Chapter 93
“It’s strange. This used to be a hill…”
“You don’t know about the Salon Lavonne, either?”
“No, sir. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Hmm…”
Zahydra read the letter one more time, then folded it neatly.
A flicker of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he looked over the four portraits laid out before him.
Rubbing his chin, Zahydra said,
“Abraham, you’ve been with me long enough to know me well.”
“If my humble opinion can be of use, please ask, Your Majesty.”
“Loyalty and practicality—between the two, which has brought me prosperity?”
Abraham looked at Zahydra. There was a teasing glint in the emperor’s face.
When Zahydra wore that look, the answer was usually predetermined.
It was one of his little “tests” to see whether Abraham’s insight had dulled.
Zahydra often posed such sudden trials to his retainers.
Giving the wrong answer would always lead to repercussions during the next round of appointments.
Abraham had never once failed one of Zahydra’s tests—
and today would be no exception.
He smiled faintly and replied,
“Practicality, Your Majesty. If one loses another’s loyalty, one can always regain it by offering practical gain.”
“A fine answer indeed. Prepare to go out with me—I’ll be meeting some old friends in person.”
Abraham bowed his head and quietly left the office.
“Are you telling me no one knew such a massive building was being constructed here?”
Salvador, a member of the Montblanc Club, exclaimed as he stepped down from the carriage and looked up at Salon Lavonne.
“The illustrious Duke Johannes oversaw it in secret, they say. I suppose it’s possible,” said Teresa, who had arrived slightly later, covering her lips with her fan.
She too seemed astonished at the scale of the building; her eyes widened slightly.
“So it’s a venue that rents out salons… I’m dying of curiosity about what kind of business this is,” Helen murmured as she followed Teresa out of the carriage.
Adjusting her thick glasses, she examined the exterior of Salon Lavonne with keen interest.
“But the Duke of Johannes is practically a symbol of the Temple. Why would he take interest in our club? I can’t help but worry he might be one of the Temple’s informants.”
Salvador rubbed the soft red carpet beneath his shoe, visibly pleased by its texture.
Helen looked at him as though he were pathetic.
“His Majesty personally approved of him. Are you doubting the Emperor’s discernment?”
“O-of course not. Just an old man’s caution, that’s all.”
“In any case,” Helen said animatedly, “if the Duke truly joins our club, we’ll have gained a tremendous ally. It’s cause for celebration.”
Even so, Teresa remained calm and unreadable. Still, the faint excitement on her face betrayed her appreciation for the lavish salon.
“Welcome. Are you perhaps Professors Salvador, Teresa, and Helen?”
While the three were busy admiring the grand lobby, a poised woman greeted them with a courteous smile.
Salvador nodded briskly.
The woman, maintaining a perfectly polite expression, introduced herself.
“I’m Margaret Bennet, the manager here. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Allow me to show you in.”
Margaret was a bit nervous, though she hid it well. If anything, the tension made her posture even more impeccable.
As they passed, staff members of the salon paused briefly to bow in respect to the three professors.
Teresa leaned toward Helen and whispered, smiling,
“The staff here are remarkably well-trained. I thought this would be some street-side café, but it’s quite the opposite.”
Margaret’s shoulders stiffened slightly upon overhearing that.
Her worries from the night before melted away like snow.
In truth, Margaret was still uncomfortable dealing with many people—especially nobles.
The memories of her past still haunted her, and being a “fallen aristocrat” made her a frequent subject of ridicule.
That was why she had begged Danaë to let her handle kitchen duties instead.
They had agreed: Danaë would take care of the lobby and guests, while Margaret managed the kitchen and décor.
But since today’s event required secrecy about Obelia’s involvement with the salon, Margaret had to serve as the temporary hostess.
Stay calm…
Taking a deep breath, Margaret opened the door.
“Right this way, please.”
Inside, the waiting members of the club greeted them with bright smiles.
“Ah, you’ve come at last!”
The flushed faces of the club members gleamed with anticipation as they surveyed the room.
The members of the Montblanc Club were people who had already experienced and indulged in the world’s rarest luxuries.
Their tastes were so refined that few books or collectibles could stir their curiosity anymore.
Yet now, they were visibly thrilled—eyes sparkling like children’s.
Salvador looked around the spacious room in bewilderment.
It was large enough to hold several dozen men comfortably, its furniture made of dark, polished hardwood arranged tastefully.
He ran his hand along the long table at the center. The smooth finish of the wood felt pleasant beneath his fingers.
One wall was covered with a towering bookshelf—so tall it required a ladder to reach the upper levels.
The shelves were densely packed with books on an astonishing range of subjects, the sort that would make any scholar’s heart race.
Helen, climbing the ladder in excitement, exclaimed,
“These collections are extraordinary! This statue here—it’s from the time of the first Emperor!”
Meanwhile, Teresa’s eyes sparkled as she examined a transparent display case.
Inside stood a pristine white statue of the goddess Dephria, its surface worn with age yet radiating dignity.
She circled the case impatiently, clearly dying to take a closer look.
“Salvador! Come here—you’ll love this!”
Snapped out of his daze, Salvador hurried over to Count Chelston Surmond, who was waving him over from beside a reading stand.
On the stand rested an ancient volume encased in glass.
Salvador leaned in, examining it with mild curiosity—
until suddenly his eyes widened as if struck by lightning.
“Th-this… this is Bonikeller’s Treatise on Theology!”
He began reading carefully through the archaic script.
The deeper he read, the more his hands trembled.
“It can’t be… surely this isn’t the original?”
His trembling fingers pressed against the glass case, leaving a faint fingerprint behind.
A work by Bonikeller—the first theologian of the Dephria faith.
It was a book that would make any scholar of theology drool with envy.
Chelston smiled proudly at Salvador’s astonished expression.
“It’s genuine, I assure you. After all, the owner of this salon is—”
“Ah, you’ve all gathered already.”
At that moment, a section of the wall adorned with an eagle emblem slid open—
and Zahydra himself appeared.
Everyone froze, stunned to see him emerge from such an unexpected place.
“Ahem!”
Abraham, standing beside the Emperor, cleared his throat meaningfully.
Only then did the club members come to their senses and bow deeply.
“We greet His Majesty, Sovereign of the Realm.”
“Yes, yes. I see you’re all startled by my entrance. I was, too, the first time I saw it. Isn’t it remarkable? A secret passage made just for our discreet little club.”
Zahydra stroked the white marble eagle affectionately.
It radiated fierce pride—the perfect symbol of the Empire of Rotanders.
Watching the members’ eyes dart about in wonder, Zahydra chuckled.
“It seems this place suits the refined tastes of you distinguished gentlemen. Our new member worked quite hard on it—it seems the effort paid off.”
“So this is to be our new headquarters, then?”
Chelston could hardly contain his excitement.
Zahydra smiled and nodded. “Indeed. A fine establishment, isn’t it?”
“Then where is this marvelous new member who prepared it all?”
Salvador tapped impatiently on the glass display, eager to meet the owner of the Treatise on Theology and pepper them with questions.
The others looked just as expectant.
Zahydra basked in their curiosity, drawing out the suspense.
Just when it seemed their patience was about to break, he finally spoke.
“Now, now. Settle down, everyone. I suppose it’s time I put you out of your misery and introduce our new members.”
“Members—plural? You mean there’s more than just Duke Johannes?”
Helen adjusted her glasses, clutching a few books to her chest like treasured relics.
“Pleasure to meet you all.”
The voice came even before Zahydra could answer.
Julian entered the room.
All eyes turned toward him—then slid to the woman standing gracefully at his side.
Recognition struck like thunder.
“L-Lady Rebecca Devonshire…?” gasped Chelston.
Wearing a modest green dress, Rebecca smiled with quiet grace and curtsied elegantly.
“Good evening. I am Rebecca Obelia.”
“I don’t quite understand why you revealed your identity,” Julian said as they walked toward the so-called Scholar’s Room prepared for the Montblanc Club. “You said you wanted to keep it secret until the wedding.”
Rebecca walked beside him at an unhurried pace, replying calmly,
“The people gathered in that room are part of the new faction. Compared to the old powers, their unity is weak. For now, they seem close because they share the Emperor as a focal point, but once their interests diverge, their ties will shatter easily.”
The Scholar’s Room was located underground—its shelves so heavy with tomes that it needed a reinforced foundation.
At the top of the stairs, Julian gently placed a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder to guide her down.
It was a natural, fluid gesture—an escort’s touch.
Rebecca glanced sideways at the strong fingers resting lightly on her shoulder.
“I understand that. But what does the club’s weak cohesion have to do with you revealing who you really are?”
“Because you are Duke Johannes.”
“Because I am Duke Johannes?”
