The Borgia Vineyard was hosting a dinner party. The enormous crystal chandelier lit up the banquet hall as if it were daylight. The maids, dressed uniformly in gray dresses, moved back and forth, serving delicious dishes to the hosts and guests. The colorful flowers were artfully arranged on the long dining table, blending with the aroma of the food to create a wonderful scent.

Pan-seared veal, tender cod, golden roast chicken, ocean caviar, clam cream soup, honey cheese, perfectly soft white wheat baguettes, and the famous chilled ruby red wine from the Borgia Vineyard were all presented one by one. Without a doubt, it was a sumptuous dinner, with the menu personally approved by the lady of the manor, perfectly capturing Olovice’s appetite.

At the head of the long table sat Mr. Thomas and his wife, with their seats at the ends of the table. Mr. Thomas, ever the gentleman, allowed the ladies to sit first. To the left were the noble young ladies led by Emile, the mayor’s daughter Miss Elizabeth, as well as Susan and Dany. On the right side of the table were the invited Olovice and Mr. Briel, who was acting as the doctor.

The melodious sound of a cello began to play, creating a friendly and harmonious atmosphere at the dinner. Olovice knew that the main course of this dinner was the socializing between the mayor and the noble young ladies, so he spoke very little, dutifully playing the role of a background figure. However, he never expected that the noble young ladies would be so interested in discussing his paintings.

“Mr. Olovice, I really like your paintings. I heard that the Sunflower Gallery is already exhibiting your works. When I return to Montpelier, I must go there to see them,” said Susan, a cultured girl who loved all kinds of art. In college, they had a subject dedicated to exploring various artworks throughout history, including poetry collections, paintings, literature, ancient architecture, and more. “I am very much looking forward to that day.”

Olovice’s smile was warm. “Thank you for your praise. Perhaps I will also visit the Sunflower Gallery to see my paintings.”

“Olovice, you really should go. Master Promi likes you very much. I think you two would have a lot in common,” said Lady Borgia.

Susan exclaimed in surprise, “You will also go to Montpelier? When?”

“That’s great,” Emile said, taking a sip of wine, feeling content. She asked, “Mr. Olovice, perhaps we could go together.”

“We start school in September, so we have to return to Montpelier in mid or late August,” Dany said.

Olovice looked at the noble young ladies across from him. Being able to play with Emile, the other two girls naturally had high statuses as well. Susan was the daughter of the president of the largest bank in Montpelier, and Dany’s father was the chairman of the Montpelier Royal Hotel. Her father ran the only high-end palace-style hotel in Montpelier.

“Mr. Olovice, when do you plan to go?” Elizabeth joined the conversation.

“Probably in late August, when the berries are ripe,” Olovice said. “Actually, my main reason for going to Montpelier is to open a bank account. I heard that it’s quite a hassle to open an account if you’re not a resident of the city, and it might take several days. I also have to take the church exam, and if I have enough time left, I can visit the Sunflower Gallery.”

Susan’s eyes lit up. “What’s so difficult about opening a bank account? I’ll take you through the VIP channel, and it will be done in no time.”

“Wouldn’t that be a bother for you?” Under the crystal chandelier, Olovice looked at Susan, his deep blue eyes reflecting a charming hue, his words full of gentle apology, as if he felt bad for troubling others.

“Not at all, Mr. Olovice. It’s just opening a bank account, very easy, very easy to handle,” Susan almost jumped up. How could this be a bother? She was so nervous that she couldn’t speak properly. By the Father above, Olovice’s eyes were more dazzling than the aquamarine gems her family treasured, unbelievably beautiful.

“Susan’s father is the president of Star Flag Bank. Opening a bank account is as easy for Susan as drinking water,” Emile joked playfully. “As long as you don’t ask for ten thousand gold pounds in that account or something.”

Everyone present was amused.

Olovice also laughed. “Looks like I’ll have plenty of time to visit the Sunflower Gallery.”

“That’s great, Olovice will go to Montpelier with us,” Dany said happily. “My family’s hotel has vacant rooms every day, Olovice, you can choose any room to stay in.”

Olovice shook his head. “Thank you for your kind offer, Miss Dany, but the church will arrange accommodation for me.”

“Alright, maybe we’ll run into each other at the gallery,” Dany said, undeterred.

“Then I wish you success in your exam, Olovice,” Emile said to her good friends. “And may we succeed in our studies and graduate smoothly next year.”

Olovice took a sip of wine, and the conversation at the banquet turned to their respective paths after graduation.

From this dinner, Emile’s identity gradually became clear. As Olovice had guessed, Emile’s family had once been prominent, ennobled as the Violet Viscount, serving as an assistant to a great earl. Unfortunately, with the downfall of that great earl, the Violet family also fell into obscurity. Emile’s father was a cousin of the current Violet Viscount, considered a branch of the Violet family, but still possessing the bloodline of the Violet family, a genuine old noble family.

It was no wonder the Baron of the Black Tower wanted his son to marry Emile.

After the dinner, Mr. Briel treated Miss Emile, while Olovice, led by a maid, wandered around the manor. The night at the Borgia Vineyard was filled with the scent of grapes, and the night breeze was gentle. Olovice sat on a bench in the garden, ready to rest and let the smell of wine dissipate from his clothes. The maid silently withdrew.

Olovice admired the beautiful scenery in the garden. After about half an hour, the maid hurriedly returned, saying that Mr. Briel requested his presence on the third floor.

Olovice stood up. The third floor was Emile’s residence. Perhaps the old gentleman had encountered something and needed his help. With this thought, Olovice followed the maid to the third floor. The master bedroom on the third floor was luxuriously decorated by Mayor Thomas. Emile sat on the bed, holding a white cat and affectionately stroking it. The little white cat meowed, and her personal maid was feeding her medicine. Olovice sniffed the air; it was some cough-relieving herbal medicine.

“Olovice, I’ve already examined Miss Emile using the secret techniques of the Natural God Religion. Her body is fine,” Mr. Briel, wearing round-framed glasses, recorded the condition with a serious and meticulous attitude. “As for the cause of Miss Emile’s cough, I suspect it might be related to the allergy you mentioned before. The allergen is likely Miss Emile’s cat.”

“What does allergy mean?” Emile asked curiously.

“It means your body can’t tolerate certain things from the cat, like fur or saliva. Once you come into contact with them, you start coughing,” Olovice explained.

Emile found it hard to believe. “You’re saying my cough is because of Snow? That’s impossible. Snow is very clean, not dirty at all. Every cat I raise is well-groomed, and there are three servants taking care of the cat paradise at home.”

“It’s not about cleanliness, Miss Emile. Allergies only occur in specific people. For example, some people are allergic to alcohol. Others can drink without any issues, but if they drink, they’ll have various adverse reactions, like skin redness and itching. That’s an allergy,” Olovice patiently explained.

Emile hesitated, stroking the cat.

“You can try reducing your time with the cat and see if the cough improves before making a decision,” Olovice suggested. “The cat is still with you, Emile, so there’s no need to worry.”

“Alright,” Emile reluctantly put the cat down, kissing Snow several times before handing it to the maid.

Olovice glanced at the cat bed on the bed, placed right next to the owner’s pillow.

“This cat bed…” Olovice didn’t finish his sentence.

Emile pouted. “Alright, alright, put it under my bed, but no further. Just thinking about not being able to cuddle Snow at night makes my heart feel empty.”

Olovice smiled. “Following medical advice makes you a good patient, Emile. You’re doing very well.”

Emile was initially a bit downcast, but hearing this, her lips curled up involuntarily. She thought she should write to Noah, telling him not to buy her any more pretty kittens, lest she couldn’t accompany them and make them sad.

As they left the Borgia Vineyard, Mr. Briel counted his consultation fee, five gold pounds, and sighed.

“It’s actually not a small amount, Mr. Briel,” Olovice recalled how he was once shocked by Lady Borgia’s generosity, handing out gold pounds. Gold pounds had quite a purchasing power in this world.

“It isn’t small,” Mr. Briel put away the fee. “But once you fully enter the magical world, you’ll understand what it means to spend gold pounds like water. I still want to establish a church for the Natural God Religion, which will require an unimaginably astronomical amount of gold pounds.”

“Let’s not talk about that. How’s the potion of Hellfire coming along?” Mr. Briel asked. “Make sure its quality is good, with no impurities in the liquid. If you can replicate its color characteristics, having the iridescent black is eighty percent of the success. Finally, put it in a beautiful sealed bottle, and the selling price can be even higher. If you encounter a big spender, a hundred gold pounds isn’t impossible, Olovice, don’t sell it for too low.”

“I’ll start brewing it when I get back,” Olovice replied. As one of the magical potions circulating in the market, the Hellfire’s material formula had been verified by countless master alchemists, with ready-made ingredient ratios. Olovice wasn’t worried about the danger of Hellfire, but he only had one set of materials on hand. If he messed it up…

Olovice didn’t dare to think about it, only feeling his heart bleed. Those were all gold pounds!