The train arrived the following afternoon.
Its wheels screeched against the rails as the locomotive gradually slowed, releasing a thick cloud of steam that drifted across the platform. The doors opened, and passengers began pouring out, some hurrying towards the station's exit while others lingered to collect their luggage.
Haika.
The town was considerably livelier than Owen had expected.
Carriages rolled along the paved streets, merchants called out to passing customers, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery. Buildings of pale stone lined the roads, their upper floors adorned with wooden balconies and flower boxes. Beyond the rooftops, the barony's central district rose towards a gentle hill, where the estates of its wealthier residents stood behind tall iron fences.
There was nothing particularly sinister about the place.
If anything, it looked like somewhere a person could spend an entire lifetime without encountering anything more dangerous than an argument over market prices.
Owen rather liked that.
He stood outside a tailor shop, staring at the sign hanging above its entrance.
A faint smile crossed his face.
Behind him, Lucius adjusted the collar of his travelling coat.
"You know," he began, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Owen didn't respond.
Lucius waited.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Owen."
"Hm?"
"Have you considered explaining what exactly we're doing here?"
Owen turned towards him.
For a brief moment, he stared at Lucius as though the question had caught him completely off guard.
Then his eyes widened.
"Oh."
Lucius narrowed his eyes.
"Oh?"
"I forgot."
Silence.
A carriage rolled past them.
Somewhere down the street, a merchant began shouting about the quality of his apples.
Lucius continued staring.
Owen scratched his cheek.
"I forgot you were following me around."
The expression on Lucius's face changed so slowly that it was almost impressive.
First came disbelief.
Then came the faint twitch beneath his left eye.
Finally, his lips parted.
"I'm going to kill you."
Owen blinked.
"Why?"
"WHY?"
"You're making a scene."
Lucius took a slow breath through his nose.
He had fought mana beasts. He had stood against enemies capable of levelling entire buildings. He had witnessed things that would have driven ordinary men to their knees.
Yet somehow, this white-haired bastard was proving to be the greatest test of his patience.
"I have spent the better part of the journey listening to your miserable breathing, watching you stare out of windows, and wondering whether you've suffered some sort of brain injury," Lucius said, his voice growing increasingly strained. "And now you're telling me that you forgot why I was here in the first place?"
Owen considered that for a moment.
"When you put it like that, it sounds bad."
"BECAUSE IT IS BAD!"
A few passers-by glanced in their direction.
Owen turned towards the tailor shop.
"Anyway, we need suits."
Lucius stopped.
"...What?"
Owen pointed at the sign.
"If we're going to infiltrate the Baron's Manor, we can't exactly walk in looking like two men who spent the last several days fighting for their lives."
Lucius's irritation paused long enough for his curiosity to take its place.
"The Baron's Manor?"
Owen said nothing.
He simply pushed open the shop's door and stepped inside.
Lucius remained on the pavement for several seconds.
He looked at the shop.
Then at Owen's retreating figure.
Then back at the shop.
"One day," he muttered, following him inside, "I'm going to discover what goes on inside that head of yours."
He wasn't particularly optimistic about the answer.
-
The bell above the door chimed.
The interior of the boutique was a world apart from the bustle outside.
Polished wooden floors stretched beneath their feet, and warm light spilled from elegant glass fixtures suspended from the ceiling. Mannequins stood along the walls, dressed in everything from elaborate formal wear to understated travelling suits. Bolts of expensive fabric occupied shelves behind a long counter, their colours arranged so neatly that even Owen found himself appreciating the display.
The air carried a faint scent of cedarwood and perfume.
A young receptionist looked up from her desk.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to Maison de Velour. How may we assist you today?"
Her gaze passed over Owen and settled on Lucius.
Something changed in her expression.
It was subtle, but Owen noticed it.
The receptionist straightened almost immediately, her professional smile becoming considerably more attentive.
She took in Lucius's posture, his manner of speaking when he returned her greeting, and the quality of his clothing. Then her eyes moved to Owen.
Despite their travel-worn appearances, there was something about the pair that made it difficult to mistake them for ordinary customers.
Their clothes might have been simple, but neither carried himself like a common traveller.
"Of course," she said warmly. "Are you looking for formal attire, or perhaps something suitable for an evening engagement?"
"Formal attire," Lucius replied. "Preferably something that doesn't make us look as though we're attending a funeral."
Owen glanced at him.
"Speak for yourself."
The receptionist laughed politely, apparently deciding that the remark was a joke.
"Certainly. We have several designs that may suit your needs. If you'll follow me, I'll have our attendants take your measurements and bring out a few selections."
She clapped her hands lightly.
Almost immediately, two assistants emerged from a doorway behind the counter.
One approached Lucius, while the other guided Owen towards a raised platform near the fitting rooms.
"Before we begin," the receptionist continued, "may I ask if you have any particular preferences regarding colour or style?"
"Black," Owen answered.
The woman smiled.
"An excellent choice. Something understated, perhaps?"
"Something comfortable."
"Naturally."
Lucius, meanwhile, was examining a display of accessories.
He picked up a pair of silver cufflinks, turned them over in his fingers, and returned them to their place.
"Black suits," he said. "Tailored, but not too tight around the shoulders. I prefer something that allows me to move freely."
"Understood, sir."
"And I need spectacles."
The assistant blinked.
"Spectacles?"
Lucius nodded.
"Rounded frames. Nothing too extravagant."
Owen turned his head.
"Since when do you wear spectacles?"
Lucius looked at him.
"Since I decided I wanted spectacles."
"Do you even need them?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"Because I want them."
Owen stared at him for a moment.
"...You're an idiot."
"And yet, somehow, I'm still the one who remembered to bring a functioning brain to this expedition."
Owen looked away.
"Whatever."
The assistant standing beside Lucius appeared to be fighting a smile.
She quickly recovered and gestured towards a collection of frames arranged inside a glass cabinet.
"Perhaps we should begin with these, sir."
Lucius followed her without another word.
Owen was led towards the fitting area.
And so began what would turn out to be a considerably longer process than either man had anticipated.
-
"Please keep your head still."
Owen stared at his reflection.
A young woman stood behind him, carefully trimming his long white hair with a pair of scissors. Several strands fell across the dark cloth draped around his shoulders, collecting near his feet.
He watched them fall.
Then he watched a few more.
He was beginning to suspect that getting a haircut had been a mistake.
"How much shorter?" the woman asked.
"Enough."
She paused.
"Enough?"
Owen nodded.
"Just trim it. Don't make me look like a different person."
The woman smiled.
"I understand. Though, if you don't mind me saying, your hair is quite remarkable."
Owen said nothing.
She gently combed through another section.
"It's so soft. And silky, too. I've never seen hair quite like it. The colour is beautiful as well. It's almost as white as freshly fallen snow."
Owen continued staring straight ahead.
The scissors moved again.
"Honestly, it's rather unfair."
His eyes shifted towards her reflection.
"What's unfair?"
She laughed softly.
"That someone should be blessed with such beautiful hair and such a handsome face at the same time."
For the first time since sitting down, Owen's expression faltered.
Only slightly.
But it faltered.
The woman didn't seem to notice.
"You're very quiet," she continued. "Are you always this reserved?"
"No."
"Oh? So you're just shy?"
"No."
She hummed thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps you simply don't know how to respond to compliments."
Owen's ears had begun turning red.
He noticed.
Which, naturally, only made things worse.
He cleared his throat.
"Are you nearly finished?"
The woman giggled.
"Almost."
Owen looked straight ahead again, his expression carefully composed.
He could face mana beasts without flinching. He could stand before an enemy intent on killing him and smile without a hint of fear.
Apparently, none of that had prepared him for a woman complimenting his appearance while holding a pair of scissors near his head.
This is ridiculous.
He closed his eyes.
"Just finish the haircut."
"Of course, handsome."
Owen nearly stood up.
The woman laughed.
-
Lucius was having a considerably more pleasant experience.
He stood before a mirror while an attendant adjusted the shoulders of his newly tailored jacket.
The suit was entirely black, with clean lines that followed his frame without restricting his movement. A dark shirt sat beneath it, its collar neatly arranged, while the subtle sheen of the fabric gave the ensemble an expensive appearance without making it unnecessarily flashy.
His blonde hair had been partially braided and tied back, leaving several loose strands framing his face.
The final touch was a pair of rounded spectacles.
Lucius adjusted them on the bridge of his nose.
He studied his reflection.
Then he smiled.
"Now this," he said, "is what I call an improvement."
The attendant stepped back.
"It suits you remarkably well, sir."
"Naturally."
She gave him a polite smile.
Lucius tilted his head, examining the spectacles from another angle.
"They make me look considerably more intelligent."
"Did you need the assistance?"
Lucius turned towards her.
She immediately looked as though she regretted the question.
Then he laughed.
"Excellent. You've got a sense of humor. I like that."
He turned back to the mirror.
His appearance had changed more than he'd anticipated.
Without his usual travelling clothes, the familiar knight looked like an entirely different man. The spectacles softened the sharpness of his expression, while the partially braided hair gave him an air of deliberate refinement.
He could pass for a noble's private secretary.
A well-connected merchant.
Perhaps even a minor aristocrat with a questionable interest in other people's affairs.
Lucius smiled at the last thought.
Perfect.
Across the room, Owen was finally released from the merciless hands of the hairdresser.
He emerged from the fitting area wearing a black suit that seemed almost custom-made for him.
The jacket sat neatly across his shoulders, its cut emphasising his build without appearing restrictive. His shirt was dark, his trousers fitted, and his shoes polished to a shine.
His white hair had been trimmed and slicked back, exposing more of his face while allowing a few strands to fall naturally near his forehead.
Square spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose.
They should have made his scarlet eyes appear less conspicuous.
Instead, the contrast made them seem even more vivid, the red standing out against the otherwise monochromatic appearance.
Owen adjusted the frames.
Then he looked towards Lucius.
"Done?"
Lucius turned.
He stared.
Owen stared back.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Lucius slowly smiled.
"Oh, this is wonderful."
Owen's expression darkened.
"Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"You're thinking it."
"Thinking what?"
"Whatever stupid thing is about to come out of your mouth."
Lucius placed a hand over his chest.
"Must you always assume the worst of me?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was simply going to compliment your appearance."
Owen blinked.
Lucius's smile widened.
"Though I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to look like the sort of man who owns three estates and has personally ruined the lives of seven rival families."
Owen stared at him.
"...What?"
"You look expensive."
"Fuck off."
Lucius burst out laughing.
The receptionist, who had been observing their final fittings from the counter, approached with a pleased smile.
"You both look wonderful. I believe the gentlemen who commissioned these designs will be quite satisfied."
Owen adjusted his cuffs.
"Let's hope so."
Lucius glanced at him.
"That sounded almost like gratitude."
"Don't get used to it."
They settled the bill and stepped outside.
The afternoon sunlight fell across their new attire.
And the effect was immediate.
People turned their heads as they passed.
A pair of young women walking along the pavement slowed their pace, whispering to one another as Owen and Lucius emerged from the shop. A merchant standing beside his carriage watched them with open curiosity, while a nearby shopkeeper briefly abandoned his conversation to follow their movements.
Owen noticed the attention.
He ignored it.
Lucius noticed it too.
He looked thoroughly pleased.
"Well," he murmured, adjusting his spectacles, "this is a pleasant development."
"What is?"
"People have finally begun appreciating my existence."
"They're looking at me."
Lucius turned towards him.
The two stared at one another.
Then Lucius sighed.
"You're impossible."
Owen smiled faintly.
"I know."
Before Lucius could respond, the sound of approaching hooves drew their attention.
A black carriage rolled to a stop beside the pavement. Its polished exterior reflected the surrounding buildings, and the crest on its door suggested that its owner was accustomed to a certain degree of wealth.
The chauffeur climbed down from the driver's seat and opened the carriage door.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Where shall I take you?"
Owen didn't hesitate.
"The Baron's Manor."
The chauffeur nodded.
"Very good, sir."
Lucius glanced at Owen as they climbed inside and sighed.