Chapter 265
Chapter 265
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 265
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (24)
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Servants' City. The name alone doesn't give away what kind of place it is, but being a city, it had everything you’d expect.
Markets.
“From here all the way over there...?”
“Exactly. The official capital All Amperia, the Saint Lower City, and the Servants' City. It’s basically like cramming markets for four or five small towns’ worth of people into one spot.”
A massive market that took six hours just to cross.
Blacksmiths.
“Quit talking nonsense.”
“My eyesight’s fine. It says ‘blacksmith’ right there.”
“I said quit it! That’s a jewelry store! How is that a blacksmith? And what’s with that pile of magic stones over there!”
“You’re right, it is a blacksmith. See the flag on the eaves? It means they’re working on items for this house, so hands off. Ever since magic stones were rediscovered, stone jewelry’s been hugely popular as accessories for warding off magical suggestions and minor curses. With orders pouring in from across the empire, they have no choice but to thrive like this.”
A blacksmith with house-sized furnaces, gold bars, and magic stone piles just stacked up haphazardly nearby.
Residential districts.
“Impressive architecture. Large buildings stand in orderly rows, harmoniously interspersed with smaller homes.”
“Yggdrasil, that’s a carriage.”
“...My apologies. I’m still not fully familiar with word meanings. So carriages aren’t small boxes pulled by horses for transporting humanoid creatures.”
“You’re not wrong; this neighborhood’s just beyond common sense.”
“Huh... And I can sense considerable magical energy too...”
Enormous carriages enchanted with lightweight spells on the body and strength-boosting magic on the harnesses, lined up neatly alongside buildings that looked cheaper than the carriages themselves.
I mulled it over, trying to pin down the vibe, and that’s exactly what it was. Like in movies where millionaires line up supercars in their garages. Put all those rich folks’ garages together, knock down the walls, and you’d get a neighborhood like this.
“Gentlemen, care for a peek?”
“Hmph, er! N-not a big deal! R-right?”
“Y-yeah...! Compared to the vastness of the open sea—cough!”
Our carriage already flew the Aedran house flag. For gaping like idiots without heeding the warning, Lucilla’s sharp words pierced my ears and Ottoman’s.
“That’s why I said we should do maintenance here before heading to the capital. Extravagance is basic noble etiquette. It’s not just buying what you want; it’s publicly declaring to the world that your house has the resources to splurge beyond mere practicality.”
“Ugh, I’ll get indigestion just sightseeing. So even the servants’ district is this flashy?”
“If the master parades around in a gold-threaded dress, doesn’t it look off if her attending maid wears rags? If the noble’s personal luxury far outstrips their underlings’, it gives off vibes like, ‘Oh, that noble sold their soul just to look rich! The dress is nice, but they’re probably boiling potatoes at home because of it.’ You have to mind the servants’ standards too.”
For a split second, I thought of that demolition nut who stocked up on ultra-expensive heavy weapons but lived in a dingy basement bowling alley, but the Professor quickly shoved it from his mind.
“Make us look like nobles desperate to cling to capital life?”
“You catch on quick. That’s why they build such fine houses, hang the house flag, and line up house carriages. All nobles entering the capital pass through the Servants' City.”
“Extravagance isn’t just wasteful; it’s purposeful waste...”
Truly befitting the imperial capital. The scale of luxury was on another level. Not like bragging about some pricey character skin. Comparing personal extravagance to the servants’ level, even.
“On that note, owning two mansions each in the Saint Lower City and Servants' City is the bare minimum for entry into capital high society. If rumors spread that your mansion’s below average, people drop by one by one to subtly urge you to leave the capital. Things like, ‘If capital life proves too much, I’ll help out. I can spare that bit of pocket change.’ Or, ‘It’s pathetic seeing folks climb beyond their station, but it stirs my pity. Oh, just talking about the rabble, of course.’”
Whoa. Those lines hit hard.
“That’s not ‘subtle urging.’ That’s smashing faces with a two-by-four.”
“That’s the standard greeting in capital social skirmishes. Just keep it in mind.”
Lucilla, well aware she knew the most about noble society and the capital among us, kept spilling everything she knew nonstop as we passed through the Servants' City.
“This is all just common sense! Basic basics! Goodness, some things you can’t just learn by hearing. How to explain...”
Of course, the more I heard, the dizzier my head got.
****
“We sincerely thank you for choosing the Makera house’s annex. After your long journey, you must be weary. Leave your luggage here and head to your rooms first. Warm bathwater and light refreshments await. Three maids per guest as standard.”
Dust-caked from the carriage, Lucilla led us straight to the inn district, pondering what to do about it. Along the way, I’d learned inns varied by region. Eastern nations excelled in fermented liquors, imperial ones in distilled spirits. Some just rented rooms; others catered to mages.
Having adapted to vagabond life and seen all sorts of inns, I was curious how this eye-wateringly pricey district’s places would welcome us.
“Thank you. Uh... what should I call you?”
“I am this estate’s butler, Gil. Guests call me butler or Gil. Whatever suits you.”
A refined butler greeting us with the nobles’ signature drawn-out intonation.
Ding-a-ling!
“We’ll serve you with utmost devotion, Professor. I am Emily, Olivia, Isla—your attendants during your stay.”
“With utmost devotion.”
“With utmost devotion.”
“Uh, uh... sure. Looking forward—”
“For any needs, call on us without hesitation. No matter ‘what kind’ of needs.”
“—Cough!”
Maids so stunning they could pass for noble ladies in a wardrobe change, looking skilled in... all sorts of ways.
Knock knock.
“Pardon the intrusion. Lady Lucilla mentioned you’d receive a large volume of letters, Professor. If staying three days or more, might I recommend a dedicated letter manager? Trained at a professional butler academy, bound by magical contract not to divulge personal affairs. If still uneasy, we can prepare a short-term contract.”
“Uh... yes. Please. No, not the contract. Uh... anyway.”
A scene straight out of a noble painting. Neither lacking nor excessive, their demeanor put even my suspicious self at ease, and the thoughtful service made me feel truly at rest the moment I stepped in.
I’d expected flashy imperial-capital inns. But this was a whole different league. Even newborns got less pampering than us right now.
So comfortable—beyond sensible bounds—that I dashed outside to double-check.
[INN]
Weird. It was clearly posted. No quirky names like [Donkey Hoof] or [Water Spout Inn] like in other towns, but utterly indifferent to touting, just three elegant letters INN in tiny script beside a huge house flag. Definitely an inn.
“Huh...”
A familiar sigh from the inn’s corner. Ottoman was scanning the place with a similar look on his face.
“Why are you out here?”
“Why are you?”
“Uh... just confirming this is actually an inn.”
“Mmm...”
His slightly relieved face said he was glad he wasn’t the only one thinking that.
“Strangely superb treatment. Even when I lived with the Baudelaire house, our servants never doted this much.”
Warmth from behind. Two maids had caught up, one with a shawl for my shoulders, the other with a portable brazier. No request from me, but prepped for the chilly winter.
Ottoman said his was even more intense. Upon hearing he was a water mage, they cleared his meal and brought platters of seafood, dumped his bathwater for three types sourced from different regions, and let him choose.
“Even if I get it, what I can’t wrap my head around is that it’s all free.”
He’d freaked out and bolted upon hearing they even had water from northern perennial ice—the most dangerous region’s meltwater. Was this a real inn or some debt-trap where they sell you off?
“Free... everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Room, service, carriage storage, meals?”
“Plus carriage rentals, dedicated servants, and if desired, introductions to experts in beauty, jewels, attire, and more from the Makera main house. Does that make sense?”
“...Indeed. At that level, it has to be free.”
Over-the-top hospitality, delivered so smoothly the recipient felt zero burden, by highly trained servants.
That wasn’t honed in one or two years. At least a decade; considering maids’ ages, generations serving one house, shadowing the master from childhood as their life’s purpose.
And in the Servants' City, where a plot of land was a ticket to high society, building this massive estate for an inn gave me the picture.
“They said this huge city has only one inn. It’s not about profit; running this inn is itself a privilege. Remember what Lucilla said? Only certain houses rotate gate guard duty, profiting big. Same here. This inn is the Makera house’s privilege.”
“This top-tier free lodging... is a privilege?”
“Yes. Think of it not as an inn, but the Makera annex.”
Ottoman mulled my words, then slapped his knee.
“They see us not as paying guests, but house guests!”
“Exactly. Serving house guests superbly is the house’s honor.”
All Amperia, even its Saint Lower City, brimmed with noble estates.
Naturally, as the imperial capital, merchants flocked, and people came for noble commissions or other business—not just one or two.
Of course, if for a noble’s commission, they’d stay at that noble’s estate as their guest. But even a small merchant caravan had over twenty people—impossible to house all in an estate without losing dignity.
So the caravan head gets invited to the noble estate, and the remaining nineteen stay at the city’s sole inn: the Makera house’s.
“Makera’s reputation among capital visitors skyrockets. Even I think, ‘A house that trains servants like this? Worth partnering with.’”
“Mmm. Yes. ‘Judge the house by its butler,’ as they say. Makera clearly isn’t second-rate.”
“And since nearly every non-noble visiting the capital passes through here, valuable info slips out: why they’re here, whose business, etc.”
Food, drink, all services. Top-tier pampering loosens tongues.
And with their leaders invited to noble estates, no lock for those loose lips.
“Hmm...”
As Ottoman warmed his hands by the maid’s brazier and nodded, a water droplet stealthily in his ear transmitted his voice.
[Indeed. That’s a powerful privilege.]
[No big intel, sure, but piecing small bits from everywhere reveals the outline easily. Worth remembering the Makera house.]
[Yes. But... is it okay discussing this in front of them? From that angle, these maids are all Makera eyes and ears.]
[That’s the point. Letting them hear.]
[?]
[We’re deliberately showing we know the service’s purpose yet chose this place. If they’re Makera eyes and ears, our loud chat goes straight to the Makera house—and high society.]
Ottoman, feigning warming by the fire, turned questioning eyes my way.
[Why bother...?]
[The capital’s political scene is thin ice right now.]
Not just thin ice, but riddled with landmines underneath. The moment your foot sinks, head-to-toe annihilation for three generations—terrifying mines littering the noble politics battlefield. A warzone where every step bears endless risks of plummeting to ruin.
[On such precarious ice, to find thick, sturdy footing, you must choose. The perennial ice like First Prince, First Princess, Third Prince. Or lesser royals with big pies left despite some instability. Whatever—choosing means no immediate worry of the ground giving way.]
[Imperial succession... yes. Capital politics revolves around it now.]
Mmm—that odd ache. The twinge of a brain spinning at full speed.
Feeling his dormant ‘political brain’—unused for months—whir to life, the Professor grinned.
Makera’s inn was ostensibly the empire’s only one; anyone thinking saw the free lodging as their info hub.
But even knowing it’s a guest annex and info front, on the surface, it’s an ‘inn.’
Turning down all invitations, knowing Makera eyes and ears are attached, yet choosing the ‘inn.’ And saying it loud enough for the maids to hear.
[...We’ve chosen no royal yet. Thus, we’re open to visits—we just broadcast that through the maids’ ears. Like throwing our hat in the imperial succession ring. ‘Haven’t picked a side yet, so come pitch yourselves quick.’]
Nothing today. Visiting the arrival day looks desperate, ‘We’ve been dying for you!’—unbefitting noble dignity. Likely tomorrow, post-lunch, house servants’ carriages swarm in. Miracle Saint of Light and Tel Drat suitoress? Valuable assets to any faction.
[...Now that I think, cheeky. Lucilla knew and didn’t tell us. Makera complications, etc.]
[Odd, yeah. She knows the capital scene well—why keep us in the dark?]
[Warm-up, probably. We’re stepping into capital politics’ cesspool. Can’t flock like scared chicks. Parties aside, we’ll fight solo sometimes—better feel the sting firsthand. Taught vs. experienced differs. The head-smack wakes the brain. Nice brain stretch, anyway.]
That puzzle-solved throb and refreshment.
His wasteland survivor senses stirred odd nostalgia. Back then, every day was an emergency survival council. Lately, too lax.
“Ughhh—cold, let’s head in. Ah, thanks for the cloak and brazier.”
“Thank you. Any further message?”
As if proving my suspicion, the maid trailed off cautiously.
The Professor thought, then snapped his fingers.
“First, if moderates are around, I’d like to see them. Possible?”
“...I lack training for such discretion. I’ll relay the intent.”
“Oh, and arrange separate meals for us.”
“Already prepared. Room trays are just easy-storage snacks.”
The maids trotted off into the inn.
Noticing even his sharp senses had to focus to catch their footfalls, the Professor let out a hollow laugh at this place’s endlessly surprising ecosystem. Goodness. What do butler academies even teach?
‘Guess my body’s too comfy now. Brain work feels foreign.’
[They say convincing takes ten hours with tongue, one second with fist. Your recent moves could rust the brain.]
‘Yeah... back to basics. No punching this capital stint.’
[Really?]
‘Really. All high nobles—no need to make enemies over nothing.’
[Hmm... good luck. I suck at that stuff.]
Short chat with Hyde done, the Professor dunked headfirst into the maids’ warm bathwater. Plots abound, but ‘noble face’ meant free time till tomorrow.
Might as well savor the respite before complexities hit.
Shedding grime like molting skin from his vigorously regenerating body, ignoring the ‘attendance’ refusal, the quietly standing maids harbored negative thoughts on the saint’s hygiene level.
But for now, it was comfy.
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