A warm breeze stirred, and the gentle afternoon sun brought a drowsy languor to all who basked in it.
On the streets of Sereve, Lucian — now dressed in an entirely different outfit — was being led by
Having recovered his strength, Leo proved himself a capable hand at disguise. He not only transformed Lucian's black double-breasted Holm-style long coat into a tight-fitting Shaheran jacket of brownish-red, white breeches, and black boots, but also used hair oil to slick his hair neatly back, along with powder and shadow contouring to raise the bridge of his nose, making Lucian appear several years older. Combined with the small mustache he had cultivated, the whole effect was that of a composed, authoritative gentleman of twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
The Eastern Exile had gathered quite a few refugees from the Shaheran Empire, so this sort of attire drew no special attention. Lucian and Leo took the opportunity to thread warily through the crowds, keeping alert for anyone who might be tailing them. After all, the fact that Duke Vladimir had dispatched assassins to murder Valentine was hardly a secret, and if anyone spotted the two of them making contact with Valentine, it would be easy to connect the dots regarding forged identities.
Although Sereve was no small city — nearly half the size of Altor — its buildings had been erected with no plan whatsoever, haphazard and jumbled. The streets were narrow, congested, and chaotic. Yet in precisely this kind of environment, Leo was in his element. He guided Lucian with practiced ease, using pedestrians and buildings as cover, constantly shifting directions and changing streets to shake off any possible pursuers.
Half an hour later, Lucian and Leo emerged from a quiet, desolate alley and found themselves once more at the busiest crossroads in Sereve. They stepped into a general goods shop.
Ignoring the startled look on the shopkeeper's face, Leo walked straight to the foot of a staircase. From the shadows, two burly men with brutish, butcher-like faces abruptly stepped forward to block the way.
"The griffin above the Negnin River," Leo murmured in Shaheran, uttering what sounded like nonsense.
At these words, the two men relaxed their guard. After sizing up Leo and Lucian carefully, they gestured for the pair to go on up.
Climbing the narrow, creaking stairs to the second floor, Lucian immediately sensed the danger of magic circles arrayed around the area. They seemed deliberately exposed, meant to intimidate anyone who had tracked the place down. As for whether other, more concealed magic circles lurked in the dark — only a thorough inspection would reveal that.
"Truly worthy of a nobleman who once competed with the current Duke Vladimir for the succession," Lucian judged. "Even after fleeing to the Eastern Exile, he can still set up something on this scale." The magic circles here were at least as powerful as those of Bertrand Castle — worth no fewer than ten thousand Gold Thalers.
This Mr. Valentine must have brought along considerable wealth when he escaped, and possessed enough strength to protect it, which was how he had managed to hire a mid-rank mage to arrange all this.
His leather shoes pressed against the floorboards, which creaked and groaned as though the building had not been maintained in years. The cool, silent corridor held only Lucian and Leo walking side by side.
They quickly reached a room near the middle of the second floor. Leo knocked respectfully on the door. "Mr. Valentine, it's Leo. I've brought you a business proposition."
"Come in." Valentine's voice, weary and tinged with deep bitterness, carried a flat, emotionless tone. He had already confirmed Leo's identity through the magic circles.
Like a butler, Leo pushed open the door and gestured with his hand. "Sir, please enter."
Lucian smiled and stepped through. He saw that the window opposite had been tightly covered by thick black curtains, allowing only a sliver of light to filter through.
The entire room lay in a dim, gloomy half-darkness.
Before the curtains, within the shadows, stood a desk and a high-backed chair. A man in a black evening coat sat there with his back to Lucian and Leo.
As Leo walked in and gently closed the door behind him, the man in the shadows swiveled the high-backed chair and faced the two of them.
His golden hair had begun to thin and dull, his features angular, rugged, and hard-edged, yet unmistakably marked by age. Though his exact years were hard to tell, Lucian judged him to be at least sixty. According to Leo's account, Valentine had already been a Fourth-level Great Knight when he fled to the Eastern Exile. After twenty or thirty years of lying low, whether his strength had grown or stagnated, no one knew.
Valentine's pale blue, slightly clouded eyes gave Lucian and Leo a cursory, indifferent look. Then he said, "Pour our guests some tea. What sort of business have you brought me?"
From the shadows, without any warning, an impeccably dressed and meticulously groomed old man stepped forward. He bowed with polite restraint, then retreated to a small pantry to prepare black tea for Lucian and Leo.
Serving as Lucian's guide and temporary steward, Leo answered on his behalf. "Mr. Valentine, my employer wishes to enter the Shaheran Empire and therefore requires a false identity."
"You want to pose as someone from the Vladimir family?" Valentine was no fool. Someone seeking forged identity papers and coming to him could only mean a connection to the Vladimir family. For ordinary citizen papers, the Eastern Exile had its own professional forgers.
As he spoke, Valentine's gaze sharpened, fixing on Lucian as if he could see straight through to the man's heart. Lucian had no choice but to speak for himself. "Yes, Mr. Valentine. I need an identity as a collateral member of the Vladimir family. That would help me pass through checkpoints and fortresses, avoiding a great deal of unnecessary trouble. How much would I need to pay for you to agree?"
After a few seconds of silence, Valentine suddenly burst into hearty laughter. "If you had the strength to help me kill Ilyich, I wouldn't charge you a single copper coin. But if you possessed that level of power, you wouldn't need to come to me for a forged identity."
Ilyich was the name of the current Duke Vladimir.
After a pause, Valentine pulled a cigar from a drawer, struck a match, and lit it.
Watching the gray-white curl of smoke drift upward, he spoke slowly. "The more of these false identities you make, the easier they are to detect. In over twenty years, I've produced only six. The price is very steep — five hundred Gold Thalers or an equivalent amount in Shaheran gold. If you can't produce that much, you can consider doing something for me instead."