The Duel of the Century and a Prince's Next Scheme
In the private forest of Count Zakharov, not far from the capital, the banquet held after the hunt had turned into nothing less than a Mikhail tasting competition.
“Look at this. My son serves in the navy and brought back some rare spices that only grow on the southern islands. The flavor is absolutely divine once you add them.”
“Oh my, how impressive! I only used ordinary orange peels and cinnamon.”
Noble men and women clinked their ornate glasses, eagerly boasting about the unique flavors and aromas of their personally infused Mikhail. In the capital’s social circles these days, not having your own signature “recipe” meant you didn’t even qualify to join the conversation.
A short distance away from that noisy crowd, Marchioness Katarina von Der sat with a rigid expression, merely flicking her fan back and forth.
I should have bought some back then!
The memory of the tea party hosted by Marchioness Barriere a month earlier resurfaced. She had sneered and said, “What? That worthless drunkard Mikhail got exiled and still hasn’t come to his senses? Now he’s selling liquor? And he even stamped his own name on the bottles? How utterly vulgar. As expected of his bloodline…”
The result had been disastrous. Not only the Blue Label, even the entry-level Red Label had skyrocketed in price to the point where it was now impossible to obtain even through black-market dealers.
“Oh my, Marchioness von Der.”
At that moment, a voice as sweet as honey yet sharp as a dagger slipped into her ear. It was her longtime rival, Countess Henrietta de la Roche.
“What are you pondering about all by yourself over here? Would you care to try some of myMikhail?”
Henrietta deliberately thrust a glass of her personally infused liquor right under Katarina’s nose.
“I added vanilla, cacao nibs, and a bit of hazelnut. The aroma is wonderfully deep and rich.”
The subtly wafting scent was undeniably alluring, but to Katarina it smelled like nothing but nauseating filth. Henrietta’s eyes gleamed with wicked delight.
“So, I’m terribly curious what yourMikhail tastes like, Marchioness. Could you perhaps share just a hint of your secret recipe?”
It was blatant provocation. Knowing full well that Katarina had failed to secure any Mikhail, she was deliberately twisting the knife. This bitch had always been like this. Ever since their academy days, she had stolen every man Katarina liked, and had even snatched away Count de la Roche. And now she was taking Mikhail too. The glass in front of her should have been hers. If that detestable woman hadn’t overpaid to buy it first…
Crack.
Something inside Katarina’s head snapped.
“You fucking bitch.”
Crash!
She slapped the glass out of Henrietta’s hand. The ornate crystal shattered across the floor. Every sound in the banquet hall stopped as if by magic.
“You filthy whore!”
With trembling hands, Katarina tore off her white silk glove and hurled it straight into Henrietta’s face.
The regular report meeting, usually a tedious and overly academic affair filled with numbers like revenue, growth rate, market share, and mountains of documents, was unusually thrilling today.
“So? Who won?”
The unmistakable stench of trashy drama made Mikhail’s eyes sparkle in a way that was very unlike him. He urged her to continue.
“Both of them died.”
“…What?”
Her answer was far too casual.
“One through the throat, the other through the heart. Their rapiers pierced each other’s vital points exactly. They died instantly on the spot. A mutual kill.”
“Uh…”
Mikhail was momentarily at a loss for words. This wasn’t trashy drama. This was hardcore action.
“Huh. As far as I know, those two were pretty high-ranking nobles, right?”
In Mikhail’s memory, both families were prestigious houses with considerable influence in the capital’s social scene.
“And they both died in a duel? That’s going to cause an uproar. Did their families or their lovers end up dueling each other too and turning it into a full-blown funeral procession?”
“No, Your Highness,” Laura shook her head. “On the contrary, the capital is praising them, calling it a truly ‘honorable duel’—something rarely seen these days.”
“Ahh…”
Mikhail picked up the water cup on his desk and took a sip.
Man… what a barbaric place.
He knew lives were cheaper than flies here, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He hid his expression and asked again.
“And then?”
“They say a play about the two of them is already being staged. The title is Katarina and Henrietta. It’s apparently a story about tragic love and honor. Of course, our company provided a modest amount of production support.”
“Pffft—!”
Mikhail nearly spat out his water. These people were desecrating the dead with shocking speed and on an impressive scale. Still, it was entertaining. After all, the most fun things to watch in the world were fires and fights.
Feeling much better after hearing such an interesting story for the first time in a while, Mikhail turned his eyes back to the documents on his desk. Laura, seeing him actually focus on the paperwork for once, smiled with satisfaction and continued her report.
“According to the report, thanks to this incident, the name recognition and intrinsic value of our liquor have risen even further…”
But none of the report’s content was actually entering Mikhail’s head.
“Yeah, yeah. I get the gist. We’re making a ton of money, right? That’s enough of the boring stuff.”
“……Pardon?”
“More importantly, what we’re going to do with all that money is what matters, don’t you think?”
Mikhail leaned back in his chair with an expression like he was holding back a yawn. Laura was speechless for a moment. This enormous profit report was nothing more than “boring stuff” to him?
She regained her composure with effort and spread out the business expansion plan she had prepared in advance.
“As Your Highness says. That is why I believe we should use these profits to expand our production facilities.”
Her voice regained its confidence.
“We are currently struggling to handle the flood of orders pouring into our company. Especially for the Blue Label—the supply cannot keep up with demand at all.”
“And?”
“We need to import several more continuous stills and modernize the bottling facilities to dramatically increase production volume. This is the perfect time for business expansion, Your Highness. While scarcity is important for luxury goods, excessive supply shortages like this will only lead to massive opportunity costs.”
Her argument was sound. As a merchant, there was nothing more foolish than letting profit slip through your fingers. But Mikhail’s response was ice-cold.
“Rejected.”
In a single word. He didn’t even glance at the unfolded plan and simply shook his head.
“I decline that proposal.”
“…May I ask why?”
Laura’s voice trembled slightly. She couldn’t understand.
“Is the technology difficult?”
Mikhail asked in return. “The one we use to make the Blue Label. It’s just distilling clean alcohol from good ingredients, running it through a continuous still multiple times, then filtering it with charcoal. Right?”
“……”
“That charcoal is a bit special, sure. It’s activated carbon, not regular charcoal. But let’s be real—everyone’s going to copy it eventually. There are no secrets in this world.”
Mikhail chuckled.
“Instead, it would be better to massively increase Red Label production and lower the price even more.”
“Lower… the price?”
“Yeah. Make it dirt cheap. Cheap enough that people can drink it like water. Completely dominate the market. That’s enough.”
Laura was confused. Volume sales at razor-thin margins was a classic strategy, but it was also an act of deliberately devaluing the Mikhail brand.
“Then what about the Blue Label…”
“The Blue Label is perfect exactly as it is right now.”
Mikhail’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“No, we should actually make it even more exclusive.”
He counted on his fingers like an excited child.
“You know those painters who are the hottest in the capital? Shower them with cash and have them paint the labels. Don’t just mass-produce the bottles in a factory either—hire glass artisans to make each one by hand.”
“……”
“Oh, this is good too! Partner with theater troupes or orchestras. Limited edition Katarina and Henrietta commemorative bottles. Sell them only to people who have tickets to the premiere. Painting a scene from the play on the label would be perfect.”
His ideas were endless.
“There are festivals every year, right? Special occasions. Make ‘limited edition’ bottles for each one and sell them. The nobles will go crazy trying to get their hands on them, won’t they?”
Laura was speechless for a moment. In her head, the words Mikhail had poured out were rapidly combining and being analyzed. This wasn’t simply selling alcohol. This was selling a “work of art,” an “experience,” and “envy.” Adding the scarcity of something that could only be obtained in that specific “moment.”
She muttered without realizing it.
“…It’s like the concept of vintage wine.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Mikhail shrugged. The motion brought Laura back to reality.
“But Your Highness. With that level of investment, the expenditure is far too small compared to the enormous profits we have earned.”
She asked the fundamental question once more.
“Money is like water—if it stagnates, it rots. What exactly do you plan to do with the remaining funds?”
Mikhail smiled brightly, as if he had been waiting for the question. His face was filled with pure joy, like a child showing off his favorite toy.
“I’m going to have fun.”
“…Pardon?”
“In a big, flashy way.”
At those words, Laura’s mind went completely blank.
Have fun? In a big, flashy way?
She desperately tried to interpret it in the most positive light possible.
“Are you perhaps thinking of hosting grand banquets on a regular basis?”
Her voice was cautious. “That is not a bad idea. Banquets would be an extremely effective way to promote the Mikhail brand, build connections with other nobles, and establish a political foundation—”
“Nah, why would I do something like that?”
Mikhail waved his hand dismissively, cutting her off.
“It’s not even fun. Honestly, the banquet at the last festival nearly bored me to death.”
“……”
“What I’m talking about isn’t that. It’s a game. A game.”
A game?
Laura felt her heart sink with a heavy thud. No way. No way. Clinging to her last shred of hope, she asked,
“……Do you perhaps enjoy chess as a hobby?”
“No.”
A firm denial. In that instant, every positive circuit of hope in Laura’s mind snapped. Only one thing rose in her mind.
Gambling.
Dice, cards, and dominoes. The foolish and vulgar act of staking everything on a single stroke of luck. It was the one thing she, as a merchant, despised most.
For a moment, disappointment surged up like acrid sulfur flames. The feeling of betrayal. Despite the ominous rumors of him being a good-for-nothing, she had thought he was different when she met him in person. That this man, this strange Grand Duke, was someone worth betting the entire Valeriano Trading Company on.
Rustle.
The paper in her hand crumpled helplessly. Her cat ears flattened tightly against her head in clear anger. Behind her, beneath her dress, her tail stiffened and the fur bristled. The back of her skirt swelled unnaturally.
Laura barely held onto her reason. Her face remained coldly frozen. Gathering the last fragment of her faith for one final confirmation, she opened her mouth.
Please. Please let it not be that.
“…Are you speaking of gambling?”
Mikhail could feel Laura’s disappointment and contempt completely. But her ears and tail, moving on their own due to emotions she couldn’t control, were incredibly cute.
He simply smiled and looked straight into her trembling eyes.