“Prince Yuri Briol? Could you please sign this…?”
“Your interview was truly impressive.”
“Please take a look at this.”
Yuri greeted the citizens of the imperial capital one by one as he made his way through the crowd.
Thanks to the article and interview in Monthly Empire, his popularity had skyrocketed beyond measure.
Even Goth, despite being a noble of distinguished lineage, suddenly found himself famous, receiving offers of patronage from all corners.
Yuri muttered to himself, “But now isn’t the time to get caught up in trivial matters.”
He had come to the Empire to prevent war. And now, the time to truly get to work was fast approaching.
He glanced at the letter in his hand.
It bore the imperial seal.
All the nations that had joined the Allied Forces had arrived at the imperial capital, and the Emperor had officially announced a banquet at the palace to honor their contributions.
For this occasion, Yuri was leading the Briol knights to visit a tailor.
He and Laurent had no worries, but the others were less accustomed to such matters.
As Yuri opened the door, the tailor bowed respectfully.
“Thank you for coming.”
Inside the shop hung fabrics and patterns of every kind.
Even at a glance, it was clear that all the materials were of the finest quality.
Simon and Guiness, both of noble birth themselves, showed little reaction, but Jarred’s mouth dropped open as he scanned the price tags.
He trembled when he saw the price of the sample garment on the mannequin.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it.”
“Your Highness, that could buy several stews…”
“How many stews?”
“Well, you see…”
Yuri ignored Jarred and addressed the tailor.
“I’ll be wearing this at the Emperor’s banquet. Can you tailor everything accordingly?”
“Of course.”
The tailor wore a monocle. His gaze shifted from Yuri to Laurent, then to Jarred, and finally to the others.
His pupils flickered.
Patterns were already forming in his mind.
He was one of the Empire’s top tailors. His schedule was so packed that ordinary people couldn’t even get a reservation, but thanks to Vlad from the temple’s recommendation, he had agreed to accommodate Yuri.
Yuri thought to himself, so this was why everyone said connections mattered so much in the Empire.
“Average.”
The tailor suddenly spoke, pointing at Simon, Guiness, and Jarred. Then he turned his hand and said to Hernando,
“Above average.”
Hernando shrugged.
Then the monocle’s lens settled on Yuri and Laurent. The tailor’s lips curled into a smile.
“Masterpiece.”
Yuri realized this was no ordinary tailor.
He was an artist with his own world.
Such people often behaved in ways ordinary folks found hard to understand.
“This is what it will look like.”
The tailor had already completed the outfit in his mind.
Yuri applauded. He respected anyone who had mastered their craft.
“Impressive. You’ve already designed the clothes in your head?”
“It’s my job.”
“Remarkable. When can we expect them?”
“Considering the time left until the banquet, it’s quite tight…”
The tailor adjusted his necktie and bowed politely to Yuri.
“For the Third Prince of Briol, I will make it happen.”
“Thank you.”
“This too is a mission given to me by the gods.”
He was a devout believer.
The temple sometimes served as a social hub, and many of the Empire’s notable figures strengthened their ties through it—not just the tailor.
Thanks to such connections, Yuri was able to secure these clothes.
“Shall we take your measurements now?”
At the tailor’s nod, his assistants stepped forward and measured each person with tape measures. Yuri himself was measured by the tailor.
They carefully recorded every dimension.
A rough estimate was given.
“We will send the finished garments to your hotel as soon as they’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
Yuri shook the tailor’s hand and left.
But his schedule was far from over. Leading his group, Yuri next headed to a nearby barbershop.
A barber with a stylish mustache awaited them.
“I’ve been expecting you. I’ll take good care of you.”
“Please do.”
After the clothes, it was time to groom their hair.
One by one, Yuri’s party sat down in the barbershop.
“It’s an honor to style the prince’s hair.”
The owner of the shop smiled as he worked on Yuri’s hair. He was renowned for handling the hair of many nobles.
“Such beautiful black hair. How would you like it styled?”
“My hair…”
Yuri smiled wryly, revealing a prince’s picky taste.
“Just a trim, please.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, slip of the tongue.”
He had accidentally spoken formally. Yuri cleared his throat.
“Well, you understood, right?”
“Of course.”
The barber was confident. Over the years, he had heard countless male clients say the same thing:
“Just a trim,” or “Just tidy it up.”
Could there be a more difficult request?
An ordinary barber might chuckle and think, “Easy mark,” but he never did.
He was a true craftsman who poured his soul into every snip.
So whenever he heard such a request, he put in even more effort.
“I’ll show you what a real trim means.”
When the haircut was done, Yuri’s party left the barbershop, their hair shining and bouncing.
Just a simple trim had transformed their entire aura.
A group of stylish men walking out drew the attention of passersby.
“Prince, is that all for today?”
Simon asked, his voice betraying an undeniable longing.
He wanted more.
He wanted to look even better.
Having already improved his appearance under Yuri’s guidance, Simon now understood the power of styling and was consumed by the desire to become more handsome.
Of course, Yuri did not disappoint him.
“There’s one more thing left.”
“Ohhh, what could that be…?”
“Obviously, skincare.”
“Whaaat…?”
Simon and the others swallowed hard.
Their nervousness was palpable.
They were men who had swung swords until their skin was sunburned and rough. They probably thought such care was unbefitting of knights.
But Yuri was not bound by such prejudices.
Having been introduced to all sorts of skincare facilities by Ekaterina in his past life, he knew well the benefits of such care.
“Th-that’s a bit…”
“Skincare, really…”
“I don’t think that’s right…”
“Fools.”
Yuri strode forward.
There stood a skincare salon with a cute pink sign.
“You’ll see the difference once you try it.”
Yuri opened the door.
Since they had a reservation, the moment he appeared, the staff bowed in unison.
They quickly scanned the skin condition of Yuri’s party as they followed him inside.
The staff cracked their knuckles loudly as they prepared.
“It won’t be easy, but we’ll do our best.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Don’t worry.”
The owner of the salon was full of enthusiasm.
“The gentlemen from Briol who came here will be the stars of the banquet. I’ll make sure of it.”
The gates of the imperial palace, rarely opened, swung wide.
The largest and most magnificent building on the continent was undoubtedly the Emperor’s palace.
It was as grand and dynamic as the Empire’s prestige demanded.
Intricate carvings adorned every wall, seeming almost alive.
Wherever metal was used, it was overlaid with gold leaf.
Red banners, reserved only for the Emperor, fluttered everywhere.
The first nation to arrive was Liberta.
At the entrance, guards sounded their horns to announce their arrival.
“Hmm…”
Sven Gain, following his father, Wolf Gain, into the banquet hall, squinted as he passed through the gates.
Everything glittered so brightly that his eyes needed time to adjust.
The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was breathtaking.
It was large enough to fill an entire room, with countless lights shining brightly.
The dazzling glow reflected endlessly across its surface.
“Ah…”
The banquet hall held a table of seemingly endless length, lined with golden candlesticks burning steadily.
Though only a few guests had arrived, a band had already taken their place, playing music.
Sven was momentarily speechless at the sight of such opulence.
The imperial capital itself was impressive, but the palace interior was even more extravagant.
“This is the Empire…”
Sven murmured, and Wolf nodded.
“Yes. Can you feel the Empire’s power?”
“Yes.”
“Then always be cautious.”
Wolf’s Liberta delegation took a position slightly off-center in the banquet hall.
More guests gradually arrived. Nobles of the Empire continued to stream in.
Most were lords from regions Sven had never heard of, yet all dressed as if to flaunt their wealth.
Even a mere lord of a territory in the Empire seemed wealthier than most kings.
Sven felt a bit intimidated, but seeing Wolf’s upright posture beside him, he straightened his own resolve.
“The Klein Duchy has arrived.”
True to their reputation as the source of spices, a subtle floral scent wafted as they entered.
Like Sven had been, the Klein delegation seemed momentarily overwhelmed by the banquet’s scale, hesitating as they searched for suitable seats.
Meanwhile, attendants brought light refreshments.
Sven sampled whatever he could grab, amazed by the flavors.
Wolf muttered, “They use even the rarest spices without a second thought.”
Sven gazed toward the front of the banquet hall, draped in red curtains.
Beyond them lay the throne where the Emperor would sit.
He couldn’t even imagine how magnificent it would be.
If such a powerful Empire were to launch a full-scale war, how long could the other nations possibly hold out?
Just the thought of it sent a chill through his chest.
Before he could dwell on it further, the horn sounded once again.
Familiar faces began to appear—people Sven had encountered at least once before among the allied forces.
“The Holy Kingdom and Bursen have arrived,” Wolf noted.
Leading the group from the Holy Kingdom was someone Sven didn’t recognize. When Sven tilted his head in curiosity, Wolf explained, “That’s Larsson, the heir to the Holy Kingdom. He’s nowhere to be seen among the allied forces usually, but he shows up for occasions like this.”
Next came Jose, still as imposing and confident as ever.
He strolled through the grand hall unfazed by its size, casually grabbing food as he went. Sven couldn’t help but admire that boldness.
“Hoo…”
Sven’s eyes darted around.
At first, he had thought the empire was simply hosting this banquet to celebrate the allied forces’ victory. But now, doubts crept in.
Was this gathering really just a show of the empire’s superiority over the other nations?
Even though the envoys from the other allied countries came from noble families, they seemed to pale in comparison to the empire’s aristocrats at the banquet.
Compared to them, the allied envoys looked like a bunch of country barons.
Sven knew it was just his own insecurities talking, but he couldn’t help feeling small.
Especially when a noble child walking right beside him casually wore a massive diamond necklace without a care in the world—how could he not feel that way?
“When is that guy going to show up…?”
Maybe that was why Sven found himself oddly looking forward to the arrival of Briole’s third prince.
Suddenly, the horn blared again. Sven instinctively turned toward the entrance.
“Uh…”
The doors to the banquet hall swung open, and black hair fluttered in the breeze.
Sven was taken aback.
Not just him—everyone in the hall fell silent, momentarily speechless.
A hollow smile tugged at Sven’s lips.
Yeah, I knew he’d be different.
He heard someone whisper the name.
“Yuri Briole…”
Yuri cast a casual glance around, showing no reaction to the lavish banquet hall.
His expression was as if he were admiring graffiti scrawled on a wall.
Then, with calm composure, he stepped forward.
The fabric of his clothes whispered softly.
These were the same guys who usually wore armor, yet here they were, dressed in elegant, beautiful garments of unknown origin. Their hair was styled perfectly to match their refined appearances.
Everything was polished—not overly flashy, but far from plain or ordinary.
The third prince leading the way and his companion, Laurent, were already known for their striking looks, so that went without saying. The knights following them were well-built, like models handpicked by a tailor.
The third prince strode in with confidence.
The entire banquet hall stirred.
His noble bearing was so commanding that even the empire’s aristocrats seemed to shrink back.