Chapter 82: Savile Row (2)
One of the most beautiful privileges of a martial artist with complete inner energy is being revered after aging.
–Stendhal, <Memoirs of a Seducer>
Until the day before his journey, my master treated me like a dog through one-sided violence under the guise of a duel.
Even on the day before his departure, while he was out at some club or meeting, I was so exhausted I couldn’t even lift a finger, let alone spy on him, and had to collapse on the floor to be cared for by the maid.
Anyway, he was an old man who knew not the meaning of yielding.
Despite having shared most of his physical combat strength and internal energy with me, Mycroft, and the maid, he was still unbelievably strong, which only spurred me to curse.
In any case, the year I turned nineteen, he and the maid vanished without a trace.
He said he’d be back within three months but suddenly left the country, and now nine years have passed.
At this point, even I, who never held any fond feelings for him, am a little curious about where my master is and what he’s doing.
Although there are various complicated grudges surrounding him, he is not the kind to die by a stray sword, so he must be alive. Perhaps he met someone he clicked with during his travels and decided to settle down. ‘…I’ve become unnecessarily sentimental.’
At twenty-eight, I would never have thought such things, but the soul residing in this body now is that of a much older Sherlock Holmes.
Sometimes, such unhelpful musings are unavoidable.
Since I am already concerned about the contents of the letter from the Postmaster General, I might as well check what might be hidden in my master’s residence.
Anyway, many of the tailors living nearby are acquaintances of mine.
Even if I used some method to pick the lock on the first floor of the mansion and went inside, they would hardly call the police.
However, doing such a thing in broad daylight could cause problems if a passerby saw me.
‘…I should get measured first and then think slowly.’
I headed to the showroom of the legendary artisan located at 36 Savile Row.
The best of the best, crafting Dinner Suits for European royalty and the highest nobility.
A sanctuary of tailoring where one cannot set foot without an introduction.
To Henry Poole & Co.
The entrance of the massive Henry Poole & Co., occupying 36-39 Savile Row.
I stopped in front of the building, which is the pride of Great Britain and a sanctuary for gentlemen, and paid my respects.
Henry Poole.
A grandmaster of modern tailoring, continuing from the legendary James Poole, who made today’s Savile Row possible.
Trained rigorously from a young age, he carried on the legacy of his predecessor and put his name on the shop.
Known for accepting only bespoke orders, creating a perfect suit for each customer, the shop was frequented by European royalty, nobility, and the wealthy.
To think I could wear a suit crafted by such a master at the pinnacle of tailoring.
“……”
I was so moved that I was at a loss for words.
Before returning, I never thought of getting clothes tailored here.
As a British gentleman who valued dignity, I never skimped on clothes, but Savile Row’s garments were in a class of their own.
Moreover, isn’t this place London Murim?
In this world, the meaning of Savile Row, and furthermore, the clothes of Henry Poole, is far more special than in the world before my regression.
‘In the martial world, the more hidden cards you have, the better.’
Expensive Kung-Fu attire protects more than just dignity.
The artisan’s Kung-Fu attire itself possessed various functions that aided the wearer’s survival and combat, including life-and-death battles.
Especially, the artisans of Britain’s top Kung-Fu attire shop located on Savile Row were famous for each having their own secret transmissions1.
Among them, there were Kung-Fu attires that not only warned of danger by changing the color of the sleeves in reaction to poison or murderous intent but also protected the body from various weapons, including swords, making them highly coveted by ladies and gentlemen across Britain.
‘It’s not something achievable with fabric alone.’
It’s not due to easily recognizable reasons like using the fur of spiritual creatures.
The Kung-Fu attire of Savile Row, which could be called a miracle brought about by the fabric’s characteristics and the seasoned touch of an experienced tailor, remained a long-standing mystery to me.
The Heavenly Silk Suit of my master was the same.
Just like the Heavenly Demon Cane he dismantled and passed on to me, the Heavenly Silk Suit also concealed various functions and secrets.
Naturally, this attire was also said to have been made on Savile Row.
I hadn’t heard whose hands it was crafted by, but I speculated that it was made by James Poole, the predecessor of Henry Poole and the person who laid the foundation for what is today known as Savile Row.
As a child, I was often captivated by the mysterious rumors I encountered on the streets, separate from my envy of my master’s Kung-Fu attire.
If I get my hands on Henry Poole’s suit this time, I might finally understand the harmony the artisans of Savile Row weave into their clothes.
I approached the entrance of the showroom, trying to calm my anticipation.
-Click.
However, before I could knock, the door opened, and a large man appeared from beyond.
A tall man over 6 feet and 2 inches with muscles and bones honed to the extreme, like a great gentleman.
He glanced at me briefly and then, with two attendants following him, descended the steps in front of the Henry Poole suit shop entrance.
The large carriage waiting nearby seemed to be his, as it sped away from Savile Row as soon as he boarded.
“…What an interesting sight.”
Considering his position, he was certainly someone who might visit this place, but I never expected to encounter him like this.
Usually, when a celebrity of his stature visits, there’s a crowd and numerous attendants.
Even if not, at the very least, wearing a mask would be normal.
Well, it’s not my concern. It’s another country’s affair anyway.
I composed myself again and knocked on the door, and a voice responded.
“Please come in.”
Following the voice, I opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing that caught my eye in the showroom was the dozens of mannequins lined up on both sides.
Unlike the mannequins I commonly saw in the world I used to live in, which were just torsos.
These mannequins, modeled after living people with both upper and lower bodies, were in dynamic poses, as if they might spring to life at any moment.
“Wow…”
The mannequin, modeled after a martial artist about to unleash a technique, exuded such vivid vitality that I couldn’t help but let out a gasp.
It was because I glimpsed the shadow of a master on the featureless face of a lifeless wooden block that should have been getting battered in a martial artist’s home.
Immediately, I realized.
The showroom’s wooden mannequin was unremarkable in itself.
What stood out was the clothing the mannequin wore.
“My goodness.”
Each wooden mannequin was dressed in Kung-Fu attire made from different fabrics, yet no trace of stitching could be found no matter how closely I examined them.
From the everyday frock coat to the dressy dinner suit and tailcoat, and even the ceremonial suits worn by nobility and royalty.
The garments, crafted with impeccable skill regardless of type, were masterpieces truly worthy of being called seamless.
‘Is this truly the work of human hands…’
The showroom is a place that reveals the philosophy and skill of the tailor.
Because of this, I could feel the craftman’s intense spirit swirling incessantly within the room.
The displayed clothes bestowed dignity and authority upon the dead wooden blocks because every element of their construction was imbued with the creator’s essence, capacity, and will.
Only then did I realize.
For whom the rule of Savile Row, where new orders are impossible without a referral from existing customers, exists.
The aura emanating from the dozens of garments resembled the sharp presence scattered by a treasured sword.
Even passing between the mannequins would be difficult for an ordinary person’s courage.
To those who cannot fully handle the sharp energy rooted in the dedication and inspiration of craftmans who have devoted their lives to sewing, and to those who do not possess the capacity to boldly pass through the forest of wooden dummies.
The privilege of having Henry Poole’s measuring tape draped around one’s body is not granted.
‘Indeed, a fair reputation.’
I shifted my gaze between the two rows of standing wooden dummies.
Beyond the line of mannequins, two tailors with measuring tapes draped over their shoulders were visible.
Faces I had never encountered on the streets, despite having trained for a long time at my master’s house on Savile Row.
The slender old man was Samuel Cudney.
The kindly-looking old man next to him was Henry Poole, the greatest craftsman in England who inherited the grandmaster’s vision.
‘…He looks well.’
The eyes of the two old masters, especially those of Henry Poole, shone brightly enough to make the passage of time seem irrelevant.
Seeing someone who had died five years ago in the world I lived in before my regression, alive and well before my eyes, gave me a strange sense of awe.
In this world, many great figures live longer than confirmed in my pre-regressed world.
Maxwell and Faraday, who are known here as Thunder and Lightning are still alive and well, too.
It was clear that the life-extending methods learned during Kung-Fu training were slowing aging down.
‘First-class? No, in terms of internal energy alone, they might be beyond the Peak…’
I had expected it from meeting other tailors on Savile Row, but Henry Poole and his cousin Samuel Cudney were practicing Kung-Fu.
The dense aura was indicative of their considerable accumulation of internal energy.
However, unlike martial artists who trained their bodies and repeatedly practiced forms and techniques, their bodies were small and frail.
It wouldn’t be difficult for them to subdue a bunch of black-clad thugs causing a ruckus, but in a life-and-death duel, even an opponent of a lower level could threaten their life.
In fact, this was a natural occurrence.
As the reason the master craftsmen of Savile Row explored Kung-Fu and accumulated internal energy was not to kill people.
The demeanor of the two elders was inspiring my respect.
“I am Sherlock Holmes, introduced by Sir Harcourt.”
The two elders smiled gently as they saw me speak with difficulty.
“Welcome.”
A gust of wind blew through the window, rustling the fabric scraps scattered around the shop.
Beyond that, the smiling elders looked like two towering trees lush with leaves and petals.
- TL/N: Skills and methods handed down through generations ️