Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing — Chapter 102
Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing — Chapter 102
Varg hid in the undergrowth and shadowed Lion.
He had meant to apologize right away, but his timid nature kept him from finding the right moment.
So he ended up following him around like this, and…
‘He gets around a lot more than I expected.’
In that short span of time, Lion had visited a remarkable number of places.
First he went into the kitchen, then came back out to the well and focused on washing that barley of his.
‘It did have a nice nutty taste, in its own way.’
Watching, Varg swallowed hard.
He’d only chewed up raw grain kernels—hardly a feast—but it had tasted good for some reason.
There hadn’t been any tough grass to chew through or bugs mixed in.
Of course, Varg did possess the jaw strength and digestion to crunch through grass and bugs alike, but…
‘W-well, still…’
He ate those things to survive—he absolutely did not prefer them.
This time had been different, though.
Varg had assumed it was the commander’s consideration.
He’d thought the commander had at least prepared it in a state he could chew and digest.
But to learn it hadn’t been the knight commander at all, that someone else had put such care into it…
Just thinking about it again made his face flush hot.
‘But what in the world was he trying to make that required putting that much care into grain kernels?’
And doing it personally, no less—not as a servant, but as the young master of House Asteri?
Varg couldn’t fathom it.
Anyway, he had stolen food that someone had labored over, so he was obligated to apologize…
“Hrk.”
While he was lost in thought, Lion went back inside the kitchen.
Varg reached out from the underbrush, but only a few green leaves fluttered off his body.
Even as a member of the knight order, Varg—still a probationary knight—couldn’t simply walk in and out of the mansion as he pleased.
“G-guess I have no choice but to wait…”
Varg stole a glance toward the direction of the knight training grounds.
He had come out here to apologize, but skipping training on his own was still pricking at his conscience.
The commander had been kind enough to offer him a place…
‘Should I head back for now?’
Varg blinked slowly, crouching awkwardly in the bushes and looking back and forth between the kitchen and the training grounds.
Around the time the leaf stuck to his head drifted to the ground…
Bam!
Rustle!
The door opened again, and Varg, startled, hid himself once more.
The young master had brought out his usual basin, soaked the barley again, covered it with a cloth in the shade, and then written something above it.
—Owner present.
“…”
That phrase jabbed at his conscience even more sharply.
Alright—he just had to go out now and apologize!
…The moment he thought that,
he remembered something he’d overheard while doing chores.
“…Anyway, they say if you land on the young master’s bad side, you’re in serious trouble, got it?” “Yeah. He’s so sharp that they say he shows no mercy once you cross him.” “Right. They say he’s the spitting image of the family head. You must never steal anything at all in House Asteri!”
“…”
He hadn’t heard the full story from the beginning, but one thing had become crystal clear.
If he was allowed to stay here, he must not get involved with the young master or the family head.
Just lie low and get by on meals.
‘But what if… he really doesn’t let it slide?’
He might not overlook a mistake.
That thought kept him from stepping forward. It was even harder because he was the one in the wrong.
“Uh…”
While Varg agonized again, Lion left the basin and went back inside.
He had a feeling the young master wouldn’t come out again today.
“Hah. You idiot.”
Varg smacked himself on the head with a fist and came out of the undergrowth.
At this rate, he’d accomplish nothing—not training, not an apology.
There was such a thing as being too timid…
Just as he was trudging off late, heading back to the training grounds.
Sniff sniff!
A new scent caught Varg’s nose.
“Huh?”
A rich, savory, golden-brown aroma—something oily and deeply roasted.
The kind you’d want to sink your teeth into right that instant and fill your mouth with…
Gulp.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Varg crept toward the source of the smell.
He didn’t even need to search carefully.
Next to the basin of barley sat something new.
It was…
‘Meat!’
A huge, mouthwatering hunk of meat!
The fatty parts were crisped to a golden brown, and the rest of the lean meat was so full of juices they practically pooled on the plate.
Simple meat, yet grilled so astonishingly well.
Anyone who saw it would think, “I’m losing out if I don’t eat this right now.”
The person who made it surely felt the same.
To go to the trouble of making the ultimate grilled meat, only to leave it untouched and cold?
Outdoors, at that?
That was something you just didn’t do…
‘Hrk! Varg, snap out of it!’
Varg stared at the meat, his eyes spinning as if entranced, then smacked both his cheeks.
What was he thinking!
The first time, he could plead ignorance. This time, he knew full well what he’d be doing—it was a far worse offense.
Besides, hadn’t the young master written “Owner present”?!
That meant this meat belonged to him.
“G-get a grip.”
Hadn’t he trained hard in ‘Wait Training’ as a child for exactly this kind of situation?
Varg covered his mouth and nose with his hand and turned his head away.
“…Ah.”
And then he groaned at once.
His kinetic vision, now hyper-attuned to food, had sharply spotted another note.
It was tucked under the plate the meat sat on.
—No owner.
“…”
Varg. Let’s think about this carefully.
The reason he had written “No owner” was clearly because the young master knew very well his things were being stolen.
Meaning this was definitely a trap.
So the best course was to pretend he hadn’t seen it and walk away, even now…
—No owner.
The overwhelming smell kept wafting over, stirring his primal appetite.
And it looked more delicious than anything he’d ever seen.
Not to mention it was pork, not chicken or pheasant.
If he could just eat that, all the energy drained from harsh training lately would surely come rushing back.
Varg’s reason and his wolf instincts swayed back and forth dangerously.
In the end…
Crunch!
Varg snatched up the huge piece of meat in his jaws and disappeared back into the deserted undergrowth.
When he emerged, his face was saturated with satisfaction and guilt.
With pork grease glistening on his lips.
* * *
[Someone has eaten your cooking and is extremely satisfied!]
[Cooking Experience Points +5%]
“There we go.”
At the notification that came soon after, Lion smiled in satisfaction.
‘Hard to resist, isn’t it?’
If he were an ordinary human, he might have held out.
But beastfolk were a little different.
By their racial nature, the thread of their restraint was a bit thinner than an ordinary human’s.
Normally, of course, they were similar. With practice, they could even tuck away their ears and tails.
But placed in a slightly unusual situation like this, their patience practically evaporated.
‘Not sure if this analogy works, but…’
It was somewhat like entrusting a fish to a cat, or putting a treat in front of a greedy puppy.
Unless they’d undergone enormous training or were already stuffed full.
‘That was why I’d prepared meat.’
Well, anyway, it was a relief he ate it.
This was only the first dish, after all.
Lion had no intention of confronting the wolf beastfolk right away.
You couldn’t expect to become friends just from giving him food once.
But twice, three times… or ten times.
Once he grew used to the food, he’d inevitably find his way over.
“Mm. Good.”
Lion cracked his knuckles and grinned.
Time to try a little daily wolf-taming, then.
He planned to present a variety of meat dishes to the nameless wolf beastfolk.
Operation name: ‘I Don’t Bite,’ maybe.
And so, the next day and the day after, Lion kept making new meat dishes and brought them out at the same time.
One day it was boiled pork slices, another day a whole roast chicken.
Each time, fortunately…
[Someone has eaten your cooking and is extremely satisfied!]
[Cooking Experience Points +5%]
The nameless opponent cleaned the plate every time, and the cooking experience ticked up by modest amounts.
‘Has it been about five days?’
In what could be called a short span, Lion had learned a few things.
First:
‘He likes pork.’
He enjoyed other meats too, but pork was his clear favorite.
He’d figured that out because on days he used other meats, the word “extremely” was missing.
‘Oh—wait, could it be because he’s a wolf?’
Lion thought of that one fairy tale where the wolf blew all the pigs’ houses down with his breath.
Given that Elvia, a witch, was an excellent baker, it actually seemed somewhat plausible.
The next thing he’d learned was that the wolf wasn’t going entirely hungry.
The portions of meat Lion prepared were quite generous.
Generous enough that even for a wolf beastfolk—let alone an ordinary human—they’d keep him full all day or even into the next.
At first he’d thought the man was starving, but it seemed he simply possessed a staggering appetite.
There was further evidence, too.
Nature’s daily stealth-reports on the beastfolk’s fur hadn’t changed their description.
If he’d been unwell from lack of food, the quality of his fur should have improved, but it hadn’t.
‘I do have a hunch…’
Still, they hadn’t even faced each other properly, and it wasn’t an illness about to explode right away, so Lion shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
A misstep would only build up the man’s wariness.
Beastfolk were very few in number.
Especially rare beastfolk like the red wolf kind—slave traders would kidnap them, and they’d end up as nobles’ battle slaves or trophies.
‘He’s here now because he thinks it’s safe, but…’
The moment he felt this place wasn’t safe, he would leave at any time.
Well, judging by the fact that he’d eaten the food without suspicion for days, he didn’t seem to be the excessively wary type, but people in his position usually were, so caution was better.
‘Which means I can start coaxing him in earnest now.’
The barley had also grown nicely: the roots had developed and the sprouts had emerged well enough to make malt.
Lion gently spread out the clumped malt with his hands, laid it out to dry, and headed outside.
But this time, instead of the shady spot he’d always used before, he placed it in the sunniest spot.
“Oh! Young master! You’re not going over there today?”
A probationary servant who’d grown quite friendly with him over the past few days tossed out the question.
“Yeah. It needs to dry now.”
“Oho. Now that you mention it, the sprouts have really come out well. Hmm?”
The servant glanced at the basket Lion was holding and his expression turned slightly ambiguous.
Should he mention it or not?
He scratched his head and spoke.
“Don’t they seem like they’ve grown a little too well?”
“Right?”
Lion answered with pride, but the servant’s expression dimmed a bit more.
‘I was sure he was planning to make liquor…’
Sprouting the barley was indeed crucial when making beer.
But the sprouts shouldn’t be longer than the barley grains themselves.
If the starches all got used up, the soul and heart of liquor—the alcohol—would never form!