Chapter 2 — The Homecoming
"Young Master Bayul!"
The moment the carriage pulled up in front of the Carrington residence on Saturday afternoon, Rita came bounding out, her apron dusted thick with white powder from whatever she'd been up to moments before.
"Rita, did you have a good week?"
"Of course! How did your exam go, young master? Was it difficult?"
"Not really. I studied really hard this time around."
At Bayul's confident answer, Rita beamed with delight.
"Wow! You'll definitely pass! His Grace will be over the moon when he hears!"
"I hope you're right."
"You've arrived, young master."
Behind Rita, Ian approached and gave Bayul a formal bow.
"Sir Ian, has there been no word from my father yet?"
The last message had been the notice that a full-scale war was imminent. Nothing had come since. Bayul couldn't help worrying that the fighting might drag on longer than anyone expected.
"If word had arrived, you would have been the first to know, young master. Please, just be patient a little longer."
Waiting weighed on Ian just as heavily. Whenever battle broke out, the vanguard had always been his place, as befit the Full Moon Knight Order.
But now that he served as Bayul's personal knight, the battlefield was no longer where he belonged. At times he missed his old life, yet he understood only too well the heart of a lord entrusting his son to him, and so he forced the longing down.
"Come inside quickly, young master. Everyone's waiting for you."
"Waiting for me? Who?"
"Who else? Death and his brothers. They're probably drooling on themselves by now."
Drooling?
Bayul tilted his head at Rita's incomprehensible remark, and Ian chuckled and murmured an explanation.
"Bar finally succeeded again."
"Succeeded... don't tell me...?"
"Yes. He's laid out a whole table of it, and Miss Rita has decreed that no one touches a single bite before you arrive. The rest of them are exercising superhuman restraint as we speak."
Bayul could picture it without looking. Setting aside the gluttony, Bar had managed to cook something edible again, so naturally they'd be dying to see it for themselves.
"Then we should hurry."
None of the three brothers had been in sight, and he'd wondered if they'd stepped out on some errand—but with good news like this waiting, his feet suddenly itched to move.
"Oh, and there's a guest."
Just before Bayul stepped into the dining room, Ian explained, as if only now remembering.
"He says he's Death's younger brother."
"...Death's brother?"
He had a bad feeling about this. His brothers were all demons, weren't they? Did that mean the demon count had just gone from three to four?
Ian nodded at Bayul's questioning look, and from his expression, Bayul's guess was clearly right.
So who had they dragged in this time? With Death's three brothers, Bayul had long since grown more comfortable around them than with anyone else in the world, but the arrival of someone new still set his nerves on edge. He decided he would have to extract a promise that no more demons would be added to the household.
"Oh! Young Master! You're finally here!"
The moment Bayul entered the dining room, Death's brothers greeted him with wild enthusiasm, waving him quickly into a seat.
"I hear Bar's found his touch again?"
"Aw, 'found his touch,' he says. You're embarrassing me."
Bar's mouth stretched from ear to ear at the compliment, even as he affected modesty. Once again he had laid out a veritable feast—so many dishes that not an inch of the huge table went empty.
"Congratulations all the same. Now you can keep your remaining arm, and that puts my mind at ease."
"Bar, big brother, don't tell me that arm almost got cut off too?"
Though no introduction had been made yet, the man had seized Bayul's attention from the instant he entered the dining room.
Judging by his seated height, he must stand nearly as tall as Bar. His frame was slender, but one look said every inch of him was muscle.
Like Death's brothers, he was dressed head to toe in black, and his hairstyle was rather distinctive—a topknot coiled round atop his crown, pinned with a silver hairpin adorned with a skull.
That skull... why does it look so familiar?
"Commander-in-Chief— er, I mean, Death, big brother. Isn't this going too far? What crime did Bar commit that you'd hold that over his head? I saw with my own two eyes that he didn't do it. This is outrageous!"
Even Bayul could feel Death's mood souring. The newcomer seemed utterly unaware that one must never, ever cross Death in front of food.
"Agos."
Amon called his name in warning, but Agos, visiting the human realm for the first time in ages, was far too worked up to listen. His already nonexistent tact had gone from bad to worse.
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Bar has been toiling day and night out of pure devotion to serve you a delicious meal, and you treat him like this!"
"...And you saw all this effort, did you?"
"Pardon?"
"The effort. Did you watch him making it?"
Death's tone turned sharp. With Bayul's arrival and the promise of a meal finally within reach, the joy that had been swelling in him began to sink.
"I told you last time he pulled this stunt and then stabbed me in the back. Did I, or didn't I?"
"W-well, I did hear about that, but... cooking's just like that sometimes. Some days it goes well, some days it doesn't..."
"Then why don't you try?"
"M-me?"
Death's icy gaze made Agos's voice shrink to a crawl.
"I'll give you ten days. Pull it off in ten, and I'll call you 'big brother' for the rest of my life."
"...You mean that?"
"Four witnesses right here. You don't want to hear me call you big brother?"
Of course he wanted to. Where was the comfort in a life of endless beatings and threats? If that arrangement could be flipped, he'd do absolutely anything.
"But if you fail—you know the deal?"
"...No, I don't."
"Tch."
Death's gesture was clean and simple. The finger drawn across his own throat was perfect. The warning was clear: not an arm this time—a head would roll.
When Death said he'd do something, he did it. He never spoke hollow words. And Bayul could not allow such a thing to happen under his own roof.
"Hello! I'm Bayul. It's an honor to meet you!"
At Bayul's sudden greeting, Agos—who had been sweating and rolling his eyes in silence—let out the breath he'd been holding and smiled awkwardly.
"Uh, hello..."
"Your manners."
At Amon's pointed remark, Agos hesitated a moment, then tried again.
"Hello... there... young... master..."
"It feels awkward now, but it'll come naturally with practice."
"A little discomfort is a fair price for good food."
Despite Bar's and Amon's encouragement, Agos's expression refused to soften. He'd tagged along out of pique—his brothers kept slipping away and leaving him behind—but being made to use honorifics with a human had his tongue tied in knots.
"You're the God of War, aren't you?"
The name Agos was one Bayul could never forget. Hadn't he received treatment at that very god's temple for more than a decade?
He'd never imagined a day would come when they'd meet face to face, and yet now that they had, it felt almost like greeting an old friend. Perhaps that was why his fear of the new demon had melted away before he noticed it was gone.
"That's right. I mean—that is correct."
"Welcome to my home. I hope you'll rest comfortably while you're here."
"I'd like that, I mean, I too would like that, but Big Brother is glaring at me, so..."
"Hm? Why hasn't anyone started eating? What's the holdup?"
Just as Bayul and Agos were exchanging pleasantries, Rita came in from the kitchen.
"Don't tell me the food's gone cold and you've all lost your appetite?"
"No, Rita. We were just about to start. Come sit down."
"Yes! Young master, you must have this after your meal!"
The mysterious white powder on Rita's clothes, it turned out, had been powdered sugar. She'd made a strawberry mille-feuille just for him.
"What? Where's ours?"
"We ran short on strawberries."
At Rita's brisk reply, Death wore the very picture of devastation. He'd watched Bayul receive special treatment countless times before, but this time it was uniquely hard to bear. The scent and sight of that strawberry mille-feuille tormented him.
"Anyway, my prayers worked again, didn't they?"
Rita took her seat, and the meal began in earnest. Just as she claimed, Bar's food was back to proper flavor. Everyone ate heartily and without complaint, and Bar broke into bright smiles again and again.
"The God of Despair must have granted my prayers this time too. Though I do worry it'll wear off too quickly, like last time."
"Is it really your prayers, Rita? No other explanation comes to mind at all?"
The truth was that the God of Despair sat right there among them. He was, after all, the very man who'd cut off Bar's arm over a botched meal. The notion that such a being had answered a prayer was absurd. Something was being overlooked—something was hiding in plain sight.
"Oh, you know how it is, young master. Follow the recipe exactly and it still comes out strange—what else could it be but prayer?"
"By the way, if you're from Hamilton, shouldn't you be worshipping the God of War?"
Agos, who had been intermittently crying out 'Wow, this is actually delicious!' between bites, cut in abruptly. His own faithful follower praying at another god's temple clearly did not sit well with him.
"Excuse me, youngest. 'If you're from there'? I'll have you know I'm your senior."
"Senior?"
"That's right! We're both servants, but I'm the one who runs this entire household—practically the head maid. So kindly watch that tongue of yours from now on."
Rita was already on edge, what with the household suddenly growing without warning. The Death brothers worked hard when given tasks, but there was something about them that inexplicably grated on her, and the prospect of adding yet another brother to the roster held no appeal whatsoever.
"And since we're on the subject—what exactly are you good for? Death handles the cleaning, Bar runs the kitchen, and Amon tends the garden. Any special skills?"
"Special skills? Ah—you mean things I'm good at? Well, what I'm good at is war."
The instant the thoughtless words left Agos's mouth, Rita's face darkened—and in that very moment, fire erupted from the back of his head.
THWACK!
"Didn't I tell you to quit fooling around?!"
The one delivering the punishment was Death. He passed a dish along and spoke in his brother's stead.
"Spoiled as the baby of the family, he grew up without learning a single useful thing. Give him any random chore and he'll learn it well enough."
"What?! You don't know how to do anything? What do you think this place is, a soup kitchen? If you want to eat, you work for it, fair and square! Our food budget is already astronomical as it is!"
"I was going to go easy on you since you're my own follower, but you're really stingy, you know that? Fine—I'll work! Give me anything and I'll do it well!"
SMACK!
"Ow! Bar, big brother! Did you just hit me?"
"Show respect to your teacher."
Since when does she glare at people like that? Who does she think she is—want to die?
As killing intent blazed off Bar, Agos was momentarily dumbfounded. He was so aggrieved he could have screamed—why was this human girl persecuting him like this?
I knew coming here was a mistake.
To the grumbling Agos, Bayul wished he could offer one piece of advice, should the moment present itself:
The person you most need to keep happy is that very human girl. Even Bayul could scarcely imagine what terrible things might befall anyone who crossed her.
"Something's bound to blow up around here sooner or later."
Ian, apparently thinking along the same lines, muttered to himself mid-meal.
"Young Master Bayul! His Grace the Duke has sent a letter!"
It was near the end of the meal. The Lisai and Levi brothers, who almost never appeared unless summoned on urgent business, hurried into the dining room.
Bayul sprang to his feet and tore open the letter. The tension frozen onto his face melted away line by line as he read—and at last, a smile spread across his lips.
The war was finally over.
The Dwyer Empire had at last declared its surrender, and his father planned to return to the capital soon. With the homecoming, Bayul too had been ordered to present himself at the palace.
"Young master!"
No words were needed—the mood alone told everyone what the letter said. At the news of the Empire's victory, Rita buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Tears of relief and of joy.