Chapter 99
Chapter 99
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: 45. Emperor's Medal (1)
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"Are you Prince Yuri Brioll? Could I get your autograph...?"
"That interview was truly impressive."
"Please take a look here."
Yuri greeted the citizens of the imperial capital one by one as he pushed through the crowd.
Thanks to his interview in Monthly Empire, his popularity had soared beyond measure.
Even Gott had suddenly become a celebrity, and despite his noble lineage with solid backing, offers of sponsorship poured in from all directions.
Yuri muttered to himself.
"But now's not the time to worry about such trivial matters."
He had come to the empire to prevent the war. And now, the time had come to get down to his real business.
Yuri glanced at the letter clutched in his hand.
It bore the emperor's personal seal.
All the nations that had joined the Allied Forces had arrived in the capital, and the emperor had officially announced a grand banquet in the imperial palace to commend their achievements.
To that end, Yuri was leading Brioll's knights to visit a tailor.
He and Rolang had no worries on that front, but the others were vulnerable in such matters.
As Yuri opened the door and stepped inside, the tailor bowed deeply in greeting.
"Thank you for coming."
The shop was filled with all sorts of fabrics and patterns hanging everywhere.
Even at a glance, every piece of material was top-quality.
Simon and Gines, both from noble backgrounds themselves, showed no particular reaction, but Jared stood there gaping as he scanned the price tags.
His hand trembled upon seeing the price of a sample garment on the mannequin.
"Don't worry. I'll cover it."
"Your Highness, that could buy how many bowls of stew...?"
"How many bowls?"
"Well, you see..."
Ignoring Jared, Yuri addressed the tailor.
"We're getting these fitted for His Majesty's banquet. Can you handle it all?"
"Of course."
The tailor wore a monocle. He shifted his gaze from Yuri to Rolang, then to Jared, and onward to the rest, one by one.
The tailor's pupils quivered.
Patterns were already forming in his mind.
He was one of the empire's top tailors, with bookings so backed up that ordinary people couldn't even get on the list. But thanks to Brad from the temple putting in a good word, he had agreed to accommodate Yuri.
Yuri could see why everyone said connections were everything in the empire.
"Ready-to-wear."
The tailor suddenly spoke.
He was pointing at Simon, Gines, and Jared. His hand turned. This time, toward Hernando.
"Custom-made."
Hernando shrugged.
Then his monocle took in Yuri and Rolang. The tailor's lips curved upward.
"Masterpiece."
Yuri realized the man was no ordinary tailor.
He was an artist with his own world.
People like this often acted in ways incomprehensible to normal folk.
"Very well, then."
The tailor had already completed the outfits in his head.
Yuri clapped his hands. He respected experts who had reached the pinnacle in their field, no matter the domain.
"Impressive. You've already finished designing them in your mind?"
"It's my job."
"Amazing. When can we expect them?"
"Considering the time until the banquet, it's quite tight..."
The tailor straightened his tie and bowed politely to Yuri.
"But for Brioll's Third Prince, I'll make it happen."
"Thank you."
"This must be a mission from the gods as well."
He was a devout believer.
Temples often doubled as social hubs, where not just tailors but countless notables in the empire strengthened their ties.
Thanks to such connections, Yuri was able to commission this tailor.
"Shall we take measurements now?"
At the tailor's nod, his assistants stepped forward and measured everyone with tapes. The tailor handled Yuri personally.
They meticulously noted dimensions from every part of the body.
A rough estimate emerged.
"We'll deliver to your hotel once they're complete."
"Appreciate it."
Yuri shook the tailor's hand and left.
But his schedule wasn't over yet. Leading his group, Yuri headed next to a nearby barbershop.
A barber with a stylishly groomed mustache awaited them.
"I've been expecting you. I'll take good care of you."
"Please do."
After the tailoring, now it was time for hair.
Yuri's group took seats one by one in the barbershop.
"It's an honor to style Your Highness."
The owner smiled as he ran his fingers through Yuri's hair. He was already renowned for tending to countless nobles' locks.
"Such beautiful black hair. How shall I style it?"
"My hair..."
Yuri grinned and revealed his princely pickiness.
"Just tidy it up."
"Pardon?"
"Oh, slip."
He had accidentally used polite speech. Yuri cleared his throat.
"You get it, right?"
"Of course."
The barber brimmed with confidence. From bare hands to this position, he had heard that request countless times from male clients.
"Just tidy it up," or "just neaten it."
Was there a more demanding order?
An average barber might smirk and think they'd hooked an easy mark, but not him.
He was a true craftsman who poured his soul into every snip.
That's why he gave his all to such requests.
"I'll show you what 'tidy' really means."
With haircuts done, Yuri's group emerged with glossy, flowing locks.
Just neatening their hair had transformed their auras.
As the group of refined men stepped out, passersby turned to stare.
"Your Highness, is that everything now?"
Simon asked. Unconcealed eagerness laced his voice.
He wanted more.
To become even more handsome.
Having elevated his looks under Yuri's guidance, Simon had awakened to the power of styling and was consumed by a desire to beautify further.
Of course, Yuri wouldn't disappoint.
"One more thing."
"Ooh, what's that...?"
"Skin care, naturally."
"Wha...?"
Simon and the others gulped.
Tension was palpable.
These were men who had abused their skin under the sun swinging swords until tanned. They likely thought such pampering unbecoming of knights.
But Yuri wasn't bound by such prejudices.
Having been dragged by Ekaterina to every beauty salon in his previous life, he knew well the benefits.
"Th-that's a bit..."
"Skin care? That's..."
"Doesn't seem right..."
"Fools."
Yuri strode ahead.
The shop sported a cute pink sign for skin care specialists.
"You'll see once you try."
Yuri opened the door.
With reservations already made, the estheticians bowed in unison at his arrival.
They swiftly assessed the skin of his entering group.
Cracking knuckles echoed as they warmed up.
"It won't be easy, but I'm counting on you."
"Yes, Your Highness. Leave it to us."
The owner brimmed with enthusiasm.
"The gentlemen from Brioll visiting us will be the stars of the banquet. I'll make sure of it."
The gates of the imperial palace, rarely opened, swung wide.
The grandest and most magnificent structure on the continent was undoubtedly the emperor's residence.
The palace was flashy and dynamic, befitting the empire's prestige.
Intricate sculptures adorned every wall, seeming ready to spring to life, and every metal surface gleamed with gold leaf.
Crimson banners, reserved for the emperor alone, fluttered everywhere.
Liberda entered first.
A guard at the entrance blew a horn to announce their arrival.
"Hmm..."
Sven Gain, entering the banquet hall alongside his father Wolf Gain, winced the moment he passed through the doors.
Everything sparkled, requiring time for his eyes to adjust.
The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were overwhelming.
Enormous enough to fill a whole room, countless lamps blazed brightly. Dazzling light refracted endlessly across their surfaces.
"Ah..."
An endless table stretched through the hall, lined with golden candelabras where wicks burned steadily.
Even with few guests yet, an orchestra claimed a section, playing music.
Faced with such opulence for the first time, Sven momentarily lost his words.
The capital had been stunning, but the palace interior was even more lavish.
"This is the empire..."
As Sven murmured, Wolf nodded.
"Yes. Feel their power?"
"Yes."
"That's why we must always stay vigilant."
Liberda's group, led by Wolf, took seats slightly off-center in the hall.
Guests began arriving gradually. Imperial nobles entered continuously.
Most were lords from regions Sven had never heard of, yet all flaunted their wealth in extravagant attire.
In the empire, even minor provincial lords seemed wealthier than average kings.
Sven felt a bit intimidated but straightened up, mimicking his father's upright posture.
"From the Klein Duchy."
True to their spice origins, a faint floral scent wafted as they appeared.
The Klein group, like Sven at first, paused overwhelmed by the hall's scale, scanning for seats.
Meanwhile, servants brought light bites.
Popping them in casually, the flavors astonished.
Wolf muttered.
"Even rare spices used without a second thought."
Sven gazed at the front of the hall, draped in red curtains.
Beyond lay the throne where the emperor would sit.
How magnificent it would be defied imagination.
If this mighty empire waged full war, how long could other nations hold out?
The mere thought chilled him.
Then the horn sounded again.
Familiar faces from the Allied Forces appeared.
"Holy Kingdom and Burson have arrived."
A newcomer led the Holy Kingdom. As Sven tilted his head, Wolf explained.
"Larson, the Holy Kingdom's heir. Didn't show his face in the army, but appears for events like this."
Hose, arriving next, remained imposingly large.
Unfazed by the hall, he sauntered, snacking boldly. Sven admired his boldness.
"Whew..."
Sven glanced around.
He'd initially thought the banquet purely celebrated the Allied Forces' victory, but doubts crept in.
Was it to flaunt the empire's superiority over other nations?
Even highborn Allied envoys seemed inferior to the imperial nobles.
Compared to them, the Allied delegations resembled bumpkin barons.
Sven knew it was inferiority complex, but he couldn't shake the shrinking feeling.
Not when a noble kid strolling nearby casually wore a massive diamond necklace.
"When's that guy showing up..."
Perhaps that's why Sven oddly anticipated Brioll's Third Prince.
Suddenly, the horn blared. Sven reflexively looked to the entrance.
"Uh..."
As the doors opened, black hair fluttered in the breeze.
Sven panicked.
Not just him—everyone in the hall fell silent.
Sven let out a hollow laugh.
Of course. He knew that guy would be different.
Whispers of his name rippled.
"Yuri Brioll..."
He casually scanned the room once, betraying no reaction to the splendor.
His expression was like appraising graffiti on a wall.
Then he strode in calmly.
His garments rustled softly.
These armor-clad fellows now donned mysteriously elegant, beautiful attire, hair perfectly groomed to suit their features.
Not overdone, yet far from plain—everything refined to perfection.
The lead Third Prince and trailing Rolang were renowned for striking looks anyway, but the knights behind had builds like tailors' models.
The Third Prince entered boldly.
The entire hall buzzed.
His aristocratic gait even cowed the imperial nobles.