Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: The Black Sword
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Kaiman didn't know the reason, but he was quite thrilled by that fact. However, he didn't show it and spoke in a somewhat arrogant tone.
"Yes. They say she's a spirit summoner girl, according to my subordinate."
Whether it was the alcohol making him bold, or he'd resolved to teach this pretty-faced northern pup a lesson—who could say.
But one thing was clear: Viscount Kaiman was about to commit an act he'd regret for the rest of his life, right there on the spot.
"What was it again? A fairly pretty girl who unusually summons butterflies. Anyway, hilarious stuff. Of all demon beasts to pick, butterflies. Isn't it?"
"....… Interesting."
At that, a crooked smile appeared for the first time on the lips of Lennox Carlyle, who had been lounging in a rather sloppy posture.
"I'm looking for a woman myself."
"!"
Kaiman couldn't hide his excitement at those words. He hadn't expected this at all.
In truth, everyone gathered in the banquet hall was there to curry favor with the Grand Duke of Akten.
In other words, they were all delivering bribes to Rober.
Before assembling them, Rober had dropped a subtle hint. Duke Carlyle had apparently come here searching for someone.
No one knew the exact connection, so they could only speculate. Maybe chasing a runaway slave, or perhaps one of the duke's blood kin.
He didn't much care for the arrogant fellow, but helping Duke Carlyle here would mean earning a debt from the ruler of the North.
Moreover, the woman the duke sought—what a tantalizing tale, even without any reward.
Striving not to seem too eager, Kaiman said,
"What sort of person are you seeking? I might be able to offer some small assistance."
In fact, the two knights seated beside Lennox Carlyle already had faces frozen stiff.
But Kaiman didn't notice and pressed on.
Duke Carlyle lightly pursed his lips, then slowly set down the glass in his hand.
Once, Akten's white grape wine had been the pride of the East. But now the land had changed, and its renown had faded long ago.
The aroma was fine, but the overly aged wine didn't suit his palate.
"Or if it's not a specific person you're after, I could make introductions. The East has no shortage of beauties."
Rober Akytas, gauging the mood, chimed in to egg him on.
"Go on, tell him, Duke. This one's got a nose for finding people."
"Well……."
Lennox seemed to draw it out leisurely before asking,
"Then tell me this: how long to find the woman I want?"
"A week would suffice!"
"A week. And if you fail within that time, you'll stake your neck on it?"
"Of course……. Pardon?"
As Kaiman faltered, unsure if it was jest or earnest, Duke Carlyle continued.
"Then it's simple. The woman I'm after is a spirit summoner who commands butterfly demon beasts."
"Ah. That rings a bell somehow……."
The next instant, Viscount Kaiman's face drained of color—no words needed.
*Clang.*
The sound rang out as a metal goblet hit the floor and rolled away.
It wasn't Kaiman's. The viscount was already on his knees, prostrated on the ground.
Kaiman's face had gone deathly white.
"D-Duke……."
"You said one week, clearly."
"Y-Yes…?"
"Better keep that neck of yours safe until then."
*Shing!*
Everyone in the banquet hall witnessed it plainly. Duke Carlyle drew a sword from thin air.
The blade, pitch-black from guard to tip, hovered precisely at Viscount Kaiman's throat.
"If even a single hair of Juliet's is harmed, I'll claim your head."
*
"Ah."
Juliet winced as she dried her hair.
A sharp sting. Sure enough, glancing at the towel revealed a long strand stuck to it. She'd tangled it while meticulously blotting the moisture.
She shook out the towel vigorously, and suddenly felt forlorn.
"Achoo."
Long hair took ages to dry. And it demanded far more upkeep than that.
Fearing a cold, Juliet wrapped it loosely in a fresh towel.
Silk-thread tresses didn't maintain themselves.
'The fruit of labor.'
Thick, lush, with fine strands prone to tangling. She recalled how several maids would swarm her morning and evening, combing diligently two or three times a day.
She snuck a peek in the mirror and chuckled.
The duke's household would faint at the sight of her now.
No talent for it, no time to fuss—par for the course.
Gazing into the mirror, Juliet murmured,
"Maybe I should cut it."
A shame after all that growth, but it was cumbersome and a hassle to manage.
Still, she lacked the nerve to hack it off solo. Wary of the outcome, she blotted it roughly and headed to the village.
Juliet's steps down the stairs to the square held a touch of bounce.
The day before, Zachary had pointed out spots with short shifts.
No grand hopes for a small village, yet they'd all inquired as if it were their own affair and eagerly offered work.
Sewing or cooking daunted her, but luckily she could read and write.
'Truly a blessing.'
She was even adept at ledgers. Robel hosted a major guild branch, opening up plenty of opportunities.
So Juliet felt a flutter of anticipation.
Travel funds remained ample, but a job meant lingering in the village beyond her original schedule.
"......?"
Yet it took little time for her thrill to sour into bewilderment.
The villagers who'd promised work yesterday now wore troubled faces, claiming no openings at present.
'No, that's not what you said yesterday?'
Even Veronica the librarian said they no longer needed one.
"I'm sorry. But I checked with the director…… no room in the budget for a new hire……."
Juliet smiled it off as fine and trudged back to the square. Her steps, once light, now dragged heavily.
She stopped by Mulpure Merchants too, but they hemmed and hawed, saying no urgent need for hands.
'Because I'm a stranger?'
Juliet felt glum.
By the time she returned to the village center, late lunch hour had arrived.
Juliet flopped into a seat at an outdoor table under a parasol for her meal.
'What now?'
An unforeseen hitch.
'Might as well head to the planned spot.'
Her destination lay not far off. Plenty of time remained before the vista she craved appeared.
She wanted to stay longer—this tiny, serene village charmed her. Kind folk, fine food, cozy cottage.
Unvisited ruins beckoned too, and most of all, the Festival of the Dead in neighboring Carcassonne.
Lost in thought, Juliet prodded her rosen sandwich with her fork.
She'd rented the house but lacked means for hired help.
Juliet knew her limits and compromised swiftly.
Buy meals out, handle cleaning and laundry solo.
Solo meaning every other day, landlady Auntie Ronda dropped by to help dust and haul laundry.
*Clack.*
A mouthwatering pie materialized before her reverie.
Juliet looked up, startled.
"I didn't order this?"
"Made it for practice. Have it as dessert."
Warmhearted owner Mrs. Riley beamed and urged her kindly.
"Thank you. I'll dig in."
Expressing thanks, Juliet admired the pie's allure.
Look at this. Where on the continent could one savor such a banquet for a mere eight coppers?
'In the capital, it'd cost two silvers—no, three.'
Kind people, generous hearts.
Gazing fondly at the strawberry-laden pie, Juliet sensed a jarring note.
Right. Too generous.
Robel might well be the continent's most hospitable village.
Lost a single glove, pondered buying a mate—Auntie Ronda gifted fine lace ones from her niece. Half a day hunting a hairpin, and Mrs. Riley tossed in a new one gratis.
Yesterday, mulling a carriage ride, and sundries seller Bolen happened by, heading the same way, gave her a lift.
On the return? Bumped into Mulpure folk again, smoother trip back.
Juliet propped her chin, gaze shifting slightly.
There on the table sat a bouquet of cowslips, dewdrops glistening fresh.
'Cowslips, this late in season.'
En route to the center around late lunch, flower vendor Zelazny had pressed them on her gratis—some ritzy customer reserved pricey blooms and ghosted.
And this pie.
Juliet neatly sliced the edge with her fork. Crispy crust flaking, plush filling yielding smooth, wafting sweetness. The melt-in-mouth texture screamed lavish butter and sugar, unstinted.
A rural East village innkeeper's practice run? Then the palace chefs ought to hang it up.
Juliet calmly set her fork down.
Forgotten Juliet