Mikhail (4) ****
Thump!
The carriage caught on a stone before finding its rhythm again.
Amidst the rhythmic swaying, Laura absentmindedly looked down at her own right hand.
Even though she was wearing a glove, she had the illusion that the warmth of the hand she had clasped just a moment ago still remained.
Without realizing it, she gently stroked the back of her right hand with her left.
"Guildmaster."
It was Fiora, sitting opposite her, who broke the silence.
The voice of a loyal subordinate, filled with worry.
"This business… will it really be alright?"
"…"
"You know, don't you, about His Highness the 7th Prince. About what kind of person he is… you must have heard all the rumors circulating in the capital."
Rumors.
Of course, she knew.
For a merchant, rumors were the sharpest of weapons.
A prince who was once called the 'Benevolent Duke' for his kindhearted nature.
A devoted son who cherished his mother with the utmost sincerity.
But that Benevolent Duke, after losing his mother to poison, had been broken.
In the end, under the charge of tarnishing the honor of the imperial family, he was exiled to this far, distant Far East Maritime Province, to his territory.
That was all the world knew of the good-for-nothing, Grand Duke Mikhail.
Laura turned her gaze out the window.
The grand duke's residence had already completely disappeared from view.
"…Fiora."
"Yes, Guildmaster."
"The His Highness I met in person."
Laura's golden eyes sank languidly.
"He was different from the rumors."
"…Pardon?"
"He wasn't a drunkard, nor a madman. His eyes were languid and empty… which made him all the more inscrutable."
Instead of madness and anger, there was only ennui.
But the unusual glint that occasionally appeared in them was truly pure.
Like a young child.
At least, the Mikhail she had met was that kind of man.
She couldn't tell which was his true self.
No, she didn't need to know.
The only thing that mattered was the fact that he had placed the handle of the sword in her hands.
Laura turned her gaze again to face the worried Fiora.
A cold smile appeared very faintly on her lips.
"We're going to be busy from now on, Fiora."
***
One month later.
Vladimir, the capital of the Far East Maritime Province, was bustling with the biggest festival since its founding.
The public square had been transformed into a giant outdoor restaurant.
On the endlessly lined stalls, freshly caught fish, crabs, and clams were piled up like mountains and grilled on the spot, and on a huge log fire, whale meat was cooked whole, dripping savory oil.
Bread and potatoes could be taken as much as one desired.
All the supplies were provided through the Valeriano Merchant Guild.
And the cost was paid for entirely by the taxes from the grand duke's treasury.
A beautiful circulation of taxes.
But the common people, who had no way of knowing such inner workings, were simply ecstatic about this sudden stroke of luck.
"Wow! Is all of this really free?!"
"Long live His Highness the Grand Duke! I never thought a day like this would come!"
The star of the festival, in particular, was undoubtedly the alcohol.
A clear, transparent liquid that was poured into crude wooden cups.
Mikhail Red Label.
"Good heavens, I've never had such a clean alcohol in my life!"
"There's nothing that catches in your throat!"
It was excellent even when drunk on its own, but the servants, officials, and employees who were former brewers, stationed throughout the festival grounds, spread a new way of drinking to the people.
"Here, here, madam! Try adding just a little bit of these dried herbs. The aroma will really come alive!"
"Hey, friend! Try mixing in a little of that wild raspberry juice over there! A new world will open up!"
The people cheered and followed their teachings.
They created their own combinations, recommended them to each other, compared the tastes, and laughed boisterously.
As the sun began to tilt westward and the festival was reaching its peak.
On the terrace of the grand duke's residence, where the noise of the festival could be heard from a distance, the influential figures of the territory gathered, watching the boisterous square from afar.
Local nobles with titles under the grand duchy, branch managers of major merchant guilds, military officers of field grade and above, and high-ranking officials in charge of administration.
In their hands, they all held crystal glasses.
And inside those glasses, the colorless, transparent Mikhail Blue Label sparkled, catching the light.
"Hoho, this is truly something."
Lieutenant General Vasiliev, the commander of the garrison, who had a bushy beard, said in admiration.
"To think that such an alcohol came from our territory, I still can't believe it."
"Indeed, Your Excellency the Commander. I've never tasted an alcohol like this even in the capital."
The one who responded was a local noble with a potbelly.
He stroked his mustache and gave a sly smile.
"As expected of our His Highness the Grand Duke. He may not be much else, but isn't his connoisseurship of alcohol the best in the empire? Hoho."
"Puhah!"
Laughter erupted from those around.
"Shh! Be quiet. What will you do if he hears you?"
Someone said it jokingly, but his face was also full of mirth.
Everyone knew.
What kind of person the host of this banquet, their new lord, was.
And also the fact that he was not present here now.
The atmosphere of them gathered in small groups, chatting amiably, was as ripe as it could be.
It was at that very moment.
Kkiiik—
The heavy door of the banquet hall opened with a sound.
All the noise stopped as if by a lie.
Dozens of gazes turned toward the door in unison.
It was Mikhail.
With his usual languid expression, he entered the banquet hall as if sauntering.
An attitude as if he were entering his own living room.
But no one dared to open their mouths.
The silence pressed down heavily on the space.
Mikhail crossed the banquet hall slowly, as if enjoying the silence.
On his way, he casually picked up a glass of Blue Label from a tray held by a servant.
And he stopped in the center of the hall, in front of the seat of honor.
Gulp!
The sound of someone swallowing dryly was unusually loud.
Mikhail raised his glass and took a sip.
And with a satisfied look, he smiled and set the glass down.
A clear sound rang out with a 'jjaeng'.
He slowly looked around at the dozens of stiff faces staring at him.
His eyes were empty.
And finally, he opened his mouth.
"Why does everyone look like that? You'd think I'd drowned someone in the sea out there."
At Mikhail's single joke, the air of the once-boisterous banquet hall froze solid.
Everyone held their breath, just glancing at each other with faces that didn't know what to say.
It was at that very moment.
"Your Highness."
Like a pebble thrown into a quiet pond, a clear and calm voice broke the silence.
It was Laura.
She took a step closer to Mikhail and lightly placed her hand on his arm.
"You must first greet your guests."
Her golden eyes curved into a gentle arc as they looked at Mikhail.
A subtle gaze, as if chiding, but also as if understanding everything.
"Aha, I see."
Mikhail shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly, as if he had just remembered.
"You see, I'm absolutely terrible at this kind of stiff etiquette. Haha."
A few people forced a laugh at his jest.
The atmosphere was still awkward.
Mikhail paid it no mind and stepped into the center of the hall.
"Everyone, thank you for coming. It's a truly fine day."
His voice was still languid, but it had a strange magnetism.
"The birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming. And most importantly, the alcohol is delicious, isn't it?"
He grinned.
"On a day like this, you have to enjoy it with some fire. Am I right?"
Ting—
Mikhail shook the small bell he was holding in his hand.
Peok!
At that moment, all the magic lights illuminating the banquet hall went out at once.
A complete darkness that came in an instant.
"Aack!"
"Wh-What's going on!"
Panicked screams erupted from all sides.
Then, with a 'kkiiik' sound, the door opened and servants entered quietly.
On the carts they were pushing, dozens of small glass cups faintly reflected the light even in the darkness.
One of the servants snapped his fingers.
A blue flame bloomed with a 'pong' sound above a glass.
And that flame spread to the next glass, and then to the one next to it.
Like dominoes, it spread in an instant, creating a fantastical scene as if dozens of blue stars had risen in the darkness.
"Ooh…!"
Gasps of awe burst out.
It was a Molotov cocktail.
A type of flaming cocktail, made by layering a thin film of alcohol strong enough to catch fire on top of the vodka and lighting it.
Mikhail had recreated it to fit this romance fantasy world.
The burning glasses were handed out one by one to all the influential figures.
Mikhail raised his own glass high.
"Now, first, a toast!"
Hoo—
He blew lightly to extinguish the flame and emptied the glass in one go.
"Keuu. This is hot, so everyone be careful if you don't want to burn your lips."
At his playful warning, the eyes of the influential figures shone with curiosity.
Lieutenant General Vasiliev, the garrison commander, was the first to follow Mikhail and blow out the flame with a 'hoo'.
"Ah, hot!"
Someone who had hastily brought their lips to the glass shouted, but his face was filled more with pleasure than pain.
"Puhaha! This is quite fiery!"
Laughter erupted from here and there.
The frozen atmosphere melted away in an instant.
A noble nudged the shoulder of the friend next to him and whispered in a low voice.
"One more thing to brag about in my letters, wouldn't you say?"
***
'Mikhail' quickly started to ride the forefront of the trend through word-of-mouth and letters.
The reason why the colorless, odorless, and tasteless Mikhail had sent the empire into a frenzy was simple.
It was because one could infuse and mix various things according to one's own taste to create one's very own special 'Mikhail'.
Thanks to this trend not discriminating by social status, 'Mikhail Red Label' could be found without difficulty even on the tables of a small, shabby tavern called 'The Little Chili' in the back alleys of the capital.
Kwang!
At the sound of a wooden cup slamming down on the table, the surrounding gazes were momentarily drawn to it.
"Damn it, it's just disgustingly expensive!"
Edward, an old porter who worked at the customs house, grumbled with a reddened face.
In front of him was a half-empty, crude bottle.
A bottle with a distinct red label.
"Old man, that again."
The office boy, Peña, who was sitting opposite him, retorted with a small laugh.
"What's the big deal about it being a couple of pennies more expensive than other strong liquors?"
"What, you punk? With those couple of pennies, I could buy my grandson a handful of candy!"
"Come on, it's worth the price, isn't it!"
Lev, an apprentice who had been quietly sipping his drink on the side, chimed in.
"Look at this, since it has no taste or aroma, whatever you mix with it tastes just right! In our workshop, it's a trend to drink it with apple juice, and it's amazing!"
"Hmph, what do you mean, drinking alcohol with something mixed in it like a girl."
Edward snorted, but Jean continued as if he had been waiting.
"Ah, I saw this at the 'Cow's Rump' in that district the other day, some guy was mixing it with cream and drinking it."
"Whaat? Cream?"
"I'm serious! He was sipping this white, watery thing… he looked just like a male prostitute! Puhaha!"
Boisterous laughter erupted.
"Quiet! You punks! His Highness Grand Duke Mikhail himself said to drink as you please, so what the hell are you all complaining about!"
The tavern owner shouted gruffly from behind the counter.
He slung the dishcloth he had been using to wipe dust over his shoulder and took a bottle of Red Label from the shelf.
The bottle was filled with the peels of lemon and orange and slices of ginger; it was a specialty of this tavern.
"I'll let you drunkards have a taste of our tavern's pride!"
When he opened the bottle cap, a faint orange aroma spread out, pushing through the smell of alcohol.
"Keuu…!"
Lev, who tasted a sip, his eyes went wide.
"This is really something, isn't it!?"
"By the way."
Jean emptied his glass and then lowered his voice to broach a subject.
"Did you hear? The rumor that there's something called Blue Label, on a whole different level from this red-labeled one."
At that one phrase, the atmosphere at the table changed.
"I heard it too. The knights say that when you drink it, it feels like you're walking on clouds or something."
"I heard one glass is more expensive than our monthly salary."
"Come on, no way."
"Dream on, you idiot. That kind of thing is for the high and mighty folks way up there to drink."
Edward filled his glass with a bitter look.
A silence mixed with envy and resignation flowed for a moment.
"Still, though."
Edward raised his glass high.
"That good-for-nothing Grand Duke who makes and sells this stuff, he's no ordinary weirdo. Thanks to him, we get to taste all sorts of different alcohol."
At those words, everyone chuckled and raised their own glasses.
"Yeah, thanks to that drunkard, our mouths are living in luxury!"
"Alright, then all together!"
As Edward led the chant, the same slogan erupted from all over the tavern.
"To the drunkard Grand Duke, His Highness Mikhail!"
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