The Heat of a Tipsy Night
“…Ariel? You okay?”
After a few glasses of wine, Ariel was hiccuping and smiling bashfully. The light flush on her cheeks and the slight haze in her eyes were the classic signs of someone starting to feel it.
And then—
“Hehe, I’m still fine? Totally fine?”
—insisting she wasn’t, even while she clearly was, was also classic.
Anywhere else I might have worried a little, but this was Ariel’s own lodging. With her attendants and guards standing by, it wouldn’t matter if she got properly tipsy.
One glass, then two; as the wine kept flowing and the night grew deeper, the heat of the party began to rise with it. Small talk drifted into more personal, intimate territory—the way drinking sessions always do.
Then, out of nowhere, Ariel tossed a new topic onto the table.
“Come to think of it… have any of you thought about marriage?”
“Marriage?”
Well, in a medieval noble society, a young lady of twenty-six was already well past the usual marrying age. In Lumiang’s case, the curse of the Monster Clan Chieftain had forced her past that age and into the betrothal tournament. The Elrond Count family, though, seemed to have given up—they were funding their bookworm daughter’s free-spirited reading tours—and Ariel herself had never shown the slightest interest. I never expected the subject to surface at a drinking party.
“Ah… this morning my maid suddenly started going on about marriage. Said I should meet some men while I’m at my prettiest.”
Ah. So that was why. Fair enough. If you were going to do it, doing it while your looks were still at their peak made sense.
Hmm.
Marriage, huh. A subject I’d never once considered. No—for someone planning a culinary tour of hunting and eating monsters, it was a subject I shouldn’t consider. Marriage was for people who wanted stable futures. The life of a gluttonous traveler who prioritized strength and survival over wealth and prestige suited bachelorhood far better than wedlock.
Of course, saying that outright would clash too hard with the public reason I’d entered the betrothal tournament, so I softened it.
“Well… if the chance comes around again, I’ll think about it then. What about you?”
“Me? Hmm, I haven’t really thought about it much either… but if I absolutely, definitely had to… I’d want someone kind, like my father—someone who doesn’t care about rank.”
Count Elrond must be a man of excellent character. For a daughter free of her family’s expectations to picture the pillar of that house as her ideal match said a lot.
Finished answering, Ariel immediately turned to Rachel.
“What about you, Dame Rachel?”
Every gaze settled on Rachel, who had been quietly eating. She cleared her throat once, head lowered, and carefully dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief.
“M-me, you mean?”
“Yes. I was curious what the Purple Knight thinks. Heehee.”
The Purple Knight, Rachel. A woman who had endured years of hardship and pain to earn the highest knightly rank—she looked, at a glance, completely uninterested in the male of the species. Or rather, she had likely written marriage out of her life from the start, which was why she had become an exclusive escort knight in the flower of her youth rather than a free mercenary or ordinary guard.
An exclusive escort knight spent every hour of every day at their master’s side; there was no time for romantic scandals, barely even time to glance sideways. It wasn’t forced, but during the contract you were expected to give everything to duty and responsibility. Those contracts usually ran in ten-year stretches, so most exclusive escorts who poured their one and only youth into service never married at all.
Especially for houses of count rank or higher: simply building the skill required took a full decade or more, so the average age of a first contract was around thirty. By the time that first contract ended you were already forty—life’s midsummer fading into twilight. Too late to dream of marriage. And unless the employer broke the contract, a second renewal was the norm.
Rachel’s case—tenacity, obsession, and talent all blended together—was the rare exception. She had been only twenty-three when she was hired by that notorious playboy Elden Raphelion. So once her contract expired she would still be young enough, even if a little late, to go looking for marriage if she wished.
The problem was that she seemed to have not the slightest interest. I fully expected the obvious answer.
But—
“Lately… I’ve found myself a little curious.”
—what I heard was the exact opposite of what I’d expected.
Hmm. Once the contract ends, will I be saying goodbye to the first teacher I met after transmigrating into this world? A flicker of regret passed through me.
“Lately… you say?”
“Yes.”
Rachel answered Ariel’s follow-up and took a sip of wine. My own interest piqued, I asked as well.
“Oh? I always thought Master had zero interest in men. Unexpected.”
“I simply had high standards.”
“Is that so.”
Well, with looks like Rachel’s she must have received mountains of letters from men. People are drawn to those who share their sensibilities and tastes. A beautiful female knight who had stepped into the rough world of men was more than enough to set hearts racing. Among all those Cupid’s arrows flying her way, at least one must have found its mark.
Maybe she had already promised a future to someone here in the Northern Grand Ducal Castle—some romantic vow to return once her contract ended. She just couldn’t say it straight in front of her master, so she was speaking in circles. A wandering eye could earn unnecessary reprimand, after all.
Either way, I had no intention of standing in the way of her future. If she was opening her eyes to the new world of marriage, the proper thing was to cheer her on.
“As your disciple, I support Master’s… enlightenment.”
Yet Rachel simply stared straight at me. I was about to wipe my mouth, wondering if something was stuck there, when—
“Thank you.”
—she bowed her head and answered just like that.
Nothing to thank me for. I already owed Master a great deal, and I’d be racking up more debts on the culinary journey. If she married, I’d at least furnish a few pieces of the household goods. Debts should be repaid—that’s only human decency.
“Elden?”
Ariel, following Rachel’s lead with another mouthful of wine, called my name. Her eyes were half-lidded, her cheeks as red as if she’d painted them with rouge.
“Yeah?”
“If you were to meet a woman… what type would you want?”
“Type?”
“Ah… I was just curious. Heehee.”
What type of woman. In the modern world I could have answered cleanly by naming celebrities, but in a medieval age without video media there was nothing to compare to. Unfortunately, modern Lee Junuw had been so numb to love that culinary travel came to mind long before any sweet romance. His life had been packed too tightly to leave even a crack for love to slip into.
The natural rebound would have been “I should date first!”—yet the culinary journey itself was just as much a rebound from that dry previous life. More than anything—
Wanting a relationship doesn’t mean you get one.
If love got sprinkled on top of the culinary journey, that would be nice, but its absence wouldn’t shrink the romance or the rest. So I’d never really thought about it.
The only answer I could give was a single conviction that had carried over from my previous life.
“Someone who cares about animals and plants?”
It was a thoroughly un-Elden-Raphelion belief, but at least I looked kindly on people who cared for living things. In practice they seemed more likely to have warm hearts. I’d never met a person of good character who treated animals and plants carelessly, which was probably why the conviction stuck.
Of course, caring for them didn’t guarantee goodness—and anyone using that care as a stage for twisted love-hate or as a prop for shattered self-esteem was firmly excluded.
A moment later—
“Oh, I grow flow—”
“I keep baby birds in a cage—”
—two little sparks of heat flared and died in the same instant. Too faint to reach ears already softened by drink. And the clamor that followed made sure they were forgotten just as quickly.
Clatter!
“Kyaah!”
A maid setting down a dish of monster cuisine slipped; the bowl tipped and the food landed squarely on my thigh.
I’d read about it in a book—grilled crab meat from the Red-Blue Giant Crab, a massive crustacean monster. Its shell was red and blue, its flesh the same colors, hence the name. It only appeared along the northwestern coast, so it was a rare ingredient this far north.
The instant I recognized it, only one thought filled my head:
Save it.
I will save it.
I absolutely will save it.
Snatch!
I grabbed the Red-Blue Giant Crab meat sliding off my thigh toward the floor and set it back on the plate. My mother always said: if it hits the floor, five seconds and it’s still fine.
Until now I’d only eaten land-monster cuisine; I wanted to blow on it and eat it right then and there. But the hall had gone dead silent, so I couldn’t.
Tch.
I’m fine, though.
Maid Evian had served the Elrond Count family for sixteen years—a seasoned veteran. Being chosen as one of the dedicated attendants for the party was only natural. She’d been nervous, but she believed she could handle it. Handle it, earn the bonus, done.
It took almost no time to learn how careless and pitiful that pride had been.
Clatter!
“Kyaah!”
The trembling that had begun the moment she faced the madman known as Elden Raphelion finally produced an accident. The bowl tipped across the table; the food spilled and landed on Young Master Elden’s thigh. Her straining legs gave out and she sank to her knees. Then she begged.
“F-forgive me! I have committed a crime worthy of death—!”
Immediately the head maid, who had been monitoring everything from the entrance, rushed over and bowed low.
“Y-Young Master Elden. This is my failing. Please punish me…!”
The worst-case scenario had erupted at the worst possible moment—right when the bottles were empty enough for real drunkenness to bloom. Of course you couldn’t sentence another house’s maid to death for a mistake, but a slap or two was certain. No—knowing the infamous Young Master Elden, it would be kicks rather than open hands.
And yet—
“…It’s fine. Stand up.”
—instead of kicking the prostrate maid, Young Master Elden personally helped her to her feet. The head maid braced for a fist. Instead he slipped a silver coin into the upper pocket of Evian’s uniform. The head maid thought it was travel money for the road out. Instead he comforted and encouraged her.
Something hard to believe even when seen, hard to believe even when heard.
“Because of this mistake the head maid won’t give you a bonus, so take this.”
“Y-yes?”
“Everyone makes mistakes as they live. Don’t let it crush you. And Head Maid?”
“Y-yes, Young Master.”
“Don’t scold this one too harshly. How nervous must she have been to do that? That nerves came from me, so I share the blame. Comfort rather than punishment, if you would.”
“Y… y-yes. Understood.”
A dazed silence. The rumors swirling about Young Master Elden claimed that even a single mistake was unforgivable; the maids crippled and cast out of Raphelion Manor could fill more than ten carts. Everywhere you went you heard the same stories, so they couldn’t be empty. Yet the man before them not only forgave the error—he took half the responsibility for it himself.
Apparently the young lady’s breathless running about, preaching Young Master Elden’s change, had not been the naive faith of someone who didn’t know the world after all.
“Th-thank you… Young Master.”
Evian bowed her gratitude, and the incident closed. No one realized it had simply been a hungry dog’s lightning-fast damage control so he could finally taste his first ocean-monster dish.
And no one noticed the heat rising in Ariel’s eyes—the girl who liked kind people regardless of rank—or the heat rising in Rachel’s eyes as she watched the man growing stronger inside as well as out.
And so the early-summer night’s party slowly wound down.
“Call whoever prepared the monster cuisine for me tonight.”
“D-did it not suit your taste? Please forgive—!”
“Here, take these two silver coins. Sorry it’s all I have on me. It was an excellent meal.”
“……!!”
Instead of the night fading, an unexpected wave of emotion was rising inside Ariel’s lodging.
“You wouldn’t happen to be free to travel, would you?”
“Pardon?”
“A culinary journey where you hunt the monsters yourself and cook them on the spot—maximum freshness.”
“I-I have a wife and children….”
“Is that so. Hmm.”
As expected. Not easy.