Chapter 14
Morning arrived.
The sunlight entering through the window felt gentler than before.
Riyan's body, however, still hadn't fully recovered.
Even so, he slowly rose.
After washing lightly, he stood before the mirror.
Still white.
Even though he had lived in this body for quite some time now, its appearance still didn't feel like his.
Riyan touched his hair a few times.
Then deliberately messed it up and lost interest.
His upper body had grown considerably stronger.
But the dark bruises from the previous match remained.
Every movement still caused a dull ache.
It shouldn't matter much.
I'm not going out to fight.
Riyan turned toward the uniform hanging nearby.
Berka had provided it.
The previous night, after the drunken Haral barged into his room and talked for some time, Riyan requested permission to leave the training center.
Berka received the report and supplied the uniform.
A slave wearing a formal uniform.
At first glance, it seemed contradictory.
But there was a reason.
To a training center, fighters were assets capable of attracting enormous sponsorships.
Such valuable resources couldn't be allowed to walk through the streets dressed in rags.
How else would they attract the attention of refined nobles?
"Hmm."
Riyan first put on a linen shirt.
Over it, he wore a leather breastplate dyed black with ink and tightened the straps.
Pressure against his injured ribs made him groan softly.
He ignored it.
Then put on a similarly black-dyed coat.
Looking into the mirror, his white hair and pale skin stood out sharply against the dark uniform.
Riyan took a small breath.
Then nodded.
"Let's go."
"Oh, Riyan! You can already move around?"
Berka grinned widely when Riyan came to report his outing.
The usual overbearing and violent look in his eyes had disappeared.
Instead, greed and delight gleamed openly.
"More or less."
"Khahaha! You monster! So you want to go out into the capital?"
"Lying in bed all day is getting frustrating."
"Of course! Completely understandable. More importantly, a fighter who produces results deserves a proper reward. Let's see..."
Berka approached.
He walked a circle around Riyan and examined the uniform.
Then grinned.
"The women of the capital are going to lose their minds."
"...Are they?"
"Of course. Do you know how expensive that uniform is? Naturally, the person wearing it matters too. Anyway, don't go tearing it somewhere. And..."
Berka paused.
He took a leather pouch from inside his clothes.
The jingling suggested it contained a fair amount of money.
"Several silver coins. The rest is copper. Since you're going out, spend freely. It should be enough."
Riyan smiled bitterly.
What expression would Berka make if he learned Riyan currently possessed nearly thirty gold coins?
No reason to kick a beehive.
Riyan accepted the pouch and bowed.
"Thank you."
"I'll send Haral with you. I'm not specifically trying to watch you. Letting a slave fighter walk around alone is... complicated procedurally. Yesterday you looked eager to get outside, so tolerate it for now."
"Understood."
"And wear this."
Berka fastened the familiar bracelet, apparently a restraint, around Riyan's wrist.
"I'm asking you. Please don't cause trouble. You're smart enough to understand what I mean."
The response to Berka's repeated warning came from behind them.
"Don't worry. I'll keep him from doing anything stupid."
Haral appeared with a huge yawn.
Berka's brows immediately drew together.
"You're the one I'm most worried about, bastard! Yesterday you were stumbling around the training center drunk and reeking of liquor. Great work."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Haral wore a shirt, a practical leather jacket, and a sword at his waist.
He jerked his chin.
"Let's go, White Wolf."
"...Very well."
Berka tilted his head.
"White Wolf?"
"Go outside. Everyone in the Imperial Capital is calling him that. White Wolf."
"Oh! That's actually pretty good! We'll use that for promotion from now on!"
Unable to stop goosebumps from rising along his arms, Riyan headed outside.
Haral followed.
They left under Berka's farewell and began heading toward the main gate.
Haral yawned again so widely his mouth nearly split.
"My head's going to crack. Damn it."
Apparently the hangover was considerable.
Haral raised the side of his hand against the bright sunlight and glanced at Riyan.
"So where are we going? You still don't look fully recovered. You sure you're okay?"
"I can walk."
"Good enough."
"First... there's someone I'd like to meet."
"Someone you want to meet? You can't possibly know anyone in the Imperial Capital. It's not like you've got friends... Ahem."
Perhaps remembering his broken arm, Haral swallowed the rest.
Riyan smiled faintly.
"I don't know anyone personally. But there is someone I've learned about. More importantly..."
Riyan briefly looked around the training center.
In the distance, instructors screamed while fighters suffered through training.
Other than that, it was a pleasant day.
Warm sunlight.
A gentle breeze.
Yet underneath it all, Riyan thought he could feel something cold.
Was it imagination?
"You said the Secret Intelligence Bureau answers directly to the Imperial Inspector?"
"Huh? What? Ah. Yes."
"You told me last night that they put someone on me."
Apparently remembering his drunken conversation, Haral awkwardly rubbed between his brows.
"I did."
"You said they didn't appear hostile. Although that could depend on how I behave."
"Right. But don't worry too much. Anything that would upset them is probably something you shouldn't be doing as a slave fighter in the first place. And I'll be standing beside you with both eyes open to stop you."
Riyan nodded.
He established a boundary in his mind.
Then adjusted his plan so it wouldn't cross that boundary.
"First, I'd like to meet a fighter I saw before."
"A fighter?"
"Yes. The Rose Fighter."
The Rose Fighter.
The handsome man Berka had pointed out on their way to the Winning Streak Battle.
Haral frowned even more deeply.
"Why him?"
"I have some questions."
"Don't tell me you..."
Haral slowly began sidestepping away.
Riyan sighed.
"I'm not interested in men. Even if I were, you would be excluded."
"What's wrong with me? I'm still young and firm."
"Impressive confidence for a retired mercenary in his thirties."
"Kid, surviving means you're strong. And women are naturally drawn to strong men."
Haral grinned.
Riyan chuckled.
"Anyway, I don't know where the Rose Fighter is. Why would I? I'm not some noble lady. And going all the way to his training center would be difficult. It's on the opposite side of the capital. Even by carriage, probably more than half a day."
"Half a day?"
"Country bumpkin. You think the Imperial Capital is an empty field? You'll faint if you see how clogged the central avenue gets with carriages."
"Then..."
Riyan thought.
After a moment, he nodded.
"You just gave me a clue."
"A clue?"
"The place where noblewomen and young ladies gather most often. If we go there, someone will know where the Rose Fighter is."
"What are you talking about?"
"If you want to find a bee, you look for flowers. There's a good chance we'll meet someone who knows him personally."
"Ah... I see."
Haral nodded.
"Several places come to mind..."
He remained thoughtful.
Only after they passed through the training center's main gate did he shake his head.
"No. The more I think about it, the worse this plan sounds."
"Why?"
"The first thing I thought of was a salon..."
"A salon?"
Salon.
According to Haral, salons in the Imperial Capital were centers of exclusive high society where noblewomen gathered to exchange information.
On the surface, they were elegant places where artists and writers were invited and people pursued refined aesthetics.
Beneath that surface, however, they were battlefields of political intrigue among women.
"...Meaning it's not a place where a slave fighter like you belongs. You might be allowed inside. You're one of the hottest topics in the capital right now."
"So entry itself isn't the problem."
"Right. Curiosity alone might get you through the door. But there are other problems. First, I don't know where any of those salons actually are. Obviously I don't know anyone connected to them either."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. Even if we somehow find one, Berka might tear you apart when we get back. Actually, if that's all he does, we'll be lucky."
Riyan frowned at the image of the huge man charging at him.
"Why?"
"You bastard, I hate bringing this up all the time, but you keep forcing me! You're a slave!"
So that was the issue.
Riyan chuckled.
Haral sighed.
"This idiot gets praised a few times and suddenly stops being afraid of nobles. One wrong word inside a salon and your head comes off. You think the nobles there are random country lords visiting the capital? Every one of them belongs to an old family rooted here!"
"So as long as I don't give them a reason, it's fine."
"Oh, my head."
Already suffering from a hangover, Haral pressed both temples.
"You think noble etiquette is something you haggle over in a market?"
Riyan smiled.
He understood Haral's concern.
He wasn't foolish enough to ignore the danger either.
But he needed to go.
Especially because he was now being watched.
Doing something that could be misunderstood would be dangerous.
A salon, however, was different.
What was the purpose of fighters in the first place?
To make the Arena the center of attention.
To circulate wealth through enormous sponsorships from noble families.
Showing his face in high society and looking for the Rose Fighter would hardly concern Imperial surveillance.
At worst, they'll think I'm another bee chasing sponsorship.
If anything, it might reduce suspicion.
It would look exactly like the normal behavior they'd seen from countless fighters.
And Riyan intended to hide his real goal inside that appearance.
Books alone aren't enough. If I want to understand the system realistically and create a path forward, I need to enter their world myself.
That was why he wanted the Rose Fighter.
And why he'd decided to find a salon.
Haral was strongly opposing the idea for now.
Still, Riyan had something he trusted.
A memory from his previous life.
A sword may be wielded by the body, but proper control of the body begins with a disciplined mind. And nothing cultivates that mind better than restrained etiquette.
Those were Eldred's words while teaching him manners.
At the time, Riyan had wondered what use etiquette could possibly have in the middle of a war.
Apparently there were times when it became unexpectedly useful.
"So the real issue is simply whether you're confident I won't make a mistake inside."
"What? Wait. Where are you going?"
Riyan nodded and walked forward.
Haral frowned.
They had already entered the city after leaving the training center.
There were plenty of people along the street.
Riyan selected a target.
A woman dressed in expensive but not excessively luxurious clothing.
Old enough that marriage certainly wouldn't be inappropriate.
She wore an elegant dress and carried a parasol.
Three or four servants accompanied her.
Riyan approached.
"Hm?"
The woman initially became cautious when someone suddenly walked toward her.
Then she noticed Riyan's neat appearance and smiled gently.
"Do you need something?"
Riyan stopped at a respectful distance.
Then smoothly drew his right foot backward and bent his knee.
The tail of his uniform coat descended in an elegant curve.
He placed his left hand over his heart.
At the lowest point of the bow, he met the woman's eyes.
"How could a blade of grass bowed beneath a barren sky dare remain silent when blessed by such a noble breeze?"
"Oh my!"
The woman adjusted her parasol in surprise.
But she couldn't hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.
She even began twisting her legs slightly.
"..."
Haral watched the entire exchange.
He froze in place.
Then a strange sound escaped his throat.
