Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master



As the morning sun filtered through the curtains, Damien opened his eyes to an empty bed. No Viper, no angry mob outside his door.

Relief flooded his body, washing away the fear and tension that had plagued him since the night before. He stretched his arms over his head, feeling the comforting sensation of his muscles releasing their tension.

It all seemed like a distant dream now, a nightmare he had finally awoken from.

Sitting up, he surveyed the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He walked over to the window and peered outside, taking in the beauty of the day. The sun was shining brightly through the clouds, a promise of a new beginning.

"Morning." The sound of a familiar voice broke through the silence.

He turned around to see his sister standing by his bedroom door, dressed in a light green dress and her long white hair tied up in a bun. 

"Ohh... Good mornin'." He greeted her with a smile, trying to hide the surprise in his voice.

She looked at him with a mix of emotions, struggling to find the right words to say. Finally, she spoke.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for helping me out there."

Damien's jaw would've hit the ground if it was a little more longer.

As Damien looked at his sister's face, he could see that she was sincere in her gratitude. It was strange to him, in fact, she had always seemed annoyed with him and would never hesitate to remind him of how much of a burden he was to her.

But at that moment, everything was different. The events of the previous night had clearly shaken her, and she was grateful to have her brother by her side. 

'Don't be persuaded by her fake thank you, Damien. She's just using you.' He reminded himself of what she truly was. 

A snake, a creature who preyed on those weaker than herself.

"What happened?" he asked. "I don't much remember."

The expression on her face changed, becoming serious as she explained.

"With the interference of Grand Magic Judiciary and the knights from the royal palace, we were able to keep the frenzied mob under control, but..." She paused for a second, looking down at her feet. "It seems the damage has already been done." 

"How many...?"

"More than two hundred men were down, servants and guests alike. Duke Blake is dead." She looked at him. "Father had to..." It was just barely a whisper.

His stomach churned, thinking about both Blaire and his father. They both loved the man dearly, and now he was gone. 

"What happens to Father?" He asked. 

"Nothing!" she said. "Lady Blaire assumed the position of the head, and she has already pardoned everyone who was forced to kill others in the act of self-defense."

"That's great." He said, relief flooding his body. "How are they holding up?"

"Fine," she said. "She seems different now, stronger and head straight. And it has been reflected in her rule. She's doing fine."

"And what of Father?"

"He's depressed. Has been drinking too much, maybe to forget about what he has done." She looked at him with concern. "The man is a mess, Damien. Mother is trying her hard, but the pain of losing his friend when he could've saved him has taken a toll on him."

...

Apparently, he has been asleep for five days and just woke up yesterday. So many things happened in between those days, Lady Blaire- Duchess Blaire now, was summoned to the royal palace to answer the King's calling.

All the matter was quickly made under control, the dead were buried with proper funerals, and Duke Blake was buried in their ancestral way.

Compensations were given to the families of the deceased, and the duchy was in a state of rebuilding.

It may take years to rebuild what was lost, but the servants and the lords were enthusiastic about the whole ordeal.

Duke Blake's sister, the loud lady from the party, fell into depression knowing her brother was dead. Initially, she blamed Duke Zadkiel but later apologized for her misbehavior, stating that her brother would be deeply disappointed in her if she blames his best friend.

The bride-to-be, Blaire's younger sister, has secluded in her room and hasn't seen outside for the past five days. Food was given to her in a timely manner so she doesn't starve, but the lady refuses to eat anything.

The wedding was canceled due to the incident, but the groom-to-be has promised nothing would change his mind about marrying the young lady, despite his family's pressure.

In all the events, the only thing that remained constant was his father's drinking. He was also secluded in his room with wines and alcohol. His mother tried her best to stop him from drinking but failed miserably.

...

Damien pounded on the double door. No answer came back. So he did it again. It was the same as before.

He pushed open the door and found it surprising that it actually opened.

He slowly walked through the door and found his father laying on the bed, spread-eagled, and a bottle in his hand.

Even from a glance, anyone can discern the man was in total shambles. His shirt was stained with wine stains, his black pants were wet, and his face was pale as chalk.

"Dad?" Damien called out.

His father didn't reply. He stirred a little.

"Dad? You awake?" He said again, walking over to him.

This time his father looked at him, slowly lifting up the bottle from his hand and gulping it down.

"Shit! You're alive!" He exclaimed. "I thought I'd lost you too!"

"You're drunk," Damien answered.

"Nah, not really. Just a bit tipsy." He laughed. "I'm glad you're safe. I thought the worst for you."

"You have been drinking too much," he said. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

The drunkard mouthed the poison in his hands once more.

"Here, have some," he said, extending the wine bottle. "It'll help you forget everything. It'll help you forget things."

The once happy and active duke now looked like he aged a decade. His face was wrinkled, his skin was dull, and his hair was thinning. He was just a shadow of himself.

"Hey, Dad," Damien said, putting a hand on his father's shoulder. "Let's go home."

The happy face of the duke fell, replaced with a frown.

"Home?" He questioned. "There is nothing there. He's here. I killed him. I heard you sent a letter to the judiciary, if you knew about this you could've warned me and I could've...I could've..." His voice trailed off. He put a hand on his face and started sobbing.

"I didn't know," Damien said. "I didn't know about saving people. I only knew about the artifact. That's all."

"If I was battling Sir Allister and Duncan was fighting him, then...then we could've saved him. He would have been alive."

The man was a lost cause. The guilt was killing him. Well, who can blame him? He just killed his best friend, not knowing there was another way to save them.

But this cannot go on for so long. He took it upon himself to end his father's madness. Though, it's highly unlikely that the Duke is going to recover soon.

So Damien decided to give him a reality check.

Slap!

The sound of hand and cheek hugging resounded throughout the room, as the Duke clutched his cheek, looking bewildered and stunned.

"Wha-what are you doing?" the duke asked, his voice rapidly getting clearer and clearer as his alcohol wore off due to magic.

There was no anger in his voice, just a tint of sadness.

"Yeah," Damien said. "That's my question. What are you doing? You're supposed to be the head of an entire duchy and not some whiny little kid. Stand up, Dad. Stand up and face your problems."

Coming from someone who runs away from problems, it felt ridiculous to himself. But the duke doesn't need to know that, right?

"I...I didn't know what to do," he whispered, his voice quivering with fear and uncertainty. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were cast downward, avoiding Damien's stern gaze.

"That's not an excuse," Damien replied firmly, his expression stern and unforgiving.

His jaw was set, and his eyes were narrowed, conveying his disappointment and anger.

"You need to face the consequences of your actions, not run away from them," Damien continued, his tone unyielding. His voice was laced with a hint of disgust, and his lips were pursed in disapproval. 

"You need to take responsibility for what you've done, and make amends," he added, his eyes piercing into his father's soul.

"I know," his father said, his voice barely audible. His eyes were filled with remorse and shame, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat.

"Good. Now get up," Damien said, helping him sit up on the bed. "We're going home, and we're going to face whatever comes our way together."

His father nodded, looking defeated and lost. His lips were trembling, and tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

Damien helped his father stand up, and they slowly made their way out of the room. As they walked down the hallway, Damien could hear his father's unsteady breathing and the soft shuffling of his feet. He could sense his father's overwhelming sense of guilt and shame.