaggerated; Roland is not the kind of person to spread alarmist rumors.

The struggles among nobles are also intensifying, especially in the border territories far from the capital.

Tax revenues have been strained for years, and the national treasury is not abundant. And he himself…

Charles VI raised his hand and looked at his palm.

Beneath the skin, several very faint dark lines can be seen, as if the blood vessels have darkened.

When did it start? Half a year ago? A year ago? At first, it only appeared occasionally and then disappeared quickly.

Recently, however, it has become increasingly noticeable, especially when I am tired or emotionally unstable.

Morris diagnosed it as "blood stasis" and prescribed remedies and a medicinal bath.

The medicine is indeed effective; the lines fade and the headaches are relieved. But they come back after a while.

Perhaps he really was getting old. Charles VI thought. He was forty-seven years old, not old, but sitting in this position, the daily toll was equivalent to a year's worth for an average person.

He didn't have much of an appetite for dinner. The roasted pheasant was tender and the mushroom soup smelled delicious, but he only ate a few bites before putting down his knife and fork.

Seeing this, the waiter cautiously asked if they wanted to change to another dish.

"No need," said Charles VI.

"Leave the wine behind, and all of you may leave."

He was alone in the study again. He poured himself a glass of chilled wine, the deep red liquid swirling in the crystal glass.

He didn't drink it immediately; he just watched.

In the candlelight, the wine in the glass seemed to glow faintly, as if tiny, dark red specks of light were shining through the liquid, like suspended dust particles.

He blinked, and the light disappeared again.

hallucinations.

Charles VI raised his glass and drank it all in one gulp.

The cool liquid slid down my throat, bringing a brief sense of clarity.

He walked back to his desk, intending to continue handling official business. But as soon as he sat down, a severe wave of dizziness struck him.

My vision started to go black, and a low buzzing sound came to my ears.

He gripped the edge of the table, his fingers turning white from the force.

Amid the buzzing sound, there seemed to be other noises mixed in. Very soft, very indistinct, like someone whispering from afar.

The content was unclear, but the rhythm... was like a spell, or a strange humming.

"His Majesty?"

Charles VI suddenly opened his eyes. Maurice had reappeared in the study at some point, carrying another silver tray with a small incense burner on it, from which pale purple smoke was rising.

The smoke had a peculiar smell, like sandalwood mixed with some kind of sweet floral scent.

"You don't look well." Morris placed the incense burner on the corner of the desk. "This is a newly blended calming incense; it helps soothe the nerves and promote sleep."

Wisps of purple smoke rose and diffused in the air.

Charles VI took a deep breath, the sweet floral scent filling his nostrils, and the dizziness began to subside. The buzzing and whispers in his ears also gradually faded away.

"You're always so thoughtful, Maurice."

"Your Majesty's good health is a blessing to the kingdom." The physician bowed slightly.

"Furthermore, the protocol officer has already prepared the procedures for tomorrow's meeting with the Northern delegation. Shall I report to you now?"

"Speak."

Morris began to outline tomorrow's schedule: the time of the meeting, seating arrangements, the banquet menu, the specifications for the gift exchange...

His voice was calm and gentle, like a soothing background sound. Charles VI listened, but his gaze involuntarily drifted towards the incense burner.

Purple smoke swirled in the candlelight, forming various ever-changing shapes.

For a fleeting moment, he seemed to see a face in the smoke—blurred, distorted, without features, only two deep-set eye sockets, within which a dark red light flickered.

He blinked, and his face disappeared.

"...Your Majesty?" Maurice stopped.

"Continue," said Charles VI.

He tried to refocus, but his thoughts kept wandering.

He recalled his youth, when his father, Charles V, was still on the throne. Back then, the empire was relatively stable, and although monsters existed, their range of activity was limited.

Although the nobles also fought amongst themselves, they generally adhered to the rules. My father was a strong ruler, but he also knew how to maintain balance and compromise.

When did the changes begin?

How did my father die?

The imperial physician said it was due to overwork and a sudden heart attack.

On the day of the funeral, the entire city of Dawn was shrouded in a drizzle. He put on the crown, feeling its cold weight.

"Your Majesty, this is the procedure," Maurice said, awaiting further instructions.

Charles VI remained silent for a few seconds.

"Do it this way."

"Yes. Also..." Morris hesitated for a moment.

"Duke Roland requested an audience this afternoon, but you were busy with state affairs, so I told him to come back tomorrow. He seemed a little... anxious."

"Roland?" Charles VI frowned. His cousin was a calm and composed man, rarely in a hurry.

"What did he say?"

"No specifics were given. But they mentioned wanting to personally report to you on several recent special operations by the Purifying Knights, as well as some... disturbing discoveries."

A disturbing discovery.

Charles VI looked out the window. Night had fallen, and most of the city's lights had been extinguished, except for the royal palace and a few major buildings. In the distance, the torches on the city walls resembled a string of broken pearls.

"Have him come tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes." Maurice picked up the incense burner.

"Then I won't disturb your rest any longer. I'll leave the incense burner here; it will burn until midnight. Good night, Your Majesty."

The doctor left the study and gently closed the door.

Charles VI sat alone on his throne, watching the wisp of purple smoke rise and dissipate.

The calming incense was indeed effective; his headache had disappeared, and his tense nerves had relaxed.

But a deeper weariness seeped from his very bones, as if something was slowly draining his strength.

He recalled the "disturbing discovery" that Roland was about to report.

What could it be? A new monster variant? A conspiracy between nobles and dark forces? Or something else entirely?

He should remain vigilant. As king, he must stay alert.

But at this moment, all he wanted to do was close his eyes.

Charles VI leaned back in his chair, his gaze gradually becoming unfocused.

The purple smoke from the incense burner spread across the field of vision, turning into a hazy mist.

In the fog, the whispers returned, clearer than before. The content was still indistinct, but a certain rhythm could be sensed…

His breathing gradually became slow and even. The dark lines beneath the skin of his palms seemed more pronounced in the candlelight, like tiny roots slowly extending towards his wrists.

Outside the study, Maurice stood in the shadows of the corridor, listening intently to the sounds coming from inside.

He only turned and left when the king's breathing became long and steady.

His footsteps were light, and his face was expressionless.

As he rounded a corner, he stopped and took out a black crystal, about the size of half a fingernail, from his sleeve.

There was a dark red light in the center of the crystal, like congealed blood.

He whispered a few words to the crystal, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

The red light in the crystal flickered briefly and then went out.

Morris put the crystal back into his sleeve and continued walking toward the residence of the court physician.

The torches on the corridor walls cast his long shadow onto the cold marble floor.

Late at night……