But Her Alcohol Tolerance Is Third-Rate
But her alcohol tolerance is third-rate...!!!
Arlea Kiessen.
Even after becoming a Transcendent, her drinking capacity topped out at a single sip of fruit wine.
And today, this woman was nursing a bottle and throwing a drunken fit. By any measure, this was not a normal situation.
She wouldn't remember thanks to the hangover, but if she raped me... that meant instant pregnancy. The problem was that I couldn't get out of here.
Right outside stood the empire's elite Central Army. And if that Saintess was out there too...
Getting raped by Arlea seemed like the better option.
Arlea looked at me with an innocent face and urged me on.
"Hurry up and eat. The food's going to get cold."
Food kept being stuffed into my mouth.
Nom nom—
The texture was fine, but the taste... I'd reserve judgment. She was a woman whose cooking skills left something to be desired. Quite a lot, actually.
"It's good, right?!"
As I chewed with a crunch, Arlea demanded an answer.
My dear wife's cooking talent scored a solid zero — the kind that would earn a personal roasting from a certain British celebrity chef.
"Is it good?"
"Your fried food still has raw flour in it — you could restore an entire wheat field with that!"
"Then die, you bitch. Who are you to rate my cooking instead of Mikhail?!"
There was a reason I either cooked myself or had the imperial chefs prepare our meals.
As her subordinate — and as someone who'd shared first experiences with her — I couldn't say that to her face.
Still, it was a meal made with love. There was also the possibility she'd added something weird to it. A person who'd gone all soft and lovey-dovey from drinking could snap and do something crazy. What could I expect?
I wiped my mouth with a handkerchief.
"It's delicious."
"I-It's delicious?"
Arlea's eyes flew wide open.
"I knew it! My husband always recognizes my cooking sense."
"Is there a reason you have to feed me like this?"
"Because our Mikhail is a baby."
"Excuse me?"
"Babies get fed like this by their mommy."
I was a genuine adult with an ID card and everything. I'd never even been carded at a convenience store.
Haa... Did I really have to put up with this treatment?
I could feel my adult pride crumbling on its own. Arlea twisted her thighs together and smiled at me.
"I worked so hard to set this table because you were coming. Back on the front lines, we used to just eat raw grass, remember?"
When was that again?
After the current emperor's death, maybe...
That was roughly ten-odd years in the future. The princes and princesses had led their armies, and a Warring States period had arrived. In other words, a civil war.
Arlea had been a minor faction with a weak support base. Pacifying the continent had taken a long time.
"I remember it well enough."
I roughly stroked Arlea's hair.
Purrrr—
"Our forces were scattered, and there were times the two of us were completely isolated. At first, I thought I'd lost you."
Arlea clung to me like a cat in heat. And of course she smelled of nymph-scented body wash.
"Hold me, darling. My head's throbbing from the alcohol."
I quietly stroked Arlea's hair.
"Your wife is begging so desperately, and you're being mean."
She could barely handle her liquor and was already struggling to hide even the first letter of the word "drunk." Looking at the empty bottles rolling around on the floor, I wondered just how much she'd put away.
In the end, I carefully held her. Neither too cold nor too kind — a hug of appropriate intensity.
Squish, squish—
Hehehehehe.
Even so, Arlea nuzzled her head against me with a loose, easy smile.
"Call me Arlea. 'Princess' includes those bitches who are dying to kill me, too."
Arlea wriggled her fingers.
A sense of danger surged up instinctively.
Anything but a mandatory defensive battle!
I pushed Arlea down onto the floor and climbed on top of her, pinning her in place.
"Hic."
Arlea, slow to react to sudden situations, hiccuped. She twisted her body trying to escape, but the alcohol left her unable to resist.
"Arlea. I'll half-kill you next week, so hold out for today."
"R-Really?!"
"I'm not the type to lie."
Her sparkling eyes reminded me of a child who'd just received a Christmas present. Once I got her confirmation, I pulled Arlea back up to her feet.
"Hey, that's a promise. A promise is—"
"On my honor, chastity, and trust — absolutely."
I observed the proper ritual and linked pinkies with her.
"Then that's settled. Oh, tonight let's hold hands and sleep."
Arlea twisted her body as if imagining something.
Whew. Who knew a drunk dog's temper would come back around like this. I should offer a prayer of thanks to Her Majesty the Empress.
As I sighed in relief, Arlea clapped her hands as if remembering something.
"That's right — you'd be surprised if you knew what I received today."
Arlea went over to the cupboard and rummaged through it. What she held was a translucent glass bottle — vodka in an antique-looking shape. Wait. This woman kept vodka in her room?!
Well, she is a college student.
Wasn't twenty the age for that kind of youthful folly? Besides, collecting liquor bottles had been this woman's hobby. After regressing, of course her hands would get itchy.
"It's distilled liquor from the North."
Wasn't that just one hundred percent pure alcohol? Drinking that would set my insides on fire.
"Doesn't the complete lack of impurities remind you of my pure and chaste love?!"
I wonder about that. It's a little too pure.
Arlea grinned and laughed as if she were in a great mood.
"Hehehe. You like this kind of thing, don't you? Something a little sweet... hehehe."
No. My dear wife, there's no way I'd like that.
Outside this place, a prince was stationed. He was the Holy Knight Commander of the Holy Emperor Cult, and he led the Central Army on the northern front. He'd been ordered to investigate matters related to this heretical Confessor.
I checked outside the door. The footsteps I could hear numbered at least several dozen.
No wonder the security is so tight.
The security detail I'd seen on the way here was beyond anything I could have imagined.
"Drinking with my beautiful husband — what a blessed life this is!"
While I was deliberating, Arlea suddenly gulped down the distilled liquor. I had no choice but to nibble on the side dishes. I could only move once she fell asleep, and time was money — yet her skill at keeping me here was no joke.
Arlea leaned against my shoulder.
"Those bitches — do you remember them?"
"Those bitches?"
Hmph. Arlea snorted.
"They only ever sang about you. Where is he, the one they love? The Eight Heroes. Minus you, that makes seven now, I suppose."
She muttered in a tone that had shed its drunken haze, and a cold sneer laced the hand that swirled her glass. She was the one who'd won a blood-soaked war of conquest.
"Seven, probably. Though honestly, that count includes you. You're a hero too."
I meant it sincerely. Without her, the process of defeating the Great Demon would have been considerably more spectacular — and not in a good way.
"You really are..."
Arlea grinned foolishly.
"Actually, I can tell you now — I banished them all."
"Banished?"
"That mage, the vampire, the Saintess, the divine physician... and all the rest of those trash bitches!"
They're probably rotting in the underground dungeons by now, Arlea added. For they were vile evils who'd insulted the empire and tried to usurp its sole national treasure.
Arlea leaned her upper body forward.
"I can't let you go easily. Do you know what lengths I went to — what schemes I won — to protect you from those wicked, heat-crazed beast bitches?"
How much had she drunk? It wasn't even autumn, yet her earlobes and cheeks were dyed the color of maple leaves.
"...Actually, I've been having nightmares lately. Nightmares where those beasts come back from the past and try to ruin you completely."
The funny part was that I was currently cooperating with those very bitches. Arlea bit down hard on her lower lip.
"Nightmares?"
"That's right. Just like when the incubus tried to claim you. I want to change things. Even in my dreams, I want to kiss you. Every day, I want to dye that fragile, protect-me smile of yours in my own color. You understand, right?"
Arlea caressed my cheek. This was definitely a nightmare, all right.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Don't get seduced by those bitches. Please."
"With my wife right here, where would I go?"
My old rivals had returned and were currently fighting it out UFC-style. Even if I'd formed a non-aggression pact with Sophia, it was thin ice that would crack soon enough. Even now, they were busy keeping each other in check beneath the surface.
Arlea brushed my bangs to the side.
"Believe me. For eternity, I will protect only you — my national treasure. Even if you wagged your tail at me and then ran away, I wouldn't abandon you. Just as this great empire embraced you, a traitor to your house."
Having finished that passionate performance, Arlea's eyes began to close. But whether because my embrace felt good or not, she showed no intention of letting go. Once she fell asleep, she absolutely wouldn't wake up. That was a fact I knew well, too.
I stroked Arlea's hair.
She was a cute, cool, strong, and capable wife. It's just that... her obsession was excessive. So excessive that she'd smile that easy smile even after killing a woman or two — that was the problem.
"I told you we're tying up and sleeping, you wife of mine."
I tied the sash of Arlea's robe for her — like the Gordian knot, so it would take a long time to untie. Just in case I lost my self-control and tried to claim her.
Thank goodness Arlea was so oblivious. If she were already putting on an act, she would have picked apart my weaknesses one by one.
"Arlea."
I called her name. To clean up the drinking party, she needed to let go of my arm. Same for leaving.
"Uh, uhehehehe."
Arlea slept with a foolish smile on her face. I rolled my eyes, trying not to look at her.
Why are you so pretty, Arlea!
Endure it. I have to endure. Write the character for patience three times and you'll be spared from murder. Patience, patience, patience...
And so the next day's sun rose — yet there I was, sprawled out, as if I'd either drunk myself silly yesterday or undertaken a slick-and-sloppy baby-slide mega construction project—! with Arlea.
"Eck."
There were two of them, no less.