My Mansion of Gorgeous Maids in Another World-Chapter 38: Blue Empire

"T‑There’s no need for medicine, my lord! They’ll grit their teeth and survive!" The armed man’s voice shook as he shouted.

What’s he after? We can’t accept too much or we’ll land in serious trouble. Slavery’s practically fashionable these days—so I’ve heard. Nobles don’t even bother hiding their urge to own people behind the "maid" excuse anymore.

Although he saw genuine sympathy in Jett’s eyes, forty years of hard living pushed the veteran back to his old instincts. He would rather shoulder the cost himself than owe this noble stranger.

Unaware of the man’s turmoil, Jett cocked his head. "Why?"

The grizzled fighter clenched his jaw, dropped to one knee, and closed his eyes. The old line I’d better keep my mouth shut or dig my own grave rang in his ears. Jett found the response odd, but he tried to meet the man halfway.

Back on Earth, they’d smell a rat if a stranger tried slipping over coin. Same vibe here, I guess. If I insist on taking nothing, he’ll just get even antsier. Better charge something harmless.*

"I’m lost," Jett said, hands in his pockets. "So you’re going to give me every scrap of information you have about where we are and how this world works. Imagine I literally dropped in from another dimension and know zilch. Now stand up."

"Yes, my lord." The man exhaled in relief and rose.

"Name?"

"Roberto."

"Good. Take the rest of the men and follow me." Jett raised his voice so Mia could hear. "Mia—heal everyone."

Jett, Noctlisa, and the eighteen battered men pushed through the last line of trees. The night was cold, dark, and eerily silent. Roberto had sworn no monsters roamed this sector, yet every soul—including him—was on edge.

Jett lifted a hand, halting the column. Thick trunks barred the way, and the tangled canopy overhead smothered the moonlight.

"My lord?" Roberto whispered.

"We can’t stray too far from the others," Jett said. "This spot’ll do."

Fire here could spark half the forest, Roberto fretted, and the ground’s awful for tents—uneven as sin. But I can’t question a man who practically drips power.

Jett, however, had spent plenty of weekends bush‑camping with his dad. He knew the place was terrible for a traditional campfire.

He closed his eyes and matched his breathing to the slow rhythm of his heart. A second heartbeat answered his own, blending into a calm duet.

[You have used The World Tree’s Heartbeat.]

Invisible waves pulsed outward like a silent sonar, a deep bass rumble thrumming through every chest as leaves shivered overhead and birds burst skyward.

The force then snapped back at Jett’s tug. The ground heaved—grit stung eyes, roots tore free, and towering trunks crashed down as if cleaved by invisible axes, flooding the air with the sharp tang of fresh sap.

Shredded leaves and bark flecks whirled in the sudden moonlight, then a depthless, uncanny silence followed.

Roberto and the other commoners fought to stay upright on the rolling earth, tossed like skiffs on a land‑borne tsunami, terror plastered across their faces.

Only Jett remained still, hands tucked in his pockets, while Noctlisa stood poised at his side, trusting her master’s power.

Moonlight spilled through the ragged gap in the canopy, revealing a fresh clearing. The fallen trees now lay in neat rows—straight, unshaved trunks.

"Shave those trees and use the branches for the fire," Jett ordered.

"Aye, Master," Noctlisa answered.

She cocked her head; a black seam opened along her neck, and a massive greatsword slid out with a low scrape. The men’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets—none had ever seen her kind before.

Roberto stammered, "W‑We shall help!"

"You stay with me," Jett cut in. "The rest of them can pitch in."

"Yes, my lord!" Roberto snapped to attention. Guy who triggers earthquakes? Play it polite, Roberto. Very, very polite.

Sweat trickled down his jaw as he tried to maintain flawless decorum.

While Noctlisa carved limbs from the nearest trunks, Jett sat on the first log and motioned Roberto to join him. The camp was for the men; Mia and Noctlisa would rather keep some distance with strangers around.

Jett dragged a branch through the dirt and drew an X. "We’re here. Your turn."

Roberto knelt, brandishing the branch like a pointer. "As you command, greatest lord. We’re on the Everlasting Continent, far to the south—behind us lies only ocean."

"I see," Jett said.

"But this land is also called the Middle of the World." Roberto sketched a rough oval. "I’m almost certain we’re dead center on the globe, greatest lord."

"What races am I going to run into? You’re human, yeah?"

"Y‑Yes, greatest lord! Your insight is peerless." Roberto puffed up, then caught Jett’s narrowed gaze and swallowed. "Intelligent races? The Everlasting Continent is almost all human. Seeing anything else is rare."

He swallowed a crude joke about humans breeding faster than rabbits—supposedly why the place is nicknamed the "Everlasting Continent"—unaware that Jett would’ve probably chuckled along. An easy win slipped through his fingers.

Roberto scored a line through the oval map. "The southern stretch has a long history.

"The Blue Empire once ruled roughly sixty percent of the continent, its cloud‑borne capital drifting overhead. The Empire’s gone; now a single kingdom and six autonomous dukes hold its old lands."

"Six Weather Dukes?" Jett asked.

"Y‑Yes, greatest lord!" Roberto nodded.

"Autonomous means they answer to no one and keep their own armies, right?"

"I... I’m not sure, but I think so, sir." Roberto lowered his head.

He was, after all, just a common swordsman, and what he’d already shared was more than most.

Jett asked for the year and left him to join the others.

Mia showed up with fresh meat, and everyone—Roberto included—tore into it like it was their last meal. Their grateful grins were an unexpected reward.

Before he became the Warden, Jett always looked out for himself first. Now power and responsibility pushed him to change lives and keep the world in balance. He still wasn’t sure how, but lending a hand didn’t feel half bad.

Way too many commoners die for nothing. Keeping a few alive fits my job description.