Volume One: Forest Knight Chapter 89: Madam Mirabo (1)

"Ah!" Bran cried out in surprise. As the son of a squad captain in the city watch, he had grown up in relatively comfortable circumstances, utterly unlike Hack, who had been raised in the slums. It was only natural that he could not understand.

Seeing Bran’s astonishment, Hack smiled and said, "You and Sir Berion have never lived in the slums, so of course you would not know how fiercely children from poor families long to stay alive.

From a young age, we learn that the poor must cast aside their dignity just to survive. When someone is desperate enough, what do shame and propriety matter? If it means living on, many would gladly crawl like dogs for the nobles.

I envy the children of noble families inside the city, living in comfort and ease. But children from the slums have no right to speak of 'living.' For people like us, to live is only to survive."

Hack’s words struck Berion like a hammer. In the first two years after graduating from university in his previous life, when he worked tirelessly just to make money, Berion had known that same harsh struggle for survival.

The poor do not truly live; the poor exist only to survive. Berion had once felt that truth in his bones. Back then, he had resolved to rise no matter what. In the end, he had not become especially wealthy, but he had secured a car, a home, and a decent income.

In his former life, his earnings had made him an elite white-collar worker by the standards of that era, and only then had he truly begun to enjoy life. Before that, it was not that he did not want to enjoy himself; he simply had no money, and without money one has no right to indulgence. That was the same in every world.

Hack’s words stirred old memories in Berion, but before he could dwell on them for long, someone knocked at the door of their private room.

After Bran opened it, a woman in her thirties, dressed like a maid, stood outside. Once the door was open, she bowed to Berion. It seemed she knew him, though he had no recollection of her at all.

That was hardly strange. In the banquet hall of Count Gri, Berion’s fight with the cleric knight had been watched by a crowd, and Berion had not even recognized everyone at his own table. Naturally, he would have no impression of a maid.

"Honored Sir Berion, my mistress, who is also the owner of this tavern, Madam Mirabov, wishes to meet with you. Would you be willing?" the maid asked politely.

Madam Mirabov? The name sounded familiar. He felt as though he had heard it somewhere, yet could not remember where. Berion had experienced so much lately that he had no room to keep an irrelevant name in mind.

At that moment, Hack leaned close to Berion’s ear and whispered, "My lord, Madam Mirabov is the noble lady who sat in the private room next to yours during the tournament. She is Count Gri’s most favored mistress."

As someone who had delivered betting slips, wine, and food at the tournament grounds, Hack was very familiar with the highborn guests in each private room, so he knew exactly who Madam Mirabov was.

With Hack’s reminder, Berion finally remembered her identity. He could not help but feel puzzled. Why would a lady so influential in Yarvikshor City seek him out for no reason?

After thinking it over and finding no answer, Berion could only agree to meet her first.

Whatever Madam Mirabov wanted, Berion saw no reason to refuse an invitation from the person in a great lord’s bed. Otherwise, if he offended her, all she would need to do was whisper in Count Gri’s ear, and that alone would be enough to make life difficult for him.

Because the maid said that only Berion himself could go up to the third floor, where Madam Mirabov was staying, Bran and Hack had no choice but to wait there.

The tavern’s third floor consisted of two rooms and a large terrace. Berion followed the maid down the corridor and out onto the spacious terrace.

The terrace was filled with flowers: rosemary, orchids, roses, lily-of-the-valley, chamomile, and more. In the cool autumn breeze, a woman of graceful figure, wearing a white linen dress, was tending the plants with her back to them. She was Madam Mirabov.

After the footsteps stopped behind her, Madam Mirabov did not pause in her work. She instructed the maid to pour Berion a cup of honey chamomile tea, and asked him to sit down and wait while she finished up. She said she would be done shortly.

After Berion patiently drank half a cup of tea, Madam Mirabov was finally finished. She washed her hands in the basin nearby, dried them with the towel handed to her by the maid, and then slowly turned around.

Only then did Berion see the face of this famous mistress of Yarvikshor’s nobility. She was indeed extraordinarily beautiful.

Madam Mirabov’s glossy black hair fell naturally over her shoulders, as smooth and soft as dark silk.

She was slim, her long hair hanging down her back and tied with a golden ribbon. Framed by the flowers, she seemed even more radiant.

When she turned fully around, it was clear she was in the prime of life, likely not yet thirty. Her skin was as white as snow, her features lovely, her beauty dazzling.

Miss Jessis possessed a fresh, refined beauty, elegant and pure like a brilliant pearl or flawless jade. Madam Mirabov’s beauty, by contrast, was the alluring charm of a woman seasoned by the world, a mature loveliness that stirred the heart.

Fortunately, Berion in his former life had also weathered plenty of storms, or else he might have stared like a fool, openly transfixed. That would have been far too rude.

Madam Mirabov noticed that Berion had merely glanced at her once before sitting quietly to drink his tea, not letting his eyes wander from the flowers on the terrace. She immediately developed quite a bit of goodwill toward this young knight, whose reputation in Yarvikshor City had been rising rapidly these past few days.

Ever since her girlhood, because of her beauty, many had coveted her. When she married her first husband, she clearly remembered how her father-in-law, who later died on the battlefield, looked at her on the wedding day. His eyes blazed like fire—though of course it was the fire of desire.

After both her father-in-law and husband were killed, she did not escape harassment as a widow. In particular, certain viscounts and barons with real power spared no effort in trying to claim her.

Even after she left her homeland and came to Yarvikshor City intending to make a living by opening a tavern, she could not enjoy peace. If she had not attached herself to Count Gri, she knew she would likely have ended up as some nobleman’s mistress anyway.

With a thoughtful expression, Madam Mirabov walked to the small round table on the terrace. After taking her seat, she smiled at Berion. Berion set down his cup, met her gaze, and returned a polite, gentlemanly look.

"Good day, Sir Berion. You must be wondering why I asked you here," Madam Mirabov said.

"Yes, honored lady," Berion replied with a nod.

Madam Mirabov idly stroked the painted ceramic cup in her hand. Only then did Berion notice that the teapot and cups the maid had used for him were all ceramic ware made in Norland Keep.

Could Gamji already have opened a market so quickly? Berion considered the thought, but immediately dismissed it. With Madam Mirabov’s standing, she would not even need to buy such things; Gamji would eagerly send them to her door.

This strategy of using the consumption of the wealthy to lead the consumption of the middle and lower classes had always played an important role in the sale of goods, from ancient times to the present.

On the road to Yarvikshor City, Berion had explained this to him as well, and had even given him part of the product allotment of soap and ceramic ware free of charge so he could use them to cultivate relationships.

These two excellent goods from Norland Keep had to be used first by top-tier nobles such as Count Gri’s family and Madam Mirabov. Only then would the people below follow suit, naturally creating a healthy cycle of use, purchase, and sale.

That was why Berion was willing to pay out of his own pocket and have Gamji carry soap and ceramics to these dignitaries. Once they were won over, the business that followed would be very easy to handle.

As expected, the ceramic set had indeed been a gift from Gamji, because when Madam Mirabov saw Berion looking at the tea service, she gave a soft laugh.

"Sir Berion, is this ceramic ware unusual to you? It was given to me by your friend Gamji.

And he told me that these exquisite ceramics, as well as the soap that leaves the body fragrant after washing, are all produced in your own lands. Is that true? If so, then you are truly astonishing."

Looking at Madam Mirabov, whose face was bright with a smile, Berion answered calmly, "Honored lady, these two things are indeed produced on my fief.

As Gamji should have told you, before Norland Keep was granted to me, it was nothing more than barren woodland and grassland with a wooden lookout post.

Without finding some profitable goods to sell, there was no telling how many generations it would take for Norland Keep to develop. I was fortunate to learn the methods for making these two things from my master, Sir Logan, the man people call the Sword of Dawn."

"Yes, indeed. Such a fortunate and brave young man," Madam Mirabov said with an amused smile. She rested one arm on the table, propping her cheek on her hand as she gazed at Berion.

Sitting opposite such a beauty should have been a delight, but Berion was not in the least bit pleased. He had no idea why this woman had summoned him.

Was this merely to drink tea and chat? Although he had earned a certain reputation, it was not yet enough to warrant an invitation from someone like Madam Mirabov. More importantly, she was Count Gri’s woman. Who knew what she was planning?

Madam Mirabov also knew that by staring like this at a younger man by nearly ten years, she would make him shy and uneasy, yet she seemed to enjoy it.

Still, fortunately, Berion’s discomfort did not last long. Madam Mirabov finally revealed her true purpose.

"Sir Berion, the reason I asked you here is actually only one thing. After Miss Jessis inherits Count Gri’s position, I would like to ask you to protect me and my child," Madam Mirabov said.

Berion’s eyes widened in shock. He wondered if he had misheard her.

Seeing his astonishment, Madam Mirabov covered her mouth and laughed softly before continuing. "I understand. If I were in your place, and someone I had only just met entrusted me with something so important, something that may not happen for who knows how long, I would be shocked as well.

I have a son with my late knightly husband. He is only nine years old now. Thanks to Count Gri’s help, I was able to let my young son inherit his father’s title and lands with ease. Those lands are now managed by an old servant who remains loyal to me.

I am a miserable woman. Though I possess a bit of beauty, enough to win the favor of a great noble like Count Gri, the price I pay is the hatred of his daughter, the future countess.

As Count Gri grows older and I grow more worn with the years, once I lose his favor, Jessis—his most beloved daughter and his heir—will only need to say a word for someone to come and put an end to the two of us.

I have eyes and ears in Count Gri’s household. I know that Jessis’s relationship with you is special. You are the first man she has ever taken a liking to.

Since she favors you, and since you are a righteous hero willing to help the weak, I want to entrust this request to you. Please agree. I believe that once I pass thirty, I will soon lose favor."