June 27th, morning. Capital Lucien, Lower City, Arc de Triomphe Avenue.
Today, Lucien City felt like a boiling cauldron, the noise and fervor almost ready to blow the rooftops off.
Foreign merchants gazed curiously at the festooned streets of the Lower City, their clumsy Lorraine tongue asking locals, “Is today a special holiday?”
At this, the citizens would answer proudly, “Not a holiday—it’s a celebration! We’re celebrating the Lorraine Kingdom’s long-awaited great victory!”
The Count of the Borderlands, in the Battle of Grey Mist Cape, annihilated several thousand elite Norsemen pirates in one fell swoop, leaving the Norsemen battered and weary.
For years to come, they’d hardly recover enough to menace the Kingdom’s coasts again.
After so long shrouded in silence, even sparking doubts about whether he still lived, old King Louis XI had, for once, personally ordered a grand Triumphal Parade.
These past years, calamities and misfortune struck one after another, bad news piling up, and the whole Kingdom was steeped in a stifling, deathly gloom.
The old king’s sudden “resurrection” and this rousing victory were like a shot of adrenaline for the whole nation.
This grand Triumphal Parade was even more an outlet for everyone to vent their feelings and reclaim hope. The citizens simply treated it as a huge festival to celebrate.
Caught up in this near-festive fever, many simply skipped work or took leave, flooding the streets, all for a glimpse of the illustrious Count of the Borderlands, and his daughter—Livia von Stern—rumored to be a beauty beyond compare and a hero of the battlefield.
It seemed the people’s passion for legendary beauties was truly a theme eternal across the ages.
Some sharp shopkeepers simply shut up their stores, pushing carts along the streets to sell food and drinks.
The children, too, darted about the crowds like it was a festival, only to be inevitably snatched up by their parents and spanked on the rear:
“You rascal! If you get hit by a carriage, you’ve only yourself to blame! And if you dash into the path of a Noble’s carriage and get them upset, the whole family will be in for trouble!”
The parents’ worries were not unfounded. In these times, a Noble’s wrath was far more terrifying than a child’s bump or bruise.
In stark contrast to the festive, jubilant townsfolk were the Nobles and their households, who had also come down to the Lower City.
They made no effort to hide their disdain for commoners, their moods generally sour, low voices complaining endlessly about the old King.
“His Majesty stirs up all this commotion, but doesn’t even show himself, only makes us come down here to the Lower City… isn’t this just putting us through the wringer?”
“Exactly. Celebrate with the people? Who wants to ‘celebrate’ with these stinking mud-legs!”
“Even if you strew flowers, it won’t cover up the stench of this damn place!”
And the Nobles’ complaints weren’t entirely unfounded.
Recently, many commoners, afraid of the so-called “miasma” causing disease, didn’t bother bathing much, so hygiene was indeed questionable.
But, they dared not speak up.
The Ceremony Officers of the Royal Household patrolled the Noble’s quarter like hawks, meticulous and well-versed in every arcane detail of etiquette, strictly controlling the ceremony’s proceedings.
They could call out every Noble’s name with precision, and their cold eyes scrutinized everyone to see if their manners fit their station.
Once they noted your name down and reported you to the King, your days ahead would become hard indeed.
In the highly centralized Lorraine Kingdom, the strict system of etiquette was no mere show—it was a powerful tool of rule.
The complex rituals made the King’s power sacred, even theatrical, highlighting his supreme authority; the rigid hierarchy constantly reminded everyone of their place, keeping Noble society stable.
The Nobles knew full well: this very etiquette set them apart from the “mud-legs.”
Between the commoners’ zone and the Nobles’, the line was stark—one side a noisy, boiling ocean, the other a suppressed, solemn island—a contrast almost satirical.
Allen and his father, Bernard Viscount, stood on this “Noble island,” equally ill at ease and out of place.
Bored, Allen looked around.
This section was filled with robed Nobles, all forced to stand. Farther off, the Sword-Bearing Nobles had temporary grandstands to sit on—a naked display of privilege.
But even those Sword-Bearing Nobles were wearing sour expressions, clearly displeased with the old King’s arrangements.
Allen could understand.
Arc de Triomphe Avenue was the grand axis of Lucien City, deliberately running through the Lower City of the commoners, the Upper City of the Nobles, and ending at the Royal Palace—a “golden passage” displaying power and connecting all classes for control.
The old King’s decision to have all Nobles come down to the Lower City instead of welcoming the parade in the Upper City was a clear message to keep them in line.
“Dad,” Allen sidled up to Bernard, whispering, “How about I sneak over to the commoners’ zone?”
He looked toward the crowd of commoners, where Marianne was with the Dawn’s Children and the servants of Laval House—his real people, where he truly belonged.
Bernard gave his son a sidelong glance. “Go if you like, but remember to change out of that eye-catching getup. Wearing Noble formalwear among commoners is way too conspicuous.”
“Got it! I’m off, then. This place is stifling, not even anyone to talk to.” Allen was overjoyed to be granted amnesty.
“Nobles aren’t like this in their own salons,” Bernard said offhandedly. “Say, you really have no interest in visiting the other Nobles’ salons? I know you hate them, but learning about so-called ‘high society’ isn’t such a bad thing.”
“Are we not ‘high society’ ourselves?” Allen shot back.
“That’s true.” Bernard was tickled by the flattery, proudly stroking his nonexistent beard.
“The other Nobles don’t even realize their ‘upper crust’ is something invented by people. Like our own home—master and servant in harmony, such a big, happy family atmosphere—you won’t find another like it in all the Capital Lucien!”
“That’s only because we’re a little more comfortable these days,” Allen reminded him. “But Dad, the revolution hasn’t succeeded yet, our comrades still need to work hard.”
Bernard certainly knew that Laval House’s current glory was mostly propped up by loans. They had to get the business going and start making a profit soon.
“Don’t worry, son. Yesterday I already pushed through the registration for the Handicraft and Labor Mutual Aid Guild and the Lily Guard mercenary company. As expected, if you grease the wheels enough, even those lazy bureaucrats work like lightning! The Printing Press project is also coming along fast—our ‘money-printing machine’ will be up and running soon!”
“As expected of Dad! Without you holding down the fort, we’d have been done for ages.”
“Oh, come on, it’s thanks to you finding us a new path!”
After a bout of thoroughly useless but mutually flattering “business talk,” Bernard waved with a smile. “Go on, go have fun. I’ll handle things over here.”
“Aye, sir! Luckily I had the butler prepare commoner’s clothes in advance.” Allen’s mood soared, finally able to escape this suffocating air.
Seizing a moment when the Ceremony Officers weren’t looking, he slipped out of the Noble zone, planning to take a shortcut to the Noble carriage area and change clothes in his family’s carriage.
But as he slipped into a narrow alley, he actually bumped into a familiar face!
“Hey! What a coincidence, brother!” came a lively voice.
Also unable to stand the suffocating pretense of the Noble zone, Hugo du Bernard was about to sneak off as well, when he instantly recognized Allen—the “knowledgeable guy” he’d met at the Thieves’ Guild headquarters!
“Sure enough, this world never tires of trying to send me to a bad end…”
The moment Allen saw this “Sun Knight,” he knew he couldn’t shake this fated trouble.
He instantly wore a deadpan expression.
Hugo eyed Allen’s expensive Noble attire, sidling up with a grin. “Ha! So you really are a Noble! Whose Young Master Allen are you?”
“Can I not say?” Allen tried to struggle.
Hugo paid no heed to Allen’s resistance, cheerfully going on, “My name’s Hugo du Bernard, I’m a Sword-Bearing Noble, my old man’s a Count. But our fief went bust years ago thanks to disasters—the peasants are almost starving.”
“My father couldn’t bear it, so he dissolved the tenant system and let them go find work in other Nobles’ lands. Ended up creating a refugee problem and a lot of trouble. In the end, our family had to abandon the fief and come to the capital to make a living. I have to say, the capital is great—way better than the countryside… Eh? Where’d you go?”
Allen, taking advantage of his endless rambling, tried to slip away again, only to be easily caught like a chick by Hugo, whose physical strength far surpassed ordinary people.
He had no choice. Allen really didn’t want to reveal too much of his own strength—he was still counting on this passionate idiot to go pester Livia instead.
“Hey, brother, let me finish! By the way, what’s your name?” Hugo pressed on relentlessly.
“…Sigh.” Allen knew he couldn’t escape, and sighed. “I’m that infamous scoundrel everyone gossips about in the capital.”
“Eh?” Hugo scrutinized Allen’s face, then lit up with delight. “So you’re that Allen de Laval everyone’s always mocking? I heard you even made a public confession recently? Is that for real?”
“It’s real.”
“Wow! Then how did you end up at a place like the Thieves’ Guild? Were you there to have some fun, or up to no good?” Hugo’s mind always went straight to the point.
Allen stared wordlessly at this official CP of Livia from the original story, retorting, “Then what were you doing in that place?”
Hugo, open and almost righteous, said, “Hey! My family’s almost bankrupt, dirt poor! My old man is all about saving face, has to keep up the Noble show. We can only rent an apartment now, but he still insists on hiring servants! I have to find a way to make some money. At least I’m a Mark Bearer, right? I can take on some adventures and odd jobs, no problem!”
Allen eyed him like a rare animal. “You do realize most of the money there is dirty, right?”
Hugo scratched his wild brown hair, admitting frankly, “I really didn’t! I was just asking around for the highest-paying jobs where I could stay anonymous, and someone pointed me there. Only after listening to your ‘translation’ did I realize it was a den of thieves!”
“So, what’s your view of the Thieves’ Guild now?” Allen probed.
“Uh…” Hugo seemed a bit conflicted.
“Once I realized it, I saw that what they do is all illegal. But I don’t have much choice! My dad keeps telling me not to get into trouble. Our family’s already offended a lot of Nobles—if we tangle with someone powerful with connections, we could just vanish.”
Allen noticed that this passionate fool wasn’t quite as brainless as he seemed—he at least realized the Thieves’ Guild had backers.
Still, he wouldn’t side with the Thieves’ Guild, which put Allen at ease—one less potential problem in the coming purge.
Allen’s villainous brain was quickly churning: this guy may be a protagonist… but maybe… he could be useful?
“Actually, I went to the Thieves’ Guild headquarters for something big.” Allen put on a mysterious air. “But it has to stay absolutely secret—I can’t tell you.”
“Oh? What big thing?” Hugo took the bait, curiosity ablaze.
“Things succeed in secrecy, fail when spoken. What I’m about to do is not something a simple Noble youth like you should know.” Allen dangled the mystery. “You should just wait here and watch the Triumphal Procession.”
Fearing Livia would get bored, Allen even added a little provocation: “I hear the Count of the Borderlands’ daughter, Livia von Stern—her ‘Star’ Engraved Mark is incredible. She’s probably the strongest Mark Bearer of all. Sigh, these days, women are truly second to none.”
Hugo was instantly fired up, pounding his chest with confidence. “I’ve heard that too! But there’s no way she’s stronger than me! The one who should have been cheered by the crowds was supposed to be me! I didn’t get to sign up for the battle, only found out later that her connections snatched the spot from me!”
Wow, this guy is really full of himself! Allen thought. In the original, you got flattened by her!
“So, I’m still super curious about what you’re up to!” Hugo’s attention snapped back, slinging an arm around Allen’s shoulder. “Aren’t we brothers? We go through hardship together and share good fortune! Come on, tell me!”
“Who’s your brother!” Allen struggled to break free.
Hugo and Anna were both dog-like, eager-to-befriend types—but at least Anna was a cute girl!
With a man clinging this close, Allen just felt all kinds of awkward!
He was a straight man to the core—a loyal gardener in his pure yuri flower garden!
“Men… become friends after a good fight!”
Halfway through his sentence, Hugo, without any warning, suddenly swung a punch at Allen!