Charlot Mecklenburg was feeling drowsy.
This period of time was even more exhausting than the duel against Ban Lamorak.
Emperor Alfred Guillaume was thoroughly enjoying himself, rewarding the dancers with gold écus on the spot. However, with several ministers strongly advising against it, he reluctantly refrained from requesting additional performances.
Finally enduring through the ordeal, Charlot was about to excuse himself when Emperor Alfred Guillaume addressed him. “Lord Mecklenburg, does your Fars Empire have similar dance troupes?”
Charlot thought, Even if they did, how would I know?
“These kinds of troupes, which only royal families can afford, I’ve seen in Ingrima. But in the Fars Empire? Where would I have had the opportunity to encounter them?”
Just as he was about to respond, he suddenly felt the weight of countless gazes upon him.
The ministers of Ingrima were all staring at Charlot, making him feel immense pressure. With a strained smile, Charlot said, “In the Fars Empire, I am merely a humble chief overseer of the city patrol guards. Such opulence is far beyond my reach.”
This answer greatly pleased the ministers of Ingrima, and Charlot felt some of the pressure ease.
“It’s true,” Emperor Alfred Guillaume said with a hint of regret. “Your current position doesn’t grant you such access. Unfortunately, I can only bestow titles within Ingrima, not in Fars.”
“Lord Mecklenburg, you must strive harder.”
Charlot dared not reply. Was this an encouragement to spy on Fars and report back to the Emperor of Ingrima? Such actions would make him a high-level spy, a crime punishable by death—a charge no less severe than summoning an evil god.
This is pure madness...
Likely, I would be torn apart...
Satisfied, Emperor Alfred Guillaume addressed his officials. “Enough. Stop staring at Lord Mecklenburg. I shall return to the Red Dragon Palace to handle state affairs.”
He clapped Charlot on the shoulder, saying, “I’ll summon you again in a few days!”
Charlot felt as though a primordial beast was pressing down on his shoulder—not just mentally but physically. He was alarmed, thinking, Emperor Alfred Guillaume is at least Saint rank.
With the Emperor’s departure alongside his ministers, Charlot waited for a while before preparing to leave. He was stopped by Aurora Soumet.
“Lord Mecklenburg, today must have been hard on you,” Aurora said.
Charlot took a deep breath, activating Blood Glory to dispel the physical pressure left by Emperor Alfred Guillaume. Forcing a smile, he replied, “Didn’t I receive generous rewards?”
Aurora offered, “Let me treat you to a meal as thanks.”
Charlot gladly agreed. “I have no objections.”
The two left the Bridge of Love and, instead of taking a carriage, Aurora led Charlot on foot to a riverside restaurant along the Seventais River. The establishment, with its refined décor, extended over the water, offering diners a view of the scenic river as they ate.
Aurora ordered several authentic Ingrima dishes. Charlot, assuming that such a high-class restaurant wouldn’t serve anything too unpalatable, was proven terribly wrong with the first dish.
It consisted of a bowl of sticky vegetable paste ringed with fried fish heads. The appearance was appalling, but the smell was worse. Each fish head stared blankly, as if lamenting their tragic demise and inability to rest even on the dining table.
The second dish was more conventional: an enormous pig’s knuckle. However, its preparation was peculiar. Charlot poked it with a dining knife and confirmed it was raw.
“This is one of Ingrima’s signature dishes: salted pork knuckle,” Aurora explained. “It’s prepared by rubbing salt into it and letting it dry naturally without any other seasoning or cooking. It’s stored in caves to develop its unique flavor and often takes years to cure.”
At Aurora’s insistence, Charlot cut a small piece to taste, only to feel his tongue go numb from the saltiness.
As more dishes were served, Charlot, guided by Aurora’s introductions, sampled each one. He concluded that there was no greater torment on earth than this meal—even the Emperor’s dance performance was preferable.
While he had heard of Ingrima cuisine’s infamous reputation, he hadn’t imagined it would be this bad. The ingredients were top-notch, but the methods of preparation were utterly baffling, their creativity verging on the absurd. Achieving such levels of unpleasantness seemed an impossible feat for normal cooks.
Aurora casually brought up dueling, but Charlot, struggling with the inedible “delicacies,” couldn’t muster much of a response. Realizing his lack of interest, she shifted the topic. “What do you think of His Majesty’s dance troupe?”
Charlot forced down a piece of salted pork knuckle and said, “I feel that without assassinations, something is amiss.”
“Normally, shouldn’t a princess with a grudge against a kingdom appear as an assassin?”
Aurora burst into laughter. “Assassins? Do you know how many Saint ranks are by His Majesty’s side? Likely more than Fars has stationed in Ferranden. Should an assassin dare appear, not only would the assassin perish, but their organization and patrons would be eradicated.”
Charlot was stunned. “There was more than one Saint rank present today?”
He had never witnessed an emperor’s entourage before, but reflecting on the youthful monarch’s formidable presence, he understood. It made sense for the Emperor’s protective measures to be so robust. Nonetheless, Charlot couldn’t help but secretly grumble: With His Majesty’s overwhelming power, how much protection does he even need?
Meanwhile, the Fars Embassy was bustling with activity. Charlot hadn’t returned yet, but Dolores Soumet, Anastasia, and Belisa were already back, bringing with them Charlot’s spoils of victory: Ban Lamorak’s knight’s lance.
Since Charlot couldn’t carry any weapons to meet the Emperor, his Unicorn Griffon, Blood Rose, Aurora’s gifted magical rapier, the Withered Rose, and the knight’s lance, Whale Slayer, had all been brought back by Dolores and the others.
The embassy staff marveled at Ban Lamorak’s knight’s lance. Famous across Britain, Whale Slayer earned its name from the time Count Lamorak, in his youth, used it to slay a giant whale.
As Count Lamorak’s strength grew, he replaced it with a more befitting lance, passing Whale Slayer down to his son, Ban Lamorak.
Armed with Whale Slayer, Ban Lamorak had defeated over a hundred opponents in duels, earning the lance the nickname Lion’s Maru, symbolizing Britain’s youngest lion.