Hangovers Are Fucking Awful, But Work Is Worse
A hangover is truly fucking awful. It’s the physical misery and bullshit that hits you when you’ve poured more alcohol down your throat than your body can process. My stomach was on fire, my head felt like it was going to split open, and no matter how many bowls of hangover soup I chugged, the burning wouldn’t stop. Inside my skull, some bastard was smashing a gong while another hammered away like he was trying to crack my brain open.
But in this world, there’s something even more fucking awful than a hangover. It’s work.
The messenger bird that arrived at the crack of dawn handed me a sealed order from the crown prince. He apologized for contacting me on my day off, but the situation was too urgent to ignore. What could I do? When a superior actually lowers their head like that, you can’t exactly tell them to fuck off. This world is full of bastards who think nothing of dragging you in even on weekends.
Besides, the matter really was that serious. Count Halstead—the man whose name I’d borrowed—was in danger. The investigator also reported that Black Round Table bastards seemed to be lurking in the region, plotting something nasty.
Of course, I wasn’t going alone. That was better than traveling solo and lonely… but the three utterly hopeless sisters were tagging along.
“Master! What are the local specialties of Halstead territory? I can’t wait to try them!”
Airi Les. Usually all smiles and sweetness, but flip the wrong switch and she starts hurling curses and fireballs.
“The specialty of Halstead territory is ore. If you want to shove iron ore down your throat, be my guest.”
Glacia Winterhart. She and Airi got along like oil and fire; if she got pissed off, swords would fly.
“Haa… You should’ve gone by yourself, Werner. Who the hell told you to drag women into state affairs?”
Lorsch McKellin, always looking for an excuse to drop-kick me. This girl probably still didn’t understand why she’d been abandoned by me in the first place.
And this damn carriage was even worse than the hangover or the work. I was trapped in a closed box with these three for days, forced to endure their insane conversation. God, I was dying for a bullet train right about now.
Looked like my entire vacation was going down the drain. Bye-bye, my precious days off. Next time, I’ll enjoy you properly.
After racing nonstop for a full week, we finally arrived at the Halstead estate in the south. Unlike the north or the capital, the air was hot and humid, attacking every sweat gland I had. It felt exactly like Daegu in July. For someone like Glacia, who had only ever lived in freezing regions, it must have been brutal. She was already drenched after just ten minutes outside the carriage.
I pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her cheek.
“You really didn’t have to come… Seeing you suffer because of me doesn’t feel good at all.”
She accepted my kindness with a small smile, then used the same handkerchief to dab the sweat from my own face.
“I followed of my own free will. There’s no need for you to worry, Sir Werner.”
“Still…”
“On the contrary, I’m quite happy that you’re even wiping my sweat for me.”
As Glacia spoke, she glanced toward Airi. Maybe it was my imagination, but it looked like she flashed a smug little smile in her rival’s direction. No way. The Glacia I knew wouldn’t make a face like that… right?
Then Airi twisted her body and leaned heavily against me.
“Master, it’s so hot I think I’m going to collapse. It must be heatstroke. Won’t you support your cute little disciple?”
Yeah, in this stupidly hot weather, heatstroke could strike anyone. Even a strong-willed girl carrying the hero’s blood wasn’t immune. I took her hand and shifted her weight onto me, supporting her properly.
“Hehehe… If anyone saw us like this, they’d be insanely jealous, wouldn’t they? Like a certain snow woman who gets the wrong idea just because someone wiped her face…”
Glacia’s expression stiffened.
“…Sir Werner, this climate is new to me as well, so I’m suffering from a slight headache. You know I don’t fake illnesses like that barbaric monkey, don’t you?”
Ah, so Glacia had heatstroke too. Heatstroke really could strike any of us. Therefore, as the successor of the god of medicine Asclepius, I, Werner Alton, could not refuse them.
As I supported the two beautiful women on either side, Lorsch clicked her tongue at me.
“Tsk tsk… You’ve become quite the womanizer while I wasn’t looking, Werner.”
I felt wronged. I was simply fulfilling the proper duty of a successor to the god of medicine. I hadn’t committed any of Zeus’s womanizing crimes yet. To accuse me like this—Lorsch clearly hated me a lot.
“Lorsch, it’s a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding my ass. Misunderstanding? What, is it the little brother of understanding now?”
Lorsch, who had just dropped that lame pun about how the younger sibling of ‘2-understanding’ was ‘5-misunderstanding,’ glared at me with pure irritation. I still felt completely wronged.
“Just shut up and do your job. Meeting with Count Halstead and hearing the details is your role, Werner.”
“Why is it always me? Let me remind you, today was supposed to be my day off! You’re really going to make the guy on vacation handle noble meetings?”
“I spent twelve years cleaning up the mess you made when you ran away. Do you have any idea how many days off I got in a year while handling both the Magic Tower Master duties and the Imperial Mage work?”
A year had roughly fifty-two weeks. Weekends were supposed to be rest days, but given how insanely busy she must have been, taking all of them was probably impossible.
“Uh… about sixty days a year?”
I had nothing to say.
“In twelve years, I got exactly eleven days off. So shut up and work.”
Eleven days off in twelve years. That meant there were years she worked every single day without a break. How many people had suffered because of the shit Werner had pulled? He’d dumped that hellish workload on his friend. If a lightning bolt struck him while walking down the street, he’d have no right to complain. Come to think of it, maybe that sword in his side had been divine justice?
For some reason, my own side was throbbing strangely today.
Count Halstead’s residence was strangely cool. I thought it might be a special feature of noble mansions, but for someone of his rank, the place was oddly small. It was smaller than the mansion I owned and so cramped it didn’t even have a proper garden. There were only two guest rooms, which meant Lorsch and I had to share one. This was the result of Airi and Glacia fighting over who got to room with me. Lorsch, dragged into their fight, had exploded in anger and arbitrarily assigned the rooms herself.
“Count Halstead is calling for you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there soon.”
Come to think of it, I knew almost nothing about Count Halstead. The only thing I’d heard was a rumor at a ball that the original Count Halstead was sickly.
Lorsch, who was organizing her luggage, warned me.
“Among the nobles supporting His Highness the Crown Prince, Count Halstead is one of the most capable. Strange jokes or wordplay won’t work on him, so be careful.”
She spoke curtly, but I could tell she was only saying it out of worry for me. Ah, so this was the charm of tsundere.
“Heh, are you worried about me because we’re friends? I’m touched.”
“What…? No, I’m not! Don’t get the wrong idea! I’m just worried your dirty personality will ruin everything again…”
I brought my finger to Lorsch’s lips. Of course, I didn’t actually touch them.
“I won’t make any more mistakes. Not in my work, and not in our relationship.”
Lorsch’s face turned bright red.
“Just go already, you idiot.”
Receiving that classic tsundere encouragement, I headed toward Count Halstead’s room. What kind of sickly noble was I about to meet? Asthma? Old age? Diabetes? What kind of illness did he have that kept him stuck in the countryside instead of the capital?
I knocked lightly on the door.
“Imperial Mage Werner Alton.”
“…Please come in.”
The voice was weak and drained. When I opened the door, there was no one at the table. What the fuck? Was I talking to a ghost? What kind of low-level spirit would dare pull this shit on me, the last disciple of Jesus…
“Not there.”
I turned my gaze toward the bed a short distance from the desk. On it lay a young man whose sheets were stained red with blood. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and looked at me.
“I am Kyle Halstead. I’m truly sorry for calling you out like this. However, it’s rather difficult for me to travel to the capital…”
Looking closer, I saw that he had no feet.
“It’s fine. On the contrary, I’m worried that we’ve dragged you into troublesome matters.”
“There’s no need for you to apologize, Sir Werner. Please take a seat. The matter is urgent.”
It was the first time since coming to this world that I truly felt the presence of nobility.