“That's absurd!” Marielle stammered in shock at the exorbitant price.

“One hundred gold pieces? That’s way too expensive! Who would pay that much?”

“What do you mean expensive? The renowned luxury brand ‘Charnel’ charges over a hundred gold pieces, does it not?” Ghislain replied calmly.

“But that’s for jewelry! It doesn’t get used up like cosmetics,” she countered.

“This will become more of a luxury than that,” Ghislain replied confidently.

Marielle bit her lip, unsure how to argue further.

“Do you really think people will buy it at that price?”

“Of course. The fact that the Countess came here in person proves that, doesn’t it?” Ghislain said with a smug smile.

Marielle couldn’t argue back. While one hundred gold pieces was a bit much, it wasn’t an impossible amount for wealthy noblewomen.

“Then how about we negotiate at least the distribution rights in the capital? With my help, you’ll find it much easier to establish yourself here.”

Ghislain shrugged nonchalantly at her proposal.

“This product will sell no matter where it’s displayed, even in the dirtiest alley.”

Marielle bit her lip harder, realizing she was at a loss for words. Ghislain was right—this was the kind of product that would sell out as soon as word spread.

The only way to monopolize it would be to steal the formula and silence the creator. But she wasn’t the type of person to stoop that low.

“Sigh…” Marielle let out a long, frustrated breath.

Sometimes, having something too good was a problem in itself. She knew she’d have to offer something equally enticing to get her hands on the cosmetics, but she was drawing a blank.

Claude, noticing her defeated expression, nudged Ghislain, urging him to just give in and make the deal. But Ghislain didn’t flinch.

‘There’s no way I’m playing the fool,’ he thought.

Still, maintaining a good relationship with Marielle could be beneficial. After a brief moment of thought, Ghislain decided on a compromise.

“Countess, your instincts are sharp. You’re the first person to approach me about this. While I can’t offer exclusive rights, I can offer you the prestige of being the first to introduce it to society.”

“Prestige?” Marielle asked, intrigued.

Ghislain motioned toward a large box that had been prepared in the corner of the room and pushed it toward her. Curious, Marielle opened it to reveal around fifty jars of the coveted cosmetic cream.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“How about being the first to set the trend before word spreads? Your reputation would soar, and the more expensive the gift, the greater its value.”

Marielle smiled, understanding immediately.

“You’re saying you’ll use me to promote your product?”

“We both stand to benefit. I save time, and you gain prestige. Consider this a gesture of gratitude for recognizing our product’s worth first.”

It wasn’t a bad proposal. In the social circles of the capital, being the first to start a trend carried significant weight. People would talk about her keen eye for quality, which would only enhance her reputation.

The high price would also work in her favor. The more exclusive the product, the higher the standing of those who could afford it.

“Very well. I’ll accept your proposal,” Marielle agreed, smiling as she closed the box. If she couldn’t get the exclusive rights, she’d at least secure her social standing.

“I’ll take my leave now. Don’t worry about the promotion. I’ll handle it.”

With that, Marielle stood up, wasting no time. She needed to attend the next social gathering and introduce the product before anyone else could beat her to it.

As she left, Ghislain gave a slight bow.

“Take care,” he said.

The crow perched on his shoulder mimicked the gesture, bowing its head as well.

Caw!

It didn’t take long for word about the cosmetic cream to spread.

People flocked to buy it, some without even knowing its effects, simply because Marielle vouched for it.

Despite the steep price, nobles purchased it without hesitation. Many couldn’t afford to use it regularly, but just owning something Marielle used made them feel it was worth the splurge.

Claude and Belinda were ecstatic as the orders poured in.

“This is huge! We’re making a fortune!” Claude cheered.

The mansion’s coffers filled to the brim with gold, enough to sustain their entire estate for a year.

“Hahaha! My lord, why don’t we just give up everything else and stay here, running this business? This is so much easier!” Claude joked, caught up in the excitement of counting the gold.

“With it selling this fast, shouldn’t we make more of it? We’re going to run out soon!” Belinda added.

They were eager to ride the wave of success and expand the business further. Claude even suggested opening a proper shop in the capital and sending shipments to other regions.

Everyone urged Ghislain to act quickly, but he remained unmoved.

“Wait. There’s still more to do,” Ghislain said, calm as ever.

“What more is there? We should be getting back to the estate to produce more stock!” Claude insisted, growing more impatient.

Despite the pressure, Ghislain didn’t budge.

“Hmm… news should be coming soon. Have they not heard the rumors yet?” he murmured to himself.

Thanks to Marielle, the product’s reputation had spread faster than expected, and sales were soaring. But Ghislain was waiting for someone else—his real target hadn’t made a move yet.

Several days later, just as they were running out of stock, an elegantly dressed older gentleman arrived at the mansion.

“I serve as the butler for the Marquis of Branford. May I speak with Baron Fenris?”

Ghislain’s eyes lit up.

The big fish had finally taken the bait.

Ghislain had deliberately refrained from sending any cosmetics to the Branford Marquis. He wanted them to come to him.

The Marquis of Branford was the Royal Chamberlain and the leader of the pro-royalist faction, often opposing the Duke of Delphine. He was one of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom.

His influence was so great that almost all royal affairs passed through his hands.

As a major lord in the eastern territories, his power base was solid, and having previously served as a military commander, he also had influence in the army.

For the butler of such a powerful house to visit Ghislain over a few cosmetic jars was unheard of. Other nobles would have been shocked to know this.

After the formalities, the butler quickly got to the point.

“Is it true that this cosmetic cream clears the skin?” he asked.

“That’s a vague question. It improves skin condition, yes. You must have heard the rumors by now. What exactly do you want to know?”

“Can it improve skin temporarily and then make it worse later on?”

Ghislain chuckled, waving off the question.

“Skin care is all about consistency. The results will vary from person to person, but if used regularly, it works.”

The butler continued to ask question after question, probing for details about the ingredients, any possible side effects, and so on.

Growing impatient, Ghislain interrupted him with a smirk.

“You’re here on behalf of the Marquis, but is it for the young lady of the house?”

The butler hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.

“Yes, it’s for the young lady.”

“I thought as much,” Ghislain said, grinning.

There was no point in hiding it. He had already heard the rumors about the Marquis’s daughter and the skin condition that had driven her into seclusion.

“I’m aware that she wears a mask and stays inside. It’s an open secret, really. You didn’t think I’d be unaware of that, did you?”

The butler sighed, seeing no point in denying it any longer.

“Take a couple of jars and let her try it. I’ve put everything I know about herbal medicine and skin care into these products. If it doesn’t work, we can explore other options.”

The butler, visibly uneasy, nodded and prepared to leave.

“Oh, by the way,” Ghislain called after him, “I also know how to cure the ‘Eternal Curse.’”

The butler ignored the comment, pretending not to have heard it.

The ‘Eternal Curse’ was known as an incurable affliction, and he dismissed Ghislain’s words as mere boasting.

Ghislain smirked at the butler’s reaction.

“People are so hard to convince these days. Maybe I should call that priest from before,” he muttered to himself.

Back at the Branford mansion, the Marquis inspected the cosmetic jars with a skeptical expression.

“This is the skin care product everyone’s been talking about?”

“Yes, my lord. It’s the one recommended by Countess Aylesbur,” the butler replied.

The Marquis remained indifferent.

“I doubt it will help much.”

As one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, he was troubled by two major issues.

The first was the Duke of Delphine, who had grown bolder in his moves against the pro-royalist faction, steadily gaining power.

The second was his daughter’s chronic skin condition.

“If this doesn’t work, we may have run out of options.”

While the Duke of Delphine’s rise was a recent problem, his daughter’s illness had been a long-standing issue.

She had developed red spots all over her body, which worsened in the sunlight, leaving her unable to sleep or go outside.

Despite consulting countless healers, no one could identify the cause.

Even divine healing from priests offered only temporary relief, and all the expensive treatments they had tried had failed.

“I’ll deliver it to her myself.”

The Marquis made his way to his daughter’s room.

She had isolated herself in the dark, avoiding all contact with the outside world. Her seclusion had cast a gloomy atmosphere over the entire household.

He understood her desire to hide her disfigured face from others, especially as her condition worsened with time.

Even as her father, it pained him to see how bad it had become.

But he could no longer afford to let her situation continue.

“We can’t delay your marriage any longer.”

To counter the Duke of Delphine’s growing influence, the Marquis had arranged a political marriage with a neutral noble family.

However, his daughter had repeatedly asked for more time, delaying the union.

“Tsk, I’ve been patient long enough.”

The Marquis had been considerate, postponing the marriage to accommodate his daughter’s feelings. But now, time was running out.

They needed to solidify alliances before the Duke’s power grew any further.

Click.

He entered her room, where only a few candles provided light. The windows were tightly sealed, and the expensive magical lamps were nowhere to be seen.

His daughter, Rosalyn, sat reading by the faint glow of the candles.

‘This is no better than a prison,’ he thought, taking in the dreary surroundings.

Without any sign of emotion, he handed her the cosmetic jars.

“Rosalyn, try this. It’s a popular cream for the skin. They say it works wonders.”

Rosalyn slowly lifted her head.

“Do you think it will help?” she asked, her voice calm but tinged with deep-seated frustration.

The Marquis met her gaze, her red-rimmed eyes showing the toll her condition had taken on her.

“This is what Countess Aylesbur uses,” he said.

Rosalyn fell silent at that.

She knew Marielle well. Growing up, she had admired her from afar.

Marielle only used the finest products and set trends in the social circles. If she recommended this, it had to be worth trying.

“Leave it here.”

“I will. Also, the marriage will proceed soon. Keep that in mind.”

At that, Rosalyn barely held back her emotions.

“You expect me to marry in this state? Do you want me to live the rest of my life being treated like a monster? Is that what you want for me—to be mocked and pitied?”

The Marquis cut her off coldly.

“This is about the family.”

“What about my life? Doesn’t that matter?”

“The family comes first.”

Rosalyn’s voice trembled as she raised another argument.

“And do you think the groom will be satisfied when he sees my face? Won’t he resent you for forcing the marriage? Can you guarantee that our families will remain allies then?”

The Marquis scoffed at the thought.

“What does it matter if he resents it? Marriages between noble houses are always like this. By the time he becomes the lord, he’ll understand that this is how politics works.”

While Rosalyn valued personal relationships, the Marquis viewed everything through a political lens.

Neither perspective was inherently wrong. They just prioritized different aspects of life.

With that, the Marquis turned and left the room without another word.

“Sigh…”

Rosalyn sighed deeply and slowly began applying the cream to her face.

At this point, she wasn’t sure whether she was applying the cream or just wiping away her tears.

A few days later, after using the cream consistently, Rosalyn gave up and shoved the jars aside.

‘It’s no use,’ she thought.

The cream had made her skin softer and more moisturized, but the red blotches remained.

Her face now looked worse, the glowing skin contrasting against the blemishes.

Clatter!

Frustrated, Rosalyn hurled a glass from her vanity, shattering it against the wall. The sound echoed through the empty halls, but no one came to check on her.

Once again, she was left alone in her dark room, hoping that someday this torment would end.

Meanwhile, outside the gates of the Branford estate, a figure approached casually.

“Hey, I know the Marquis is in, so don’t tell me he’s not,” the man called out.

The guard stiffened, looking sternly at the visitor.

“Who are you?”

“Tell him Baron Fenris is here to see him. I’ll wait.”

The visitor was none other than Ghislain, finally making his move.