Euris Bandem had served as Port Admiral of Purple Rose Harbor for over a decade. The Bandem family wasn’t originally noble; his grandfather had merely been a minor viscount.
Logically, even three generations spanning seventy years might not elevate one to such a high office. Yet Euris’s grandfather was exceptionally shrewd. Through marriage, he secured the hand of a duke’s youngest daughter—a woman already twice-wed and widely regarded among nobles as a libertine.
But nobles operated beyond common understanding. Marriages were tools for gain. Leveraging this ducal connection, his grandfather gradually climbed into the upper echelons of aristocracy.
By the time Euris’s father married another duke’s daughter—a thrice-wed woman of thirty-five, while his father was only twenty-seven—such calculated unions were routine. No one mocked him. Every noble lineage harbored similar pragmatic souls among ancestors or kin.
Thus, Euris inherited his privileged status as a hereditary noble and claimed one of the empire’s seven coveted Port Governor positions.
---
Dusk settled over a dim alleyway bar in Purple Rose Harbor...
“You’re the one who hired me...” The man hunched in the corner grew visibly tense, especially when his contact slid a copper token stamped with a triangular emblem across the table.
“...”
“R-right. I’ve completed your task. Here’s the manor map... At the marked spot—a storage room. In its northwest corner lies a burlap sack full of junk. Beneath it, a chest holds what you asked us to deliver.”
The slender, average-built man standing by the table nodded, reclaiming the copper token that signified his identity.
He wore a short cloak draped over one shoulder and arm, its hood shadowing his face. A shortsword hung at his waist, concealed by the cloak—a deliberate choice to mask drawing motions for sudden strikes. A tactical belt crossed his chest, holding five palm-sized throwing knives. Two flintlock pistols rested in custom holsters at his lower back. Only his icy eyes gleamed beneath the hood and face-wrap, radiating death’s chill. He was an assassin—a professional from an ancient guild. Such organizations, with their webs of resources and intelligence, had existed since time immemorial. Alongside courtesans, assassins were among history’s oldest, most storied professions.
“Your payment...”
“...”
The rasp of that voice sent shivers down the seated man’s spine. He swallowed hard at the sight of the pouch placed before him, stuffed it uncounted into his coat, and fled the bar without looking back. His figure vanished into the alley’s gloom moments later.
---
“Master... Conqueror whom we serve, the carriage is ready.” Lil V knelt on one knee, hand over heart, head bowed.
“Hmm. Let us depart.”
“Yes!”
Unlike the rented carriage used earlier, Count Dracula Joe Shuya—Pipe Captain—now rode in a newly purchased vehicle.
“Hmph. So this is the empire’s most luxurious carriage? One enhanced by magic?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lil V dropped to her knees before the carriage door, arching her back to serve as a step.
*...Sigh. Yielding again under everyone’s expectant stares. Or was it my imagination—did Lil V just smirk triumphantly at Hill?*
Inside, Dracula marveled. This wasn’t a carriage—it was a mobile suite.
The spacious interior glowed with creamy-white tones, soft and pristine. Seats wide enough to lie upon were piled with silk-cushioned pillows stuffed with cotton. Velvet blankets rested in corners—a nod to nobles’ love of countryside excursions and long journeys.
“The wheels bear stability runes. No matter the speed, the ride stays smooth. Temperature-regulating runes maintain perfect comfort inside. Plus, one-way privacy glass and soundproofing enchantments on the windows.”
*One-way glass? Back home, tinted film would’ve sufficed. Soundproofing... remarkably thorough. If my skeletal frame had urges, this carriage would be ideal for... Nonsense. I always despised superiors who pawed at subordinates.*
“The draft horses are magically bred mutant beasts. Docile, tireless, and far swifter than ordinary steeds...”
“Magically bred?”
“Yes. The noble carriage merchant was... generous with details after our payment. These beasts originate from an island nation southwest of the sea. They were magically altered, stimulated, and selectively bred into this superior strain.”
*Sounded like genetic modification from my old world. I’d assumed this realm lived in primitive squalor. Yet nobles—hoarding most resources—live like modern humans. Earlier at the manor, I even saw magic-powered refrigerators and fans. The empire clearly pours magic into daily life.*
*If applied to civilian needs... what about military uses? How advanced could they be?*
Dracula settled into a plush seat. *Huh?* He shifted, surprised by its perfect contour-hugging softness. Every posture felt effortlessly comfortable.
“Master, the seat bears shape-shifting runes. It molds to your body’s pressure points.”
“Astonishing...”
Lil V closed the door and climbed to the driver’s perch.
*What’s this?* Dracula grasped a cup attached to a tube. Pressing a button at its end, water flowed smoothly into the cup.
“A self-contained water system...?”
“Water system?”
“Ah—I meant, is this also enchanted?”
“No magic involved. Just clever mechanics. A tank behind the carriage holds water—or wine, or juice. For refreshment during travel. Ah! The cup’s overflowing!”
Water spilled onto the seat... then vanished instantly, leaving the fabric spotless and dry.
“This is—?”
“A cleanliness enchantment. Merely a household utility spell...” Silver Lock’s face flushed with shame. A master of dark arts, yet ignorant of such trivial magics.
“Hmph. No matter. Petty tricks... though understanding them may prove useful.” *Though why? My crew and I aren’t exactly human. The human pirates I’ve recruited, perhaps? If I hate exploitative superiors... why not become the leader I’d respect?*
He ruffled Silver Lock’s hair in silent encouragement.
“Yes! I understand!”
---
Meanwhile, in the Port Admiral’s small salon, the elderly steward Duwa barked orders with fiery vigor. His white hair stood alert as he directed the frantic preparations.
“Hughes! Move that there! Guests arrive soon—show some spine!”
“You lot! Scrub this spotless! Fail the master, and I’ll have you strung up and whipped!”
“These flowers? Have you never worked here before? Susan! Come here! Take them to the garden—fetch vibrant blooms! Arrange them like last summer’s display!”
“No, remove this table! Not enough chairs? Damn it... Scrap everything! Clear the chairs! Leave a few for the musicians!”
“Cover that corner with cloth! Yes!”
“Blast it! The roast pig’s fire isn’t hot enough? Shall I summon a mage to cast *Flame Boost* for you, you fool? Split the pig and roast it in sections!”
The chef wrung his hands helplessly.
“But... sir, the flavor will suffer.”
“Flavor? Nobles taste everything—they’re not here to eat. Just have the pig ready on time! Go! Don’t trouble me with trifles again!”
Leaning against a wall, Duwa finally caught his breath. Surveying the bustling staff, he deemed all in order. With a sigh, he pulled out tobacco, packed his pipe, and lit it.
---
In the study, Port Admiral Euris penned a letter at his desk. Silver streaked his temples, with only a few strands of deep brown hair meticulously combed atop his head. His ruddy, well-kept face suggested sixty years, though deep wrinkles might have aged him to thirty. Sharp blue eyes dominated his features above a large nose and a thicket of beard obscuring his mouth. Even in casual wear, his bearing radiated the Admiral’s innate authority.
*Ding-ding.* A bell chimed softly. Euris rose immediately, opening the door a crack.
“Mary? What is it?”
He swung the door wider for the young woman in a dress standing there.
“Father, about my adventurer team...”
“Ah. That matter.”
Closing the door, he joined her on the sofa by the window. His stern demeanor melted into pure tenderness as he gazed at his daughter.
Mary Gale Bandem, the Admiral’s youngest at seventeen, possessed chestnut-brown hair and delicate features that invited instant affection. But she was no demure lady. Restless since childhood, she’d mastered fencing and marksmanship.
Indulging her youthful whims, the Admiral had hired tutors, expecting her to quit when sore. Instead, she persevered—and now dreamed of becoming an adventurer.
Rubbing his temples, Euris sighed.
“Mary, you’ll come of age next year. Adventure tales are children’s bedtime stories... Adventurers? Desperate peasants gambling their lives. Luck might grant riches; misfortune leaves corpses unmourned. You’re old enough to consider the family. Any young man caught your eye? I want you settled well...”
“Hmph!”
"Those guys... disgusting creeps who only spout stupid poetry. Their heads are full of filthy thoughts. The clever ones pretend to be noble, while the dumb ones wear their filth right on their faces. Or they're just ambitious schemers trying to climb up to my Admiral father-in-law. Not a single one truly loves me!"
"Hmm... but, my daughter. We are nobles—that's our reality. As nobles, we can't just follow our whims. Yes, we stand above commoners, but we have our own constraints. When you were young, I let you be free, hoping for happy memories... Now you're grown. Think of the family first. Learn to take responsibility."
"...Alright, Father. I was too willful..."
*Sigh.*
Watching his daughter leave, her eyes full of disappointment yet understanding, the Admiral sighed. He immediately pushed it aside and turned his thoughts to the evening's ball.
Holding the guest list, he scanned it carefully. Many would attend, but his secretary had already marked key figures and special guests—making it easy to prioritize.
"Hmm? An overseas noble... Dracula Joe Shuya... S-class special tier. Oh? Likely royalty or a high noble among foreign aristocrats... Interesting. Worth looking into."
————
In the Admiral's mansion storage room, a naked male corpse lay in a shadowy corner. Crimson blood oozed from a fatal neck wound. Beside it, a tall man in servant's attire organized cold-gleaming tools by candlelight. His face was hidden in darkness, only a prominent scar visible near his lip. Blood trickled slowly down his neck, dripping to the floor with a soft *drip... drip...*
Nearby, another figure adjusted a wrist blade hidden in a leather bracer.
*Click!* A sharp blade, roughly 20 centimeters long, shot out.
*Whoosh!* It retracted instantly.
"Hmph."
The man gave a cold snort, slowly pulling on a servant's overcoat. He blew out the candle. With a *creak* of the door opening and closing, darkness swallowed the room again—only the dripping sound echoed intermittently.
