Ship horns echoed over the waves. Large and small vessels busily traversed the seemingly endless pier.

Among them, the massive foreign trade ships commanded the most attention. When trading vessels bearing the emblems of the imperial family, powerful houses, or merchant guilds arrived, countless people swarmed like ants.

The workers unloading, loading, and inspecting goods alone seemed endless. A long line of people seeking their goods formed in front of newly arrived ships. Worry and anxiety deeply marked everyone’s faces, concerned their goods might have spoiled during the long voyage.

When ships arrived, the people aboard them naturally disembarked too. Families, lovers, and friends embraced long-missed faces, asking after each other and chatting happily.

Among them, Pendlore Duston observed his own ship.

Moon Lighthouse, a luxurious retreat for shipowners. Among the many balconies facing the sea, Pendlore’s exclusive seat directly overlooked House Duston’s private dock.

His eyes captured the family banner fluttering majestically at the top of the tall mast. Strong westerly winds made departing ships raise their white sails like spreading wings, while arriving ships lowered them like folding.

Wandering seabirds and busy porters. Strange items freshly arrived from distant lands displayed before wholesalers. Transparent white porcelain reportedly made from Northern Sea white clay carefully wrapped in silk cloth and loaded into the innermost part of cargo wagons. The voices haggling over prices already sounded noisy.

He didn’t particularly enjoy the harbor’s bustle. But the coming and going ships and the salt-laden breeze felt welcome to Pendlore, like old friends.

‘Father!’

A childish voice shouting with excitement.

Around the time his father was scheduled to return, young Master Duston would come here with his mother to wait. The sea goddess proved fickle, making the previous Count Duston rarely arrive on his scheduled date.

Those days of looking out over the horizon with neck stretched, visiting the harbor for as short as a day or two, or as long as over a week.

That final wait never ended. Perhaps that explained the faint longing for the sea in his otherwise indifferent blue-gray eyes. The fantasy of a familiar banner flying high on a ship with billowing white sails crossing the waves someday.

Because he couldn’t quite abandon it.

‘……How ridiculous.’

But reality remained cold, offering no luxury to dwell on lukewarm melancholy.

Before growing accustomed to losing his father, Pendlore’s mother also left his side. All that remained for the fourteen-year-old boy were incompetent relatives with eyes reddened by greed.

Pendlore took only four years to reclaim House Duston. In those four years, various businesses built by his father and all sorts of hereditary assets scattered like grains in a typhoon. Those incompetent blood relatives couldn’t even maintain the once-wealthy Duston.

‘Thanks to that, reclaiming it proved easier.’ 

Remembering that winter at eighteen, a scoff escaped him. The beloved mansion he had been driven from and barely returned to remained desolate from lack of maintenance. Few servants remained, the territory halved, and of the five trading ships, only the smallest one floated pathetically, while creditors circled the mansion.

Even half the territory remained only because imperial-granted lands proved nearly impossible to resell without permission. Pendlore carefully saved the income from that half-territory for a year to pioneer new trade routes. Then within another year, he succeeded, establishing the foundation for his current wealth.

“Careful! Slowly!”

“Move aside! You slow fool!”

Rough shouts faintly reached him from the dock. Large boxes continuously unloaded from the Duston family’s 5th trading vessel. After passing through a not-too-cold winter, he now owned more than twenty foreign trading ships. He had become the owner of the fifth-largest fleet in this magnificent harbor, throughout the entire Empire. Since the first and second belonged to the imperial family, he effectively ranked third.

“Hey, Pendlore.”

Just then, a rough yet restrained voice called out. Pendlore didn’t move his gaze from the ship, pretending not to hear. Familiar with this attitude, the voice’s owner casually pulled out a chair and sat down. Leaning forward and resting their chin on their hand, they sent Pendlore an expectant look.

“How much Drakan iron ore did you bring in this time?”

Ravishiel, commander of the 1st Cavalry Rifle Regiment, wearing the red-and-white imperial regular army officer’s uniform perfectly fitted to their tall, slender body, asked while tapping the floor with their military boots.

Though appearing at first glance like a dazzling silver-haired, red-eyed beauty, Ravishiel was actually Count Clorinde’s second daughter. She also counted among Pendlore’s few friends.

Count Clorinde shared deep friendship with the previous Count Duston and provided various forms of assistance when Pendlore sought to reclaim his position as head of the family.

Pendlore repaid all that help several times over, despite Count Clorinde’s refusal.

“Enough, as much as needed.”

Ravishiel slightly frowned at his indifferent voice.

“Won’t you tell me? We have a backlog of a hundred boxes worth of firearms to manufacture.”

“Use your skills to secure a budget and participate in the auction.”

“Tsk. There’s no benefit in having a rich friend.”

Knowing the exact quantity in advance would provide an advantage at auction. But Pendlore never allowed personal feelings to interfere with business. Knowing his thorough personality well, Ravishiel soon turned her attention elsewhere.

“I hear you’re dating these days. The rumors run rampant.”

Ravishiel mentioned that Cherse had been making all sorts of fuss about it. Pendlore’s gaze finally turned toward her.

“I found a decent woman.”

“Oh, if you say so, she must truly be a wonderful lady, perhaps I should—”

“No.”

Pendlore cut her off firmly.

“You and Noia are forbidden to approach.”

“Noia deserves that restriction, but I’m a woman too.”

“Still no.”

How many women had fallen for that handsome appearance and that uniform that seemed perfectly tailored from birth? Ravishiel made surprised rabbit eyes at Pendlore’s wary rejection.

“You…… are serious. Cherse babbled about the romance of the century, but I naturally assumed he exaggerated.”

Pendlore embracing his woman and guarding against potential rivals. This unfamiliar sight made Ravishiel softly exclaim in wonder.

“Mrs. Brill, was it? Do you like her that much?”

Pendlore paused briefly before answering.

“She’s overly emotional, but learns quickly and shows both cleverness and quiet restraint. Rather obedient, yet maintains clear self-assertion. She possesses strong survival skills, and when properly dressed, her appearance proves quite exceptional. Her green eyes especially compare to jewels.”

“……Wow. Eyes like jewels?”

For this stoic friend to praise a woman at such length….. Moreover, the words flowed without much consideration. Ravishiel clapped her hands, genuinely surprised again.

“I wish you happiness. When’s the wedding?”

“Not in my plans.”

“A spring bride would be lovely. Too late this year, so next spring it is. I thought Cherse would marry first, but you’ve surprised me again.”

Pendlore turned his head without answering.

Spring bride. The image of a woman in a beautiful wedding dress briefly flashed through his mind before quickly disappearing. A wedding with Radilt Brill would never enter his plans. The two would part before this year ended.

Another ship departed the harbor with sails unfurled. A long-winged seabird chased the departing vessel before returning to the dock and folding its wings.

Would he remember that woman with longing? If they parted smoothly as he wished, he might occasionally think of her.

Those beautiful green eyes that had gazed steadily at him.

* * *

Finally, today arrived.

Her first day at Langfiel’s Golden Garden workshop. Radilt began preparing with an excited heart.

‘I want to wear comfortable clothes, but……’

Working at the workshop required simple, durable clothing. But she couldn’t walk through the streets in work clothes. Radilt sighed, remembering Pendlore’s near-command to maintain the appearance of Count Duston’s lover.

‘I’ll bring separate clothes to change at the workshop.’

That seemed better. Radilt turned to look at her overflowing wardrobe. After receiving another abundance of clothes recently, she lacked space not only in the closet but throughout the bedroom.

She chose a relatively less cumbersome dress and laid out her new shoes. Having many clothes made coordinating top and bottom surprisingly troublesome. Before, she never needed to think about it.

‘The dress is apricot-colored…… perhaps shoes in a similar pink shade?’

The bedroom mirror proved too small to check her full appearance. After deliberation, Radilt chose beige shoes that seemed safe. Next came hats and accessories. Seeing the pile of stacked hats, she couldn’t help but sigh. How to choose from those?

‘Next time I visit Lady Fond, perhaps I should ask for lessons in adornment……’

No wonder her mother-in-law scolded her as a country bumpkin. No, even rural villages had stylish young ladies. Perhaps she simply lacked fashion sense.

Radilt finished dressing, albeit clumsily. Though she deliberately woke earlier to prepare, time flew by. She grabbed her parasol to leave, then hesitated again.

Which color and style of parasol should she carry? This deliberation wasted more time. Finally, she noticed the basket containing her change of clothes. A shabby basket roughly woven from reeds.

‘……Would a bag matching this dress be very expensive?’

She couldn’t bring herself to ask Pendlore to buy one. Radilt calculated her remaining money while hanging the basket on her arm. Thanks to the grocery deliveries, she could save on food expenses, perhaps enough for a bag.

“Oh, no.”

She needed to arrive by eight, but it approached seven already. Without even tasting the breakfast she had prepared in advance, Radilt hurriedly left home.

“Good morning, madam.”

The arrogant old man, wealthiest on this street and too proud to mingle with poor neighbors, removed his hat respectfully to greet Radilt. She also felt envious glances from women heading out to work early.

“Mother, look!”

A young girl’s eyes sparkled, saying she looked like a princess. Yet only her outward appearance had changed.

Of course, not all reactions proved favorable. Depending on how rumors about Radilt had spread, she also heard cold whispers accompanied by contemptuous glances.

Radilt pretended not to hear or see and continued walking. She had no time to worry about trivial matters if she wanted to arrive on time.

The Langfiel workshop stood near the capital’s largest spice market for smooth material procurement. Anyone running a perfume shop would have visited at least once. Radilt knew the way well, having visited several times when Lushen lived.