“…What is this?”
That was all the letter contained.
No introduction—just an abrupt declaration that the sender would come to see him.
He checked the back of the envelope for a sender’s name, but only the recipient was written. Even the wax seal was just plain dripped wax, with no identifying mark.
There was no way to tell who had sent it.
“Bold of someone to send me a prank letter like this.”
Though one could also interpret it as a threat.
“Should we try to track down who sent it?”
“No need. Don’t waste manpower on something so trivial.”
It was probably just some bored fool’s idea of a joke—or maybe someone who disliked him.
‘If you’re going to send something like this, at least fill it with creative insults.’
Back in his keyboard warrior days, he could’ve shown them what real criticism looked like.
This was just… underwhelming.
With a dismissive flick, Ian tossed the letter into the fireplace.
If this happened again, he’d make sure to hunt down the sender and have a chat.
“Now then…”
He turned his attention to the remaining letters, checking the senders.
Unlike the first, this one had a clear name written on it.
“Sender: Ragnar von… Edelfried?!”
The name nearly made him blurt out a curse in shock.
Ragnar von Edelfried.
That name could only belong to one person.
“…The Third Imperial Prince?”
The very man Duke Endran swore loyalty to—the third prince of the Fried Empire.
“……”
Ian stared at the letter as if it might burst into flames.
A letter from the imperial family—no, from a prince himself.
His first reaction was disbelief.
And for good reason.
The Schrantz family was so insignificant in the empire’s eyes that most nobles wouldn’t even recognize the name.
His second thought was denial.
This can’t be real. Someone’s playing an elaborate prank.
But the dragon-shaped seal stamped on the letter and the name Ragnar von Edelfried carried weight.
This wasn’t something anyone could forge lightly.
A closer inspection of the seal confirmed it wasn’t a joke.
The emblem showed a twin-headed dragon with wings spread wide.
Dragon crests weren’t unheard of among noble houses—those who had performed great deeds under the emperor’s approval could bear them.
But there was one variation no noble could ever use:
The twin-headed dragon.
That symbol belonged solely to one family—the imperial house of the Fried Empire.
Now he understood why Nea had handled the letter with such care.
‘Why would the imperial family contact… me?’
Steadying his nerves, Ian carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
[To the valiant heir of House Schrantz, whose spirit roars like the northern bear,
In these troubled times, where the virtuous suffer under the weight of the realm’s misfortunes, tales of your benevolence have reached even my ears.
Your kindness toward the common folk has moved me deeply, offering inspiration for the path I myself must walk. Furthermore…]
Normally, Ian would skip the flowery preamble and get straight to the point.
But this wasn’t just any letter—it was from a prince.
Every word might hold hidden meaning. He couldn’t afford to skim.
So he read meticulously, line by line, until he reached the end.
[I wish to meet you and speak honestly. In two days’ time, a carriage shall arrive to bring you to me. For the future and peace of the empire, I pray you will take this difficult step.
—Ragnar von Edelfried]
In short:
An invitation from the Third Prince, Ragnar.
He desperately wished this was a dream, but reality refused to oblige.
“Nea, do I have any prior engagements?”
“No, nothing in particular…?”
“I’m a busy man. Surely there’s something.”
“Must you invent work to avoid this? Just what kind of letter is this?”
Nea was used to Ian’s eccentricities, but today’s behaviour was especially baffling.
“His Highness the Third Prince has invited you? Good heavens. This is momentous.”
Tyler, who had skimmed the letter over Ian’s shoulder, looked genuinely stunned.
And for good reason.
For a prince to personally invite an obscure noble he’d never met was almost unheard of.
“Wait—His Highness invited the young master?!”
Nea had assumed the imperial letter was some formal notice—not an invitation.
“Why on earth would he summon you?”
But Ian already had a guess.
Amidst an ongoing civil war, a prince’s personal summons could mean only one thing:
An attempt to recruit him.
Two days later.
A foreign carriage rolled into Dariel Village, drawing stares from the locals.
Merchant wagons were common enough, but this was no ordinary transport.
It was a fancy, gilded coach—the kind that screamed “someone important is inside.”
And it came to a stop right in front of Ian, who had been waiting at the gates.
‘Well. This day has come.’
Ian suppressed a sigh.
He would’ve loved to refuse, claiming prior obligations—but that wasn’t an option.
Even if he had urgent matters, they would have to wait.
He’d scrambled to find excuses, even inventing work to delay the inevitable—
“Hah, leave the trivial matters to me. You need only prepare to meet His Highness.”
“……”
Tyler had cleared all his assigned tasks the moment they came in.
For the first time in his life, he found himself wishing he wasn’t so efficient.
‘The world is cruel.’
But Ian knew better.
Who in their right mind would dare refuse a prince’s summons without a valid reason? Especially when that prince was a strong contender for the imperial throne?
Even Hugo—who had never once laid a hand on Ian—would likely storm into Dariel Village and beat him senseless for such insolence.
As much as Ian wanted to escape reality, the matter was already settled.
The prince hadn’t even entertained the possibility of refusal—hence the prearranged carriage.
Just then, a knight in gleaming armor dismounted and stood before Ian.
“We will now proceed with verification. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
Ian nodded in understanding.
Cough, cough!
The knight cleared his throat and spoke in a solemn tone.
“State your identity.”
“Eldest son of House Schrantz, Ian von Schrantz.”
For most nobles, this process would’ve ended with a name or the display of a family emblem.
“Provide proof that you are indeed Ian von Schrantz.”
Ian handed over his emblem.
The knight inspected it meticulously—excessive, given the prince’s explicit summons, but necessary.
This was protocol for meeting imperial royalty.
Especially in these turbulent times, no risks could be taken.
After the knights verified the emblem, an attendant waiting by the carriage performed a final check before returning it.
With the formalities complete, an elderly man in a pristine suit and a monocle stepped forward.
Ian recognized him instantly.
Anyone who’d dealt with imperial quests in the game would know this face—like it or not.
“It is an honor to meet the great warrior of the North. I am Herbert Bergman.”
Where the knight was disciplined and stern, Herbert exuded refined elegance as he greeted Ian.
“I serve as an advisor to His Imperial Majesty and currently assist His Highness, the Third Prince. By his command, I have come to escort you. How many attendants will accompany you?”
“Three.”
Ian had chosen Dwayne, Sera, and Nea.
He’d wanted to bring Tyler, but it was too risky.
Shadow operatives loyal to House Endran would undoubtedly be lurking near the prince’s location.
‘Not that they’d easily infiltrate the prince’s inner circle… but better safe than sorry.’
Herbert opened the carriage door.
“Please board. We shall ensure your safety and comfort until your return.”
Ian stepped inside.
A last, futile hope crossed his mind—Maybe some accident will cancel the meeting.
But against his wishes, the carriage glided smoothly toward the Third Prince’s residence.
