9. Provocation from the Neighboring Territory's Young Master
One day, an unwelcome guest showed up in our peaceful territory.
"Oh ho, so this is Martel Barony? Just as I'd heard... pastoral."
The man who stepped down from the ornate carriage twisted his wavy mustache as he spoke. Pides Viscount, the lord of the neighboring territory. Officially, he was here to foster goodwill. But anyone could see that was bullshit. He was obviously just here to show off.
And standing arrogantly beside him was a kid who looked just like him—actually, even more punchable.
"Welcome, Viscount!"
My father greeted them with a bright smile. As Pides Viscount walked down the Lord's Castle corridor, he clicked his tongue.
"Hmm, are those cracks in the wall? Oh, or is that the pattern? How very... antique. Feels like a museum."
He was openly mocking how rundown it was. But snide remarks like that never worked on my dad.
"Hahaha! Right? Our castle's a bit old, but it's the sturdiest in the empire! Not a single tile flew off in the last typhoon!"
"...Ah, um. I see."
"And check out this floor. Century-old oak—hear that creak? Adds such charm, doesn't it?"
"...Ahem."
Pides Viscount's face twisted subtly. He'd thrown out barbs, but my dad just parried them with pure sunshine. The viscount was a jerk, but I kinda felt for him.
Heh, Dad's impressive in his own way. Sometimes I wondered if he was really that innocent or just a master strategist.
Pides tried a few more jabs, but Dad's wholesomeness blocked them all. He finally gave up.
"Well, let the kids play on their own. We'll have some tea in the study."
"Sounds good! I've got some favorite leaves!"
Dad led Pides Viscount away. That left just me, Seria, and the viscount's son, Veron, in the parlor.
Silence.
Veron lounged arrogantly on the sofa, eyeing us up. Greasy hair, expensive silk clothes, chin tilted in smug superiority. Classic third-rate villainous side character look.
"Hey."
Veron jerked his chin at Seria.
"Water."
"..."
Seria didn't budge, so Veron scowled.
"Deaf? I said fetch water. What, maid got clogged ears?"
Crunch. My eyebrow twitched. What the hell did this little shit just say?
I wiggled my fingers under the table. Maybe snap his chair leg with magic...
But Seria gently grabbed my hand.
"Young Master, I'm fine."
She calmly poured water from the pitcher into Veron's glass. He didn't even say thanks—just snorted.
"Hmph. What's that at your waist? Wooden sword? A maid playing knight? Get above your station."
"..."
"Know your place. Lowborn scum crawling around."
Okay, nope. This punk wasn't going home today. As I gathered mana, Veron's arrow turned to me.
"And you. Kalian, right?"
He looked me up and down with a sleazy grin.
"Pfft. You're the heir? No wonder the territory's a dump."
"What?"
"Living in the sticks must stink. Clothes are trash. And worst... your face is uglier than mine?"
Wait, that wasn't true. Even if I said so myself, I was better looking. But it was such nonsense, I figured I'd let it slide.
Then—whoosh—the parlor air turned ice-cold. Did someone crank the AC?
Shing. A chilling sound followed.
Seria was drawing her wooden sword from her waist. Why did it sound like a real blade?
Her red eyes flashed like a beast's.
"...I'll annihilate you."
Killing intent. Real killing intent.
"Whoa, oh crap! Seria! Calm down!"
I panicked and grabbed her arm.
"Hold it! If you kill him here, Dad's in trouble!"
"He insulted you, Young Master. Can't leave that alive. I'll rip out his tongue..."
"No! Calm down!"
"Let go. I'll just take his head cleanly."
"That's worse!"
I sweated bullets prying her off. Veron, oblivious or fearless, just gaped like an idiot.
"Wh-what? What're you two doing?"
"Huff... huff..."
I finally calmed Seria and sat her down. She still glared daggers at him. If looks could kill, he'd be Swiss cheese.
Soon after, dinner was served: steak, salad, and coffee for drinks. Normally kids would get juice, but I'd asked the head maid for coffee.
I grinned at Veron's cup. No need for violence when there were other ways.
I flicked my fingers under the tablecloth. Prepped coffee grounds floated up and plopped into his cup. Then a vibration stirred it perfectly.
"Dig in. Local roast from our territory."
I beamed innocently. Veron sipped without suspicion, pinky out like a poser.
"Hmph, country coffee can't be that great."
"Pffft!!!"
He spat like he'd choked. Face turned beet red.
"Cough! Gah! What the hell! Why's it so bitter?!"
"Oh? Can't handle bitter, Young Master?"
I sipped my sweetened cup coolly.
"Kid palate, huh? Bet Veron likes sweet milk."
"Wh-what?! No!"
His pride flared. He couldn't even drink water, just trembled and grabbed the cup again.
"I-I can handle this! The flavor's so... deep! Urk!"
Tears welled as he chugged the poison. Pathetic.
But not done yet. Next, the main stew. I snuck spicy chili powder from the kitchen into his bowl with magic.
"Eat up."
"Hmph."
He scooped a huge spoonful.
Three seconds later.
"Grrrrrraaah!!!"
His eyes bulged. I could almost taste the heat myself.
"What's wrong? Not to your taste?"
"Hnnngh... haah... haah..."
"Oh, can't handle spice? This is mild."
I feigned concern.
"Veron must have a delicate tongue. This is snack level for us."
"Wh-who said I can't?!"
Sweat poured as he shoveled more out of spite.
"T-tastes great! Haah! Haah! Excellent! Gaaah!"
Face swelling, lips ballooning, still bluffing. Seria, watching, let out a soft snicker. She was enjoying it too.
By meal's end, Veron was half-dead. After downing the whole pitcher, he finally noticed something off—us exchanging smirks.
"You... you're messing with me, right?"
He shot up.
"What'd you do to my coffee and food?!"
"Do? Misunderstanding. We ate fine."
"Liar! You were laughing!"
Fuming, he drew his decorative sword.
Oh? Finally?
"Outside! Duel!"
I instantly faked terror.
"D-duel?"
"Yeah! Pay for insulting me! I'm top of my territory's dojo!"
He swung confidently. Decent form, but just fancy footwork from a spoiled brat.
I scratched my head awkwardly.
"Uh, sorry, but I can't win against you."
"What?"
"I'm no athlete. Against an expert like you? I'd be crushed."
I bowed subserviently. His lips curled triumphantly.
"Hmph, fair enough. At least you know your place."
Simpleton. Flatter and he folds.
"But refusing a duel offends knightly honor, right?"
"So what? Wanna take the beating?"
"I'll send a proxy."
I shoved Seria forward.
"My guard knight will fight for me."
"What?"
Veron gawked at her.
"This maid? Joke? Fight a girl?"
"Why? Scared?"
"Sc-scared? Just beneath my level!"
"She's strong. Worried you'll lose...?"
"Don't make me laugh!"
Veron bellowed.
"Fine! I'll humor her. No mercy if she cries."
He smirked, pointing his sword at Seria.
"Maid. Be honored. I'll teach you swordplay myself."
Seria stepped forward blankly, slowly drawing her wooden sword.
"Young Master."
She asked without looking back.
"How far can I go?"
I grinned.
"Just short of killing him."
"Understood."
A cold smile touched her lips. Guess she'd been itching for this too.
Ah, Veron. Rest in peace. Next life, work on that intuition.