5.
—From the secret organization “Darkhood,” devoted to the great Sir Lancel Dante.
Darkhood.
It was an utterly clumsy name. Sir Lancel let out a chuckle as he read the letter.
—Please read this carefully. It may be hard to believe, but I am a long-time follower of Sir Lancel Dante and know much about his future.
The letter was suspicious to the core.
—Sir Lancel Dante is not meant to linger at this level! Wasting time in a lazy life at a wealthy noble’s house is too great a loss for your talents and abilities. It’s like eating bread without jam.
‘What kind of a comparison is that?’
To think he’d be called lazy by Marigold who had once lived as a parasite.
—But fear not, Sir Lancel Dante. I will handle everything. I will grow this secret organization, Darkhood, and fully support you in becoming a great noble whom even the Empire dares not touch.
Anyone else receiving this would mistake it for a treasonous group.
—For your information, our organization currently consists of thirty members and five executives.
‘This has to be a lie, right?’
He refused to believe it. Absolutely not.
—Starting tomorrow, I will send letters every night. I’ll report our organization’s progress daily, so please reply whenever possible. If you have any requests, write them in your response. I’ll fulfill anything. Just trust me. Your life has just begun to bloom, Sir Lancel.
—From the leader of Darkhood, Lemon Verbena.
“…”
Lancel stared at the last few lines of the letter for a moment before cleanly burning it in the lamplight.
“Time for me to sleep.”
The next morning, Lancel noticed Marigold pacing nervously around him.
“Why do you keep hovering?”
“Huh? It’s just… um… nothing…”
Muttering with a sullen expression as she retreated, “…Why is he acting so normal…”
Her murmur reached his ears.
He wasn’t sure, but she seemed disappointed that he was acting too normal for someone who’d received a letter from the so-called secret organization “Darkhood.”
‘How am I supposed to react, then?’
It wasn’t that Lancel was so cold as to ignore the antics of Regressor Marigold, it was just that he had no idea what reaction someone “receiving a letter from a secret organization” was supposed to show. So, he simply continued with his breakfast.
Only Marigold’s pouting figure occasionally lingered at the periphery of his vision.
.
.
.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
That dawn, Lancel was roused from a deep sleep once more. The culprit was a crow pecking fervently at the window. It was around 3 a.m., he guessed.
‘If you’re going to send a letter, send it earlier. Why at this hour?’
Yawning widely, he opened the window.
With a flutter, the crow darted inside, and he swiftly grabbed it.
Caw! Caw!
The crow, as if expecting something, covered its eyes and trembled pitifully.
“I won’t poke you.”
He took the letter tied to its ankle and held it by the lamplight.
—Yes, it’s Darkhood. A sudden letter might be hard to believe, but Darkhood is real. A genuine, powerful faction in the Empire devoted to Sir Lancel Dante! This isn’t a prank. Please believe us!
‘You must be pretty disappointed, huh, Marigold?’
Lancel thought she must have felt that he dismissed the previous letter as a mere prank from someone with too much time.
Since he hadn’t entirely ruled out that idea, it was hard to deny.
—Though I’ll admit, if I got a letter like this out of nowhere, I’d find it suspicious too. My misjudgment. A rare, uncharacteristic slip on my part.
Lancel glanced at the crow that was now perched on his shoulder before returning to the letter.
—Thus, we will prove our organization’s worth. Reply with any task, anything at all. Yes, give us your orders. We’ll do anything.
—From the leader of Darkhood, Lemon Verbena.
“Hmm.”
‘This is getting interesting.’
Lancel grinned as he grabbed a quill.
‘What should I write to throw Marigold off?’
He decided to keep things simple for now, thinking that ordering something too outrageous might cause trouble.
Lancel wrote a brief reply in the blank space below.
[—Bring me the jam sold at the bakery on Rodnis 12th Street at lunchtime. That is all.]
.
.
.
“Ouch!”
The next day, Lancel saw Marigold trip at the mansion’s entrance with a clatter. The jar of jam in her arms rolled across the floor, spilling everywhere.
“No! My jam!”
“Mary! Where have you been?”
“J-just running a quick errand…!”
“What’s that on the floor? You spilled it all! Clean it up!”
“Yes, yes!”
‘She messed up.’
It seemed that even requesting jam was too much.
Caw!
“Huh?”
However, that dawn, the crow was unexpectedly tapping at the window, holding a string in its beak—a string tied around a jam jar.
Lancel let the crow in and immediately opened the jar.
‘This…’
It didn’t smell like the jam from the bakery on 12th Street. A quick taste revealed a strangely familiar flavor.
It was clear that Marigold filled it with her own homemade jam.
—We’ve delivered the requested jam. Will you now believe in our existence?
‘Cheeky.’
Lancel picked up a quill once again.
[—Fine, I believe you. You are indeed my follower.]
The crow on his shoulder flapped its wings and flew off with a satisfied look on its face.
[—Send me a bottle of apple cider. It’s hard to find around here.]
The next day, the crow brought the cider.
[—There’s a dog that occasionally visits the garden. Can you bring it to my room?]
The next day, Lancel received the dog in a pouch.
[—What clothes would suit me? Bring me something nice, please.]
The next day, Marigold’s familiar was seen struggling to carry four outfits in its beak.
Surprisingly, the clothes actually suited him well.
By now, Lancel was getting quite competitive.
This clumsy secret organization—likely comprised of Marigold alone—was faithfully fulfilling his requests.
Wondering if Marigold and her familiar could carry out his next request, Lancel wielded his quill once more.
[—Bring me one gold coin. I’m in a tough spot without money.]
The next day, the familiar arrived with a gold coin from who-knows-where in its beak.
Caw!
Holding up the gleaming coin, Lancel could barely hide his disbelief.
‘Where did she even get this?’
As far as he knew, Marigold had been cooped up in the mansion all day, working moderately, and sneaking naps, as usual.
So how did she get a gold coin?
If she found it in the mansion, that made no sense either. That miserly Baron Ibil Shen was meticulous with his money. He’d never misplace something as valuable as a gold coin.
He quickly unfolded the letter.
—Here’s the one gold coin you requested! This is the power of our secret organization! We’ll get you as many as you need!
Lancel stroked his chin.
‘She’s more capable than I expected.’
Lancel pondered the situation.
‘It’s less a secret organization and more an errand runner, isn’t she?’
Well…
Quite frankly, Lancel was the one using Marigold like that. However, her actions so far made her seem like a convenient errand runner, far from the grand, secretive organization she likely envisioned.
Lancel tied the coin back to the crow and sent it off, instructing it to return the money to wherever it came from.
‘There aren’t really dozens of members, right?’
…There was just no way. Lancel simply couldn’t believe it.
6.
“By the way, the Imperial Capital’s been buzzing lately.”
“Pardon?”
“The Imperial Ball.”
At Baron Ibil Shen’s words, Lancel set down the meat he was about to eat. They were in the middle of their evening banquet.
“Some whim must have struck, because they’re opening the entire palace for the harvest festival in two years. Great news for young, promising nobles such as yourself, don’t you think, Sir Lancel?”
“Two years from now…”
Marigold’s seventeenth birthday had just passed. In two years, she would be nineteen—old enough for a “marriage ending.”
“Of course, you’ll attend, Sir Lancel? They say that the previous Imperial Balls led to quite a few marriages. Though it was a bit long ago, mind you.”
“That’s true.”
“Seize the chance to charm a lady and bring her to Viscount Dante. When else will you get to woo noble daughters? Right?”
Baron Ibil Shen was already excited, though none of what he had mentioned was Lancel’s concern. Nearby, Marigold, refilling glasses with water, had her ears pricked up.
The mention of the Imperial Ball seemed to pique her interest.
‘It’s definitely an opportunity.’
An opportunity.
‘A chance to make Marigold an empress.’
For nobles in this world, “marriage” was merely a tool to build alliances. They chose partners beneficial to their house, often half-forcing the union.
Lancel’s engagement to Lady Iceford, one of the Empire’s three great beauties, in a past life also followed that pattern.
However, the Imperial Ball was different.
Proposals were possible there.
Two people could become engaged on the spot by mutual consent—an unwritten rule in the Imperial Capital’s noble society.
Lancel had a hunch as to why this tradition even existed.
‘Probably because the game had so many such scenes. Broken engagements, proposals—romance-fantasy events set at the Imperial Ball…’
As a result, the Imperial Ball remained the Empire’s last bastion of romance and idealism.
Naturally, royals would attend the event too.
‘If I get Marigold in there? Isn’t this a chance for a complete turnaround?’
The issue of charming a prince would come later. For now, the opportunity to attend the ball itself was what mattered.
Indeed. The Imperial Ball was rare. In all his centuries of life, this was only the third time. It was a very rare opportunity.
“Can all nobles attend?”
“Of course. Someone like you, Sir Lancel, has no reason to be excluded.”
“What about commoners?”
“They can’t even get close, obviously.”
“What about those in between?”
“They could probably get in.”
Someone between a noble and a commoner.
It was the so-called “honorary baronet” title.
“…How does one become a baronet, exactly?”
Baron Ibil Shen gave him a puzzled look, however, urged by Lancel, soon answered.
“First, you need to donate at least 50 gold coins…”
“And then?”
“And if you get plenty of recommendations from nobles… by the next year, the Imperial Court grants the title, if I recall… Why ask that question all of a sudden…?”
In short, money and connections were evaluated, before the Imperial Court awarded the title.
“Hmm…”
“Hmmm…”
For some reason, Marigold, who stood nearby, was mimicking his thoughtful expression.
That dawn, Lancel began writing a letter to Marigold’s alias, Lemon Verbena.
[—This may be sudden, but I recommend someone to join Darkhood as an executive. There’s a maid named Mary at the mansion where I’m staying. She follows my orders well, so make sure to include her in the organization.
—As quickly as possible, ensure Mary receives a baronet title so she can attend the Imperial Ball. It’s all for the organization, so don’t overthink it. That will be all.]
‘Will this do?’
Lancel wasn’t entirely sure, but he had no choice.
He had only two years left. He had to somehow get Marigold into the Imperial Ball by then.
.
.
.
“…Young Master Lancel… to me…”
“Huh?”
Marigold stood dazed, a letter in hand.
“Does he… want to propose to me…?”
“What are you talking about at this hour?”
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