Chapter 253: The Blade

Lower City, Jacob Restaurant.

Night pearls cast a faint glow like scattered stars, and beneath the deliberately dimmed lighting, smokeless candles swayed as though they were sprites flickering in the depths of night.

At the very center of the restaurant stood a small but conspicuous stage. Unfortunately, the lights there were dim, and in the hushed atmosphere only the sound of a phonograph magic device in the corner poured out classical music.

Led by a waiter, Shaun and Muen arrived at their reserved table. Shaun set his hat and coat on the rack prepared for that purpose, glanced toward the restaurant’s center, and said with relief:

“Looks like we didn’t come too late.”

“Late, not late, what nonsense.”

Muen kept a straight face.

“I’m only here to appreciate the palace chef’s cooking. As long as there’s food, that’s all that matters.”

“Haha, of course.”

After asking about Muen’s tastes, Shaun called back the waiter, carefully picked out the restaurant’s signature dishes from the menu, and seriously instructed that the head chef must cook them personally.

Perhaps seeing something in Shaun’s earnest eyes, the waiter gave a solemn nod before leaving. Shaun exhaled lightly, turned back, and asked with a smile:

“What does Young Master Campbell think of this place?”

“Just call me Muen.”

Muen stroked his chin, swept his gaze around the restaurant, and said:

“Not bad.”

“Not bad...”

Shaun let out a long breath. “That’s wonderful. To be honest, I’ve never sat at the same table with someone of your standing before. I was terribly nervous.”

“No need to be. I’m not that picky.”

Muen swirled the appetizer wine the waiter had poured ahead of time, smiled, and took a small sip.

“As expected of the Duke’s son.”

Shaun once again sighed.

“You truly are different in essence from those other nobles.”

“...”

So how should I explain to you that as a transmigrator, I’ve not only drunk cheaper wine than this—when I thought the bad ending was closing in, I was even prepared to live as a beggar.

Muen shook his head and shifted the subject:

“Speaking of which, I didn’t expect Baron Shaun to reserve a table at a place like this.”

“Mm?”

“This might sound rude... but treating me to dinner—can your purse really handle it?”

Muen glanced, half-smiling, at the ill-fitting suit beside him.

Though the fabric wasn’t low-grade, the suit was clearly second-hand. Most tailoring shops sold such things cheap.

Declining nobles often bought them to keep up appearances.

And this restaurant, though not on par with the Upper City’s finest, was still far from cheap. Certainly not the kind of place a fallen baron could casually afford.

The Administrator post wouldn’t make a man rich overnight, and Shaun hadn’t even officially taken ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) office yet.

“Didn’t expect... you’d notice.”

Exposed, Shaun scratched his head awkwardly and gave a bitter smile:

“Muen, you’re right. Tonight’s meal cost me my entire savings.”

“In other words—”

“But.”

Shaun suddenly cut Muen off, speaking earnestly:

“Please don’t misunderstand. This dinner isn’t some scheme to curry your favor. As I said earlier, I had already reserved this table before I even knew I’d meet you.”

“Oh? Then why...” Muen raised his brows in puzzlement.

“This extra seat was reserved for my wife.”

“Wife?”

Muen froze, nearly leaping up from his chair.

“Which means, I’m sitting in your wife’s—”

“No, no, no. Don’t worry, Young Master Muen, you aren’t taking her seat.”

Saying so, the gray-templed man turned his gaze to the single rose on their table—different from every other table’s setting—and his face softened into profound longing and sorrow.

“Because my wife can never sit here again.”

“...”

Muen’s expression stiffened.

Wait—now I feel even worse.

What’s this supposed to mean?

He’d spent all his savings to come here, to mourn his late wife on this special day... and here I was, shamelessly freeloading a meal?

“I think I’d better just—”

“No, no, Muen, please... please, you must stay.”

Baron Shaun suddenly grew agitated. He jumped up and pressed Muen back into his chair, then quickly withdrew his hand, fidgeting anxiously:

“Your sitting here—I think... I think it would make her happy too...”

“Why?”

Muen was utterly baffled.

On such an important memorial day, you’re dining with another man. Would your wife in the afterlife really be happy?

She wouldn’t come looking for me at night to chat, would she?

“Because... because becoming Administrator of the Lower City, and dining with the son of the Duke I admire so deeply—these both declare to her that after ten years of effort, I’ve finally, finally seen hope.”

Shaun clenched his fist. On his prematurely aged face suddenly surged grief—and hatred.

“The hope of avenging her!”

“...Revenge.”

Muen’s eyes widened in shock.

Wait, don’t tell me this is going where I think it is—

“That’s right. Revenge.”

Shaun turned to look at the small stage at the restaurant’s center. His gaze went hazy, as though leaping back across time to the distant past.

He seemed to see once more that captivating silhouette, standing there and playing a heavenly melody, her whole being aglow, mesmerizing.

Then the image shifted. He saw that same figure bloated pale from water, lying in his arms, never again to open her eyes.

And he saw that high and mighty great noble, sneering down at him, saying:

“A dog like you thinks he can topple me?”

Hatred and fury tangled in his heart, then were pressed down deep. With a self-mocking shake of the head, he said:

“I won’t spoil your mood with the details, Muen. I only want you to know: yes, maybe I do hope to gain your favor, and maybe I truly intend to borrow the Duke’s power to achieve my goal.

But tonight, all I want is for you to sit here—so that she can see...”

Shaun placed both hands on his knees. His whole body trembled as though every cell was shuddering.

But his eyes blazed with a light so sharp it pierced the soul.

“Ten years. A full ten years... and at last I am qualified to take the first step!”

“...”

The music in the restaurant suddenly shifted—urgent and harsh, like a storm wind.

Muen looked quietly at the man before him.

Though he called this only the first step of a ten-year effort, anyone could tell—it would not be the last.

And before his blood ran dry, he would never stop walking.

At last, Muen understood.

The Emperor’s sudden promotion of this baron as Administrator of the Lower City had a deeper meaning.

Not only because he was capable. Not only because he belonged to the royalist faction rallied around the Campbell name.

But also because in his heart burned a hatred that could never be extinguished.

That hatred was a blade.

And wielded well, it would one day pierce straight into the hearts of those arrogant men.