The Doomed Fief’s Dying Lord (1)

There’s a saying that goes around among bikers.

‘Why pay in full? If you die while riding, you won’t need to finish the installments~’

That isn’t optimism… it’s reckless, carefree irresponsibility.

Still, maybe I should start thinking like that too.

‘I’ll probably die anyway, so I won’t have to pay the mortgage, apartment maintenance, phone bills, insurance, utilities, and everything else, right?’

“This is… lucky, in a way.”

It was my attempt to see this insane situation in the most positive light possible.

Am I dead right now?

No.

Not dead, but on the verge.

Not yet.

‘I’ve possessed someone else’s body.’

That was the conclusion I reached after a grueling, three-hour debate with myself.

There were only two participants.

First, me.

Second, the man in the mirror.

There was no one else in the room, so naturally, the reflection should have been me… but…

“How could anyone believe that’s me?”

No matter how I looked at it, that wasn’t thirty-something office worker Lee Jungwoo.

The man in the mirror had a pretty, boyish face.

If I’d been born with a face like that, I’d have been on TV.

“Or am I… some damn character from a novel?”

The world I’d landed in was unmistakably Survival in a Hellish Fief.

A few hours after waking up here,

I wandered through the castle.

Some places felt unfamiliar, but the scenery matched the novel’s depiction of Denabi… the ‘hellish fief.’

“…Right. This has to be possession.”

I had no choice but to believe it.

The people around me wore medieval clothes,

they called me Shane, not Lee Jungwoo,

And most importantly… a game-like status window appeared before my eyes.

It glowed between me and the mirror.

“Why is the grade like this…?”

How considerate.

It even ranks people.

Anyway, it was clear: I’d become Shane.

I understood the situation well enough.

But did it really have to be him?

“Why Shane, of all people?!”

Silence.

Neither the window nor the mirror answered.

Of course not.

They were just a mirror and floating text.

I would’ve gotten more comfort talking to a wall.

Looking up at the sky, I sighed.

“I’m screwed…”

Some people might ask:

‘Isn’t being a lord’s third son the best setup? You don’t inherit, you just enjoy life.’

Good point.

If that were the case, I’d gladly throw away my old life for this.

Why cling to being an unhappy thirty-something when I could live young and carefree?

That’d be a blessing.

“But you all know what happens, right?”

I muttered into the empty air.

“Shane Astrier dies in the prologue.”

Then the obvious thought came.

‘Haha, you fool. Just avoid the death event. Isn’t that the advantage of possession stories?’

“Buddy, it doesn’t work like that…”

‘Why not?’

“He doesn’t die in an accident… he dies from a disease.”

And that disease was already advancing.

I rolled up my sleeve.

Crystalline mana growths jutted out of my forearm.

The sign of Mana Plague.

“Goddamn…”

The situation was urgent, but I’ll briefly explain.

‘Even if you don’t know what Mana Plague is, couldn’t it just be cured?’

That’s the obvious question.

Mana in this world behaves like radiation.

When the mana concentration in the air gets too high, those with low resistance are ‘irradiated’ first.

Their bodies slowly get covered in crystals… this is Mana Plague.

The culprit behind rising mana levels?

Dungeons.

Every time a dungeon appears, mana concentration spikes.

The critical threshold usually comes once there are about twenty dungeons in a single fief.

So, how many dungeons are there right now in Denabi?

Let’s ask a local.

I grabbed someone and asked in the most dignified voice I could manage:

“…So your name is… what was it again?”

“I’m Administrative Officer Rank 3, Ronari. But sir, are you really alright?”

“…I’m fine.”

The first lie I’d told since coming here.

Ronari glanced at my face and immediately saw through me.

“No. It looks like you’ve fought a lot with ‘fine.’ And you’re also fighting that disease.”

“…Alright. I’m not fine. Anyway, Miss Ronari, how many dungeons are there in our fief right now?”

“I’m not with the military, so I’m not sure… but I’ve heard it’s over twenty. Maybe twenty-three?”

Her own wrist showed tiny crystalline growths.

“Thank you for the answer.”

“Not at all.”

Twenty-three.

The threshold was already surpassed.

At this rate, an outbreak of Mana Plague was inevitable.

‘I feel like a passenger on the Titanic.’

Wow, Mom, I got a first-class ticket on a cruise.

Except the iceberg and sinking are part of the package.

“…What the hell kind of situation is this? A runaway locomotive straight to hell…”

Was possession ever meant to be a pleasant adventure?

No.

Not when the novel was literally called Survival in a Hellish Fief.

“Damn… is this supposed to be a fief story, or just survival?”

A philosophical dilemma.

But either way… I had to live.

If I died, there was no bike or something waiting to pick me up.

‘I must live!’

It was a bold resolution.

Of course, twenty minutes later, I was already saying:

“Fuck it. Let’s quit.”

Now, think.

The cause of death: full-body crystallization from Mana Plague.

The cure: reduce atmospheric mana concentration.

The cause of high concentration: dungeons.

“Then Plan A: storm the dungeons myself, smash their cores, and close them!”

In short… if I’m insanely strong, problem solved.

I grabbed a wooden practice sword and went to the training yard.

Standing straight, I gripped the sword and faced a scarecrow.

Even against straw, I felt intimidated.

‘If I’d known, I should’ve learned kendo instead of taekwondo…’

“No… no negative thoughts allowed.”

Maybe there’s something like… what’s the word… muscle memory.

Maybe Shane was secretly a sword genius, and his body would remember it.

After all, the first and second sons of the Astrier family were brilliant swordsmen.

‘Maybe I am too!’

That fragile hope was shattered with the very first swing.

Clack!

The wooden sword slipped from my hands.

“Aagh!”

Pain shot through both palms.

Instead of hitting the scarecrow, it felt like the scarecrow had beaten me.

“…What’s even the point of living like this.”

I rolled on the training ground floor, muttering.

No wonder.

I’d been holding the sword wrong from the start.

And Shane’s grade was E-.

If it were beef, it wouldn’t even make broth.

Whatever the system measured, swordsmanship was clearly included.

“Jungwoo… what should I do now?”

The sky above was clear and blue.

No different from the sky Lee Jungwoo once saw.

But the situation below it was worlds apart.

Was there really nothing I could do?

Was I doomed to die in the prologue as a disposable extra?

“No.”

My pride wouldn’t allow that.

“Do I look like someone who dies that easily?!”

Maybe Shane is, but Korean Lee Jungwoo from the Scorching Hell Peninsula was no extra.

And there were still things I hadn’t tried.

The first was my field of expertise.

“Time to change strategy…”

So it can’t be a cliché power-fantasy?

Fine.

Then I’ll change the genre entirely.

“Father.”

“Shane?”

I went to the lord’s hall.

Lord Alejandro Astrier… Shane’s father.

He stood armored, preparing to depart.

I asked, “Have my brothers already left?”

“Yes. Two more Grade-4 dungeons have appeared. At this rate, the fief is in danger.”

His gaze held concern.

Concern for me.

“You should rest. If your condition worsens, neither I nor your brothers can focus on battle.”

A fatherly remark, considerate and kind.

But it didn’t move me.

‘I know. Even if I weren’t sick, you’d never send me to the battlefield. Why? Because I’m weak. Because the system says I’m E-grade.’

I clenched my teeth.

‘Who decided that I’m E-? Who gave them the right?’

Thrown into another world without consent, branded incompetent?

Did they think I’d just accept it?

“Father. If you go as well, who will be left to oversee the castle?”

“The steward… no…”

He faltered.

We both knew the answer.

“In principle, you. Shane.”

“Yes. But how could I just lie down and do nothing?”

“But aren’t you sick?”

I heard that as: But… you’re insignificant.

It was the same thing.

Yes, fine. I admit it.

I was always a small fry.

Never won a fight as a child.

As an adult, I avoided conflict.

If someone looked tough, I backed down before it even started.

‘So what? So what about that?!’

I was a modern Korean.

I survived life’s hell without throwing fists.

My weapon wasn’t a sword or spear.

It was paper and a pen.

“There’s something I can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Father, even if only in words, when was the last time our fief was truly peaceful?”

I knew the answer already.

Thirteen years ago.

“This land has been fighting without rest for thirteen years… against dungeons, against disasters. Denabi is exhausted.”

“Even so, we must fight. To protect our homeland.”

“That’s true.”

I paused, my hands trembling.

Because I had to speak in front of strangers.

Because I had to change the fate of this world.

‘But I’ve lived my life trembling.’

Every meeting, every report… I shook.

My hands sweated, my breathing faltered.

Even after becoming a deputy, it never changed.

If I failed, I’d die.

That was how I always thought of it.

Walking on thin ice.

‘But I never failed.’

I knew myself.

A coward.

But a coward who got things done.

I opened my mouth again.

“Father and my brothers are the whip. They drive Denabi to run harder. But Denabi also needs carrots. And hay. Something to give it strength to keep going.”

“But there’s no time to rest…”

“It’s not rest. It’s sustenance.”

I’d said it before… time to change the approach.

Until yesterday, Lee Jungwoo had been in finance.

‘From today, this fief’s genre is business management.’

This time, if I fail, I won’t just get demoted.

I’ll die.

Me, and countless others.

And all those deaths will be written off in the novel as a few lazy words.

‘Many people died.’

What a joke.

What about my death? Just lumped in with ‘many people’?

‘Not happening.’

“The core of war is logistics. Logistics come from money. Let me manage the fief’s finances. I’ll revive it. I’ll fix the flow of money in this land, exhausted from thirteen years of war.”

The moment I finished, the status window appeared again.

“…!?”