Chapter Twenty-Five: My Territory

Dawn spread from the eastern horizon, and the sky gradually brightened. The fierce winds continued to howl, but the heavy snow suddenly stopped. The residents of Brayley breathed a collective sigh of relief; many people ventured outdoors, and the streets and alleys were suddenly bustling with activity.

Across street corners, people whispered and discussed the events that had unfolded the previous night at the Swords and Beauties tavern—a sudden fire, more than a hundred drunken, unconscious students from the Army Academy, the furious arrival of the Imperial Army Minister, and the grim, nearly sword-wielding Headmaster of the Army Academy. Rumors began to swirl, spreading strange and scandalous tales among the populace.

Some claimed the Army Academy students had been gambling in groups; others whispered of illicit dealings. There were those who alleged that the Swords and Beauties was a sordid, disreputable place, where many of the female attendants were entangled with the students in shameful ways. Scandals spread rapidly, and in this winter season devoid of entertainment news, these stories raced across the empire and westward to other nations with the speed of the relay station carriages.

Mr. Grant, drowsy and lethargic, disembarked from his carriage at the gates of the Fifth University. The biting wind lashed him, making him shiver, but the cold awakened his spirits. He straightened his back, adopting the dignified air befitting the Director of Academic Affairs, a nobleman, and a cultured member of high society.

Mr. Grant, his face aglow, was in excellent spirits, having spent a marvelous night. At a clean, comfortable, and secluded high-end inn, he had shared an intimate evening with Gina, the lead dancer from the Giselle Troupe.

"Such a spirited little leopard!" Though his legs ached and his arms trembled, Mr. Grant felt light enough to soar on the wind. Last night had been like an old tree blossoming anew, a springtime revival of the soul—he experienced the exhilaration of conquest, the tumult of a battlefield sweeping across his bed, the satisfaction of overwhelming his partner until she pleaded for mercy.

The fulfillment was not merely physical but psychological. Mr. Grant was deeply satisfied. Remembering Gina’s limp form, still unable to move even as daylight broke, he instinctively reached into his pocket, carefully gripping the vial Lin Qi had sold him. It was miraculous, utterly miraculous—the sensation of renewed vigor drove him nearly mad with delight.

Just a single drop, and Mr. Grant felt as though he had returned to his youthful days. He was determined to acquire more vials from Lin Qi, at any cost. As Director of Academic Affairs at the Fifth University, and with the aged Headmaster soon to retire or perhaps depart this world unexpectedly, Mr. Grant stood a good chance of becoming Headmaster himself. Already holding a noble title, he might even inherit at least an earl’s rank from his wife’s wealthy family when her father passed.

His status was lofty, his reputation impeccable, and he was welcomed everywhere in Brayley’s upper circles. The empire had not seen war in thirty years; scholars had supplanted warriors as the most respected figures. What else could he possibly lack?

Perhaps the only thing missing was his vanished youth.

But the potion Lin Qi sold him was a wondrous elixir that allowed him to reclaim that youth. So, at any cost—even if Lin Qi demanded a hundred gold coins per vial—Mr. Grant would secure more. If Lin Qi would sell him additional vials, Mr. Grant could even recommend him for further studies at Brayley’s First University—the empire’s oldest and most prestigious royal academy. With such a diploma, Lin Qi’s future would be assured; any administrative department would offer him at least a junior position.

“So, I can hint at this!” Mr. Grant thought with delight. As long as Lin Qi provided more of the potion, a mere recommendation was nothing—he had the authority, and it was his responsibility.

Waving his mountain cane and striding with renewed vigor, Mr. Grant hummed a cheerful court waltz as he entered the campus. Satisfied both physically and mentally, he indulged in one of his favorite rituals: circling the university grounds like a lion patrolling his domain, which brought him immense psychological pleasure.

Today, however, his patrol was abruptly interrupted, to his great annoyance.

He watched, irate, as a troop of swaggering dragon cavalry and several furtive, sinister officers in copper hats stormed into the university, heading straight for the largest male dormitory. Mr. Grant’s anger surged—what was this about? How dare they?

When had these coarse dragon cavalry and these scheming secret police grown bold enough to brazenly invade a noble university? This was an institution that cultivated the empire’s elite; every student here was a distinguished talent. These ruffians, fit only to deal with street thugs, how did they dare behave so shamelessly here?

Most intolerable of all, they invaded his own territory!

This was the Fifth University, the domain of the esteemed Lord Grant, and yet they dared to storm in at dawn?

He coughed loudly, intending to rebuke these audacious intruders.

But his cough was feeble against the biting wind, and the dragon cavalry and copper hats paid no heed to his warning. They pressed on, enthusiastically charging toward the dormitory, rudely shoving aside students and ascending the stairs like mad dogs, their heavy, synchronized footsteps echoing.

Soon, the shouts unique to the dragon cavalry and copper hats conducting an investigation rang through the building: "In the name of the Imperial Royal Family, please open your door!"

Barely a breath later, a dull crash resounded, as those ill-tempered officers smashed open a door and barged in.

Mr. Grant’s eyelids twitched violently, his body trembling with fury. How dare these vulgar warriors disregard a nobleman? He roared angrily, pointing at a nearby porter: "Go summon everyone you can—every guard, every teacher and student from the Disciplinary Office!"

Brandishing his cane, flaring his nostrils and glaring, Mr. Grant charged toward the dormitory in a rage.

He would never allow anyone to behave so outrageously on his turf! He was the highest authority here!

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For the sake of Mr. Grant, I ask for your recommendations!
How many do you have left? The more the better—cast them all for the pig-headed one!