The next day, after breakfast, Roland and Silva left the imperial palace and headed straight for the capital of the Moshando Empire.

Ranked among the top five human empires in comprehensive strength, the Moshando Empire boasted deep heritage, prosperous citizens, and thriving industries. Its capital, Oliverlam, was a world-famous metropolis where elves, dwarves, and other races lived peacefully alongside humans. Their contributions of capital and labor fueled the city’s nonstop growth. As prosperity rose, so did living standards—arcane hover cars, once rare luxuries, now glided openly through streets, a clear sign of the citizens’ wealth.

Silva had once researched this: resident happiness indices climbed steadily year after year, per capita GDP rose gently. The nation flourished—a golden age of peace unseen for millennia.

Since the palace sat at the city’s heart, Roland and Silva slipped out through a side gate to avoid crowds and keep Silva from being recognized.

She wore a simple white dress, a sweet smile seemingly etched into her features. Subtle makeup softened her noble aura; she looked no different from any ordinary, lovely girl.

Roland scanned the scenery—but his eyes hunted for what he truly needed.

Magic stones held pure, natural mana, utterly untainted. With his magical abilities sealed, Roland could only use that purity to cast a spell and unlock the magic bracelet binding him. And since magic stones were core components of Arcane Gears, finding either would set him free.

If only he had his coat back. But after drinking that honesty potion, he’d spilled its secret—and Silva had confiscated it. For a full month, he’d searched the palace. No trace.

“Roland,” Silva murmured, slipping her hand into his with a radiant smile, “do you remember our agreement?”

Roland jolted as if shocked. He’d held girls’ hands before—but never one like Silva’s: elegant, refined, breathtaking. Soft. Smooth. Tender. Slightly cool… an indescribable comfort that made him want to hold on longer. He barely restrained himself.

“This is my first time holding a boy’s hand,” Silva whispered, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes shyly lowered—a sight so sweet it made hearts ache.

“L-Let’s… just walk around first,” Roland stammered, fingers brushing his own burning face.

*Damn it!* He’d once slain a dragon stark naked before an entire village! Hundreds watched—he hadn’t flinched. So why blush *now*?

Unscientific! Unmagical!

“Are you blushing?” Silva giggled. Her goddess-tier smile turned heads; a few passersby nearly collided with those ahead.

A beautiful girl’s smile held devastating power.

“I’m not! It’s not that! I’m not!” Roland protested fiercely. “It’s just… too hot out!”

“Oh? Really?” Silva’s flawless smile crinkled with playful doubt.

“Definitely! Let’s just go shopping,” Roland rushed to change the subject.

…

Unseen by the pair strolling the vibrant streets, shadowed eyes tracked their every move.

“Hey, big bro Miles—what about that couple?”

“They look perfect. Shall we?”

“Hehe~”

“Hehe~”

…

“A high-end boutique lies ahead. Let’s buy clothes there,” Roland suggested.

“Mm-hmm,” Silva chimed, hand still in his, face blooming with quiet joy.

“Then let’s head to—”

“Halt!” “Halt!”

“Holy crap!”

Roland’s words cut off as two figures burst from the crowd—thunder-faced and furry-mouthed… wait, no. Two handsome, lavishly dressed nobles radiating unmistakable goofiness.

They blocked the path. Roland instinctively pulled Silva behind him. “Who are you?!”

“No misunderstanding intended!” one declared. “We brothers mean no harm—we simply wish to… show off our wealth.”

Roland: “…” Silva: “…”

*What?!*

*Show off?!*

I get you’re rich, but announcing it like that? Seriously?!

“Hey! Someone call a doctor!” Roland yelled to the gathering crowd.

The golden-haired noble stepped forward. “I am Miles, son of Earl Arnold. This is my brother, Martin.”

“Our excessive wealth gave us a peculiar condition,” Martin added smoothly. “Only by showcasing our prized treasures can we be cured. We seek discerning souls—like yourselves—to appreciate their profound meaning. You radiate true affluence. Care to witness?”

They bowed with theatrical grace.

Roland’s eye twitched. Silva mirrored his speechless stare.

*Condition?* More like “can’t stand not showing off”! What nonsense!

And since when do *we* look rich?! You just randomly stopped passersby to justify flaunting!

What a refreshingly shameless flex—nothing like those flashy show-offs!

“Not interested. We’re busy,” Roland waved, tugging Silva away. She held his arm, whispering:

“We’ve got time. Let’s watch.”

“…Fine.” Roland sighed. One wrong move, and she’d ship him back to the palace.

“One question first,” Roland turned to them. “Why *only* the wealthy?”

Miles and Martin exchanged glances. Martin answered: “Our treasures carry deep history and extraordinary meaning. Only those with vision and refinement can grasp their essence.”

“Interesting,” Roland smirked. *Let’s see what you’ve got.*

“Then behold our treasures!” Miles boomed, clapping once.

From a nearby alley, armored soldiers emerged—carrying a massive chest.