novelraw Chapter 10: Keken
Chapter 10: Keken
Outside the carriage, Fischer lit a cigarette. His fitted black suit, combined with his youthful, handsome features, drew the attention of nearby coachmen. They couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of aristocratic family would hire a gentleman like that just to drive a carriage?
Speculations swirled in their minds. Fischer, of course, remained unaware.
Before he could finish the cigarette, the carriage door opened. A modest skirt peeked out first. Though the color was plain, the cut was proper—enough to pass for a lady’s dress, if you ignored the dragon tail hanging beneath it and the confident, almost cocky, way she stood.
“Not bad. Looks like my fashion sense is still on point.”
Fischer eyed Raphaëlle, who was inspecting the outfit on herself, and gave this self-satisfied assessment.
But clearly, dragonkin had no concept of human fashion preferences. To Raphaëlle, this outfit was more complicated than armor. The fabric clung tightly, even restricting the way her tail moved.
“The tail still doesn’t feel right.”
Typical. Humans had terrible taste.
As she lifted her tail again, making the skirt flare out awkwardly, Fischer rubbed his temples and pointed to her lower back.
“Stop moving it. Let it hang down. This is already the most practical design for you—it won’t hinder your combat. You’ll be able to run full speed in another day or two... but if you’re too impatient and want to try killing me today, I’m fine with that too. Did you change into the underwear?” His gaze landed on her tail swaying under the skirt. For some reason, Raphaëlle could always sense an odd anticipation in his tone, making her suspect he was laying some kind of trap.
“Under… wear?”
She glanced sideways at him, confusion written on her face.
“…”
Fischer didn’t respond. He just raised both index fingers and drew a triangle in the air with a deadly serious expression.
Raphaëlle stared, slow to process. But then her tail suddenly shot up in panic as she shouted:
“I DID! I DID WEAR IT! IT’S WRITTEN IN YOUR INSTRUCTIONS!”
Flustered, she was practically steaming—literally. The noise startled several coachmen napping nearby, who peeked out with bleary eyes.
“Good. Follow me.”
Fischer’s lips twitched into a faint smile. He lowered his hat and stepped forward, cane in hand.
This human...
Grinding her teeth, Raphaëlle burned with helpless irritation. Only now did she realize the devil that hid behind that gentlemanly facade. Infuriating.
She hadn’t even moved yet when the man ahead casually snapped his fingers—a flash of violet magic lit up the carriage behind her, sealing it shut again. It was clearly just to urge her to hurry, but it still startled her.
Once I recover, I’m going to kill him!
She made her silent vow and swished her tail as she followed after him.
From the parking lot, Fischer walked swiftly through the city. Along the way, they passed all sorts of people—newsboys, soldiers, and errand runners he'd already seen earlier. Construction still dominated the streets, mud splattered the roads, and shopfronts dumped wastewater openly. Despite being noon, balconies above the street were already occupied.
There, several lounging women leaned lazily on the railings in sheer sleepwear, gowns just barely covering their chests. One blonde, holding a smoking pipe, spotted Fischer from above. Her eyes lit up like a hawk sighting prey.
Well-dressed, good-looking gentlemen were always a favorite.
A romantic, pleasure-filled evening with a wealthy payoff? No downside.
She plucked a rose from a flower pot and tossed it as he passed.
Below, Fischer sensed it, caught it midair, and glanced up—meeting her gaze.
He pressed a kiss to the rose and offered a courtly gentleman's bow.
The blonde flushed. Her pipe nearly fell from her fingers.
“What a charming gentleman. What a shame…”
Watching him disappear with the rose in hand, she sighed.
Farther down the road, Raphaëlle, already waiting by a shop entrance, looked at Fischer with a deadpan expression as he inspected fruit.
“So… is that how humans court each other?”
Fischer lifted a fruit, sniffed it gently, and replied without looking:
“Courtship?”
The skeptical look on her face amused him. He handed the fruit to the vendor, pointed at a few more, and said:
“That wasn’t courtship. Just her trying to attract a customer. To her, I stood out—clean-cut and well-dressed. She figured I might pay well. She probably does that to a dozen men a day. Some go upstairs, spend a night with her, and get overcharged to hell and back.”
Raphaëlle blinked, then stared at him in shock.
“Wait—you’re saying… she does that? With… a lot of people?”
“If by that you mean what I think you mean… then yes.”
Fischer paid, handed her the fruit and the flower, and continued walking. Raphaëlle, still processing, hadn’t even realized she was being used as a pack mule.
She shuddered, visibly uncomfortable. Her body language was like a human getting the chills. Even the way she held the rose changed—as if it were suddenly tainted.
Fischer ignored her and moved on. Aside from fruit, he was looking to buy a portable magic stove like the one in his carriage. But in this city, magic tools were rare. The only shop sold basic one-use charms and raw materials.
He’d have to make one himself.
It was time-consuming, difficult, and annoying—but unavoidable. He regretted not having her make a few more before he drove her off.
As he and Raphaëlle exited the shop, she now carrying a box of magical ingredients, Fischer started a new conversation—about her companions.
Not only was he genuinely curious, but keeping her talking also distracted her from the fact she was hauling everything.
A perfect two-birds-one-stone tactic.
At first, Raphaëlle was reluctant. She still didn’t trust him. But once Fischer started sharing trivial human world stories, she slowly opened up—almost as if trying to repay him with her own “trivia.”
Especially about Larr.
“Larr’s the youngest in her family—the twelfth child. The most mischievous one too.”
“Twelfth?!”
“Mm… And they’re one of the families in our tribe with the fewest kids. If Larr were gone, her mother would be devastated…”
“Fewest…”
Even as a long-time researcher of demi-humans, Fischer blinked, visibly startled.
“Fischer! Mr. Fischer! Wait!”
Just as they were stepping back onto the main street—and their conversation had shifted from Larr’s mischief to fertility—a voice called out behind them, in fluent Naryan.
Fischer turned and saw a luxurious yet modest carriage pulling up beside them. The curtain lifted to reveal a young man in a Saint Nary suit, a trimmed beard on his face and excitement in his eyes.
“You are…?”
“It really is you! I’m Keken—also a graduate of the Royal Academy of Saint Nary! Two years your junior!”
Hearing his name, the young man grew even more animated. He leapt from the carriage, pushing past the driver, and rushed over.
Fischer blinked. He had graduated from the Royal Academy. He wasn’t famous per se, but he wasn’t unknown either. It wasn’t strange for an enthusiastic junior to recognize him.
“I see. Pleasure to meet you. Did you need something?”
“Would you honor me by having lunch with me?!”
Fischer extended a polite handshake—but the man grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go, swaying it eagerly. His overzealous enthusiasm was overwhelming. Fischer’s polite smile was starting to crack, and when he tried to pull away, he was yanked right back in.
Wait a minute…
Keken?
This place was called Keken City, right?
Was this guy the city’s lord?
Fischer’s eyes narrowed as the realization dawned. He carefully pried his hand free, shot a glance at the bewildered Raphaëlle, and then nodded.
“Very well. I happen to have a few questions for you myself.”