Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Deliberately Provoking Anger
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The cold touch of the sword against my palm came back to me.
'But I don't even have the Gauntlet right now.'
Not now. This wasn't a situation where I could draw Requiem, nor one where I needed to.
"......"
My ragged breathing had already calmed down. Just as I thought I'd regained my senses,
Swoosh—
Diego's sword swung down. I followed its trajectory with my eyes and shuddered.
'Perfect.'
It was an impeccably clean and precise strike. An attack I couldn't dodge or block.
It wasn't even clear if I could imitate it now, let alone in the future.
With a rigid face, I stared at the approaching blade. Requiem's voice screamed that this was the moment.
'I told you to shut up.'
Right up to the last second, I succeeded in not drawing Requiem.
Thwack!
Diego's sword struck my wrist with a clear sound.
"Urk!"
With a muffled groan, I collapsed to the floor. My wrist twisted at an odd angle, making it impossible to hold the sword any longer.
Clang, crash.
The sword slipped from my hand and rolled limply across the floor.
"Tch."
Clutching my broken wrist, I gritted my teeth. Diego's gaze on me remained emotionless.
"Forget ever holding a sword again."
The curt words dropped from above like a harsh judgment. His sword slowly aimed at my leg.
'Fucking hell, no way?'
Trembling with rage, I stared at the tip of Diego's blade.
'He plans to break my leg too?'
Diego's cold eyes betrayed that very intention.
"......"
But his sword never came down forcefully on my ankle.
Diego slowly withdrew it.
"I'll spare your leg. For the sake of your servants who attend you."
My stomach boiled with fury, and my teeth ground together involuntarily.
I spat back.
"Should I thank you for that?"
Diego showed no reaction to my insolent tone. He simply sheathed his sword calmly.
"You'll see."
Clink.
Diego picked up the sword that had fallen from my hand.
"If you're still like this the next time we meet..."
He hung the sword back on the wall and headed for the dining hall door.
"Then your other arm will break."
With that, he opened the door.
"L-Lord."
The waiting servants outside scattered in a hurry.
"Call a doctor."
Diego left those short words behind and departed the dining hall.
❖ ❖ ❖
"Hurry! Faster!"
"Yes, coming!"
Finn, a servant in the dining hall, wiped the sweat from his brow without stopping and hurried along with quick steps.
Reaching the dining hall entrance, he cautiously opened the door. Well-oiled, it swung open silently.
"......"
The dining hall was eerily silent. As if no one was there at all.
Yet inside were several servants and one young man seated.
With Lord Diego absent, Abel Kindriel was wielding power like a tyrant.
Head Chef Max, standing beside him, waved his hand urgently.
'Hurry up!'
Reading Max's lips, Finn quickly pushed the cart over, careful not to let the wheels squeak.
The next moment,
"......"
Abel looked up and stared at Finn.
'Eek!'
Finn froze in shock.
Abel's eyes flashed toward the cart, then returned to the table.
'I-Is... is it okay?'
Even that made Finn's heart pound so hard he couldn't move. When Max gestured wildly, he finally started walking again.
'Phew...'
Finn patted his chest as he approached the table.
Abel held a soup bowl with an expressionless face. Finn sneaked a glance at him and quickly bowed his head.
'Whew, my heart's racing.'
When silent, his face was enchantingly beautiful, but when twisted with displeasure, it turned terrifyingly fierce.
No one in the castle was unaware of that.
"-!"
Finn noticed the floor beside where he stood was dented. It was the scar from yesterday's fierce clash between Abel and Diego.
'Why would father and son draw swords on each other?'
Finn shook his head.
He had witnessed the devastation firsthand that day. Overturned tables, shattered dishes, carpets ruined with food.
It was total chaos. The disaster ended only when Head Chef Max clutched the shards of his cherished plates and wiped away tears.
"......"
Finn swallowed silently, ending his reminiscence.
A heavy, oppressive aura filled the entire dining hall, making it hard to breathe. Its source was Abel at the center.
Thud.
Abel set down his empty soup bowl on the table.
His right arm was splinted and wrapped tightly in bandages—the result of Lord Diego's harsh lesson just days ago.
That's why he had to lift the bowl to drink his soup. Using his rarely used left hand for a spoon was inconvenient.
Thanks to that, his soup bowl emptied faster than usual.
"Next."
A low, lurking voice emerged.
Max quickly lifted a plate from the cart. As he removed the lid, he added an explanation.
"Pork tongue braised in wine. It's very tender and full of flavor—a real delicacy."
The pork tongue on the plate had lost its original form, dyed in the wine's hue with a crispy browned crust that looked utterly appetizing.
The wine had perfectly masked the pork's gaminess, leaving only its sweet finish wafting from the plate.
Abel remained utterly indifferent to the food's appealing sight and Max's description.
"Cut it."
He uttered just those words.
"Pardon?"
Max, rubbing his hands in anticipation of praise, asked back. Abel propped his chin with his left hand and flicked up his right.
"Or should I cut it?"
His bandage-wrapped right hand dangled limply. Max's eyes widened uncontrollably.
"Ah, n-no! Sorry!"
He hurriedly grabbed a fork and knife and approached Abel.
"Don't make a fuss."
At Abel's low, offhand remark, Max's eyes darted around.
"Uh......"
Right now, Abel was demanding that Max follow noble dining etiquette.
"Y-Yes. Understood."
Max replied with a tense face and began slicing the meat. But his efforts to stay silent slowed him down terribly.
"Still far?"
"Almost done."
Sweat poured down Max's forehead at Abel's urging.
"Still?"
"The meat'll get cold."
"Is the knife that dull?"
Abel grilled Max with every slice. By the time he finished cutting, Max's forehead was drenched.
"Here... here you go, Young Master."
"Yeah."
Abel swiftly picked up a bite-sized piece and ate it. Max kept wiping his brow beside him.
He swore this was the first—and last—time he'd been this nervous while preparing food.
As Abel emptied the plate, he pointed to another with his hand.
"Next, that one."
"Yes, understood!"
Max dutifully attended to the food, far more than usual. There were piles of plates for him to handle.
"Next, next, next."
Abel's appetite had returned; he was eating like he 'normally' did. Like someone who'd starved for days, he shoveled in massive amounts.
"Tch."
Still unsatisfied, he sighed in annoyance at the empty plate.
Abel wiped his mouth with a napkin and fell silent, lost in thought.
"More?"
Max cautiously asked, gauging Abel's mood, fearing dissatisfaction with the food.
"No, that's enough."
Abel waved irritably and stood. He ordered Philip, who awaited him.
"I want a bath."
"Understood."
Finn watched the two depart and swallowed dryly.
'The bath attendants are doomed.'
If eating was this finicky, any scratch during a bath...
That servant would be as good as dead, he thought.
But,
"Everyone out."
Contrary to Finn's worry, Abel stood before the tub and commanded.
"Pardon?"
Philip and the attendants looked stunned.
"You'll bathe alone?"
"Yes."
"But......"
Philip eyed Abel's right arm worriedly. The splint held it rigidly immobile under tight bandages.
"Washing with one arm will be difficult. If it's a hassle, I'll attend you personally."
At Philip's coaxing suggestion,
"I said no."
Abel whipped his head back, glaring. His blue-violet eyes blazed fiercely.
"......Understood."
Philip backed off without further insistence.
He'd offered initially to prevent Abel from growing sharper due to his arm's discomfort.
"If anything's inconvenient, just call."
Philip led the servants out, closing the door.
❖ ❖ ❖
Thud.
As soon as the door shut, I ran my left hand through my hair.
"Hoo."
An irritated sigh dispersed over the steaming tub.
"Fucking hell, what am I even doing?"
I ruffled my hair in frustration, then lowered my hand. Instead of unbuttoning my shirt with my left, I reached for the bandages on my right arm.
Rustle, rustle.
With a blank face, I unwrapped them without hesitation.
Slither, thump.
The bandages hit the floor. Next, I gripped the splint tied tightly to my arm and—
Snap!
Yanked it off hard. The splint fell limply.
"Thought I'd suffocate."
Grumbling, I shook out my right wrist and rotated my stiff arm to loosen it.
"It's fully healed, really."
Chucking wryly, I looked at my wrist. Then I unbuttoned my shirt with both hands.
As each button came undone, firm muscles gradually revealed themselves.
"Still usable, at least."
Smiling in satisfaction, I stripped off my pants too and slipped into the warm tub.
"Ugh......"
I lay fully back, groaning, then rested both arms on the tub's edge and let out a long "Phew."
"Who'd have thought I'd end up playacting patient like this."
Indeed.
My wrist had healed long ago. In just one night, no less.
The day after Diego broke it, I was already perfectly recovered.
"But I can't reveal this condition."
So in the dining hall, I'd deliberately acted grumpy and irritable. I'd even shooed away the bath attendants.
"Though I couldn't have attendants anyway because of this."
I glanced at the mark on my shoulder and picked up the soap.
"Ha, damn it."
Even without needing to act anymore, my frown wouldn't lift.
Gurgle.
It was due to the ominous rumble from my stomach.