Chapter 20 - The Emperor Itching for a Natural Death

Another peaceful day in the bunker. I was reading the posts written by the three visitors from yesterday.

After pulling out the communication orb, they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠huddled in the corner whispering, and then the post went up.

Tap tap tap tap tap

"Wouldn't it be better to leave it like this? Stab here, and the vanguard collapses, exposing the rear."

"Nah, Senior. Stab there like that, and the soldier inside dies. Our Imperial Army would get lynched by the troops for that tactic?"

"Hoho, true. We cannot abandon even a single soldier as bait. But why on earth won't the king leave the palace? Did he break a leg or something?"

Man, it's chaotic. The bunker was busier than usual.

At my urging, three burly men were resting in the bunker.

They insisted they were fine, but after His Majesty the Grand Emperor did that otherworldly toxic food mukbang, I told them to rest a few days before leaving.

His Majesty the Grand Emperor lay on the patient bed with an IV in his arm, watching the board game the two knights had set up.

When I laid him down, he looked lifeless, so yesterday evening I bought various things for him to do.

Among them, the board game especially caught his fancy—they'd been debating it all day.

"Argh, seriously. Your Majesty, can't you just lie quietly in bed? How can a sick person who was moaning in pain not stay still for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even an hour?"

"Hoho, I'm perfectly fine. Do you think I overlook your rude speech because I'm ill?"

"No threats, please. And you are sick, Your Majesty? How is your body colder than a stone wall?"

This old man's body was a total mess. Poor complexion, cold sweats, dizziness, vomiting blood nonstop.

Thanks to him, I even devoured medical books I never planned to read.

Using the knowledge I barely squeezed out, I prescribed dewormers, anti-TB meds, nutrient IVs—hooked it all up to the patient bed and made him lie down to rest.

But he kept jumping up to backseat game like this.

"Get back in bed quick. Your body's still ice-cold—where's 'fine' about that... Sigh."

I sighed and raised the bedside table to prepare His Majesty's meal.

Warm abalone porridge and barley tea. When you're sick, this is the best.

"Eat up. Don't leave any. You can feed yourself since you're moving around. Duke Falken and Sir Walter need to eat too, so just eat alone."

"Hohoho, such rudeness. Fine, I shall. But what is this food called? I've never seen the like."

Ever curious, he asked while holding the spoon.

"Abalone porridge. Good for recuperation. Best for sick people."

"Abalone porridge... so warm and delicious. How long has it been since I ate something like this..."

Saying it so wistfully—think that'll make me pamper you more? Yeah, I'm weak to that look.

"I'll pack extra when you leave, so don't worry. Not eating? I'll toss it if it cools."

"Fine, fine. I'll eat it all nicely."

Good. Eat up and get healthy.

This old man itching for a natural death—I'll make sure he lives long and illness-free.

"You two eat too. Menu for now... meat again?"

"Ooh..."

"Ahem, thanks."

Maybe they're still embarrassed about yesterday's first meal fiasco? Ever since, Duke Falken gets sheepish every time food's served.

No big deal, though.

"So far: pork cutlet, pork stir-fry, bulgogi... Can't think of anything fitting. Anything you wanna eat?"

Men's top three menus—already served 'em all, nothing else came to mind.

"Well, they were all splendid..."

True. Guess no helping it.

Not ideal next to a patient, but time to be a bit petty.

"Your Majesty? I'll hand-carry a few when you leave, so no getting mad?"

"Hm? Fine by me. Those two worked hard too—let 'em eat hearty."

His Majesty the Grand Emperor approved!

Nothing to fear now.

"Chicken it is."

A little payback for constantly pissing me off since we met—I bought chicken.

Didn't forget braised chicken for my puppers.

"...!"

"What is this smell? Incredible."

"Eat first. I'll feed the pups and be back."

Quickly set up the chicken, grabbed the braised chicken, and headed to the pups.

Tap tap tap tap tap

"Heroes, big boys. Dinner time."

They froze.

"Woof!"

These doggos only stop for food talk.

"This is so you don't choke on bones. It's pricier, so no jealousy, okay?"

"Woof!"

Sigh, these greedy goofballs. Good thing in small form they eat less.

Chuckling wryly, I poured it into their bowls and returned for chicken.

"Slurp."

"Slurrrp."

They were downing chicken like water.

Whoa, pulling drumsticks whole—seasoned carnivores, huh.

"More if needed. Just say."

"...!"

"Gulp. Thanks. Feels like I've eaten better here than my whole life."

Happy they're eating well.

Smiling contentedly, I glanced at His Majesty.

"..."

"..."

He'd paused his abalone porridge, staring this way.

Like the grim reaper's gaze.

To survive, I expanded on my earlier promise.

"Like I said, I'll pack ten for you when you leave—so don't look at me like that. Scary when an undead-grinder stares."

Did I live?

"...Hoho. Sorry. First time smelling that aroma—I lost my senses for a moment. Thanks for packing."

Phew, lived!

He must've been really pissed.

"Anyway, after you finish... Wait, where'd it go?"

Chicken and porridge gone in that instant.

Perplexed, I asked—the three burly men looked sheepish in unison.

Not a sight I wanted.

"Well, more later. Since you're done... mind if I ask something?"

"Hoho, of course. What is it?"

Treated his illness, three squares—now time to extract info.

"I'm thinking of selling something, but info's too scarce."

The issue I thought of when first seeing the gallery.

I needed info to solve the famine.