“Flourishing?”

The corner of Muen’s mouth twitched.

If all you saw was the lively, bustling scene in front of you, then you really might be fooled by the words in the newspaper and believe that the “great” king was leading the entire Kingdom toward a glorious future.

But the reality was the exact opposite. The Kingdom was being eaten away from within by the Salvation Society, while outside, the Empire’s army loomed over it like a pack of tigers watching their prey. The whole nation was already teetering on the brink. One wrong step, and it would be plunged into utter ruin.

The contrast was so sharp that Muen even began to wonder whether he had fallen under some kind of illusion spell.

Then again, from another angle, if the scene before him did not match the newspaper’s account quite so perfectly, the phrase “flourishing” would have sounded more like an exquisite piece of sarcasm.

“So this is smoke and mirrors, meant to keep the people inside the city calm?”

As he thought, Muen kept reading the paper carefully.

After the enlarged, bolded, blackened headline came a detailed article centered entirely on the subject of the “great king,” broken down into three main points, five core principles, seven great achievements, and a full range of arguments explaining why Saint Peron V was a great king.

By the time he finished reading it, even Muen felt half-bluffed by it, and found himself wondering whether Saint Peron V really might be that great after all.

No, no, no. A man who had brought the Kingdom to this state could not possibly be called great.

Maybe in his youth he really had accomplished something, enough to strengthen the Kingdom and raise it to the point where it could stand shoulder to shoulder with the Empire in some respects... but that was no justification for one all-in gamble that buried the entire nation with it.

A “great” king and an “excellent” king were fundamentally different things.

Putting his achievements aside, the fact that he had managed to make even his own son despise ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) him so deeply was enough to prove that Saint Peron V could never be called great.

“Which means... what’s in this paper probably isn’t some smokescreen to stabilize public sentiment. It looks more like plain old propaganda.”

The logic was simple. This smokescreen was far too easy to see through.

Muen narrowed his eyes. Through the thin rain and the clamor of the crowd beyond the alley, he could easily see the direction he had come from. The gate in the city wall was still standing open.

The gate was open. Anyone could go outside and take a look at any time. With this many people filling the streets, all they had to do was walk a little farther and they would see the Empire’s hundreds of thousands of troops already pressing up against the city.

And yet, despite how simple that should have been, it was as if no one had noticed at all. Everyone remained immersed in peace and prosperity, unwilling even to leave the city.

Inside and outside the walls seemed to have split into two different worlds.

“Have they really not noticed... or is all of this fake?”

That strange sense of unreality, along with the conflict between what was real and what was logical, made the thought rise in Muen’s mind once again.

He put away the newspaper and carefully examined his surroundings again, even using his black-flame vision to probe the flow of magic and search for traces of an Evil God.

But...

It was not false.

Everything was real.

The crowd was real. The streets were real. The scenery was real. The city was real.

There was indeed magic flowing beneath the city, but that was only normal for a royal capital. The grand barrier that was meant to protect the city, for example—even while temporarily inactive—would still need a constant supply of magical power.

If anything, the clear and orderly pathways of that magical flow were themselves proof that this world was real.

Beyond that, Muen could find no further abnormalities. His black-flame sight could not see very far, but at least within the district where he stood, everything was perfectly natural and real.

“Unless this illusion is so terrifying that it covers an entire city and can flawlessly deceive everyone, including the Church, I don’t see how I could fail to find even the slightest flaw.”

“As for the Evil Gods...”

Muen thought for a moment, then shook his head as well. “I also don’t believe a pack of fanatical idealists—a bunch of lunatics who never stop talking about ‘salvation’—would stoop so low as to join hands with the people they hate most just to achieve their goal.”

Pink Bear had mentioned it before. Even though some of the Salvation Society’s actions were, in essence, no different from those of deranged cultists, they had always prided themselves on being “just and correct.”

On the Salvation Society’s list of most hated enemies, Evil God cultists ranked right alongside the Church.

“So... the boldest and most logical possibility is, for now, probably the least likely. But since everything looks normal, then the only option left is to dig deeper.”

Muen looked out over the city. Hidden in the hazy curtain of rain, it still struck the heart with a sense of grandeur and magnificence.

In sheer population, it might have fallen somewhat short of Belrand, the largest city on the continent, but for Muen, standing here alone, it was still like a towering mountain whose full shape was impossible to grasp.

No—simply seeing its full shape would not have been enough anyway. At this moment, it was clearly hidden behind a strange veil. The city itself was real, but what it showed you was not necessarily real.

Just like that newspaper, so wildly at odds with reality.

“Looks like I’ll have to go somewhere deeper into the city. Somewhere it’s easiest to see the truth...”

That would not be easy.

After all, this was still a strange city to him.

He had no foothold here, and no reinforcements.

But...

“Perfect.”

Muen’s lips crooked, and a sharp, confident light flashed in his eyes.

“Going deep into some mysterious place no one’s ever explored before is exactly what I’m best at.”

...

...

“No idea how long this damned rain is going to keep up.”

The tailor shop owner rested his chin on one hand and stared gloomily at the rain outside the window, letting out a heavy sigh.

It had been drizzling day after day lately. The rain itself was never heavy, but it gave everything the feeling that it was about to grow mold. He had already started to catch a faint bad smell from some of the fabric in storage, but in this miserable weather he could not even lay it out to dry.

And more importantly, no one wanted to come pick out a new outfit in weather like this—weather with endless drizzle and mud waiting under every step.

“Looks like I’ll be closing early again today. Sigh. The paper says His Majesty’s army has won so many victories... wonder if any of the spoils will ever make it down to ordinary folk like us. Think those Imperial barbarians might come buy my clothes too...?”

Creak—

The last trace of his lament was still echoing through the shop when the door suddenly opened. The room brightened for an instant, then at once fell dim again.

The tailor shop owner looked up and saw a tall, thin figure duck slightly to step over the threshold. Then the newcomer lifted a hand and lightly tapped, elegantly flicking the bell above the door the way some noble gentleman might.

“W-Welcome.”

The tailor shop owner froze for a second before realizing that, yes, a customer had actually come in. He quickly forced a smile onto his face and hurried over warmly.

“Sir, what would you like to see? Just cloth? Or ready-made garments? To be honest with you, I’m the best tailor in this district. Whatever I make, I guarantee it’ll satisfy you.”

“The best?”

The tall figure spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse.

Still bent slightly at the waist, the tailor shop owner stole a glance at him from the corner of his eye. Though the man stood against the light, his face still showed the deep-cut features typical of a northerner of Slavic stock.

“Of course. Not just the workmanship—even the fabric...”

Thinking of the bolts in storage that were already starting to mildew, the tailor shop owner kept smiling without a hint of change.

“...is guaranteed to be the very best.”

“Good.”

The tall figure nodded.

“I want a suit made.”

“Then what style would you like?”

“I want...”

He thought for a moment, then said:

“Formalwear. An expensive set of formalwear.”