I left the Imperial Council Hall with the same silence I had entered it with, but something within me had shifted. It wasn't the meeting itself—with its dull political details and blatant diplomatic hypocrisy—that caused the change, but rather the growing awareness of my situation.
I am here, in this body, in this world, and I possess resources beyond imagination. And resources, in any world, mean power—or at the very least, comfort. And in my case, comfort meant good food. A lot of it.
The personal attendant, who had been waiting like a silent shadow at the door, gave a slight bow and led me back through the gilded, velvet-lined corridors of the imperial palace.
Each step on the thick red carpet only strengthened my resolve. The sound-absorbing rug, the walls echoing with a history of blood and betrayal, the stone-faced guards—all of it screamed luxury and oppression.
But my mind was elsewhere—on a long list of foods I had been deprived of for years in my previous life. Foods that the original Nir, with his faux asceticism, would never have thought to indulge in.
The silver carriage awaited. Same silent servant. Same velvet seats. But this time, my thoughts weren't tangled in analyzing the absurdity of the novel or thinking about Alastair. I was planning my first real feast in this new life.
"Young Master," the servant suddenly said, breaking the long silence of the ride, "Are there any special instructions upon arrival at the estate?"
I looked at him, a barely visible smile playing on my lips—one heavy with anticipation.
"Yes," I said in a calm voice, one laced with unmistakable authority. "Instruct the head chef to await me in my quarters the moment we arrive. He is to have a list prepared—of the rarest, most exquisite meats, birds, fish, fruits, and vegetables this world can offer. And don't forget the drinks. I want only the best. Nothing less."
The servant's eyes widened for a fleeting moment before he composed himself and bowed.
"As you command, Young Master."
Perhaps he thought I had lost my mind. Or more likely, he had wisely decided not to question my motives. Servants in House Verton quickly learned that questions could cost more than just their employment.
As the carriage passed through the towering gates of Verton Manor—like the gaping jaws of a stone beast—I felt the air itself change.
Here, the shadows were deeper, the silence heavier, and every stone pulsed with an ancient, terrifying power. Yet today, that atmosphere stirred no unease in me. On the contrary, it felt like the perfect setting to satisfy my desires.
I stepped down from the carriage, ignoring the servants lined up in exaggerated bows. My steps were brisk, directed straight toward my personal wing. As I had ordered, the head chef, Monsieur Julien, was waiting outside my door.
He was a short, round man—French, or whatever passed for French in this world—with meticulously curled mustaches and a towering white chef's hat that seemed to defy gravity. His pristine white coat and the look on his face—an awkward mix of confusion and cautious curiosity—made him almost comical.
"Young Master Nir," he said in his lightly accented voice, "I am at your service."
I gestured for him to enter. My suite was spacious, but his nervous energy seemed to fill much of it.
"Monsieur Julien," I began, pacing slowly through the room and examining the heavy furniture and rare artifacts as if seeing them for the first time. "I want a feast. Not just any feast. I want to experience everything rare and luxurious this world has to offer. I don't care about cost. I don't care about effort. I want the best."
The chef swallowed hard, but a flicker of excitement lit up in his eyes. True chefs lived for challenges. They lived for the rarest of ingredients.
"Of course, Young Master. Do you have any particular dishes in mind?"
"Let's start with meat," I said, pausing in front of a large window overlooking the black gardens of the manor.
"I want a cut of young red dragon meat. Not those pathetic slices from adolescent drakes you serve at banquets. I want a slab of rib from a dragon no older than fifty. Tender. Juicy. Slow-roasted over ancient oak wood, seasoned only with black rock salt and wild pepper from the Serpent Mountains."
Monsieur Julien wiped a phantom bead of sweat from his brow.
"Red dragon meat… That's incredibly rare, Young Master. It requires a special hunting permit from the Duke—"
"Consider the permit granted," I interrupted coldly. "My father won't deny a simple wish from his only son." (A lie, of course. I had no idea if he'd approve. But the confidence in my voice made it sound true enough.)
"Next, I want griffin liver. Rumor has it it melts in the mouth like celestial butter. Lightly pan-seared with black truffle and served with a sauce made from icewine from the northern lands."
Monsieur Julien's eyes widened.
"Griffin liver! My goodness! We haven't prepared that in years! It requires exquisite skill—one wrong move and it's ruined!"
"I have faith in you, Monsieur Julien," I said with a faint smile.
"And then, I want roasted phoenix chick. The kind raised on the Sunny Isles. Stuffed with aromatic herbs and dried fruits, glazed in moonflower honey during roasting."
"Phoenix chick… Yes, yes, that can be arranged. It's incredibly delicious." Excitement began to replace hesitation in the chef's tone.
"For seafood, I want ghost-sea lobster. The kind that grows as large as a grown man's arm. Boiled in a special broth with black lemon and rare sea herbs. And golden mermaid caviar, served over crushed ice with thin slices of pearl-flour toast."
"Golden mermaid caviar!" he gasped. "That costs a fortune! A single vial takes weeks to obtain!"
"We have fortune. And time is no concern. Begin preparations immediately," I said, turning to face him.
"As for fruits, I want a basket of Eternal Apples that never rot, bunches of Starlight Grapes that glow in the dark, and slices of Shifting-Sand Melon—said to change flavor with every bite. For vegetables, I want hearts of Sunburst Artichoke, roots of Snow Yarrow, and leaves of Crystal Fern."
The chef scribbled frantically in a small notebook, his pen practically flying across the pages.
"And drinks, Monsieur Julien. Don't forget the drinks. I want ancient Dragon's Blood wine, aged for a century in barrels made of old dragon bone. I want pure Elixir of Life—not the diluted version served to common guests, but the concentrated one that restores youth and strengthens the body. And bring me Moonspring Water—gathered only during full moons from hidden springs in the Cloud Mountains."
He fell silent, staring at the awe-inspiring list. Then, his eyes lit up with glee and determination.
"Young Master, this will be a legendary feast! I shall surpass myself! Generations of chefs will speak of this meal!"
"I expect nothing less," I said coolly. "Start immediately. I want everything ready by evening. If you need anything—anything at all—ask the head steward. He has orders to fulfill every request."
Monsieur Julien gave a bow so deep his hat nearly brushed the floor.
"With pleasure, Young Master! Absolute pleasure!" Then he hurried out of the room like a man afraid I might add something even more insane to the list.
I smiled. This was the feeling. The intoxicating thrill of absolute spending power. It was unexpectedly… delightful.
While Julien and his crew worked like a mad beehive in the palace kitchens, I realized food wasn't the only indulgence worth pursuing. If I was going to live in this world, I was going to live properly.
Next, clothing. My wardrobe was already filled with luxury, but it all reflected Nir's original taste—dark tones, formal cuts, fabrics screaming subdued wealth. I wanted something different. Something that reflected me.
I summoned the palace's chief tailor, an old man named Master Elias, with half-moon glasses perched on his nose and sharp eyes that scanned every inch of cloth with surgical precision.
"Master Elias," I said, standing before him, "I want a new wardrobe."
"Of course, Young Master," he replied with a calm, steady voice. "Any particular styles or materials in mind?"
"I want garments that are both practical and elegant. Strong fabrics, but comfortable. Jackets I can move freely in, but still carry an air of authority. Think processed dragonhide—soft as silk but still retains its protective nature. Think giant spider silk—said to be stronger than steel and light as a feather. Dark colors, yes, but accented with fine silver or black-gold details. Lined with snow-leopard fur to keep me warm during winter nights."
Master Elias listened intently, his fingers twitching as he visualized designs.
"Processed dragonhide… spider silk… snow-leopard fur… Those are incredibly rare and costly materials, Young Master."
"Cost is not a concern," I repeated my new favorite phrase.
"I also want cloaks. One woven from Shadowthread—so the wearer blends with the darkness. Another, magic-resistant, made from legendary salamander hide, lined with water-nymph scales."
"A cloak of Shadowthread…" he muttered, eyes glittering. "That's quite the challenge. Requires master weavers and special enchantments."
"I'm confident you'll find them," I said. "Take my measurements. I want prototypes within a week."
Master Elias spent the next half hour silently measuring me with meticulous care, murmuring figures and notes to himself. He worked without unnecessary questions. That's what I liked about House Verton's staff—efficiency and discretion.
When he finished, another idea struck me—my room. Already lavish, yes, but it lacked a personal touch—my touch, not Nir's.
I summoned the palace's head interior designer—Lady Armande. A fiery-haired woman in her mid-forties, known for her impeccable taste and ability to transform any space into a masterpiece.
"Lady Armande," I said, gesturing at the spacious suite, "I want some changes."
"I'm listening, Young Master," she replied in a soft, melodic voice.