I reincarnated as the Duke from the North.

Diary log #12

Embarrassing.

Not a soul may know what happened that night.

“For the third fucking time, ladies, it's a gift. For both of you.” Wooden wheels jerked on the stone road on the way to Oakley Street. I sat in front of a stubborn woman who couldn't take gifts.

“But Tarion, it's too much. We are fine with the clothes we brought with us.”

Jen looked at her dumb friend incredulously and said, “Us? Woman, don't deny me a free gift cos’ you're shy. It’s but a few coins for him.”

“Jen is right. Money is no object. Hell, they may even give us free garments on the account that I am the damn Duke.”

Vanessa looked out of the passenger window. “People out in the cold are struggling to feed their families. I… I don't know.”

Reincarnation or not, she is still the goody too shoes I loved reading about. But I didn't care at that time.

“Let me be frank. Your dresses look like hand-me-downs from seven centuries ago and several big-boned women in your lineage wore them a bit too much.”

Jen and Vanessa looked at me, frozen in shock. “What. the. fuck…”

“It's not that bad.” Vanessa retorts.

“Ladies, I can smell the hard work and struggle of poverty lingering on your clothes.”

“Lands above, are you actually a Duke!?” Jen exclaimed.

“Since my dad perished, yes. And being a Duke means presenting your best self at all times. Whether it's personality or appearance. Hey, don’t give me that look, Jen.”

I looked out the window with her. “Do you want to help them?”

Vanessa turned to me. “...Yes.”

“If you were them, would you trust a beggar promising you food and warmth? Or would you look at it sideways and ignore the person, thinking they were suspicious?”

Vanessa looked down to the carriage floor. “If you think I am going to dress you like the Dowager, you are mistaken. But we just need to project an image of professionalism that shows that we are the true authority that can help. That shows you are Osberg's representative. MY representative.”

Vanessa breathed in resignation. “Okay. I will accept. But only because I want Jen to have new clothes.” I saw a touch of a smile on her full lips. A crack in her wall.

I can't wait for the shopping arc.

“Looks shit.”

Vanessa showed off a dress a commoner would disdain to wear. “Are you sure? I think it suits me quite well.”

Sat on a sofa in the garment store, dressed in my black jerkin and trousers, I turn to Jen on the right of me. She already had her choice of clothes picked out. Several bags full of them. “Jen, it looks shitty, right? It's not because I have a man brain, is it?”

“No, Your Grace. It is very ‘shitty’. Having a friend with such bad taste is saddening.” Vanessa frowned, jokingly throwing the bad dress at Jen. They burst into laughter as they threw more bad clothes at each other.

This is the Vanessa I couldn't see in the Manhwa. A bright smile, worth millions.

More time has moved the clock above. Many dresses tried, many discarded. She looked beautiful in each. The clothes wear her.

I clicked my fingers. The tailor, frightened of my presence in her shop, still came to me at my call.

“Use her sizes. Make the best debutante dress possible; money is no object.”

Her mouth went ajar. “YES, YOUR GRACE.” I put my index finger on my lips, and the tailor quieted down, bowing as she left.

“Debutante… For whose party?” Charles asked, standing behind. I turned on the sofa to face him and grinned. “Mine.”

The big man's eyebrows scrunched together. “The Beast of Osberg? Throwing parties? The world is fucking ending.”

“Language.”

“Fuck off, Your Grace,” Charles replied with a bow, half laughing.

Beast of Osberg. That's what they are calling me? Nice.

My senses still heard them following.

Fucking hell. I hate stalkers.

"Kurt, keep them safe.”

My third circle bowed and kept his attention on my duchess from the back.

I stood up, and the gold-painted sofa creaked from my weight. Vanessa noticed me leaving. I put my hand up. “Don’t mind me. I'm going to hunt for a while. I will be back soon.” She nodded, reading through the gaps.

“Grace.” My sword was presented to me in Charles's hands. I grasped it, hooking it above my cloak.

“Don't stare too much.”

“What do you mean- “

A bell rang as I left the shop. Hands in trouser pockets, I strut down the high street a foot taller than everyone.

He came closer, his steps clumsy. His footsteps quicken to a jog then a run. I strafed to the right, the hitman's blade an inch from my cloak. I slap the idiot with my left knuckles on his chest, blowing the air out of his lungs. Before his knees touched the pavement, I grabbed the man by his face.

“We are going to take a little walk.”

I drag the wiggling assassin across the stone. I divert pedestrians like a rock wading through water. Gangster in hand, I turn left, then right, and I find an avenue. Buildings were tall on both sides. No light passed from the rooftops to the ground. Nothing but rubbish smelling in the corner and rats scurry away from my footsteps. I walked through, serving myself on a silver platter. I halted. I lifted the poor man up. Bones crush in my fingers. I looked into the man's eyes.

Did a thought even cross their mind that they could be in this predicament?

I snapped the neck, a corpse thrown in the rubbish where it belonged.

Figures slithered in through the other side. I heard many voices from behind.

“How much is the bounty?” My voice echoed between the walls.

“Enough to be worth it.”

“Ha!”

The gangsters came closer. Their blades glint in the dark. Dozens in front, dozens behind. “What’s so funny, Duke? Has fear broken your mind?”

My greatsword sliding off my sheath gave me great joy. I level my blade's tip to the ground. Mana glowed softly from the steel. I lowered down, like my namesake. Grabbing the stone floor, my blade hummed with blue mana in a tail stance.

“Not fear. Poor fools. Elation.” I could hide my teeth as I smiled wide.

I pounced forward, pulling the ground. A hundred metres passed in a moment, I ludged. Piercing a neck through another. I pulled up with two hands, separating two men’s heads from their chins to their hair.

A swift strike cut down through a sword, killing a man on my right. A horizontal cut disembowelled a man on my left.

Thank you. Playing dress-up was getting boring.

I charged with mana ablaze on my sword of Osberg. Cutting weeds in my way. I hear men rushing from the other side. I cut the first circle before blocking my back. My sword swept the enemy’s weapon up and I cut under his arm. A sword struck at my knee and my sword greeted it. My greatsword pushed the sword to the floor. With a hit down on the pommel, my sword flicked up to defend against a cut to my left deltoid. A mana-infused kick cracked the fellow's chest and I sliced down to the second circle in front.

The pommel was hit again, flicking the great sword to my left, leaving the man’s face shaved off. My sword stayed stationary as my feet pivoted me away from a second circle’s attack. I pulled my sword along for a big slash. A head fell, and my sword rested on my shoulder.

WHY DO THEY KEEP ATTACKING MY BACK!?