"You're sending them to the servants, not the nobles?" Belinda asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, write 'From Baron Fenris' in big letters and send it off," Ghislain replied casually.

Claude, his face slightly perplexed, nodded. "Ah... I see? Got it."

Belinda, still skeptical, interrupted their exchange. "Wait a minute. What are you two talking about? Do you even understand this, Claude? Or are you just pretending to know?"

Claude immediately bristled at her remark. "What kind of nonsense is that? I'm the top graduate of the Seiron Academy, and I handle all administrative duties for the estate. Do you really think I'd be that clueless?"

"Hmph, yet you always get outwitted by Lord Ghislain," Belinda retorted.

"That's only because the lord acts beyond common sense!" Claude exclaimed, pounding his chest in frustration.

Despite their bickering, everyone else was focused on Ghislain, waiting for him to explain. His tone was casual as he clarified his plan.

"Belinda, remember how you were excited when I first gave you the cosmetic? You asked which brand it was, thinking it must be expensive."

"Well, yeah..." she admitted.

"But why did you refuse to use it later?"

"Obviously because you said you made it yourself! You never learned how to make this stuff, so why would I trust it? Ah... now I get it!"

Belinda's eyes widened with realization.

The people at Fenris Manor knew Ghislain lacked any expertise in pharmaceuticals or alchemy. Naturally, they didn't trust cosmetics made by him.

But the people in the capital were different.

"There will be some servants who trust the product just because it's sent with a noble's name attached," Ghislain said.

"And they don't know anything about you here," Belinda added, nodding.

"Exactly."

Not everyone who received the product would use it, but even if just one person did and saw the benefits, word would spread. Just as it had in Fenris territory.

Gillian, who had been the first to test the cosmetics, nodded solemnly.

"So, you're catching the horse to capture the knight, starting by winning over the people around them. Brilliant strategy, my lord."

"Well, that wasn't exactly my intention, but I suppose you're not wrong," Ghislain admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Belinda grumbled, "It seems so obvious now. How did I not think of that? I spend the most time with the servants."

Ghislain chuckled. "Probably because you didn’t trust me. That's why I hate explaining things. Even if I tell people, they don’t believe me."

The group fell silent, Ghislain’s words hitting a bit too close to home. The awkwardness was palpable.

Claude, ever the opportunist, clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Tsk tsk tsk. How can you call yourselves loyal retainers if you doubt everything the lord says? How is the estate supposed to function if you keep second-guessing him? Don't behave like that idiot Alpoi."

The group bristled, feeling a surge of irritation at Claude's condescending remark. Despite their frustration, they couldn’t argue. After all, Claude had been the only one to understand Ghislain’s plan from the start.

As they glared at him, Claude tapped his temple with two fingers, smirking. "Do you feel the difference in intelligence?"

The air around them became tense with hostility.

Feigning ignorance, Claude turned his head away and said, "I'll wrap up the goods nicely and send them to the noble households."

"Yes. Focus on the prominent families. No need to send it to every noble."

Claude hesitated. "But we can’t completely ignore the nobles, right? What should we send to them?"

After all, it would be strange to only send gifts to the servants while ignoring the nobles. They had to offer something to maintain appearances.

Ghislain paused for a moment, then nonchalantly suggested, "Send them some mandrake roots as a token. That should do."

"...Mandrake roots?"

"Yeah. There’s no need to send anything fancy. As long as they know my name and that our company sent cosmetics, it’s enough. Make it as cheap as possible."

Claude scratched his head, visibly uncomfortable with the idea.

Mandrake roots were famous as an energizing tonic, but they weren’t exactly the kind of gift that would impress the nobles in the capital.

Even if they didn’t need to curry favor with the nobles, Claude worried about the gossip that might follow.

“Well… if you say so. What about the letter? Any special message you’d like me to include?”

"How about, 'I, Ghislain, have arrived in the capital'?" Ghislain said with a chuckle.

"...I’ll write something more appropriate," Claude sighed.

"Good. Handle that yourself. I don’t have time to dictate every letter."

"Yeah, yeah," Claude grumbled, but he diligently prepared the gifts and letters.

Once the gifts were sent, there was nothing left to do but wait.

While the rest of the group explored the capital, sightseeing and enjoying the local cuisine, Ghislain remained at the mansion, deep in thought.

'By now, someone must have tried it.'

Everyone assumed Ghislain was just there to make money by selling cosmetics.

They weren’t wrong, but Ghislain’s ambitions went beyond simple profit.

'How long will it take...'

Caw! Caw!

Ghislain tossed some feed to the crows in the garden. The birds eagerly swooped down, flapping noisily as they fought over the food.

Count Aylesbur was one of the most influential figures in the capital.

He didn’t hold a particularly high-ranking office, nor did he govern a vast territory. However, his family had maintained close ties with many noble households for generations, granting him considerable political clout.

Inherited wealth, businesses, and a strong network of connections further solidified his position.

Naturally, he received countless gifts from those seeking his favor, so many that he had to set aside time just to organize and review them.

"The next one… Baron Fenris?"

"Yes, my lord. He sent this as a courtesy, as it’s his first time visiting the capital."

"Hmm, alright."

With little interest, Count Aylesbur opened the letter. However, his expression quickly changed.

"Oh…"

Each sentence in the letter captivated him.

The words were so elegantly written, praising him to the point where he felt like an emperor.

"My, my, the person who wrote this must have remarkable literary skills. Or did the baron write this himself? Either way, quite impressive. How delightful," he chuckled.

Now, he was curious about the gift. With such grand words, surely the present would be equally extravagant.

Eager to see, he urged his servant. "Come, open it quickly."

Unsure of what the gift might be, Count Aylesbur didn’t dare open it himself. The servant carefully unlatched the wooden box.

"Huh?"

The people around him peered into the box, their faces contorting in confusion.

Inside was a single, dried-up mandrake root.

"...A mandrake? Just one?"

"Yes, my lord. Only this."

Count Aylesbur was dumbfounded. He hastily motioned for the servant to bring the box closer.

Taking the mandrake in his hand, he examined it thoroughly, even shaking the empty box to see if there was anything else.

But no matter how closely he looked, that was all.

"Ugh! What a loudmouth! Remember this man’s name! I swear, these impoverished country lords are hopeless!" In a fit of anger, Count Aylesbur flung the mandrake root and the box across the room.

He stood up, already thinking about going to a banquet to vent his frustrations by mocking the baron.

Just as he was about to leave, his butler cautiously approached him.

"My lord, the baron also sent gifts to the servants. What shall we do with those?"

"Sent to the servants? What did he send? Weeds?"

"It's a cosmetic cream produced by his company."

Count Aylesbur scoffed.

What kind of fancy cosmetics could a backwater baron’s company produce? It was probably just some cheap mixture of fruit peels.

"Peasant cosmetics, then? Fine, give it to them. Tell them they can use it or throw it away. I don’t care. You can take whatever’s left for yourself."

"Thank you, my lord!" the butler beamed. While it was trash to the count, even a mandrake root was a valuable item for commoners.

With a few clicks of his tongue, Count Aylesbur stormed out of the room.

Meanwhile, the cosmetics Ghislain had sent were distributed among the servants of Aylesbur Manor.

The containers bore Baron Fenris’s name and the crest of his company.

Most of the servants were wary and didn’t use the cream, much like Count Aylesbur had suspected.

However, a few curious souls decided to try it, intrigued by the nobleman’s name boldly inscribed on the packaging.

Just as Ghislain had predicted.

About ten days later…

Countess Marielle, the wife of Count Aylesbur, frowned as she applied her makeup.

"My makeup just isn’t settling right today."

The powder on her face felt unusually cakey, and her skin didn’t seem to absorb it as well as usual.

"I hate getting old. I don’t want to age…"

Day by day, her skin had been deteriorating.

She ate the finest foods and spared no expense on beauty products to maintain her skin, but the effects were waning.

In her middle age, her body seemed determined to betray her efforts.

"Even though I’m still so beautiful..." Marielle sighed.

She was still considered one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, even now.

In her youth, countless suitors had proposed to her, and many knights had competed for the honor of serving her.

Even though she had aged, many still praised her beauty. She was one of the leading trendsetters among the noble ladies of the kingdom.

But as the years passed, she grew increasingly obsessed with the loss of her skin's elasticity and the appearance of wrinkles.

"When I was younger, I didn’t even need makeup to look flawless... How frustrating."

The heavier makeup she used to conceal her wrinkles only made her skin feel stiffer.

"Maybe I should have learned an easy mana cultivation technique. I’ve heard it helps maintain youth."

Regretful, she sighed, knowing it was too late. No one could escape the effects of time.

With a final glance in the mirror, she left her room.

"Are we ready? Let’s not be late."

Today, she was attending a rare social gathering at a salon, which explained why she had spent so much time preparing.

Noble social gatherings were, in a sense, like battlefields, where every detail of one's appearance was scrutinized—clothes, makeup, even the smallest accessories.

Marielle had never lost in these unspoken competitions.

As she made her way out, receiving polite bows from her maids, she suddenly stopped, sensing something off.

'What is this feeling?'

She looked at the maids lined up on either side of the hallway, inspecting them carefully.

Soon, Marielle realized what had been bothering her.

'Their skin...'

Most of the maids looked as they always did. There wasn’t much they could do to keep up with noble standards when it came to skincare.

But a few of them stood out.

Their skin was noticeably different—clearer, more radiant, and healthier-looking.

It was a subtle difference, but Marielle’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it.

She stepped closer to the maid whose skin looked the most refreshed and demanded, "You."

The maid, startled, lowered her head in submission.

"Tell me what you’ve been eating recently, how you’ve been washing, when and how much you’ve been sleeping—everything. And if there’s anything else you’ve done that could’ve affected your skin, tell me that too."

Normally, Marielle was kind and graceful to her servants, but now her face was stern, almost frightening.