Chapter 321
Chapter 321
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 321
Chapter Title: Side Story 5. The Bird that Drinks Dreams (4) feat. Iril & Schlieffen
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"Your ordered potato stew for two is ready!"
Iril called out. Her silver-white hair swayed gently under the capital's sky. Humming a tune as she approached, she placed two bowls of potato stew on the outdoor table.
"Ehehe, enjoy your meal!"
Steam rose gently from the freshly boiled potato stew. Though it had taken a long wait, the two male customers stared blankly at Iril instead of picking up their spoons.
"...You did well to stay alive."
"I-I, can I really eat this?"
Suddenly, moisture welled up in the men's eyes. They had waited a full two months to eat at 'Nimbuton's Table,' the restaurant run by Iril.
When they'd first heard the rumors and waited, they wondered if it was worth it, but the moment they saw Iril's face, all such doubts melted away like snow in spring. Iril smiled.
"Of course! I made it so you could enjoy it."
"Ahh, how gracious this is...!"
"We'll definitely come back...!"
They sniffled, about to say more, when a chilling killing intent suddenly spread from one corner of the restaurant. The men froze at the bone-chilling sensation.
"Th-this is..."
They simultaneously turned toward the source of the intent. Far inside the restaurant, a youthful man who looked carved from marble was peeling potatoes while wearing an apron. Schlieffen sent a telepathic message without taking his eyes off the potato.
[Your mouths are for putting food in them.]
His low, oppressive voice rang out. Instead of his uniform, he wore an apron, and a small kitchen knife was gripped in his hand. Next to him towered a mountain of fresh potatoes airlifted from Grancia territory yesterday.
As Schlieffen gripped the knife handle, the blade transformed into wind and vanished. Shwick! The peels from hundreds of potatoes flew off in an instant. He lifted his head, glared at the men, and continued.
[Especially in a restaurant.]
"Hic."
The men gasped. Spoons slipped from their hands and plopped into the stew. Barely regaining their senses, they began devouring the stew as if they hadn't eaten in three days.
"L-let's eat well!"
"Whoa, you must be really hungry. Eat slowly."
Only then did Schlieffen withdraw his killing intent. After a few more rounds of serving, Iril headed back inside. A middle-aged man with dark blue hair had just finished his meal and was dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief.
The handkerchief, made of the finest silk, was embroidered with gold thread depicting a knight trampling a dragon—the crest of House Grancia. Seeing the empty bowl, Iril clapped her hands in admiration.
"Wow, you cleaned it all up. Did it suit your taste, Your Grace?"
"Heh heh, it's better than Rustang water buffalo tenderloin. And I told you to call me Father."
The middle-aged man chuckled heartily. He was Josef Sinivan de Grancia, current head of House Grancia and Schlieffen's father. Watching the scene, Schlieffen furrowed his brow.
"Family head. Please maintain your dignity."
"I don't want to hear that from you, who's using aura to peel potatoes. No matter how I think about it, I handed over Pale Lord too early."
"You're occupying the seat so long that it's hard on Miss Iril. Do you know this is already your fifth bowl?"
"I know. And this will make it the sixth. Dear, could you possibly manage one more bowl? I'll pay ten times—no, a hundred times the price."
Josef grinned foolishly again. The charisma reminiscent of a male lion had long drowned in potato stew. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had once opposed Schlieffen's marriage alongside the family members.
Josef had fallen apart about a year ago, after meeting Iril when she visited the Grancia estate.
By the end of the three-day introduction to the family and territory, Josef and all of House Grancia had become Iril's fervent devotees. Even Ronan, who had visited to enforce discipline, was flustered—enough said. Iril nodded readily to the additional order.
"Of course! I'll bring it right out!"
"...Miss Iril."
Schlieffen, silently peeling potatoes, twisted his lips. Honestly, he didn't like seeing her sweat over work. Of course, he'd help as much as she wanted.
Iril disappeared into the depths of the kitchen. Josef set down his handkerchief and spoke.
"She's a fine girl. Every time I see her, I wonder how a taciturn fellow like you managed to bring home a woman like that."
"That's true."
"Not denying it means I raised you well. So, it's almost two years since you proposed. When do you plan to hold the wedding?"
"After defeating Zaifa and claiming the title of Empire's Greatest Swordsman."
Schlieffen answered without hesitation. After a brief silence, Josef raised an eyebrow.
"And when exactly is that?"
"This summer."
"That's when the Sword Saint tournament takes place. Do you need to rush so much?"
"Yes. I have no right to protect Miss Iril unless I become the world's strongest swordsman."
Even speaking of the pinnacle, his dark blue eyes remained steadfast and proud. Josef's lips curved faintly.
"Strive hard, then. That girl seems sharp enough not to call me Father until you're officially married."
"A pathetic reason."
"I won't deny it. But that's not for you to say either—the one who's been dating for nearly two years and fears even putting an arm around her."
"Urk...!"
Schlieffen's face flushed red. He set down the kitchen knife and stammered.
"What's... wrong with that...?"
"You're a genius, son. But I'm worried you've got such a handicap in giving and receiving love because your talent is so focused on the sword. You take after me in many ways, but in that regard, you're worlds apart."
Josef clicked his tongue. Even to him, raised in a conservative family tradition, Schlieffen and Iril's romance seemed overly juvenile.
When he received the secret agents' reports, he nearly fainted. The boldest act in six months of dating was resting her head on his shoulder. With a deep sigh, he continued.
"I'm not saying grab her first. I know you're not some thug who'd do that. Just... start building up the courage to kiss her in front of everyone."
Understanding the implication, Schlieffen bit his lower lip. Josef was talking about the eventual wedding. Failing to give the vow's kiss to the bride before thousands of guests would be utterly mortifying.
"Hmmm..."
Schlieffen groaned. Reflecting, he'd done nothing proper beyond the proposal—and even that was said half-delirious from blood loss.
In truth, he felt a sense of urgency deep down. Having devoured three-digit numbers of romance books since starting to date Iril, Schlieffen knew many women were drawn to assertive men.
But he went numb at the sight of her face—what could he do? At times like this, he envied that Ronan bastard. Shaking off the stray thought, he reached for the kitchen knife again.
"Eek... Schlieffen! Could you help me a bit?"
"Coming now."
Iril's voice came from the back of the kitchen. Schlieffen rose immediately and moved. Turning the corner, he saw Iril on tiptoes, struggling in front of a shelf.
"It's too high up... Eek, my arms can't reach."
"Hm. I'll do it."
Schlieffen nodded. Stepping past her, he easily brought down the plates from the top shelf. Watching him do it so effortlessly unlike herself, Iril scratched her cheek.
"Ehehe, thanks."
"No big deal."
"Schlieffen is always so kind. Is it because you take after the Duke?"
Iril smiled. His heart spasmed again at the sun-like grin. Suddenly, a flash of insight streaked through his mind.
'Wait. This might be the perfect moment.'
Not intentional, but an ideal situation to advance things. He'd just helped with work, earning goodwill, and no eyes were on them.
Josef's words about building courage, the romance experts' advice to take the lead—they swirled in his head.
Regaining his senses miraculously, Schlieffen looked down at Iril. His face shimmered in her sunset-hued eyes. Their breaths mingled; they were closer than he'd thought.
A kiss on the back of the hand should be fine. As he mustered courage from his bones—
"Um, Schlieffen."
"Hm?"
Schlieffen tilted his head. Iril, gazing up quietly, suddenly went on tiptoes. Mwah. Her lips touched his cheek and parted.
"...Ah?"
Schlieffen's time stopped. Trembling, he raised his arm and touched the spot.
Iril, hands behind her back, continued.
"I know you always look out for me."
"Uh, uhh. Hm? Uh...?"
"Thank you. Schlieffen."
Schlieffen couldn't respond. Exerting his fading willpower to keep his legs from buckling was all he could manage. Iril, smiling with her eyes, murmured softly.
"Hehe... It's still a bit embarrassing. First time doing it to someone besides my little brother."
Her pale face flushed red as a ripe apple. Schlieffen tried to speak, but she gave no chance. Mwah. On tiptoes again, she kissed the other cheek.
"Ah."
"The customers are waiting, so I'll go ahead. Take your time."
Iril turned away, leaving those words. The moment she rounded the corner and vanished—thud. Schlieffen's legs gave out, and he collapsed.
"...Hahhh!"
After a long while, Schlieffen exhaled like a man surfacing from underwater. Only now did he realize he'd forgotten to breathe.
As his numb senses returned, sounds filtered in. Before he could savor the historic afterglow—
"Iril sis!"
"Kyaa!?"
Iril's scream followed from the hall. Schlieffen's intelligence, downgraded to dog-or-cat level, snapped back to normal. He bolted up reflexively and reached the hall.
"Miss Iril! What is this...!"
Schlieffen's eyes widened. An androgynous child was hugging Iril, face buried in her chest. Iril laughed, stroking the kid's head.
"Ahaha, that tickles! So, who might this little customer be?"
"Hehe, guess."
All eyes were on them, but the mysterious child rubbed cheeks against Iril shamelessly. Unaware it was Sita in human form, Schlieffen's eyes twitched. Barely escaping panic, he snatched a carving knife and shouted.
"You brat!"
Whoooosh! Wind gathered instantly, swirling along the blade. Startled by the momentum, Josef rose.
"Sch-Schlieffen. Wait...!"
"Don't interfere!"
He tried to intervene desperately, but to no avail. As enraged Schlieffen moved to punish the cheeky punk—Boom! The restaurant entrance burst open as if shattering.
"Wh-what?!"
"Urk!"
Shocked customers choked and coughed. Schlieffen's motion halted. Through the creaking door stepped a burly young man.
"Damn... Huff, finally found you."
The sharp-eyed youth was drenched in sweat, as if he'd sprinted the entire capital. Recognizing him, Schlieffen raised a brow.
"...Ronan?"
"Out of the way."
The wind around the knife dissipated. Ronan shoved Schlieffen aside and strode inside. Sita turned, eyes widening.
"Ah, busted!"