After expending so much energy yesterday, I slept like a rock through the night.
When I came downstairs in the morning, a lavish breakfast was already set on the table—soup, assorted breads, and a fresh salad.
"You're up early. Please, have a seat and eat! Hehe."
"You really didn't have to go all out like this."
"Oh, come on. If you keep acting so reserved, you're just making it harder for me."
York definitely wanted something from me, but ever since last night, he hadn't brought it up again.
Whatever his intentions were, there was no reason to turn down a good meal.
He guided me to the head of the table, then took a seat directly across from me, grinning.
This is strange. Too strange.
I took a moment to scan my surroundings.
Last night, I hadn't gotten a good look because of the dim lighting. Now, I could see that every single item—from the silverware to the decorations—was of the highest quality.
Calling this a "small estate" was an understatement. York was living a life far more extravagant than I had assumed.
How does a mere merchant amass this much wealth?
Merchants are typically bound by the economic limits of their city. It doesn't matter how many goods they bring in—if there's no one to buy them, they won't turn a profit.
And in a backwater place like this, what could possibly be worth selling at such a scale?
By all logic, York should be barely scraping by. Yet he was enjoying wealth that defied common sense.
That made me curious.
"Looks like you've made quite a fortune. Got any secrets to share?"
"Asking a merchant about his trade secrets? Not even you, Lord Zed, can expect an answer to that."
"Come on, just a little hint? I happen to be very interested in money."
"Heh. Wealth is a mix of experience and connections, my friend."
So, he wasn't planning to share anything meaningful.
I shrugged and took a big bite of bread.
Well, I'll find out sooner or later.
Just then, a servant rushed inside.
"Master! A visitor has arrived!"
"A visitor?"
"Yes! A messenger from the Imperial Palace!"
A messenger? Could it be a royal decree?
I had expected it to arrive by tomorrow, yet here it was, a day early.
I had planned to search for the Toma tribe after breakfast, but it seemed I'd have to adjust my schedule.
As I narrowed my eyes in thought, York was watching me intently.
"What? Why are you staring at me?"
"Oh, nothing. I just assumed the messenger must be here for you."
"Hmm."
"I'll have him brought in. We can't keep an envoy of His Majesty waiting outside."
I gave a small nod, and York immediately called for the messenger to be shown in.
Perhaps due to my heightened perception, I detected something odd in his voice—was that… excitement?
"Oh ho! To host an envoy of His Majesty in my humble abode—what great fortune! If you haven't eaten yet, please join us."
The moment the messenger stepped in, York practically leapt toward him, clasping his hands and bowing deeply with a practiced smile.
The man wore imperial armor, and a white feather on his helmet signified his role as a royal messenger.
"What is your name?"
"Ah! York, sir. Hehe."
"I am Phutan, messenger of His Majesty. I shall remember your name and hospitality."
"Oh, it is my greatest honor! There is plenty of food—why not dine with us before delivering your message?"
"I shall."
Phutan sat beside York and immediately picked up his utensils.
On the surface, nothing seemed out of place… yet something about it gnawed at me.
An imperial messenger, huh?
Then, it hit me.
A royal envoy should have confirmed my identity and delivered the decree first, not after a meal.
It wasn't a lengthy procedure—why put it off?
And he hasn't even glanced at me.
It was as if he already knew exactly who I was.
Granted, I was the only person here who looked remotely like an Arrahan. But this was a direct order from the Emperor. Protocol demanded proper verification.
How did he know I was here?
The more I thought about it, the more suspicious it became.
I put down my utensils and shifted my gaze.
"You said you were an imperial envoy?"
"...What did you just say? Did you just utter 'the Emperor' without proper reverence? Are you mocking His Majesty?!"
"I didn't attach an honorific. That counts as mockery? Bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
"How dare you! If you do not correct yourself immediately, I shall enact the full punishment of imperial law!"
"Alright, fine. His Majesty the Emperor. Now, are you really an envoy?"
"Hah! Do you doubt me after seeing my armor and crest? I had heard Arrahan's Seventh Seat was formidable, but it seems your reputation is undeserved!"
I didn't respond. Instead, I just stared at Phutan.
For someone so devoted to the Emperor, why prioritize breakfast over delivering an imperial decree?
My gaze sharpened, and Phutan slammed the table in irritation.
"What is it, Zed Arrahan? Speak!"
"I'm just wondering if you're a real envoy… or a fraud."
"A fraud?! You dare insult me?!"
—Shing!
Phutan shot up and unsheathed his sword.
A golden hilt. The sigil of the sun. An exquisitely honed imperial blade was now pointed at me.
York covered his mouth in shock, while I remained composed.
"That was quite the reaction. Makes you seem even more suspicious."
"Y-you insolent wretch! I carry the will of His Majesty! Show proper respect!"
"Oh? You too? Funny. I also serve under His Majesty's command. Yet here you are, pointing a sword at me."
"...!"
His arrogant expression faltered for a brief moment.
"I was given direct orders from the Emperor himself. Are you truly an envoy, or are you an imposter?"
"…."
Phutan hesitated, then slowly withdrew his sword.
After a tense silence, he pulled out a silk-wrapped document and smirked.
"Zed Arrahan, heed the command of His Majesty."
As much as I disliked this, imperial protocol required me to kneel when receiving a royal decree.
I raised my hands, and Phutan roughly shoved the document into them.
"Read it. Your first mission must be completed within a week."
I undid the knot and unfolded the decree.
Please, let it be anything but that mission.
—
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Zed Arrahan is hereby ordered to eliminate the Black Cougar.
The moment I read it, a curse slipped from my mouth.
I had suspected it would involve the Black Cougar, but seeing it in writing pissed me off.
I bit my lip and glared at Phutan.
"Are you joking? Do you seriously expect me to do this?"
"Are you refusing a direct order from His Majesty?"
"You call this realistic? This is nothing short of a death sentence!"
Phutan leaned in, smirking.
Then, with deliberate slowness, he spoke the most infuriating words imaginable.
"There. Is. No. Such. Thing. As. An. Easy. Mission."
"…You son of a—"
This is gonna be a problem.