At 7 in the evening, in West London, the Ealing District.
In a brightly lit study room, a distinct knuckled hand held a glass bottle up against the bright gas chandelier overhead, observing the thick crimson liquid inside.
"As expected of a Superior Magic Potion, it's as splendid as a gem..."
The owner of the hand was a young man who seemed to be in his late twenties, without much fancy decoration on his person nor wearing a family crest, but he emanated an aura of someone accustomed to high status.
After staring at the glass bottle for a long time, the young man turned his head to look at the figure standing by the French window, lifting the curtains with one hand to look out towards the courtyard gate, and asked, "Father-in-law, can we really trust Mr. Nicholas?"
"Your Highness, I have already sent someone to the Kingdom of Frederick to investigate the detailed situation of the Manshtein Family. We should have accurate information within a month," he said.
