Chapter 231: You Won't Be Able to Handle It (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 231: You Won't Be Able to Handle It (1)
He had always loved sweet things. In fact, he loved them so much that one might think he only drank his coffee black and bitter to better appreciate the sweetness of whatever dessert he paired with it.
Thus, the fact that this purple sweet potato and carrot cake—made with ingredients not typically known for their sweetness—tasted so incredibly rich could only mean one thing: King Elinne of Libern’s chef had baked it with only Alan’s palate in mind.
“It’s delicious, so why aren’t you eating any? It was sent by the King of Libern herself, you know.”
Euria, who enjoyed sweets in her own right, though not nearly as much as Alan, asked as she devoured a slice of purple cake that perfectly matched her hair.
“This isn’t the first time Elinne has sent a gift. What’s the big deal?”
“She even cast preservation magic on it just to send it here, so you should at least have a bite. This sweetness was practically tailor-made for you, Count Manasil.”
“Sweet potato and carrot cake? That’s not a combination I enjoy.”
Even though the cake—layered with a purée of stewed apples and purple carrots—tasted excellent, Alan hadn't taken a single bite. He replied as if he couldn’t understand how Euria could eat it so happily. In his book, neither sweet potatoes nor carrots belonged in a cake.
As a result, only Euria was having a grand time. She had dropped by to deliver some news to Calian and pass along the latest gifts from Libern to Alan.
“It’s absolutely delicious. It’s a shame I don’t have a glass of Majurini to go with it, though. That would make it perfect.”
Alan shook his head at the sight of Euria, who had arrived first thing in the morning and was already looking for an apple liquor as potent as Himolica. He enjoyed a drink himself, but he was no match for her.
“Since you aren’t even touching it, I feel like I’m stealing something meant for you, Count Manasil.”
“You seem far too happy to be feeling that way,” Alan retorted.
“Because it’s delicious.”
Replying with a bright smile that would have made Arsen doubt his own eyes, Euria pulled a second slice of cake toward her.
“Libern even sent accessories set with high-grade mana stones this month.”
“Mana stones are hard to come by these days, so that’s good news. I’ll look them over later.”
“What we send back hasn’t changed much, but the value of what Libern sends keeps increasing. Is it really all right for us to keep accepting these?”
In truth, it wasn’t just food. Countless gifts—from magical tools and books to jewelry—were regularly delivered from Libern through the Mage Association. Both Alan and Euria knew exactly who these gifts, sent under the guise of an exchange between the two kingdoms’ Mage Associations, were truly meant for.
“They’re meant for me anyway, so we might as well accept them.”
“The King of Libern is quite something. She can’t even send them directly because she has to worry about other countries, yet she still uses the Association’s name to make sure you’re taken care of every month.”
Her words were a mix of mild admiration and subtle sarcasm.
Alan accepted all of Elinne’s gifts without questioning whether they stemmed from friendship or guilt over her son, Ronil. He had already accepted that incredibly expensive black mother-of-pearl carriage, so he figured a few more presents wouldn’t hurt. The mana stones, however, were a bit of a surprise.
While Alan’s reasons for accepting the gifts without refusal were hard to fathom, Elinne’s motives for continuing to send them despite his silence were equally beyond Euria’s grasp.
It was exactly like a purple sweet potato—a vegetable whose flavor was impossible to imagine before tasting it. It might taste like an underripe potato, be as sweet as a grape, or perhaps even taste like an eggplant.
Much like the King and the Archmage, who hid their true intentions behind the giving and receiving of gifts, the cake had successfully masked the naturally bland flavor of the purple sweet potato with sugar and honey. After watching Euria polish off three slices, Alan held out his hand.
“Now that you’re done eating, hand it over.”
“Hand what over? Money for the cake?”
“Stop playing dumb. I mean the results of the background check on the Crown Prince of Tensil. You’ve always sent the gifts through other mages, but you came in person today. You just used the delivery as an excuse to bring me the investigation results yourself, didn’t you?”
“Calling it a ‘background check’ makes me sound like some shady operative. This whole thing started because of you, Count Manasil. The least you could do is use a nicer term.”
Grumbling at a request she knew he would never grant, Euria took a sip of bitter coffee before speaking again.
“Besides, this is Prince Calian’s business, so I’m giving it directly to him. I’m not showing it to you, Count Manasil.”
“Honestly, not a single one of you ever listens to a word I say.”
Alan, who could barely remember the last time he had been treated like a proper Archmage since leaving Libern, furrowed his brow and retorted.
As Euria debated whether to ask who the other one was—assuming this one referred to her—Alan spoke again.
“Anyway, our Prince is in a foul mood right now, so I’ll deliver it. Hand it over.”
If she dared to ask why the Prince was always in a foul mood, Alan was the type to toss a snow-white fireball at her and say, Here, have this.
“Fine.”
And so, Euria simply complied. She pulled a large, thick stack of documents from the palm-sized bag she always carried and handed it to Alan. After all, he was not someone who would ever do anything that wouldn’t benefit Calian.
As Alan took the documents and began skimming through them, Euria asked casually, “Is Vice-Commander Hertz busy? He said he’d buy me eggs, but I haven’t heard a word from him.”
She hadn’t forgotten how, on their way back from Margrave Brissen’s territory, he had stopped her from eating wild bird eggs by promising to buy her real ones instead. Of course, Arsen had been too busy to keep his promise, and Alan had no idea about any of it.
“He’s probably training Sir Jeia. He was scheduled to start helping the Vice-Commander today. But do young people these days date by buying each other eggs? In my day, we bought flowers.”
“Don’t say things like that with that face and that expression.”
Euria shot a look of utter disgust at the mage—who possessed the appearance of a man in his twenties—as he gazed at her with a warm, nostalgic expression that seemed to say, Ah, youth. She then rose from her seat.
“Are you heading to Wilhelm Hall?”
“I’d love to see Needlen and the kid after so long, but I have to go take care of some academy business.”
“I thought you were going to see the Prince before you left.”
“I’m busy. I only squeezed this into my schedule because it was for the Prince, but since you’ll deliver it, Count, I’m going to make a quick escape and avoid the grumpy Prince.”
In truth, since time had flowed backward, the mages of Kairis had perhaps changed the most. Or more accurately, they were the ones who had ended up the most overworked.
Alan smiled to himself at the thought and nodded.
“Very well. If I see Vice-Commander Hertz, I’ll remind him to buy you those eggs.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just give my regards to Needlen. Tell him Grandmother misses him.”
“I will.”
Euria’s grandmother, Kady Seiren, was a 6th Circle lightning mage who had also been the magic teacher for both Euria and Needlen.
Smiling as she thought of her grandmother, who was now retired and enjoying her golden years in the Seiren territory, Euria suddenly looked as if she had remembered something.
“Oh, by the way, am I really going to Secritia?”
“With how busy you are, would you even have time to go?”
“If I have to, I’ll go. It’ll be nice to see the ocean after so long. And to see the faces of those Secritian bastards.”
“It hasn’t been decided yet.”
Alan debated whether to warn her not to say such things in front of the Prince, but ultimately just waved his hand dismissively. The secret was leaking out easily enough as it was; there was no need to give her more fuel for suspicion.
“Prince Calian and His Majesty need to discuss it first. I’ll let you know once it’s decided.”
“Let me know as soon as it’s confirmed. Don’t do what you did when you made me director, dragging me out on the very morning of the appointment. If you pull that again, Count, a bolt of lightning might just strike you out of the blue.”
“I get it, so please leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
Replying instantly, Euria thanked him for the cake and stepped outside. Left alone, Alan sat for a moment before beginning to flip through the documents in earnest. Then, without thinking, he scooped up a bite of the cake, put it in his mouth, and grimaced.
It wasn't that it tasted bad; he simply disliked the distinct, subtle aroma of purple sweet potato that couldn't be entirely masked. He made a mental note to send the rest to Euria, who had enjoyed it so much.
* * *
Even among attendants, there was a hierarchy.
Since most were nobles, their lineage wasn't a factor, meaning the hierarchy wasn't based on rank or title. Nevertheless, a superior-subordinate relationship governed by its own set of standards still existed.
The same applied to the three senior attendants in Chermil Palace. Furthermore, this hierarchy was divided into two types: official and unofficial.
The official hierarchy was based on seniority. Den, Randel’s attendant, was the highest, followed by Yan, and then Relic. The unofficial hierarchy was determined by the status of the master they served. Here, Den was still at the top, followed by Relic, and then Yan. Although there was officially no difference in rank based on the princes’ birth order, they still maintained a level of courtesy according to their masters’ ages.
Thus, excluding Den, who held the highest position in every aspect, the power dynamic between Yan and Relic should have shifted depending on the context.
“It looks like the Princes’ conversation is running long again, so I’m going to submit a quick report. The Prince already knows, so he won’t look for me, and Merlin will be here soon anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
But it never shifted.
No matter how much the nobles whispered Calian’s name as the next Crown Prince, nothing was set in stone. Therefore, when they were alone, Relic could have acted as Yan’s equal or even his superior, but he didn’t.
The reason was obvious.
“I’m sorry about what happened last time. My sister thought everyone in Chermil Palace already knew. Since we look so much alike, she assumed there was no way people were still in the dark.”
In fact, they had been.
The number of people who knew Yan was the eldest son of Duke Siegfried could be counted on one hand. There was only Calian, Lemain, their closest confidants, and Franz.
“Most people just overlook it without even thinking we look alike, but my sister didn’t consider that. Usually, people see a person’s title before they actually see the person.”
No matter how senior he was, an attendant was still an attendant.
Whether they were nobles or palace staff, everyone simply saw Yan as the Prince’s senior attendant; they never paid enough attention to his features to make the connection.
But Demirea, who had never defined a person by their title, had assumed that almost everyone would have figured it out by now.
Yan continued, brushing it off as if it were nothing. “My sister is still young and naive, so she doesn’t know any better.”
The fact that you casually refer to the esteemed Young Duchess as your sister, call her naive, and speak of her so casually is exactly what I can’t get used to, Relic thought.
Swallowing his words, he simply gave another polite, quiet reply. “Yes, sir.”
“So don’t worry about it and just act comfortably around me like before. After all, in the palace, we’re both just attendants to the Princes.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Thus, the problematic dynamic continued: Yan, who still didn’t quite grasp the issue, spoke with a bright smile, while Relic, whose dilemma remained entirely unresolved, responded with utmost caution.
Meanwhile, in the room across the hall, a conversation about a far greater problem was taking place.
“I am well aware of how intelligent you are, brother, but…”
Calian, speaking with a troubled expression, paused and tapped his fingers on the table. “Learning magic and swordsmanship at the same time is not as easy as you think.”
These words came from someone who had died after mastering swordsmanship, only to be reborn and reach the 4th Circle in magic—a rather unfair advantage. While he couldn't bring himself to reject the request outright, he was making it clear that he couldn't be the one to teach him.
Franz took a sip of his avocado and fig juice and asked curtly, “Why?”
Calian had known this would happen. The boy, who resembled an avocado pit, would try to absorb everything he could, just like an avocado tree soaking up water.
Furthermore, the original Calian had secretly taught himself magic and reached the 3rd Circle. It was only because the Brissen family had interfered with this talented bloodline blessed by Sispanian that magic education for the princes had been abolished for generations. Franz, too, undoubtedly possessed talent. But talent had its limits.
Calian let out a small chuckle at the irony of someone with pure Brissen blood wanting to learn magic.
“The way you manipulate mana is completely different for each. It’s not like you can just gather mana, shout ‘shazam,’ and cast a spell. Nor does aura just burst forth on its own the moment you step onto the Path of the Sword, just because you’ve accumulated mana.”
“Stop barking and explain it properly.”
Seeing Franz get annoyed at his deliberately patronizing tone, Calian wore a pained expression. He wondered how someone who had just stuffed his face with a fig, completely oblivious to the fact that a fig is an inverted flower, could possibly want to learn even more.
“Of course, I’m sure you have a talent for magic as well, brother. But doing both right now will be too overwhelming for you.”
“I want to learn, even if it’s not right away.”
Without answering, Calian finished his last bite of steak. Then, looking at Franz, who had finished eating long ago, he continued, “Just give up on Lucy’s fur. I’ll brush it off for you when I’m around. And eat more. You’re not going to get any taller, brother.”
Franz’s eyes narrowed at Calian’s continued playful deflection.
“Has my little brother forgotten how to do anything but bark?”
“I told you to practice accumulating mana. Then, when I invited you to watch my sparring match with the Young Duchess of Siegfried today, you suddenly demanded that I teach you magic. What else am I supposed to say?”
“Human words.”
“Ah, seriously.”
Demirea would be arriving soon.
Calian, who looked like he was about to keep his own fiancée waiting just to bicker with this green pea, finally nodded in defeat.
“Fine. I’ll speak to my teacher this evening. It would be better for you to learn from him anyway.”
“Not him.”
Calian sighed, staring into those light green eyes. He began to wonder if Franz’s goal was to test his patience rather than learn magic. He knew exactly why this grass-head—who had readily agreed to setting fire to the Elves’ Mother Tree—was suddenly acting up after a perfectly fine meal, which only made him sigh deeper.
“I told you not to act like you’re about to vanish whenever something is on the horizon, like you’re hurriedly putting your affairs in order. You understood me, didn’t you?”
“Me teaching you mana and Demirea teaching you swordsmanship isn’t like that, brother.”
“Enough.”
Staring at Calian with an irritated expression, Franz pointed a finger at him.
“You dream, too. Properly. When you wake up from your nightmares. Not those strange dreams.”
He had told him to have sweet dreams, and now Franz had weaponized the phrase. He was telling Calian not to immerse himself in those strange dreams of taking revenge on Serenti. Franz had undoubtedly spent a long time agonizing over how to phrase this. By throwing this carefully crafted excuse in his face, Franz was trying to give Calian a reason to live, pulling him back with a selfish hand that showed no consideration for Calian’s own wishes.
You’re going to be the death of me, you grass-head.
This is exhausting enough to kill me.
Having never learned how to break such stubbornness across two lifetimes, Calian ultimately let out another deep sigh.
“Once the business in Secritia is settled… I’ll start teaching you then.”
And so, in the end, he promised to teach the green pea the magic to remove cat fur once the current matter was put to rest.