Chapter 90: The Gift

The youth in blue, who had thought he could mock his opponent a little only to end up accidentally increasing their admiration, snorted and stopped talking. Once the teapot was emptied, he fumed as he left, abandoning a crowd of quick-witted young men and women who either understood or were still puzzled by the encounter.

The once noisy scene gradually quieted down. Several individuals who had some knowledge about Constantine immediately excused themselves from the vicinity of the round table… Rumors connected this youth to Hayton City’s fifteen-day lockdown incident not long ago, involving evil Undead Creatures. Even Mages from the Mage Tower had reportedly suffered setbacks before him. For someone like this, unless there was a special reason, it was best to keep as much distance as possible.

This disturbance gradually spread to everyone. They quietly found various excuses and fled from the youth rumored to be suspected of colluding with Undead heretics and capable of killing without blinking. When even the well-to-do lady with an attractive figure who had been quite interested in Constantine finally succumbed to the invisible pressure and retreated to the dance floor, this once raucous corner became the only quiet spot in the grand hall.

“Viscount Constantine… truly extraordinary knowledge. I originally thought that having accompanied my elders on one long voyage, my understanding of this world far surpassed ordinary folk, but I never expected…” A slick voice suddenly sounded.

Constantine slightly turned his head and noticed the young man from the Greenwich Family hadn’t left… Or rather, he had returned to this troublesome place after the others had departed. He was still holding the tea set, which made him look somewhat like the waiters and stewards darting about the venue, lending him a touch of the ridiculous.

“You flatter me too much,” Constantine responded calmly. “I merely read a few more travelogues and poems by Bards and faintly remember such tales being told.”

“Hmm…” The youth’s cold attitude made the Greenwich scion hesitate. He hadn’t met this recently famous youth before; even the name was only vaguely recalled from hearsay. However, after glancing at the winged Griffin on the other’s lapel, he finally gritted his teeth and spoke: “Might Viscount Constantine be interested in these porcelain pieces?”

“Of course. In fact, I always have considerable interest in tales of the unusual and the exotic… especially concerning nature.” Constantine’s gaze swept over the tea set. Although the tea itself had been overly bitter, he still savored the familiar taste in memory. “It’s utterly incompatible with descriptions found in books… Before the wonders of nature, human vocabulary remains pale and feeble, much like human flesh is powerless before natural disasters…” The youth quoted a famous adage, then smiled, subtly shifting the topic. “You hail from the Greenwich Family, which I recall is practically the birthplace of seafarers. So, Mister John, you must surely have many fascinating experiences?”

“Yes, ones you could probably never imagine. But the feeling of being amidst a tempest, that’s truly unforgettable for life – though I wish I could forget it… The roaring of those giant waves was like thunder, deafening. Even though the waves were still far from us, they gave the illusion that we were trapped within a waterfall. It felt like heaven and earth were turning upside down; the entire sea rolled towards us like a Scroll, and we were like ants upon it. Many times, I was certain I was going to die, that the whole ship would be crushed to pieces amidst the engulfing fury…”

The youth paused, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes at the recollection. But he quickly adjusted his thoughts: “However, adventure always brings high rewards. Like this exquisite porcelain in my hands. They say in a vast kiln, hundreds or thousands of such vessels may be discarded as waste… But the price paid yields rare treasures like this, crystal-clear in my hand.”

Constantine frowned slightly. This Mister Greenwich’s words and actions were rather peculiar.

If it was just to show off the tea set, this fellow’s behavior so far bordered on ridiculous. But if interpreted as a sales pitch… it somehow made more sense – Constantine rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly understanding the implication of the other’s actions.

Yet this seemed entirely unnecessary. During the earlier conversations, someone mentioned the Greenwich were generations-deep in maritime trade. Such an entity surely had their own distribution channels. Even granting the impossible – that they truly didn’t – sending such a set to a renowned auction house and promoting it would yield far greater returns than this one-on-one sales approach.

Unless…

“I do appreciate such delicate utensils… It’s just that this plain, elegant style doesn’t quite suit my taste…” The youth mused, surreptitiously observing the other’s face. Indeed, he caught a flash of surprise and a gaze brimming with expectation on the young man’s features.

“If Viscount Connallyvis has some interest… we have several similar sets of porcelain. Different styles, but all of superior quality. Additionally, our fleet, having only recently docked, brought back some exquisite specialties from a newly explored route. I wonder if you, Viscount Connallyvis, might be interested…” The youth moderated his pace, carefully steering the conversation toward his desired direction.

“A new route?” Constantine’s interest was piqued by the unintentional mention of that particular term. The youth’s thoughts began to churn, scattered bits of information from various corners starting to coalesce… Bypassing the Merchants’ Guild for sales, a new route, adventure… Plotlines from dramas held familiar echoes… So, could it be that this so-called shipping magnate was facing some difficulties? Hence his attempt to scout for luck here, hoping to find a good buyer for this bounty? “If my guess is correct, this new route you speak of… might it be the route to that distant Eastern Continent? If I recall correctly, discovering a new route also seems to be an adventure consuming immense time, gold, and effort… though the subsequent profits are immense, often compensating tenfold or a hundredfold.”

“You… you’ve likely heard about my family’s… recent misfortune?” Astonishment flashed across the young man’s darkly tanned face. After a pause of stunned silence, a helpless, bitter smile appeared: “Yes… most of those rumors are true…”

Had he guessed correctly? Constantine, however, felt skeptical about the progression… After all, while this plot was rather mundane, it still held logical implausibilities. Generations, even dozens of generations, of family accumulation – while perhaps not staggeringly vast – surely couldn’t be wiped out in a single expedition…

“If possible, I’d like to hear more details…” The youth threw out a versatile probing question.

“Details? The details are that my family has suffered a fatal blow… You may not know, but the Greenwich Family built its fortune on seafaring. We have a strict family law requiring all direct members besides the Clan Head to possess their own vessel. Driven by the potential high profits promised by these exquisite artifacts, almost half the family members participated in this venture to pioneer the new route.” Accepting a glass of wine from a nearby Attendant, he downed it in one go. Wearing a downcast smile on his tanned young face, he continued in a low voice, “Out of a merchant fleet of twenty ships, only one returned. Vast assets and experienced sailing hands were consumed on that voyage, including two of my uncles and three cousins…”

“So, some seized the chance to challenge the Clan Head’s authority, trying to seize more rights?” Constantine asked with a smile. This mode was commonplace among the Nobles, practically inevitable. Though Noble society was complex, the basic rules never changed. The lion ruling over a hundred beasts might still face challenges for kingship within its own pride. And the birth of a new king often signified the complete downfall of the old.

“Those cancers within the family are the least of our worries. The most difficult blow was that my father, the Greenwich Clan Head, upon receiving this news… his heart, burdened by some hidden ailment… He suddenly passed away. Several crucial Deity Pacts thereby became null. Shameless merchants seized their chance and turned against us… Thus, the Greenwich Family now faces an unprecedented crisis. We desperately need funds to reorganize and settle matters, but the sale price of the remaining scarce cargo is clearly insufficient to achieve this goal!”

The young sailor sighed deeply, his voice simmering with barely suppressed fury. His feelings were complex; he didn’t know why he was divulging these still-secretive family troubles to a child he’d just met. Perhaps it was just pent-up frustration needing venting?

But perhaps Fortune favored him after tragedy, for just as he wallowed in gloom, he heard the youth across from him mutter softly, then speak seriously, “If… if I could provide your family with a sum of capital, could you guarantee me proper returns?”

“What? No, but… Viscount Constantine, I’m afraid you might not fully understand the scale…” John Greenwich was stunned, his puzzled gaze fixing on the young man before him. Then he shook his head helplessly. “Although reorganizing and liquidity don’t require the astronomical sums needed for exploration itself, typically it’s still a significant outlay. I doubt your family could readily…”

“One hundred thousand gold pieces… no, if I could provide one hundred and fifty thousand… would that suffice to tide your family over the current crisis?” As if testing whether John’s heart was stronger than his father’s, the youth casually proposed an unthinkable figure.

One hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces? John Greenwich felt his head buzz. This sum was neither negligible nor exorbitant, but enough to build a small fleet of three to four armed sailing ships and attendant boats. Or, for the current Greenwich, it would be more than sufficient to deal with all those fly-like merchants.

“But… the Connallyvis Family…” Greenwich’s confusion deepened. The standard Noble practice when seeing another Noble in trouble: if they were an ally, watch from afar; if an enemy, stab them covertly. He had absolutely no connection to the youth before him. Could such a promise possibly elicit aid from the giant behind him, the Connallyvis? It was truly baffling.

“This has little to do with the Connallyvis Family… I offer this using my personal funds alone, of course. Baron John, you may also consider whether to accept this help…” The youth smiled warmly.

Perhaps because the other brought a touch of familiarity, Constantine decided establishing a friendship wouldn’t hurt – though self-interest played a part too… While becoming a formidable Spellcaster might render ships irrelevant, it was still wise to prepare… Besides, discovering such a route clearly designated this family as a potential powerhouse stock. As long as things in Phoenix Nation remained stable, the investment made now would yield manifold returns.

…

The brass horns sounded a stirring long note, signaling the official start of the hunt. With the last sustained blast of the horn, countless Knights spurred their steeds towards the dense forest…

Clad in the Empire’s traditional dark peaked cap and tailored Hunting Attire, mounted on tall, robust Steeds, each knight was accompanied by packs of fox and bear hunting hounds. Eagles circled overhead. Behind each rider trailed a large contingent of waiting servants, including at least two or three dog handlers, a Knight retainer, or several Household Knights. Even as a leisurely activity, scores of such groups created a charged and formidable atmosphere.

The men’s shouts gradually faded into the distance, excited and triumphant. The women who had clustered together earlier finally relaxed. They began gathering, their chatter filling the air like birdsong. For them, the hunt was merely another form of gathering, no different from their usual balls and luncheons.

Among all present besides the ladies, Constantine was similarly bored. He sat atop a Horse, trailed by four dispirited Attendants. Evidently, this was the three Mercenaries’ first experience with Noble feasts. Though confined to the retainer Knights’ area, the unlimited Ale and food had allowed them to indulge spectacularly. Consequently, they, alongside Gordo sharing their space, all seemed plagued by hangovers.

Although the Connallyvis entourage included over a dozen other Attendants, all had followed the Duchess from the northwest or had likely received prior instructions. They seemed… well, deliberately seemed to have forgotten the rightful heir. With the first horn blast, they followed Consens and Caterina, vanishing without a trace.

Surveying the surrounding scenery, Constantine felt an impulse to wryly laugh.

Frowning thoughtfully, he eventually waved off his Attendants, allowing them free rein… After all, it was common knowledge the game stocked in these hunting grounds were usually provided by the organizers. So, with their hunting skills, his mercenaries would likely return with a decent haul.

He himself dismounted. Leading the borrowed steed, he strolled slowly towards the center of the field. Horsemanship had never been his forte, especially on this large, temporary mount. Though relatively docile, the saddle still chafed painfully against his hips.

“With yellow leaves swirling, the sounds of mountain springs whispering, admiring the agile forms of kestrels and hounds… Do you not find this a rather pleasant, inspiring affair?” Just as the leisurely young man approached the outskirts of the tent areas, someone recited lines that sounded much like a sonnet…

Constantine turned. He saw an imposing old man standing behind him. Streaks of grey in his hair and a thick beard added a touch of dignity. A magnificent robe embroidered with intricate, colorful patterns adorned him, lending an exotic air.

Constantine’s eyes briefly flickered. Then, with utmost deference, he offered the highest gesture of respect towards an elder. The golden crest pinned to the robe confirmed the identity of the man before him: the current head of the Oriel family, Imperial Prince Robert da Nazario Oriel.

“Hahaha, don’t be nervous, lad!” The Prince’s voice was slow and amiable, devoid of the gravitas one might expect from so mighty a personage. He moved with the ease of any commonplace, pleasant old man. His words weren’t particularly refined, somewhat breaking Noble composure norms. “I simply happened to notice you were alone for quite some time and couldn’t help but say something… Ah, right! You must be the Connallyvis boy… ah, George’s son, yes? That makes you Viscount Constantine. Hehe…”

Clearly, when one’s status and years reach a certain height, they can act freely. This Prince possessed the status and capability to speak as he pleased.

“Your Highness honors me far too greatly! Even my father would only be considered your junior! Please simply call me Constantine.” The youth quickly adopted a humble tone. The man before him was formidable enough to make the whole Empire tremble with a stamp of his foot. Honorifics like ‘sir’ or ‘my Lord’ were polite gestures to offer, but actually accepting one risked unforgivable presumption.

“Then I shall presume upon my age…” The old man displayed a relaxed expression. “Your father and I had some dealings decades past. Regrettably, sensitive positions in recent years, coupled with his frequent absences, have afforded scant opportunity to meet. Encountering you today might be considered fate.”

Exchanges between the two families did exist, though Constantine only knew the younger Oriel had once served briefly as a strategist for Connallyvis… Deeper bonds likely existed, but those couldn’t be publicly known.

“I noticed you seem disinclined to participate in the hunt. Feeling unwell?” The Prince’s smile remained gentle. “Or will you deny an old man a pointless curiosity?”

“I… I’ve scant mastery over horse-breaking. Most Horses native to the Western Frontier are notoriously hot-tempered. Hence, I never acquired a suitable…” Constantine flushed slightly. For a Noble, even a youth, equestrian skills were fundamental. While it might be overlooked elsewhere, turning up for a hunt without a proper mount was undeniably shameful.

“Well, then… I have a few decent mounts remaining! Why not select one? Consider it this grandpa’s welcoming gift.” The Prince’s smile broadened. He casually summoned a servant with a few instructions. Within minutes, five or six Horses were brought before Constantine.

Even with limited knowledge of equine breeding, Constantine could tell these were all quality animals. Yet, among fine Horses, differences remained vast. For instance, the white stallion and the chestnut mount, with their evenly developed muscles and sleek conformation, clearly spoke of aristocratic lineage.

“Then… I gratefully accept!”

Obviously, this was another subtle test. Constantine considered briefly, then offered no refusal.

The obviously prideful, oversized Steeds were immediately discounted – a purebred horse of renowned bloodlines could fetch tens of thousands of gold pieces. Moreover, the breeding lines of many superb Steeds were jealously guarded secrets held by a few families. These mounts occasionally proved better proof of lineage than formal crests, rendering their value beyond mere cost. Choosing one, even if the Prince offered no outward disapproval, would undoubtedly represent an effective investment from him.

So, scratching his nose, Constantine approached the horse on his left.

It stood around five feet tall at the head, its back just over four feet high – somewhat small. Yet its entire coat was a glossy sheen of pure black, catching the Sun’s rays. Only its mane and tail were startling silver-white, reminiscent of Noble platinum hair. Even without special expertise, one recognized its superiority in conformation. Neck, shoulders, loins… every muscle delineated smooth curves beneath the skin. The entire animal radiated near-explosive power; the tension in its four legs distinctly recalled the relentless Terminator. Its compact stature, paired with its robust build, granted it remarkable composure – like an unshakable boulder. Not a purebred perhaps, but as a well-bred cross, the results were exceptional. Constantine vaguely recalled this horse matching some famous breed from fragmented memories, though the name eluded him.

This choice was undoubtedly best: neither the finest nor the worst, saving the Prince’s face without inviting accusations of grand bribery, while subtly displaying distinctive taste. A mixed-breed horse ranked as commonplace among Noble gifts, yet the youth remained vigilant, reluctant to immerse himself deeply among these politicized creatures.

“Good eye.” The Prince twisted his beard, offering an enigmatic smile. He gestured. Someone swiftly outfitted the horse with a full saddle and bridle and led it before them both.

“Give it a try… This fellow is a new breed I’ve worked hard to cultivate in recent years. Not pureblooded, but born of two purebred parents. I wouldn’t claim it combines the best traits of both, but I believe it stands equal to either parent. Despite its powerful build, it’s only a two-year-old.”

Constantine hesitated momentarily before mounting. He gently nudged with his stirrups. The young horse began circling lightly on the lawn around the Prince.

Constantine had ridden before, but never experienced anything remotely resembling this. The colt moved superbly – swift runs and quick jumps were executed with incredible smoothness. Even his barely adequate horsemanship felt perfectly balanced atop it. The wind brushed past his ears; vast wilderness and azure sky filled his eyes. This utterly novel sensation sparked exhilaration within him.

“A truly fine mount!” the youth praised upon dismounting a circle later. “Rumor credits the ancestors of the finest short-distance sprinters as dragon Horses gifted by the Sea God centuries ago in ancient times. I’ve seen them – beautiful creatures indeed! But your Horses possess a more rationally structured hindquarter muscle group. This configuration clearly leans towards raw power… Yet this setup grants them endurance too! Years of refinement must be the cause, right?”

In truth, Constantine possessed only basic knowledge of identifying horseflesh. His eclectic mix of lore, however, held concepts beyond common knowledge of this era. Tossing out seemingly technical jargon gleaned from forgotten readings made the Prince’s slight smile blossom into genuine delight.

“Combining power and endurance… precisely! There, I don’t hesitate to boast! Throughout Phoenix Nation – perhaps the entire Western Continent – you’d struggle to find horses equal to mine!” Clearly charmed by the praise couched in peculiar terms, the Prince felt an immediate kinship… Waving his hand proudly, he declared, “Only a fraction of my breeding stock originates locally in Phoenix. Most fine breeding stock was acquired at great cost from renowned sources worldwide. Through meticulous breeding over the last decade, I’ve honed lines perfectly adapted to our climate, capable of hundreds of miles daily journeys. Seeing them… it brings authentic joy! A sense that I’ve achieved something meaningful!”

“Prince Robert possesses immense breadth of vision,” Constantine voiced appreciation gently, though his mind raced feverishly. Why was this Prince suddenly extending such congeniality…?