Chapter 41
[Lucien Pismarian]
Second son of a mid-ranked noble family.
The notes described him as someone well-versed in noble affairs, skilled in diplomacy, and gifted with eloquence.
[Emil Mickelson]
Born a commoner, yet graduated top of his class at the Academy.
Currently holding a managerial position in a small trading company. The commentary suggested that, due to his background, he had missed many opportunities and might harbor some resentment toward the nobility. There was also the question of whether he could properly adapt to noble etiquette.
[Kyle Brenton]
A former mercenary who once earned renown on the battlefield. After being injured, he now assists in the administrative work of his mercenary company. His free-spirited background, however, raised doubts as to whether he could truly adapt to noble society.
These were three very different candidates, each with their own unique experiences.
From the notes alone, Lucien seemed to be the most stable and reliable choice.
Quietly flipping to the next page, I glanced at the test papers Denok had prepared. A subtle spark of anticipation stirred within me.
How would these three handle his test?
All the bustling preparations were finally complete.
And at last, the candidates for the aide position began to arrive one by one at the Grand Duke’s residence.
The first to arrive was a man with neatly combed blond hair and a refined appearance, accompanied by a woman with a gentle smile.
Stepping down from the carriage, the man smoothed his hair with practiced grace and surveyed the mansion’s façade at a leisurely pace. A smile lingered on his lips, and a languid composure flickered in his eyes.
“So this is the Luciano estate… it carries an air of antique dignity.”
At his side, the woman spoke in a melodious voice.
“My, to see magic stones used so generously throughout the estate. As expected of a house once famed as a family of magi, darling.”
Lucien Pismarian and his wife, Silien Luce.
Nodding to his wife, Lucien carried himself with characteristic poise as he strode toward the grand entrance.
The second to arrive was a modestly dressed couple. Their appearance was neat, if somewhat plain.
The man gazed up at the mansion with a face tight with nervousness, exhaling softly. His wife, calm and steady, reached out to pat his shoulder.
“No need to be anxious. You’ve prepared enough.”
“D-darling…”
He nearly sought comfort in her embrace out of habit, but the cold gleam in her eyes froze him in place. It was a silent reprimand—Do you realize we’re standing at the Grand Duke’s gates?
They were Emil Mickelson and his wife, Chelsea.
The last carriage arrived with booming laughter.
A large, broad-shouldered man stepped down, limping slightly.
“Hahaha! Seems His Grace knows talent when he sees it, to call upon me.”
So massive was his frame that his uniform’s buttons seemed ready to burst. Yet, despite his boisterous laugh, the moment his boots touched the ground, he extended a hand with surprising grace—like a knight offering aid to a princess.
Upon that hand, adorned with scarlet-painted nails, a delicate woman’s hand was placed.
“Ah… my back. Didn’t I tell you to take it easy?”
Complaining as she clutched her waist, the flamboyantly dressed woman leaned on him to descend from the carriage.
They were Kyle Brenton and his wife, Monica.
With all candidates inside, the gates of the Grand Duke’s residence shut firmly behind them.
Guided by a polite maid, Emil and Chelsea passed through the garden and into the mansion. Emil adjusted his coat, taking in his surroundings.
Even with his merchant’s trained eye, he recognized that this estate was no ordinary place. It was not ostentatious, but every detail spoke of refinement. A restrained, classical elegance infused with unshakable dignity.
This place is not to be underestimated.
At that moment, another maid approached and bowed deeply before Chelsea.
“My lady, this way please. Her Grace the Grand Duchess has invited you for tea.”
“Tea time?”
Chelsea blinked, momentarily startled, and glanced back at her husband. For a brief moment, her expression softened, filled with concern. Emil caught her gaze, and she gave the faintest nod.
Do well.
That small gesture carried a silent encouragement. Emil’s heart tightened, but he hid his emotion and nodded firmly in return.
Soon after, Emil entered the drawing room. For a moment, he thought he might be the first to arrive. But no—the golden-haired man was already there, seated by the sunlit window, sipping tea with casual elegance.
Lucien.
“The fragrance of this tea is exquisite.”
Sensing Emil’s presence, Lucien turned his head smoothly.
“Ah, you must have received the same invitation. A pleasure to meet you—Lucien Pismarian.”
With an ease that suggested he owned the place, Lucien rose gracefully and extended his hand.
Startled, Emil quickly took it, replying awkwardly.
“Ah, yes. Emil Mickelson, at your service.”
“Mickelson, is it…? Forgive me, but your family—?”
“Ah, the name comes from when my father was granted the title of baronet. But… no, we are not nobility.”
“…I see.”
A brief silence. Lucien’s eyes flickered ever so slightly as he discreetly scanned Emil’s plain attire, forming a swift judgment.
No threat here.
Just then, the door opened with a loud thud.
“Ho! Seems I’m the last to arrive.”
With his booming voice and energetic stride, Kyle Brenton entered. Though he limped slightly, his imposing frame and natural presence all but masked it.
Seeing Lucien and Emil already clasping hands, Kyle approached without hesitation.
“Kyle Brenton. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Lucien Pismarian. Likewise.”
Lucien’s eyes darted over Kyle in appraisal before he offered his hand with his usual calm. Kyle grasped it firmly, smiling broadly, and squeezed.
“Quite the strength you’ve got there.”
Lucien’s lips twitched faintly, betraying a hint of strain.
Emil introduced himself as well.
“I—I am Emil Mickelson. A pleasure.”
“Why so timid, friend? No need for that. I look forward to working with you.”
Kyle clapped Emil’s shoulder with a laugh, and an odd tension settled among the three.
Then—
The sound of steady footsteps echoed from the corridor. Instinctively, all three men straightened in their seats, eyes fixed on the door.
“His Grace, the Grand Duke.”
The door opened, and Denok entered, clad in his black uniform. He paused at the threshold, surveying the room. A suffocating silence fell, the air thick with his oppressive presence.
The Beast Grand Duke.
Once mocked by such a title, Denok now radiated the aura of a predator in full command.
The three candidates bowed in tense respect. Without hesitation, Denok crossed the room and seated himself at the head of the long table.
“Sit.”
At that curt word, all three obeyed at once.
“You’ve traveled far. I thank you.”
His deep, measured voice resonated through the chamber.
“Each of you has the qualifications to serve as aide to the House of Sertier. But know this—only one shall earn the position.”
Denok’s gaze shifted deliberately, locking eyes with each man in turn.
“Over the next two days, you will remain here in this residence. During that time, you will interact with myself, the Grand Duchess, and the household. Through this, you will be judged.”
His words sank into a heavy silence. The three exchanged uneasy glances until Emil finally spoke, cautious but earnest.
“If I may, Your Grace… could you explain the method of evaluation? We had expected a more formal interview. I—I had prepared accordingly.”
Lucien nodded faintly, adding smoothly.
“Indeed. To stay here for two days… may I ask what form this assessment will take, exactly?”
Kyle leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head toward Denok with a low rumble.
“Since our families have been included, I assume this isn’t mere paperwork. What, then, will you truly be judging us on?”
Though voiced differently, all three revealed the same doubt.
Denok regarded them for a long, silent moment. Then he inclined his head slightly.
“Vernon.”
At his quiet summons, Vernon, standing nearby, bowed and stepped forward—carrying something in his hands.
