Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Basic Etiquette Lessons Conclude
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Basic etiquette class was over.
The library in the Eisen Guard manor.
Scritch, scritch.
In the silence, only the sound of the quill pen scraping across paper echoed through the room.
Thick beads of sweat dotted my forehead.
The pen gripped in my hand looked like it might crumble at any moment.
But these fingers, tempered by a week of the Eisen Baron's nagging.
The ink flowing from the nib traced surprisingly elegant curves across the page.
"Barg von Wintersword"
The moment I drew the final stroke.
"......Whew."
I let out a long breath and set the pen down.
On the desk lay a pile of broken quill pens, testament to my week-long battle.
The Eisen Baron, who had been watching me with arms crossed at my side, adjusted his glasses and nodded.
"Well done. With this, we conclude all pre-enrollment basic etiquette lessons."
Approval granted.
I patted my stiff shoulders and rose from my seat.
"Whew... It's finally over. Honestly harder than any tribal war."
"That it was. Killing power is always harder than wielding it."
"But Baron, is this really it? I figured since it's basic, there'd be applied or advanced courses too."
I asked half-nervous, half-excited.
Surely we weren't jumping straight into social dances with Kara before she officially became my partner?
But the Eisen Baron set down his teacup with a meaningful smile.
"Further training would be pointless. Nay, it might even backfire."
"Backfire how?"
"The young ladies and lords you'll encounter at the academy are mostly greenhouse flowers."
He gazed at the peaceful garden outside the window and continued calmly.
"They view the world through prejudice and stereotypes rather than experience. To them, the 'venerated tribes' must be ignorant, rough, and barbaric. That's the order of their world."
"......"
"But if you display perfect noble etiquette from head to toe right away? It'll go beyond unfamiliarity straight to revulsion. It'll stir needless inferiority and spark needless jealousy."
The Baron's words made sense.
In the original story, nobles were always too busy belittling talented commoners or foreigners who outshone them to acknowledge them.
Kara had been the biggest victim.
Early on, her lord Kairun should have protected her, but he was too busy showing his own insecurities.
"So you're saying play it sloppy? Act half-baked?"
"No."
The Eisen Baron's eyes gleamed.
"Use the gap."
"The gap?"
"Show them the rough, unbridled barbarian, the venerated tribesman they expect. Laugh loudly, speak coarsely—it doesn't matter. Give them what they anticipate."
Then he smiled faintly and met my eyes directly.
"And at the decisive moment, when they're all set to dismiss you, reveal the bare minimum—but flawless—etiquette."
"......Ah."
"That twist will shatter their prejudices and overwhelm them like no other weapon. One betrayal of expectations hits harder than predictable perfection."
I was impressed.
A true idea from the empire's top administrator and strategist.
Not just mimicking nobles, but turning our identity into a weapon.
One question lingered, though.
"I get that, but... why drill handwriting so harshly? This is basically calligraphy level."
If the twist matters, couldn't the script be rough too?
The Eisen Baron answered my question with infuriating smoothness.
"Because that's the pinnacle of the gap."
"Pardon?"
"A hulking barbarian scribbling childish scrawl with a pen? Too predictable. Anyone could see it coming."
He pointed to my signature on the desk.
"But that massive, clumsy hand dashing off delicate, elegant calligraphy? That alone proves intellect, even if you miss a lecture point. Makes them think, 'Ah, even his handwriting has depth.'"
"......"
"That's why I drilled it into you by force. Elegance from the pen tip isn't built overnight."
Logical as ever.
No countering it.
But one thought dominated my mind.
'...He's just a perfectionist who can't stand ugly handwriting, dressing it up nicely.'
Still, the hellish penmanship lessons were truly done.
I stretched, cracking my knuckles.
"Alright. Got a solid weapon per your advice, so the rest of the time I can take it easy with Kara. Waltz... we'll get to that slowly."
"Hmm...."
The Eisen Baron adjusted his glasses with an odd expression.
"Not sure you'll get that rest."
"What do you—"
Clink.
Then, Kara—who'd been quietly sipping tea at the side table—set her cup down.
The sound rang unusually loud.
I whipped my head around.
Kara's face was off.
Pale.
Lips trembling faintly.
Eyes oddly glazed.
"......Barg."
Her voice was weak.
I rushed to her side in alarm.
"What's wrong? You okay? Stomach cramping?"
"No... it's not that...."
Kara looked up at me with teary eyes.
The battlefield goddess's poise was gone, replaced by the world's most pitiful expression.
"...I want something to eat."
Ah.
It had come.
Week 4-5 of pregnancy.
The prelude to morning sickness.
A chill ran down my spine.
Memories from novels and dramas I'd read as a kid in my past life flashed by.
A wife waking her husband at midnight: "Honey, I want peaches."
The husband braving snow-capped mountains and raging rivers for those peaches in dead winter.
A kind of survival quest to prove the husband's love and skill.
Though the reward might just loop into another quest.
I asked gravely.
"Name it! Meat? Those greens from last time? Empire-style fancy dessert? Our chefs here can make anything."
The Eisen Guard manor's chefs were top-notch; they could handle most dishes.
But Kara's words missed my guesses entirely.
"...Frost Strawberries."
"......Huh?"
"The kind with just a bit of ice, crunchy when you bite... that's what I crave...."
Silence blanketed the library.
The Eisen Baron and I froze solid.
Frost Strawberries.
Rare fruit from Norheim's deep forests, only in shady spots where snow never melts.
Tangy-sweet delight; we'd picked and munched them playing in the woods.
But that wasn't the issue.
It was spring now.
And we were deep in the empire's heartland.
Norheim was a solid two days away.
Plus, winter was past—frost strawberry season's tail end.
"Hah... Frost Strawberries."
Even the Eisen Baron faltered, lost for words.
Twitch.
His shoulders jerked reflexively.
A family man himself.
Trauma from his wife's cravings kicking in instinctively.
Memories of fruit runs at 3 a.m., maybe.
And too proud to delegate off-hours chores to servants—he'd gone himself.
His eyes shook.
More than when he met my father Gorgon days ago.
"Miss Kara, the local markets only have regular strawberries right now...."
"Those taste bad... mushy, not cool...."
Kara hung her head.
A fat tear like a chick's drop plopped from her eye.
"Sob... our baby... won't eat anything else...."
Emergency.
Pregnancy cravings defy logic.
Stress from denial harms fetus and mother alike.
'No way.'
I couldn't let food make her cry.
No experience, but media-ingrained terror gripped my heart.
Fail now, regret forever.
Get nagged eternally.
No—Kara was crying!
I lit up with resolve and bellowed.
"Dances be damned—all canceled! Gotta fetch those strawberries!"
"C-calm down, Barg! Even to Norheim, there's border procedures...."
"Then what? Kara wants them! I'll run if I have to!"
"Pardon?"
I paced frantically.
Then the Eisen Baron snapped his fingers, idea striking.
"Wait. We have ice storehouses on the estate. The Winter Claw tribesfolk packed gifts for you two last time...."
"Snowfield strawberries there?"
"No guarantee, but... maybe some frozen for jam or preserves. Not fresh, but if iced...."
"That works! Crunchy with ice—that's it!"
Hope dawned.
We shouted in unison.
"Ronus!!!"
Ronus, suffering paperwork next door, burst in startled.
"Y-yes?! What is it? Raiders? Broke another pen?"
Dark circles to his chin, he recoiled at our grim faces.
"Fetch the ice vault keys now! And contact the traders—buy every strawberry from northern shipments!"
Ronus blinked at the Baron's urgent orders, clueless.
"St-strawberries? Suddenly why...."
"No chatter—run! Your niece wants them!"
"......Pardon?"
Niece?
Since when was Barg's kid his niece?
But the father's intensity crushed him. "Y-yes, sir!" He bolted out.
The Eisen Baron grabbed his overcoat and declared solemnly to me.
"I'll go too. Can't have a pregnant guest denied her craving in my domain—my pride won't allow it."
Elegant etiquette lessons?
Over.
Now began the desperate struggle of a soon-to-be dad chasing his wife's tastes and a perfectionist administrator.
"Hang on, Kara! I'll raid a whole strawberry field if needed!"
I left tear-wiping Kara behind and charged from the library, axe swapped for strawberry basket in spirit.
* * *
After the commotion died down.
A small head peeked through the library door crack.
Eisen's late-bloom daughter, 7-year-old Alina.
The girl scanned the room with curious eyes.
Normally, her paperwork-buried father would frown and sternly ask, "Alina, homework done?"
But the Eisen Baron left in the room was utterly different.
"Wallet... where's the wallet? No, more importantly, is the carriage ready? Ronus, why so slow!"
He paced anxiously.
Flustered over one strawberry.
Coat sleeve askew from hasty donning, usually neat hair tousled.
The always perfect, cold, towering father—disheveled.
But Alina found it familiar.
'Hee hee.'
She covered her mouth, giggling.
A faint memory.
Her in the cradle, him gazing down with foolish, world-owning warmth.
That faded image of Dad overlapped with the man before her now.
'Daddy's cute.'
Alina beamed at her flushed, huffing father prepping to leave.
The rigid Eisen Guard winter was melting.
With strawberry-scented spring.