Chapter 15
Warm sunlight fell over the Imperial Capital.
The main avenue was crowded and noisy.
"My goodness. How can someone's skin be this white?"
"Those eyes are like obsidian taken straight from the night sky."
A sweet fragrance began surrounding Riyan in his neatly fitted uniform.
Women gathered around him.
Some were mature.
Others looked as though they'd only recently held their coming-of-age ceremonies.
Each covered her mouth with a fan or some other accessory while laughing softly and smiling brightly.
Whenever Riyan offered praise, they responded with compliments of their own.
Then Riyan carefully mixed questions about what he actually wanted into the conversation.
The laughter never stopped.
Other women passing nearby became curious and joined them.
Before long, a large circle formed around Riyan.
Their attendants filled the avenue.
Eventually, Riyan obtained what he needed.
He bowed and said farewell.
Only then did the women finally begin leaving, some even pretending to wipe tears from their eyes.
"Regardless of your status, how can someone carry himself with such nobility? Truly worthy of an Imperial fighter."
"Fighter Riyan, the beautiful pure-white wolf. Please remember your promise to me. And if another opportunity comes, you absolutely must visit our family's residence."
When Riyan finally escaped the crowd, Haral was waiting.
He had remained frozen like a statue.
Still dazed, he asked:
"You... What are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Y-You bastard, what the hell are you? How did you even...?"
Riyan smiled faintly at Haral's inability to complete a sentence.
"What else would I be? A proud slave of the Rodus Fighter Training Center."
"..."
"Let's go. I found out where we need to go."
"Y-You did?"
Haral had spent most of his life as a mercenary and later as an instructor.
He prided himself on having experienced almost everything.
Yet this was the first time in his life he'd stood so close to so many daughters of prestigious noble families.
Smooth milky skin.
Flowing dresses.
Pure silk gloves.
Eyes like clear lakes peeking out between fans and parasols.
Their bodies smelled so strongly of expensive rose oil that Haral felt as though he'd fallen into a flower garden.
Even their whispers entered his ears like birdsong.
It was like being surrounded by goddesses.
Haral suddenly came back to himself.
He rushed after Riyan and stuck close beside him.
"You bastard. I don't know where you learned something like that, but fine. You pass. I'll graciously accept you as my little brother."
"..."
Little brother?
Considering Riyan's previous life, he didn't think he was quite young enough for that.
He kept walking without much interest.
Haral coughed awkwardly.
"No. Wait. In the mercenary world, skill is everything. You're not a mercenary, but anyway... Right! Friends. How about friends?"
"How could a lowly slave possibly become friends with an instructor as exalted as the heavens?"
"You bastard! It's not like I can call you my older brother!"
Riyan smiled faintly at the desperate tone.
Haral looked miserable.
"Beautiful flowers have thorns. And weren't you the one who told me I'd lose my head if I underestimated nobles?"
"...There are moments when a man must risk his life."
His intentions were so transparent that he might as well have been naked.
Still, Riyan understood.
Who wouldn't be tempted by so many beautiful women gathered together?
Especially when Haral had probably spent his entire life interacting with a rather limited range of women.
But Riyan's thoughts were different.
There was something Eldred had repeatedly drilled into his ears whenever he drank in Riyan's previous life.
What had he said?
A monster and a noblewoman. The difference between the two is probably whether they walk on two legs or four. Both can destroy another person's life over a moment's entertainment or some tiny grudge. In that sense, they're practically the same species.
Speaking from experience?
Do you want to die?
Because of that lesson, Riyan's first reaction when dealing with noblewomen had actually been caution and tension.
Still, after a quiet sigh, he decided to rescue Haral from his misery.
"I don't know. If you happen to know where Tranjest District Four is, perhaps I'll feel more interested in making a new friend."
"Tranjest District Four?"
Haral's head immediately shot up.
He looked around.
Then spotted a carriage in the distance.
The driver seemed to be taking a break along the avenue, reclining in his seat while smoking a pipe.
Haral ran toward him without hesitation.
Riyan organized his thoughts.
At least the first step went well.
From what he'd heard, salons were extremely exclusive social gatherings.
Information about when, where, and who attended circulated only through discreet personal connections.
And that exclusivity seemed to create admiration and longing among those outside the group.
The women Riyan had just spoken with weren't themselves members of the most prestigious families belonging to that salon.
However, one of them did have a faint connection.
Perhaps I could introduce you.
Marienne Binos.
Daughter of Baron Binos.
The woman who had invited Riyan to visit her family residence before they parted.
She had quietly told him there would be a gathering at a mansion in Tranjest District Four.
And she'd insisted that he tell them he'd come on her recommendation.
Riyan had seen faint calculation in her eyes.
She probably wanted recognition for being the person who had brought in the hottest topic in the Imperial Capital.
Like presenting a unique gift no one else had opened yet.
"Hey! Riyan!"
The distant shout pulled him from his thoughts.
Haral stood beside a carriage, waving.
"He says he'll take us there directly if we pay!"
Riyan didn't know what awaited them.
Nor whether his plan would work.
But standing still wouldn't create a solution either.
"Haral. Did you lie to me?"
"What lie?"
"You said a salon was basically a neighborhood tea shop where people drank things, chatted, and pretended to be refined."
"I did."
