Le Petit Jardin Restaurant – Sol-Regis Capital. Night – 19:15.
The restaurant was the living definition of "parsimonious luxury." The porcelain plates were as wide as carriage wheels, yet the portions sitting at their centers were no larger than a toddler's fist. Aromatherapy candles released a scent of roses so cloying it made a nose accustomed to the sharp odors of chemical labs twitch in irritation.
At Table 8, Sir Rianor sat with a ramrod-straight back and a stiff posture. Deprived of the glasses that usually framed his face, his eyes appeared sharp yet vacant. His mind wasn't here; his soul was adrift, calculating calculus formulas for his next telegraph project.
Opposite him, Lady Vanessa was busy flaunting herself. The daughter of the Shipping Count was undeniably beautiful, with platinum blonde hair styled in intricate braids and a crimson gown that screamed for attention. The diamonds draped around her neck sparkled bright enough to fund a village's needs for an entire year.
"So..." Vanessa swirled her wine glass with an affected, preened grace. "You know that limited edition Hermèsia bag the Princess Viscount wore yesterday? Hmph, it's a total knockoff."
"Oh?" Rianor responded flatly, his fingers idly fiddling with the napkin on his lap. "How could you tell?"
"It's all in the stitching, obviously!" Vanessa giggled haughtily. "Authentic Wyvern-leather stitching is supposed to slant left at exactly forty-five degrees. If it's straight, it's a cheap factory imitation. I felt so sorry for her, acting all high and mighty."
Rianor gave a subtle nod, though mentally, he was crunching the numbers. An authentic Wyvern-hide bag cost five hundred gold coins with a capacity of barely two liters. A mass-produced canvas bag cost five silver coins with the same volume. A financial inefficiency of ten thousand percent just for a slanted stitch. Tch.
"And Rianor," Vanessa leaned in, peering intensely into his face. "You've been so quiet. Compliment my new earrings. These are diamonds from the Southern Mines, you know."
Rianor blinked. He suddenly remembered his mother's absolute command: Compliment her.
"Erm..." Rianor stared at the earrings, performing a rapid visual analysis. "Those earrings... are remarkably symmetrical, My Lady. The light refraction indicates a very precise Brilliant Cut. They must be, uh... quite aerodynamic when you walk."
Vanessa froze. "Aero... dynamic?"
"I meant... beautiful. Very beautiful," Rianor corrected quickly, shifting awkwardly in his seat.
"Hmph. You're such a weirdo," Vanessa pouted, though a spark of delight wasn't entirely hidden from her face. "But fine, at least you're handsome. Unlike my last fiancé—his stomach was as bloated as a wine vat."
Suddenly, a waiter arrived carrying the main course: Wagyu steak drizzled in truffle sauce. Rianor's eyes narrowed. He didn't look at the meat; he looked at the boots. The waiter wore heavy leather combat boots instead of the light loafers typical of elite restaurant staff. Moreover, there was a faint, sharp scent of metallic oil—a smell very familiar to a miner.
Assassin, Rianor thought coldly. Morvath, you really lack creativity.
The waiter set the plate before Rianor. His right hand moved toward the underside of the silver tray. There was a flash of steel reflecting the candlelight.
"Enjoy your final dinner, Lord Sudrath," the waiter whispered in a voice barely audible.
The stiletto blade lunged straight for Rianor's throat. Across the table, Vanessa was busy cutting her meat, entirely oblivious to the lurking death.
Rianor didn't dodge with a dramatic flair. He didn't want to ruin the suit his mother had meticulously prepared. With a minimalist motion, his left hand reached into his inner jacket pocket, retrieving the Stun Pen. He jammed the tip of the pen directly under the waiter's armpit—the most exposed neural cluster.
Click.
ZZZZT!
A faint crackle of static electricity buzzed. The waiter went rigid instantly. His eyes bulged, his mouth hanging open without being able to let out a sound. The dagger slipped from his grip. With a fluid reflex, Rianor caught the blade before it touched his plate and set it down calmly on the table as if it were a simple butter knife.
The paralyzed waiter began to lurch toward Vanessa. Rianor steadied him with one hand, then politely "seated" the unfortunate man in the empty chair beside them.
"Oh?" Vanessa turned in surprise. "Why is this waiter sitting here? How incredibly rude!"
"He... seems to be exhausted, My Lady," Rianor said calmly, wiping his hands with a clean napkin. "Perhaps his blood pressure is a bit low."
But the threat wasn't over. From the direction of the kitchen, two men dressed as chefs emerged with heavy meat cleavers. They saw their fallen comrade and immediately broke into a sprint.
"Attack!" one of them roared.
The restaurant's serene atmosphere shattered instantly. Patrons began to scream hysterically. "There are madmen! They have knives!"
Vanessa shrieked at the top of her lungs. "KYAAA! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"
Rianor let out a long, weary sigh. They're really interrupting my meal. He reached into his pocket again, flicking a small marble-sized ball onto the floor. Mini Smoke Bomb.
PUFF!
A thick cloud of white smoke exploded, but it only covered a three-meter radius. It wasn't ordinary smoke; it contained a high dosage of Northreach chili extract.
"ARGH! MY EYES!"
"COUGH! COUGH! I CAN'T BREATHE!"
The two fake chefs fell to the ground, rolling in agony, temporarily blinded and coughing violently. Rianor stood up calmly, straightening his jacket which hadn't even wrinkled. He looked at Vanessa, who was now hiding under the table, sobbing with her makeup smeared by tears.
"Lady Vanessa," Rianor called out politely. "The situation seems no longer conducive for continuing our dinner. Come, let me escort you to your carriage."
Vanessa looked up with a trembling face. She saw Rianor standing tall amidst the chaos, his expression remaining flat and emotionless while three men writhed in pain near him. To Vanessa, this wasn't a heroic scene of a knight from a novel. This was the sight of a psychopath.
"Y-you..." Vanessa trembled violently. "You took them down... without even leaving your seat? You haven't even broken a sweat?"
"Energy efficiency, My Lady," Rianor replied simply.
"YOU FREAK!" Vanessa shrieked. She scrambled out from under the table and hurled her napkin at Rianor's face before fleeing the restaurant in a blind panic. Her limited edition bag—the one that turned out to be a knockoff—was left forgotten on the chair.
Rianor pulled the napkin from his face. Silence returned to their table area. The restaurant manager arrived, his face as white as parchment. "Lord... what has happened..."
Rianor pulled out a pouch of gold coins. "Fifty gold pieces. To cover the damages and the medical fees for these three fools," Rianor pointed at the assassins. "The rest is for you, provided you remain silent about this incident."
Rianor picked up Vanessa's abandoned bag. "And please, doggy-bag the steak. It would be a waste to leave it uneaten."
Outside the Restaurant – Inside the Sudrath Carriage.
The carriage door swung open and Rianor stepped in, carrying a bundle of meat and a lady's handbag. Inside, Sir Roland was laughing so hard he was clutching his stomach.
"Hahaha! 'Energy efficiency, My Lady'!" Roland mimicked Rianor's monotone with mocking glee. "I swear, Rianor, that is the nerdient breakup line I've ever heard in my life!"
Rianor loosened his tie roughly and put his imaginary glasses back on. He immediately felt half the weight of the world lift. "Shut up. The important thing is I'm alive, and I got free steak."
"Mother is going to be furious, you know," Roland warned, though his laughter hadn't subsided. "Our shipping connection just vanished into thin air."
"It doesn't matter," Rianor said nonchalantly. "I managed to glance at the ledgers of Vanessa's father, the Count, at the reception desk when I walked in. It turns out they're facing a massive deficit. There's no point in partnering with a company on the brink of bankruptcy."
"Unbelievable... you actually found the time to audit someone's company while on a blind date," Roland shook his head in disbelief.
Suddenly, from the darkness in the corner of the carriage, a voice rang out. Elara—who turned out to be hiding there—revealed herself.
"At what voltage did you set that Stun Pen?" she asked, ignoring the dating drama.
"Maximum. Fifty thousand volts," Rianor answered.
"Good," Elara offered a rare, thin smile. "That means the mana circuit is stable. Tomorrow, let's build the long-range version."
Rianor smiled back. "Agreed."
Roland stared at the two of them with a look of pure horror. I guess Rianor's true soulmate is just another science maniac like Elara, Roland thought.
That night, Rianor may have failed to secure a trade connection. But he had successfully tested his secret weapon, enjoyed a delicious steak, and ended the matchmaking attempt without prolonged drama. A mission failed that ended in a massive success.