After Charlot Mecklenburg returned from dining at Julian Arsilo’s residence, he headed straight back to Embassy Street. There, he secluded himself, pondering how to leave his name on the alliance treaty between the two nations.
Although Aurora Soumet had only provided a single piece of intelligence, its value was astronomical—worth tens of thousands of écus. Many would gladly pay that sum for such critical information, and yet not everyone could secure even a single word of it.
As for the upcoming duel with Count Lamorak, it was still not formally arranged, and thus need not be considered for the time being.
Currently, Charlot possessed two rapiers: Blood Rose and Unicorn Vulture, as well as the vampiric short spear Withered Rose. Although they were not as convenient as the Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle and two Silver Rhinos, they were sufficient for standard combat scenarios.
Charlot had no idea what sort of weapons Aurora might gift him next, but if they included two more vampiric ones, he would at least not suffer any disadvantage in terms of weaponry. As for his personal strength, there was no point dwelling on it—it was what it was.
After a brief moment of reflection, Charlot heard the sound of a carriage pulling up outside. Rising to greet the visitor, he saw High Priest Auguslatin stepping down.
The High Priest’s face glowed with satisfaction, a clear sign of the pleasant days he’d been enjoying. Upon seeing Charlot, he beamed and asked, “How did your meeting with Miss Soumet go?”
Charlot decided to get straight to the point. “Aurora and I have agreed to push for an alliance between the two nations to counter Byron. Tomorrow, I will draft a formal document to present to Count Soumet, the foreign minister of the Ingrima Empire.”
The High Priest was visibly startled. “A matter of national importance cannot be handled so recklessly!”
Charlot thumped his chest and said, “Precisely because it is of national importance, I must spare no effort. Miss Soumet has already agreed to help deliver the document.”
In truth, Charlot had no proper justification for placing his name on such a significant treaty. So, he decided to play a bold game, bluffing the High Priest to gauge his reaction.
The High Priest, caught between amusement and exasperation, repeatedly emphasized that national affairs must not be approached with such imprudence. He even hinted that he himself was making significant progress and might be granted an audience with the Emperor of Ingrima as early as next month.
But the more Charlot listened, the less confident he felt. “Why does it seem like High Priest Auguslatin knows nothing about the alliance negotiations?” he thought.
“Could it be that someone else is pushing this initiative? Perhaps another envoy? Or even a shadow delegation?”
In diplomacy, such tactics were not unheard of—a visible diplomatic mission often concealed a covert one, with the latter holding the real authority to determine foreign policy.
Charlot and the High Priest argued intensely for some time before retreating to a private room to discuss the matter further. Late into the night, Charlot finally persuaded the High Priest, who reluctantly agreed to allow the document to be submitted—but only with his official seal, not his signature.
The High Priest was wary of being implicated in any reckless venture.
Charlot, however, was overjoyed. He immediately burned the midnight oil to draft the document. In his previous life, he had been a mathematics teacher; in this life, a bona fide Central Government Office civil servant. Drawing on this dual expertise, he crafted a meticulous 23,000-word treaty advocating for the alliance, replete with exhaustive data, logical arguments, and even borrowed elements from Earth’s public records. His prose sparkled with eloquence and wit, nearly incorporating stories from The Thirty-Six Stratagems for added flair.
Thanks to his eighth-tier extraordinary abilities, Charlot worked through the night without rest. By dawn, he had a fully polished document, complete with the High Priest’s official seal. Knowing the High Priest wanted no further involvement, Charlot eagerly carried the document alone to the Ingrima Empire’s Foreign Minister’s residence.
Ordinarily, Charlot’s status would never have granted him an audience with the esteemed Count Soumet. But, thanks to his connection with Aurora Soumet, she managed to secure him a chance to dine with the Count.
The luncheon venue was a small but elegant restaurant situated on elevated grounds within the Foreign Minister’s estate. From there, one could gaze upon the breathtaking view of the Rosé River flowing through Britain—a sight far superior to what Charlot could see from his own residence at 58 Elysée Avenue.
Present at the luncheon were only three individuals: the Count, Aurora, and Charlot.
Despite his lofty rank and influence, Count Soumet maintained a genial demeanor. He shared lighthearted conversation with his daughter, creating a relaxed and amiable atmosphere.
Charlot, sensing the dynamic, wisely kept his remarks to a minimum. However, when the Count’s meal arrived, Charlot couldn’t help raising an eyebrow—it was prepared in the style of the Fars Empire.
“Are you from Fars?” the Count asked, smiling. “Try my chef’s Farsian cuisine and let me know if it’s authentic.”
Charlot’s plate included roast chicken, grilled fish with steak, and a side salad, accompanied by champagne—a rarity even in most Farsian restaurants. After a taste, he nodded approvingly. “More authentic than any Farsian meal I’ve ever had. But my palate isn’t the best judge—I’ve only eaten at public restaurants and never had the privilege of sampling a noble’s private kitchen.”
The Count chuckled, noticing the thick document Charlot had placed beside him. “Is that for me?”
Charlot hastily presented the fruit of his labor. The Count took the document and began reading. After only a few lines, his expression shifted to astonishment. By the time he finished the first page, he was thoroughly engrossed.
Halfway through, the Count paused and said to Charlot, “Mr. Mecklenburg, please enjoy your meal slowly. I must visit the palace to meet His Majesty.”
He turned to his daughter. “Aurora, ensure Mr. Mecklenburg stays here until I return. I may need further clarification from him.”
With that, Count Soumet departed in a hurry.
Charlot, though puzzled by the Count’s abrupt departure, saw no reason to let it dampen his appetite. He devoured his own lunch and, seeing that the Count’s untouched meal was getting cold, smoothly brought the plate over. “A man of the Count’s stature shouldn’t eat cold food.”
Aurora, dumbfounded, whispered, “So, you’re just going to eat it?”
Tasting the Count’s foie gras with relish, Charlot replied, “Why not?”
Aurora shook her head, deciding not to engage in a debate over dining etiquette. Watching Charlot eat with such gusto, she was tempted to give him her own half-eaten meal as well.
In a hushed tone, Aurora said, “I’ve managed to find a vampiric weapon—a knight’s lance—but no suitable rapier yet.”
“If vampiric rapiers are unavailable, my father has a magical rapier in his collection...”