An Elective Lecturer, Apparently
Ziel stood before the counter of the Imperial Bank, verifying the deposit of his bounty.
Thanks to the daring raid on the Sophen family estate, the criminal’s bounty had skyrocketed all the way to three hundred thousand cel. After the imperial government deducted a steep twenty-two percent tax, the final sum wired into his account was exactly two hundred and thirty-four thousand cel.
I do not feel good about this.
He was the one who had tracked down and captured the fugitive, so why was the state seizing a portion of his reward? No matter how much he turned the question over in his mind, he could not fathom the logic. It was an instinctive, visceral aversion to taxation.
Having suppressed his emotions for the better part of his life, Ziel was only very gradually rediscovering them. As a consequence, whenever even the slightest ripple troubled his composure, he reflexively circulated the Breathing of the Polar Night to restore his equilibrium.
Taxes. Truly, a concept terrifying enough to sour even a legendary assassin’s mood.
“Excuse me, sir,” the bank clerk inquired politely, glancing up from the ledger. “Are you perhaps a professional bounty hunter?”
“No. I am an elective lecturer at the Academy.”
“My goodness, that is incredible. A bounty of this scale is an extraordinarily vast sum of money…”
Ziel tilted his head slightly. “Is it particularly large?”
“Normally, bounties cap out in the tens of thousands at most. Hundreds of thousands are practically unheard of. Well, of course, the ‘Phantom’ has a staggering two hundred million cel on his head… but who on earth could ever hope to catch someone like that?”
Ziel nodded in placid agreement. “You are correct. No one will ever catch him.”
He would certainly make sure he was never found.
“Right? It’s unthinkable! At any rate, I must say I’m deeply envious. While this might not completely alter your entire destiny, it’s certainly enough to guarantee you won’t have to worry about putting food on the table for a long, long time.” The clerk sighed wistfully before leaning forward, eyes gleaming with commercial opportunism. “Valued customer, do you have any particular plans to invest this capital, or perhaps make a major purchase?”
“I have not decided yet.”
“Then what fantastic timing! Our bank happens to offer an exceptional investment portfolio at the moment. Would you care to hear a brief explanation? It could prove to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you!”
The clerk had pounced on the opening without missing a single beat. However, Ziel’s reaction diverged sharply from that of the typical affluent clientele.
“Why are you lying?”
“Pardon?”
Because he had already activated the Breathing of the Polar Night to soothe his tax-induced irritation, Ziel’s sensory acuity was operating at an inhuman peak. He could clearly perceive the sudden shift in the clerk’s physiological state—the fluttering pulse, the shallow hitch in his respiration. The evidence of deceit was unmistakable.
“Wh-what do you mean, lying? The Imperial Bank exists solely to maximize profitability and security for our cherished patrons—”
“There is no need to make excuses.”
Flustered, the clerk hurriedly smoothed out a glossy pamphlet across the marble desk. “L-look here! If you examine the prospectus for this product, investing in these municipal bonds guarantees anywhere between a 0.5 to 2-fold return on your initial—”
Ziel knew next to nothing about high finance. During his years as an underworld assassin, memorizing investment portfolios and bond yields had been entirely irrelevant to survival. However, his meticulous eye for detail and preternatural observation skills far exceeded those of ordinary men.
“There appears to be no phrasing anywhere in this document that explicitly guarantees profits.”
“Well… naturally, every investment carries a baseline level of inherent market risk, but this is an extraordinarily safe—”
“What is the meaning of this line at the very bottom?”
Ziel tapped a pale finger against the base of the parchment. There, printed in minuscule, near-microscopic ink that ninety-nine out of a hundred clients would have skimmed past without noticing, was a rigid legal disclaimer.
The Imperial Bank assumes zero liability for any investment losses or capital depreciation. All financial losses remain the sole, unmitigated responsibility of the individual investor.
“If the institution does not guarantee returns,” Ziel stated flatly, “why should I subscribe to it?”
Because it fulfills my quarterly performance quota, damn it! the clerk screamed internally. In all his years behind the counter, he had never encountered a patron who dissected fine-print clauses with such cold, dispassionate scrutiny.
What do I do? The branch manager’s strict instructions echoed in his mind: Any high-tier customer holding a liquid balance exceeding one hundred thousand cel must be signed to at least one premium asset product before they leave the building!
And the man sitting across from him held over two hundred thousand cel. Letting such an enormous commission slip through his fingers was out of the question.
“A-ah! Forgive me, sir! How dreadfully clumsy of me—I pulled out the wrong portfolio entirely! This isn't what I meant to present to a patron of your caliber!”
With trembling hands, the clerk hastily produced two exclusive documents reserved strictly for high-net-worth elites. Damn it all, I had to bring out the real reserves.
“While the projected upside on this asset is slightly more modest than the previous option, its principal stability is peerless. It involves direct equity investment in an imperial gold vein that was recently discovered and verified for commercial extraction. We guarantee a fixed monthly return of one percent. Compounded annually, that amounts to a reliable twelve percent yield against your principal!”
An investment of fifty thousand cel would yield fifty-five thousand after a year without lifting a finger. It was an asset designed specifically for conservative aristocrats seeking steady wealth accumulation, where larger capital yielded massive dividends.
“Furthermore, the Imperial Bank personally underwrites the associated risk! In the highly unlikely event of principal loss, the bank guarantees restitution up to three hundred thousand cel. Considering your current balance is just north of two hundred thousand cel, this product is practically tailor-made for you!”
This time, Ziel detected no deceit. The clerk’s heartbeat remained steady, and the printed terms showed no insidious loopholes.
Not bad, Ziel mused. Since I have no immediate plans to purchase real estate, putting the surplus funds to work beforehand is a sensible measure.
Yet, just as he was about to nod, his gaze drifted toward the second prospectus resting beside it. It was another mining bond, but the structural risk outlined upon the parchment was on an entirely different dimension.
“Ah, customer, that one is… exceptionally precarious,” the clerk warned cautiously, noticing where Ziel’s eyes had lingered. “Our division only drafted it after receiving an external proposal from private speculators…”
“A magic stone mine.”
“Indeed. Frankly speaking, it is pure gambling. No formal geological survey has verified whether a viable vein even exists beneath the crust. If high-grade deposits are struck, it’s a tremendous jackpot, but if the vein runs dry… well, total ruin.”
Magic stones. A strategic military resource whose market value was subject to violent fluctuations. Ounce for ounce, high-purity specimens commanded prices that left standard bullion in the dust, frequently triggering severe international shortages across imperial trade routes. They were indispensable for the fabrication of arcane tools, barrier arrays, and high-circle spell research—so much so that prominent mage factions were routinely accused of deliberately hoarding stockpiles to manipulate global commodities.
Consequently, whenever rumors of an unmined vein surfaced, greedy speculators swarmed like vultures.
The dark underside, however, was that fraudulent syndicates routinely fabricated discoveries of magic stone deposits, collected millions from gullible investors, and then vanished into the shadows overnight. Because of that notorious history, this prospectus carried the exact same ruthless disclaimer:
The Imperial Bank assumes zero liability for any investment losses or capital depreciation. All financial losses remain the sole, unmitigated responsibility of the individual investor.
Yet without a single flicker of hesitation, Ziel pointed at the speculative bond.
“I will take this one.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wish to invest the entire bounty into this venture.”
“A-a-are you serious?!”
“Yes.”
The clerk stared in utter bewilderment. Under normal circumstances, offloading a zero-liability, ultra-high-commission speculative asset ought to have made him jump for joy. But the sheer absurdity of the situation paralyzed him.
Wait… wasn't this guy practically interrogating me over tiny contract technicalities five minutes ago? And now he was dumping his entire fortune into an unvetted speculative pit that was a hundred times more perilous than municipal bonds?
No, wait. Why should I care? If an eccentric wants to throw away his money, who am I to stop him?
“V-very well! If you would kindly review the terms and provide your signature right here…”
Scritch. Scratch.
Ziel penned his name across the ledger with practiced precision, set the quill down, and rose from his chair without lingering.
“I will return at a later date.”
“Y-yes! Thank you for your patronage, sir!”
Dazed, the clerk bowed deeply toward Ziel’s retreating back. As soon as the heavy bank doors swung shut, his face split into a triumphant grin. I did it! I actually sold it! That single contract counts for four performance credits on its own!
Unable to mask his overflowing euphoria, he caught the attention of a colleague at the neighboring desk.
“What happened? Did you close something big?”
“I just moved this speculative mine contract.”
“What? Seriously? You found a suck—I mean, a patron willing to buy into that? Isn't that complete feast or famine?”
“Mostly famine, but occasionally a feast! And get this—he put in two hundred thousand cel. Do you have any idea what our division's brokerage fee comes out to on that?!”
“Good gods, talk about absurd luck. Why don't wealthy lunatics like that ever land at my window?” The second clerk shook his head in sheer disbelief. It was an incomprehensible financial gamble, but the imperial banking world was never short of eccentric aristocrats and wild dreamers who threw around fortune as though possessed by spirits. Well, fools like that are the reason we receive bonuses.
Thanks to the transaction, this month’s quota wasn't merely met—it was utterly shattered.
“Two hundred thousand cel… just imagine the percentage cut on that! Man, I’m so jealous I could die.”
Meanwhile, as Ziel stepped out onto the sunlit thoroughfare of the capital, his heart was unusually buoyant.
Perhaps I will be able to purchase a house in the near future.
A high-risk speculative bond. An asset for which the Imperial Bank guaranteed not a copper of principal protection. A venture that most seasoned financiers avoided like the plague due to rampant fraud.
Ziel’s reason for staking his entire bounty on it was remarkably simple.
I have personally stood inside that mine.
The geographical coordinates and topographical descriptions listed in the prospectus aligned perfectly with a clandestine excavation site Ziel had visited during an assassination assignment. It had been an armed skirmish between the Black Sky and a rival syndicate over territorial rights. During that purge, Ziel had personally secured samples of raw, exceptionally high-purity magic stones from the deepest shaft.
The only reason the site had been abandoned was that the Black Sky had subsequently been annihilated by the Imperial Army. All internal ledgers had been incinerated, and the shell mining enterprise secretly operated by the organization had dissolved overnight.
Evidently, an independent expedition had recently stumbled upon the dormant shafts and was now assembling fresh capital to restart operations.
Up to a hundredfold return based on initial equity shares, was it?
Even though he had gambled a fortune, Ziel felt zero anxiety. He had witnessed the rich veins with his own eyes—and barely a month prior to the syndicate's collapse, no less.
I shall have to pay another visit to the bank before long.
Putting aside the pleasant prospect of unexpected wealth, Ziel turned his steps toward his final destination of the day.
“Checking bed inventory, was it?”
Erso had desperately wanted to purchase a specific piece of furniture, but given his current precarious status as a suspended Crow lying low from underworld scrutiny, he dared not show his face in public. Consequently, Ziel had agreed to inquire about the item on his behalf. Erso had claimed it was an extraordinarily coveted luxury item requiring advance reservations just to view, but Ziel had not anticipated the sheer extravagance of the establishment.
“Quite flamboyant.”
Mortiis Boutique.
The sign alone was an exercise in lavish opulence. Situated in District 2—the undisputed epicenter of imperial nobility and boundless wealth—the boutique stood out as the most arresting architectural marvel on the avenue. It was the personal domain of Lord Mortiis, the Empire’s supreme designer and the only man in imperial history granted a knighthood purely on the merits of aesthetic craft.
Though Ziel was oblivious to such aristocratic trivia, rumors of Lord Mortiis making spontaneous personal appearances drew crowds so dense that weekend wait times routinely stretched past six hours. Having assumed he was simply visiting a standard furniture shop, Ziel glanced at the gilded facade with mild curiosity.
He must have quite a lot of money saved up.
Since his sole errand was to verify stock for an operative who couldn't leave his safehouse, Ziel pushed open the heavy brass-trimmed doors. Immediately, a pristine attendant greeted him with a practiced, smooth smile.
“Welcome to Mortiis Boutique, sir. Regrettably, our viewing schedule is currently full. Your queue number is… thirty.”
Ziel paused at the mention of a queue. “How long is the expected wait?”
“Approximately five hours. Furthermore, please be advised that prospective purchases require an initial consultation followed by a formal eligibility assessment.”
A consultation was understandable, but eligibility screening for buying furniture struck him as peculiar. Not that it mattered; he wasn't buying anything himself. Just as Ziel decided he might as well spend the next five hours exploring the gourmet eatery Celia had passionately recommended, an eye caught him from across the salon.
Hmm?
A tall man standing deeper within the boutique had caught sight of Ziel standing by the entrance.
What an exceptional face.
The man’s sharp bone structure, composed demeanor, and subtly arresting aura were striking enough to headline a seasonal runway showcase without a shred of touch-up. It was an aesthetic presence that naturally seized the surrounding space. I haven't seen a patron like him before. I can't simply let him walk out the door.
“Welcome, esteemed guest,” a voice called out as an elegantly dressed gentleman sporting an impeccably styled mustache strode forward, beaming with radiant charm. “It seems a consultation salon has just opened up ahead of schedule. Allow me the pleasure of guiding you personally.”
The mustachioed gentleman offered a sweeping, aristocratic bow. “You mentioned you were seeking a bed? What fortuitous timing—our brand-new seasonal collection was unveiled only this morning. Please, follow me.”
The new collection!
Any habitual patron of Mortiis Boutique would have salivated at the mere mention. Yet Ziel’s response remained strictly functional.
“Rather than that, do you have stock available for the single bed from the ‘Eve Collection’?”
Rather than that?
Beneath his refined smile, the mustachioed gentleman’s eyebrow twitched imperceptibly. What is with this man? ‘Rather than that’?
Securing a reservation to even gaze upon a new Mortiis collection was a privilege nobles begged for on bended knee. Even catching a glimpse of a display model required sheer aristocratic fortune. Yet this handsome visitor appeared thoroughly, completely indifferent. He had bypassed the entire queue through personal escort, and this was his reaction?
“Fortunately, we do possess remaining stock of the Eve Collection,” the host replied smoothly, maintaining his aristocratic composure. “However, if you take a moment to peruse our new line, I suspect your preferences may rapidly evolve.”
“What I require is the inventory status of the Eve Collection bed.”
Erso’s request had been crystal clear: confirm the stock. The operative intended to handle the formal reservation and payment himself at a later date. Ziel was simply carrying out the task assigned to him.
The host, naturally, had no knowledge of these mundane circumstances. Even had he known, his artistic pride would have utterly rejected it.
“…Then how about this piece?”
It had become a matter of professional honor. No matter how haughty high-society clientele could be, none had ever exhibited such profound, chilling disinterest within these walls. Ever since this boutique opened, imperial royalty and grand dukes had arrived with chests of gold, practically begging to be granted the privilege of purchasing Mortiis’s masterworks. Whether it was furniture, couture apparel, or bespoke accessories, owning a single item from this boutique was the ultimate symbol of prestige.
“It is a necklace,” Ziel remarked.
“Indeed it is. Flawlessly pairing the finest brilliant-cut diamonds with natural royal blue sapphires, woven through our proprietary wounded-braid pattern. Lord Mortiis’s peerless craftsmanship and delicate lapidary technique combine here to bestow a singular dignity meant exclusively for you.”
Now, how about that? the host thought smugly. This particular necklace, christened Serenitas, had received explosive acclaim during the private pre-release gala. Its gender-neutral aesthetic was designed to captivate any soul who laid eyes upon it—
“It is a necklace,” Ziel repeated.
“……”
“Ah.”
The host leaned in slightly, a glimmer of hope rekindling. Could it be? Did he finally recognize its value?
“A necklace that uses a lot of jewels.”
The host nearly choked. Despair and disbelief battered his artistic sensibilities. Does this man possess no aesthetic threshold whatsoever?!
Stubborn obstinacy flared in the host’s chest. Never in the history of the boutique had an individual reacted with such stony indifference. Even those attempting to feign disinterest invariably betrayed greedy, covetous flickers in their eyes. Yet looking into Ziel’s dark irises, the host saw… absolute, barren void. There wasn't an ounce of desire or awe.
He won't be able to ignore this.
“Would you be so kind as to wait here for one moment, sir?”
A few minutes later, the entire atmosphere within the boutique grew heavy. Patrons and attendants alike froze mid-step, their eyes gravitating toward the velvet-lined mahogany case being carried into the salon.
“This is from the Origin Masterpiece Collection.”
A collective gasp rippled through the boutique. The Origin Masterpiece Collection—the pinnacle zenith of Mortiis Boutique, accessible only to an ultra-exclusive tier of verified VIPs. Pieces that were never displayed publicly under any circumstances.
“And among them,” the host announced with solemn reverence, unlatching the velvet clasp, “this is the most exquisite ring in our possession. Its title is ‘The Eternal Vow.’”
He revealed the jewel. “The centerpiece is an unheated, museum-grade emerald mined from the depths of Mount Ergo, flanked by pavé-set white diamonds. Its subtitle reads: ‘The Vow You Shall Engrave Across Eternity.’ Words cannot define the sheer, immaculate purity of its verdant brilliance; it asserts an overwhelming presence upon the wearer’s hand. Born of millions of years beneath the earth, this peerless artifact has been unveiled today solely for your eyes.”
The host concluded his poetic narration with theatrical grace. This time, surely, the man would be humbled.
“It is a ring,” Ziel stated.
“……”
The host’s hands trembled slightly. Never in his entire career had he suffered such an unbearable indignity.
Before he could recover, Ziel tilted his head and asked in genuine perplexity, “I merely inquired about the inventory of a bed. Why do you persist in showing me necklaces and rings?”
“Do you… truly feel no interest whatsoever?”
“None.”
“Even after seeing our seasonal headline and an Origin Masterpiece?”
“What are those?”
The host’s professional world crumbled in an instant. What are those?!
Ziel studied the man’s devastated posture. “Are you requesting my evaluation?”
An evaluation?! Who on earth dared to ‘evaluate’ a creation born from the hands of Mortiis? His works received adulation, worship, and reverence—never base critique!
He’s just an uncultured bumpkin who wandered in by accident, the host desperately tried to convince himself.
“I know nothing about necklaces or rings,” Ziel continued evenly, his gaze shifting across the salon. “However, if you are asking for my personal assessment…”
He raised a hand, pointing toward a shadowed pedestal tucked away in an obscure corner of the boutique.
“That looks significantly better than the necklace and ring you showed me.”
The host blinked, thrown completely off balance. “Which… which piece are you referring to?”
“That bracelet in the corner.”
Ziel was pointing toward a modest, dimly lit glass case near the back. While it was technically on display, almost no patron ever cast a glance its way. Compared to the dazzling, jewel-encrusted splendors filling the boutique, it was unadorned, subdued, and could even be described as somewhat crude.
“That… bracelet?” The host looked as though he had been struck by lightning. His eyes widened, fixing upon Ziel in sheer shock.
Indifferent to the reaction, Ziel offered a simple nod. “Yes. To my eyes, it appears superior. Far more so than anything else currently visible in this room.”
“Ah…!”
“Well then. Since I have confirmed the stock for the bed, I shall take my leave.”
Giving a slight, polite nod, Ziel turned and walked out through the heavy front doors.
A suffocating silence descended over the boutique. Every single attendant and visiting noble turned their heads in unison, staring at the lone gentleman standing in the center of the showroom.
“……”
Left entirely alone, staring blankly at the glass doors through which the young man had vanished, the mustachioed host remained frozen.
“U-um… Lord Mortiis…” a junior attendant whispered tentatively, creeping closer.
It was the master of the boutique himself—Lord Mortiis. Everyone present had known his identity all along. Everyone, that is, except Ziel, who had never seen the designer’s portrait and possessed zero interest in high-society gossip.
Yet Mortiis’s shock had nothing to do with being unrecognized.
“Please don't take it to heart, my lord,” the junior attendant hurried to comfort him. “That customer clearly had no eye for refinement, so you shouldn't let his ignorance—”
“The ignorant one is you,” Mortiis cut in quietly.
His voice was trembling. Turning his gaze, Mortiis looked toward the unpretentious bracelet resting in the shadowy corner.
“That piece was part of my very first collection.”
“Ah…”
“And as you well know, not a single soul paid it the slightest heed. Even after the name of Mortiis became legendary across the Empire, no one ever looked at it. Not once. Even though…”
That crude, honest bracelet was the design into which Mortiis had poured the deepest, purest affection of his youth. And now, more than a decade later, someone had finally seen it. A man who had looked upon the glittering pinnacle of the Origin Masterpiece Collection with absolute apathy had picked that lonely bracelet out of the darkness and declared it superior to everything else in the hall.
So… I was not wrong after all.
Mortiis stood rooted to the floor, lost in profound contemplation. For a fleeting instant, a delicate glimmer of moisture seemed to sheen across the corners of his eyes.
Suddenly snapping back to reality, Mortiis whirled around, his voice urgent. “Do you know who that man was?”
“Uh… I have no idea, my lord. It was my first time seeing him… though with a countenance like that, it's impossible to forget.”
“Obviously!”
Just then, another employee hurried over from the back corridor—the supervisor in charge of the storage facility.
“Forgive the intrusion, Lord Mortiis. It seems our warehouse assistant recognized the gentleman who just departed. You know, the young lady who attends the Academy and works part-time for us?”
“Ah. Lady Karen Aswan.”
“Yes. I overheard her muttering in surprise, so I inquired… and she said he is an instructor at Edelbein Academy.”
Mortiis’s eyes widened. “A professor? At such a remarkably young age?”
“No, my lord. An elective lecturer, apparently.”