Cutting in Line Before the Princess
Knock knock.
"Master, may I come in?"
Thomas, the sales clerk, knocked on the workshop door to relay Palan's message.
"There's a customer here—come back later."
"Young Master Oclo asked me to pass along a message."
"Ugh, I already told him to come back next time. Why's he pushing again?"
Vankero glanced awkwardly at the woman seated across from him.
"It's fine. Tell him to come in."
"Understood. Come on in!"
With permission granted, Thomas opened the door and approached Vankero.
"What is it?"
"Well..."
Thomas rolled his eyes and stole a quick glance at the woman.
"You fool! That's no one for the likes of you to ogle. Spit it out and get out."
Vankero snapped at him in shock at the clerk's behavior.
"C-Couldn't I just tell you outside?"
"Just say it."
"Then... cover your ears for a moment."
After a brief hesitation, Thomas bent his knees to accommodate Vankero's short stature.
"The young master said he'll pay double if you make his weapon first, ahead of the customer ahead of him."
His voice was barely a whisper, but unfortunately, they were standing far too close.
"What... did you just say?"
The atmosphere turned icy in an instant, a far cry from moments before.
Vankero realized he'd blundered and shot up from his seat in a panic.
"Ha... haha, looks like the young master's in a hurry. Go explain nicely and tell him to come back tomorrow. Got it?"
He shoved Thomas toward the door, but sadly, leaving without her permission wasn't an option.
"Stop."
"Y-Yes...?"
"Let's go see him together. I'm curious what kind of person thinks he can cut ahead of someone I trust and cherish."
She rose from her seat and removed the robe covering her face.
Golden hair gleaming like sunlight spilled forth, paired with deep green eyes that only the greatest bloodlines possessed.
No commoner like Thomas could possibly fail to recognize her.
"Y-Your Imperial Highness!!!"
The First Imperial Princess Rene Lycan—the empire's most beautiful flower and a genius.
For any imperial subject, dropping to his knees was the natural response.
"Haa."
Vankero let out a quiet sigh from behind her.
"Lead the way. To the man trying to steal my place."
"Y-Yes...? Y-Yes, right away."
Did he finally grasp the magnitude of the storm he'd stumbled into?
Thomas trembled in fear, but the river had already been crossed.
"Don't be so scared. All you did was pass on a message, right? You didn't even know I was the princess."
Rene placed a gentle hand on Thomas's shoulder.
Her softened tone eased his nerves—but only because he couldn't see her face.
'How dare he try to snatch the gift I prepared for my uncle?'
Incensed by the unforgivable affront, Rene quickened her pace.
* * *
"I could use a decent bow too, but nothing good catches my eye."
They were selling them as a side line, but being a smithy, the quality left much to be desired.
To be bluntly honest, nothing matched the price of a sword.
'Expensive means good, so if there's no expensive stuff, that means no good stuff.'
It was a terribly flawed mindset that impoverished human wallets, but what could he do?
He lacked any expert eye for weapons.
"This is him."
As Palan examined some armor, Thomas returned—accompanied by an astonishingly beautiful woman.
'What the—speed dating setup?'
He entertained the happy fantasy, but the expression on her face screamed anything but a blind date.
'Those eyes are striking, though. Green as emeralds. Wait...'
He knew it was rude, but instinct drew his gaze to her face, and something felt off.
'Blond hair, green eyes. Hmm.'
Even combining his memories with Palan's, it wasn't firsthand knowledge—he needed to search mentally.
'Blonde green-eyed beauty... holy shit.'
Four keywords clicked together, yielding exactly one match.
"Your Imperial Highness. Palan Oclo of the Oclo Count family. It is my utmost honor to behold the Empire's flower."
He dropped to one knee and greeted her calmly.
"Honor? You don't look all that honored."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"You're making me wait for my sword. No matter what offer you bring, I have no intention of yielding my place."
Blatant hostility—the reason was none other than the message he'd asked Thomas to relay.
'The customer ahead was the princess.'
But before that—how did the princess even know what he'd told Vankero?
'That guy.'
He shot a glare at Thomas lurking behind her; the clerk shook his head innocently.
"Who are you looking at?"
"Nothing, Your Highness. It seems there's a slight misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding? I'm curious what kind you mean."
She stepped closer, locking eyes with him—as if daring him to justify himself.
'Can't lie here.'
Objectively, he'd committed a faux pas, but nothing warranting severe punishment.
Lying and getting caught, though? That would turn into a real headache.
"Your Highness, I'm currently on leave from the military. I have to report back next week."
"And?"
"My post is on the western frontlines. And recently, I barely escaped a brush with death."
Not a single word could falter.
"In that ordeal, I felt the dire need for a proper weapon. As I said, with time running short, I got ahead of myself and asked to jump the queue."
"You think that's justification for taking my spot?"
"Had I known it was you, Your Highness, I never would have."
"So it's fine if it's someone else?"
Her pointed question prodded like a blade.
For a moment, he considered just apologizing—but a spark of defiance ignited.
"Yes. It is."
"What... did you say?"
"Your Highness, as I've repeated, I'm serving on the frontlines. For the Empire's victory alone, shouldn't I receive my weapon first?"
In other words: yield your spot.
The odds looked slim even with her appearance, but he hadn't given up yet.
'Bowing politely here won't dull the enemy's blades any.'
Blind submission to power wasn't always wise.
"You, of the Oclo family no less, claim frontline duty? You're not lying, are you?"
"If you doubt me, check for yourself. I suspect you'll be quite surprised."
He was confident: in this trash intake of recruits, he shone the brightest so far.
"I understand what you're saying. But even in haste, you should have sought consideration from me, the prior customer—not Vankero."
Was she swayed by logic? Or at a loss for rebuttal?
Her tone had softened considerably.
"I was remiss there. I'll take care next time."
"And regrettably, even if you're on the frontlines, I can't yield my place."
As expected.
He hadn't pinned much hope anyway.
"The owner of the sword I commissioned is serving on the frontlines too."
"Understood. And whoever it is, I'm terribly envious."
'Tch. How frontline could it really be?'
A greenhouse flower like her wouldn't grasp true battlefields.
Her idea of frontlines was probably some coastal garrison in the east.
'Is this how the Emperor feels looking at nobles?'
Suffocating frustration—the throne must be no easy seat.
"Send me a letter when it's done. I'll come fetch it myself."
"Yes, Your Highness."
She addressed Vankero, then turned back to him.
"Your actions today were disappointing, but I do hope you survive until the war's end."
He'd braced for one last barb, but out came unexpected well-wishes.
"I shall exert every effort to uphold Your Highness's command."
"Something feels off about you."
She muttered cryptically, apparently done with her business, and exited the smithy first.
"Phew."
The space fell silent as after a typhoon.
Palan broke it.
"That was close. You didn't do that on purpose, right?"
He fixed a cold stare on Thomas, the blatant tattletale.
"N-No, sir!"
"You thought it was no big deal and blabbed in front of the princess. Don't blame the poor guy."
Vankero defended Thomas and blocked Palan.
"Fine, understood."
"More importantly, you're Broad's son? You don't look much like him."
Vankero casually addressed the family head.
A status gap existed, but it wasn't so strange.
'Grandfather's old friend—probably watched Dad grow up from infancy.'
And Vankero was a business partner to the Oclo family, not a vassal.
"I take after my mother."
"Lucky you. Anyone can see Sylvia's side produces finer stock than Broad."
"I wholeheartedly agree."
Before the current "Empire's flower," his own mother had held that title.
"Anyway, you want to commission a sword?"
"Yes."
"From what I overheard, you want it before leave ends. Even without the princess, that's impossible."
"Pardon...?"
"You think swords drop from the sky? Fastest is a month minimum."
"A month?!"
Melting and hammering taking a full month? Hard to fathom for a layman.
"Custom commissions tailor to the whole person—and you..."
Vankero scanned him head to toe.
"...haven't even built proper muscle framework. Custom weapon? It'd be poison. Tch, the Oclos and their greed."
Harsh criticism, but no real counterargument.
His family was a pack of greedy merchants.
"So what should I do?"
"I'll give you something decent. Be satisfied and come back when you've grown for custom work."
Disappointing, but Vankero wasn't wrong.
"And if you want a truly fine personal weapon, bring materials from your family vault. Mithril, adamantite—stuff like that."
Greed flickered in Vankero's eyes.
"We have that in storage?"
"Tch, you direct heir don't even know? Tell Broad to cough it up. Bring it straight here."
Plain as day: he just wanted a shot at handling rare materials through Palan.