Augustus’s Fury and Iordera’s Night Market Woes

A bright room, lavishly adorned, found a middle-aged woman standing before a polished table, while Augustus reclined on a sofa behind her.

The Little Prince, once so refined and composed, had utterly shed his former demeanor, his face now a mask of palpable gloom.

“That callow security guard has made a fool of me twice! By what right do they presume such audacity?”

The Middle-aged Teacher remained silent.

“The more Augustus dwelled on it, the more his fury mounted. “And that girl, Sophia,” he seethed, “I have never once encountered a prodigy swordswoman by that name in our esteemed circles. Her abilities are unequivocally anomalous, far exceeding what one of her age should possess. Her identity must surely be suspect!”

“Your Highness.”

“And that Aether Professor, Luna!” Augustus’s face contorted, growing increasingly savage. “I have never heard of such a prominent figure among the masters of Aether magic! She, too, is highly suspicious; I could discern even the Principal harbored reservations about her.”

“Your Highness!” The Middle-aged Teacher exclaimed, her voice rising sharply.

Augustus flinched, his fierce expression momentarily replaced by surprise. He lowered his gaze to the floor, and only after a protracted moment did he slowly lift his head once more.

His countenance now restored to its customary composure, he once again embodied the refined and amiable Little Prince he presented to the world.

“Forgive me, Teacher,” Augustus uttered with genuine sincerity. “My impulsiveness got the better of me. I humbly request your guidance.”

The Middle-aged Teacher, who had served as Augustus’s private tutor since his earliest years, instructing and counseling him, had now been dispatched by Prince Obsidian himself to oversee the young man and offer sagacious advice.

Settling into a nearby chair, she observed, “Your Highness, you must surely have recognized by now that within the confines of this academy, your inherent advantages and influence are rendered utterly impotent.”

Augustus remained profoundly silent.

Indeed, despite his grand entrance, heralded by a multitude of esteemed titles, his retinue consisted merely of a few unremarkable sycophants and an instructor of little standing.

Furthermore, this ‘pengci’ (TL Note: A Chinese slang term referring to faking an accident or injury to extort compensation) incident had cost him five of his personnel, leaving his already limited forces even more severely depleted.

“In truth, there is no need for you to concern yourself solely with affairs inside the academy,” the Middle-aged Teacher stated. “Cultivating renown beyond its walls, within Saroyan, will undoubtedly prove far more efficacious.”

The academy, after all, merely affords a stage for trivial contests; its pinnacle extends no further than a ranking tournament or the administration of a student council. Saroyan, however, presents an entirely different prospect—it is a veritable international metropolis.

Students, yet unversed in the complexities of the world, invariably aspire to grander horizons, to the ‘sea of stars’ beyond. Thus, a reputation forged outside will ensure they are celebrated and revered upon their return to school.

Grasping the sagacity of this counsel, Augustus deferred respectfully. “Teacher,” he inquired, “what course of action should I pursue?”

“While such a path might prove arduous for others, we possess a distinct advantage,” the Middle-aged Teacher revealed. “I have established contact with the Governor of Saroyan’s East District.”

Augustus paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Why would he extend his assistance to me?” he pondered aloud.

The Governor of Saroyan’s East District, theoretically on par with Principal Louisa in standing, commanded both immense status and influence. There would be no conceivable reason for him to ingratiate himself with a mere Crown Prince.

“Under ordinary circumstances, he would not,” the Middle-aged Teacher affirmed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “However, the present situation is unique. He requires assistance in suppressing a personal scandal, an undertaking that demands a discreet, external hand. While our people cannot infiltrate the academy, gaining entry to Saroyan itself poses no challenge.”

“Once the matter is concluded, he will bestow upon you a Mark of Honor, formally appointing you as the Guardian of the East District.”

****

A sigh escaped her lips.

Iordera stood amidst the vibrant, bustling thoroughfare, a wistful sigh escaping her childlike form, a testament to life’s inherent difficulties.

While she had resolved to seek employment at the night market, the substantial sum she required meant there was no immediate urgency.

Earlier that day, she had deliberately ventured to the market, locating an upscale tailor to inquire about the cost of commissioning a bespoke, high-quality maid uniform.

To her dismay, the establishment promptly demanded proof of her identity.

“Proof of identity?” she echoed, bewildered.

“According to Imperial law, one must possess at least a noble title, however minor,” the tailor’s attendant explained, “to commission high-quality, handcrafted garments.”

Thus, Iordera found herself retreating, rather ignominiously, from the establishment.

Naturally, this did not imply that non-nobles were entirely barred from such purchases; rather, they simply could not acquire them through officially sanctioned channels.

In essence, her only recourse was to seek out an independent tailor in the illicit night market.

Subsequently, following numerous inquiries, Iordera at last pinpointed the elusive location of a night market tailor.

The night market was not confined to a single bazaar; that particular gathering served primarily as a hub for socializing and accepting commissions. As dusk descended, however, the sprawling urban expanse transformed, with night markets blossoming across every district.

Iordera arrived by carriage at the tailor shop she had sought out, finding its modest dimensions not dissimilar to the upscale establishment she’d visited earlier. Yet, here, the counter was bathed in a dim, murky light, devoid of charming young attendants, presided over instead by an ill-tempered old woman sporting a monocle.

A sign above the shop proclaimed ‘Sharp’s Handmade Shop,’ suggesting it was indeed her establishment.

“What do you seek to purchase?”

Her tone was blunt, utterly devoid of pleasantries.

Iordera ventured cautiously, “I wish to commission two sets of handcrafted garments, fashioned from high-quality silk.”

“What sizes, do you possess precise measurements?” Grandma Sharp retorted, her manner brusque. “Let me assess the required fabric.”

Upon realizing her request might be entertained, Iordera swiftly presented a meticulously detailed list, containing the measurements for both an ordinary young woman and one whose bust was remarkably well-developed.

‘Surely, it wouldn’t require an exorbitant amount of material?’ she mused inwardly.

Grandma Sharp cast a cursory glance over the specifications, then, retrieving paper and pen, began to sketch on the table. “For standard high-grade silk, you’ll need approximately four meters,” she declared. “Any remnants I shall fashion into wristbands and leg rings for you, so as not to exploit your patronage. Calculating by current market rates, that will be twenty gold coins per meter.”

While the initial part of her statement had brought a flicker of optimism to Iordera, the latter pronouncement nearly provoked a furious roar from her lips.

“Twenty gold coins a meter?” Iordera exclaimed, incredulous.

“Reputable tailors charge but ten gold coins a meter! You’ve precisely doubled the standard rate!”

“Find it exorbitant? Then my pricing is correct,” Grandma Sharp snapped, her gaze sharp. “Crafting these for you contravenes Imperial law. Am I not to be compensated for the considerable risk I undertake? Eighty gold coins, that is the price. Take it or leave it.”

Her logic, however unpalatable, was undeniably sound…

“However, I currently lack sufficient funds.”

“If your purse is meager, then depart and acquire the means,” Grandma Sharp declared, settling back into her seat. “Return when your coffers are replenished!”

Silently, Iordera retrieved her list, then turned and departed. The temperament of Saroyan’s night market denizens was simply too aggressive; even the merchants conducting business here exhibited such brazenness, a demeanor she found profoundly unsettling.

By the roadside, a figure clad in rags, a vagrant by all appearances, let out a chuckle and addressed her. “Frightened, were you? Old Grandma Sharp’s recent charges are truly exorbitant, both steep and unscrupulous.”

Iordera merely pursed her lips, offering neither assent nor dissent.

“Her prices were once quite fair, and her disposition far less severe, at least not so belligerent,” the vagrant whispered, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. “But ever since her daughter’s untimely demise… ah, a truly tragic affair.”

‘Is that truly the case?’ Iordera mused.

Despite this revelation, Iordera, if she were to be entirely honest, did not find the price to be utterly unreasonable. Expensive it certainly was, yet Grandma Sharp had explicitly stated that the transaction was technically illegal, rendering her imposition of a risk premium entirely justifiable.

Iordera cast her gaze heavenward, towards the inky expanse of the night sky, and let out a soft yawn.

She resolved to return home and sleep. Tomorrow, she would spend a day merely existing within the academy’s walls, before venturing back to the night market in the evening to try her fortune.

Before accepting any commissions, however, she still harbored a lingering question she needed to clarify with Hecate.