I was led by a priest into his office.
The priest turned the desk and the statue by the window so that their backs faced me, then sat in his seat.
“Please sit down, Count.”
He was still smiling.
But I could see it clearly—the displeasure and disgust beneath that smile.
Drawing faces with hidden layers of emotion had always been my specialty.
He must have thought he was concealing his feelings, but to me, they were glaringly obvious.
Besides, could he really hope to hide his emotions when he called me something like that?
— “Descendant of the Demon, from the Clan of Betrayal, what business brings you to our church?”
The Descendant of the Demon.
That was how the Mausoleum family was branded—the ones who once tried to bring about the world’s destruction, stopped only by the Radiant Dragon and the gods.
The Clan of Betrayal.
Betrayal of humans, because Mausoleum massacred those who followed him.
Betrayal of the gods, because he dared to stand against them, even turning his back on their statues.
Thus, Mausoleum’s descendants were cursed with that name.
Radiant Dragon, Void Dragon, Betrayer Dragon, Butcher Dragon, Demon, Demon King…
There were so many titles for Mausoleum that one could compile an encyclopedia.
The problem was, all those titles naturally carried over to the Mausoleum family.
It was almost like a MacGuffin-level piece of lore.
That lore only existed to give Seymour, a mid-boss character, some weight. Things like Black Dragons, scriptures, mausoleums—all of it.
After Seymour’s death, none of it even mattered in the story.
And yet, hearing it spoken directly to my face, the words hit differently.
Once I sat down across from him, the priest spoke again.
“What brings you all the way to our church today?”
It wasn’t just my imagination that the words really meant, ‘Why the hell are you here to annoy me?’
I had no desire to linger with someone who clearly hated me, so I got straight to the point.
“I want an audience with Fromm.”
“……”
The priest’s lips pursed.
He looked like he had a thousand things to say, but couldn’t bring himself to curse within the sacred halls of a church.
“May I ask the reason?”
“I want to learn about a certain contract someone made in the past.”
Of course, gods weren’t beings you could just meet whenever you wished.
No one knew if they were in their palaces above the heavens right now, or wandering the mortal realm. You had to submit an audience request through the priests and wait for a reply.
And that was only if you were nobility. A commoner wouldn’t even get that far.
The priest slowly nodded.
“Understood. I will pass along your request, and you’ll be notified by letter if the audience is granted.”
He may have despised me, but he wouldn’t dare reject or ‘lose’ the request.
“Where do I send the donation?”
Donation.
At that magic word, the priest’s eyebrow twitched.
“I’ll send our paladins to the Mausoleum townhouse. We’ll gratefully accept it.”
He forced a smile, straining to mask his loathing.
It was almost pathetic.
“You don’t look grateful at all.”
“……!”
His face twisted for an instant at my words.
Then, as if it had never happened, his expression brightened again.
“Of course not. I am deeply grateful.”
But I knew that look. I’d seen it often enough.
That was the exact same face people made when the most disliked manager sat beside them at a company dinner, cracking unfunny jokes.
Really, my donation was just the price of watching that face.
“If you’re going to do it, at least do it properly.”
“…Do what, exactly?”
“Manage your expression.”
In front of me, I didn’t care. I already knew what they thought of me. No matter how fake their smile or how contorted their face, it didn’t matter.
“But around the children of our house, you’d better not slip.”
The children had no sins to bear.
The ones yet to be born—Simon and Sia’s children, my future nieces and nephews.
And Lucis.
They shouldn’t have to face that twisted expression.
“Why should he have to put up with your shitty face? What did he ever do to deserve that?”
“…Excuse me?”
Ah.
That slipped out.
I hadn’t even used magic, and yet somehow Seymour inside me had woken up.
After thinking about it, I decided to roll with it.
“I-I beg your pardon, Count. I didn’t mean—”
“What are you sorry for?”
“…What?”
“I asked, what are you sorry for?”
Since Seymour inside me had already woken, I might as well be bolder.
Seymour was a bastard anyway.
“Ah… well…”
“I’m giving my money, and I get treated like this? It’s not like this is the only Fromm church in Grenium.”
“N-no, Count.”
“Don’t deny it. You are doing it right now.”
“……”
“Answer me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And what exactly are you sorry for?”
“…For failing to manage my expression in front of such an esteemed guest.”
“You knew, so why did you do it?”
“……”
I kept pressing him for quite a while longer before finally rising to my feet.
“If you want to keep receiving donations, mind your manners.”
“…Yes, Count.”
The priest looked like he had aged ten years in just a few minutes, as if all the fight had drained out of him.
I left the priest’s office, feeling unusually light on my feet.
It was like ten years of indigestion had been cleared out of my chest.
Living as Seymour isn’t so bad after all.
I decided I should listen to that inner voice a little more often as I climbed into my waiting carriage.
The next stop was André’s tailor shop.
I entered the three-story building still under construction, where workers were busy everywhere.
“Ah, Count!”
André came hurrying over, covered in sawdust, as if he’d been working alongside the laborers rather than just supervising.
“You’ve arrived in the capital!”
“Just now. How’s the construction going?”
“Perfectly. We’re following your design exactly.”
André had come to Grenium ten days earlier.
I’d sent him ahead with a detailed plan of the shop and a letter granting him full authority over construction on the Mausoleum family’s property.
“As you instructed, we’re using only the finest materials.”
This shop wasn’t just another store.
It was the foundation stone for inscribing the name Seymour Mausoleum into the empire’s fashion history.
So from the doors to the floor tiles, everything had to be the very best.
“As for the workers, I brought in a guild of dwarven craftsmen, just as you said.”
“Don’t forget to buy them drinks every night.”
“Of course. I’ve kept that in mind.”
Dwarves’ love for alcohol was legendary, even in this world. People said the quality of their work rose in direct proportion to the amount of liquor they were treated to.
After inspecting the site, we sat at a temporary tea table in the garden to talk.
“How’s the outfit for my succession ceremony?”
“Already finished. I’ll bring it to the townhouse tomorrow.”
“And how are Grenium’s fashion trends?”
André had come early not just for construction, but also to study the empire’s fashion scene.
In Grenium, countless noble houses competed in business, and fashion was no exception.
“To put it kindly, it’s dynamic. To put it bluntly, it’s chaotic. With Richard Mausoleum gone, everyone’s scrambling to see who will lead the fashion world next.”
Richard Mausoleum—my uncle.
The uncle who had been exiled far away.
Ambitious and talented, Richard had been the leading figure in Grenium fashion before his downfall.
“These are sketches of outfits I’ve seen at popular tailors these past ten days.”
André showed me his notebook of designs.
Not terrible, but still trapped in the limits of the era.
Too much decoration.
Either overloaded with lace, weighed down by giant gems, or finished with a cravat.
This Napoleonic style with military and riding coats isn’t bad, but…
Again, the decorations were excessive.
To my eye, which believed fashion was at its most stylish when simple, it was “too much.”
“Lately I’ve even seen outfits imitating your style, Count.”
He showed me another sketch.
This one was simpler—an awkward attempt to copy the fashion I’d worn at the funeral.
This is worse.
Because it was just a poor imitation, it came off cheap and grotesque.
Worst of all, they completely failed to highlight the silhouette.
The greatest strength of suits lay in their urban wildness, their refined restraint, their elegant sensuality.
Without a hint of exposed skin, the sharp shoulders and slim waistline shown beneath the jacket still exuded wild charm and sexiness at the same time.
Just because it looks simple doesn’t mean it’s easy to make.
I looked through the notebook to the end, then smiled faintly.
“Good.”
“Which part do you mean, my lord?”
“The more nonsense they churn out, the more we’ll stand out.”
The moment they saw my fashion, they’d realize they’d been flailing blindly all along.
Richard hadn’t left a vacuum in the industry—it was simply that the rightful king had not yet arrived.
André smiled too, confidence shining in his expression.
Having glimpsed the future of fashion through me, his past ten days in Grenium must have felt torturous.
“Our brand’s first appearance will be at the succession ceremony in two weeks.”
Every quarter, nobles gathered in the capital for meetings.
At the same time, ceremonies were held to award titles for meritorious service or to pass down titles from the deceased to their heirs.
At the funeral, only Lucis and I had worn our brand’s suits. At the succession, the entire Mausoleum family would.
Blessed with the dragon’s blood, the Mausoleums had appearances in the top 0.1% of Grenium. They would be perfect models.
“We’ll debut in front of countless eyes.”
“Yes. One of the brightest stages of the year—and it will shine all the more because of us.”
It would also be the place where Lucis revealed himself to the world.
This will be a succession ceremony for the ages.
I intended to turn it completely upside down.
As we finished tea and rose, André asked me,
“Count, what was this building originally meant for?”
This had once been one of the Mausoleum family’s properties.
“Why do you ask?”
“The workers keep bringing it up. They say the layout wasn’t suited for a business at all. The first few days, all they did was tear down walls and add doors.”
“Well, I can imagine.”
I gave a bitter smile.
In the original story, this place had been Seymour’s secret laboratory.
Even after gaining power through his contract with Mausoleum, he endlessly researched, seeking more.
The main subject of that research was dragon hearts—how to transplant them into human bodies without loss.
Yes, that’s right.
This was where Lucis died in the story.
Cruelly murdered by his adoptive father, Seymour.
And immediately afterward, Seymour himself was defeated by the hero’s party.
This place was the embodiment of Seymour Mausoleum’s madness and obsession.
The place where the Mausoleum family’s doom was sealed.
The place where the direct bloodline was completely wiped out.
Which makes it the perfect place to launch something new.
A new beginning.
The debut of a new Seymour, free from the past.
What place could be more fitting?
“But there’s something else I’m worried about.”
“You, my lord? What could worry you?”
“What if customers complain?”
“Complain? About what?”
“Well, fashion is all about the face. I’m the model. People might say it’s false advertising—that they don’t look as good as the model when wearing our clothes.”
“Ahahaha! That’s a good joke, Count.”
I didn’t answer.
“…It was a joke, right?”
André’s eyes quaked with panic.
