Relative Diet Menu (3)
By the time Karem returned to his proper place at Catherine's side, she was already starting in on her second giant egg tart, with Mary attending her from close by.
The custard within kept a dense, cream-like texture with just a touch of cheese, while the pastry—layered and loaded with butter—managed to be both crisp and soft at once, finished with a light dusting of powdered sugar.
Catherine was casually devouring something whose sheer bulk would have easily exceeded an ordinary adult man's entire daily calorie burn.
"Lady Atanita."
"Mmm. Back, little one?"
"Yes. They said the explanation so far was more than enough."
"So I don't need to keep an eye on him myself?"
Catherine asked with a flicker of suspicion even as Mary wiped powdered sugar from her lips. Godwin was being forced onto a regulated diet, after all, and forced restraint always bred rebellion. What she was really asking about was the need for a minder.
"No. I don't think it'll be necessary."
Karem shook his head.
"Compared to the bland, flavorless dishes he used to eat, the food he's getting now isn't something he can just give up."
"True enough. Even from where I was sitting, plain salad, boiled meat, and a few pieces of fruit looked pretty grim."
"Besides, there's already one watcher on duty."
"Hm?"
Victor, the attendant, was down below—yet Catherine followed the direction of Karem's subtle nod, spotted the figure at the end of it, and had no choice but to concede the point.
"The Duchess is keeping an eye on him. Well, she always was rather intense about these things."
"I expect she'll stay like that until Sir Victor returns."
"Hmm. It's a banquet. She could have put the diet off until tomorrow."
"That's the sort of luxury only someone like you can afford, Lady Atanita—someone who quietly draws envy from every man and woman in Felwinter Castle."
Karem carefully transferred the last remaining giant egg tart from the table onto a plate. Careful not to let the powder fall.
"Haa, I really can't pull off pastry work like this. Mary."
"You've been on duty and your meal's already late. Please eat first."
"That's what I'm doing right now. So how much has Lady Atanita had so far?"
"Hmm, let's see."
Mary folded her handkerchief, tucked it into her pocket, and ran a quick eye over the table.
"She's tasted every main dish that's come out at least once. The ones she really liked—like that porchetta that could stir the hearts of every man in Europa—she had three helpings of."
"Wow. Seriously?"
"And if you add up all the desserts I fed her in between, the total amount—"
"Enough! Why would you even want to know that?!"
If left alone she looked ready to list every single thing that had been eaten. A strange flush of embarrassment made Catherine cut Mary off at once. But the message had already gotten through to Karem loud and clear.
"Every time I see it I'm amazed. Where does it all even go in that body of yours?"
"Well, reaching the rank of Archmage has its side effects—maybe all the thinking I do. I get hungry again almost immediately. Anyway, you've been hearing this for a whole year now and you still haven't gotten used to it?"
"How am I supposed to get used to it?"
Of course Karem knew people who ate like elephants born into human bodies—famous competitive eaters, from his previous life's memories. Usually they had oversized stomachs or shortened digestive tracts, but Catherine showed none of those signs. Where in that frame was there even room for that much food?
It was genuinely wondrous every single time he saw it. Catherine's appetite remained an eternal mystery to him.
As expected of fantasy. Never fails to deliver.
Ordinarily he would have been serving as Catherine's attendant, but thanks to her consideration he had time to fill his own empty stomach. Starting with the giant egg tart, he finally began his meal.
And as Karem carved into the porchetta, his eyes drifted naturally toward the center of the great hall—where Gordon, under the enthusiastic urging of everyone around him, was draining an entire barrel of beer.
"You think this little bit's gonna get me drunk? Not a chance, you bastarrrrrds—"
"As expected of a Sword Master! He downed the whole barrel!"
"Damn it! Are Sword Masters monsters or what?!"
"Everyone who bet on him failing, pay up already!"
It looked like hazing at first glance, yet the reactions of the people surrounding Gordon were pure fan adoration—like the crowd for a popular wrestler. Some of them had clearly made drinking bets; they tossed crowns and shillings into the helmet a servant held out, grumbling but without any real irritation.
"Doesn't seem like he's being bullied, at least."
"Hm? Who are you talking about?"
"The star of the banquet over there. I thought he might be going through some initiation ritual."
"Hmm. Well, it's my first time seeing something like that too."
Karem had always figured Gordon was a bottomless drinker on top of being a bottomless eater. How else could the man have been eating, drinking, chatting, and showing off his strength without a single break since the banquet began?
"Or wait—maybe the chatting and the strength contests are the breaks?"
"You can't measure a Sword Master by ordinary standards."
"Lady Atanita?"
"Do you think that level of power comes free? I've told you before. Before magic even comes into it, the reinforced body has to support it—and that kind of output needs fuel."
Catherine had cleared the table, pulled out parchment and a quill, then paused to wag a finger at Karem.
"It's the same for mages. Using your head burns through a ridiculous amount of food. You think mages just drop dead for no reason when they open a grimoire beyond their station?"
"Uh, I thought the grimoire just got offended—like, 'How dare a worm like you try to read me?'—and killed them."
"Ah, well, with high-rank grimoires that does happen sometimes."
"Eugh. Terrifying."
In the end, whether you used your body or your mind, you needed the calories to match. Famous athletes and bodybuilders were known for putting away thousands—sometimes tens of thousands—of calories a day. Even ordinary farm laborers ate staggering amounts; Karem had lived that reality himself as a serf.
So why had he been catching rats and bugs and roaming the forest?
Because if they'd fed him properly, he wouldn't have needed to risk the dangerous woods. He still would have eaten the rats and bugs, though. Protein was precious.
Gordon stepped away for a moment. Once Karem's own stomach was reasonably full, he slowed his eating—and his gaze landed on Catherine, still bent over her parchment in complete concentration even after all this time.
"Hm? What is it, little one? Curious about this?"
"No, I just figured you'd be getting hungry again by now, but you're still clinging to that parchment, so I wondered."
"Ahh. It's the cold-weather potion I've been working on since last winter."
"Oh—the recipe?"
"That's right."
"Oh. Finally."
Karem stared at the parchment with open curiosity and anticipation. The Red Witch's Finger project that the Duke of Iceland had been pushing so ambitiously—the fruit that would dominate markets across all of Iceland—was right in front of him.
"I was stuck on one particular point. And thanks to you, little one, I think I've finally found the clue."
"Me?"
"Yes."
Catherine tapped the parchment with her quill.
"If I reduce the ingredients, the duration shortens. If I increase them, the body temperature shoots past the safe limit and the user collapses. Change the ingredients entirely and it becomes an aristocrat-only product. Honestly."
"Ah, yeah—price really does matter."
"And then I saw Young Master Godwin's table."
"You got inspiration from his provisional diet?"
"More precisely, it was the Giant's Rose that sparked it."
Catherine let out a sigh of pure exasperation.
"That's right. If reducing the ingredients weakens the effect, just simmer the solution down gently to concentrate it, then increase the single-dose volume. Why didn't I think of something so simple?"
"Uh… thank you? Does that mean there's a bonus coming?"
"Yes. Look forward to it."
"Oh?"
Catherine never made empty promises to anyone. That meant Karem really could look forward to something.
At least it won't be money.
That much he could swear to. He was already drowning in pay, various bonuses, and the strange phenomenon where any money he spent somehow found its way right back to him. Disposal was the real problem. If only he had the hyper-stimulating games or novels from his previous life—this world's versions were so bland they bored him stiff. In the end his hobbies and spending always circled back to cooking. And whenever he poured money into recipes and experiments, the money quietly returned.
So… a magic tool, then?
It made sense. He still remembered the conversation about the self-defense magic tools Catherine had pulled out in a hurry before charging out of the castle. A magic tool was by far the most likely reward. In that case, the proper thing for a gift recipient was to keep his mouth shut and wait quietly.
His heart was already racing the way it had when they visited the treasure vault.
After resting and chatting, Karem's stomach had emptied a little, and he was about to resume eating when Gordon—who had briefly vanished from the great hall—reappeared. He accepted a few greetings in passing, then dropped heavily into the seat prepared at the high table, right next to Karem.
"Phew! Emptied out all that beer water, so now it's time to fill the belly again…"
"You drank like a whale and you're saying there's still room for food in there?"
"You're still young, Karem—you don't get it. Beer empties out of the stomach fast. It whets the appetite, and it's liquid. Hey—can we get fresh plates for the food that's gone cold? Ah, skip the desserts."
While he had been away, the cooled dishes had been cleared. Moments later, freshly cooked, steaming hot food arrived. Gordon polished off every last dessert he'd set aside and then continued straight into the main meal without missing a beat.
"Honestly. Never thought I'd overshoot the goal this hard."
"What goal? Getting the title?"
"Yeah. To be honest, I'm still a little stunned."
Gordon wiped his mouth after draining a heavily peppered clam chowder in one go.
"My whole dream used to be finding a spot under some reasonably high-ranking noble, getting one little fief and one pretty, well-behaved wife, then holing up in a castle and living the easy life."
"Uh, for a Sword Master that's an awfully modest dream."
"No, opportunities themselves weren't that rare, actually. The problem was that this skill of mine kept getting in the way of the dream."
"Ahhh. I get it."
A Sword Master was a Sword Master. Coming from lowly serf-mercenary stock meant he wasn't tangled up in the complicated interests of the powerful. That was a plus for the people in power—but for someone who just wanted a peaceful, carefree life, it was pure interference. Even if he refused, there would always be people clinging and begging him to reconsider.
"Yeah, well. If every power player out there were like His Excellency—no, like my lord—I'd have achieved that dream ages ago."
"So that's why you left Europa and came all the way here?"
"If I'm being honest? Yeah. Before I came to the Seophon Kingdom, some noble from the kingdom where I took a job—won't name names—tried to rope me in by shoving his own daughter into my bedroom."
"…A pregnancy attack?"
"Pffha. That sort of thing wasn't even a one-off. But I never dreamed they'd seal off the entire space around the building with magic. Just thinking about it still gives me cold sweats."
Hahahahahaha! Gordon laughed heartily, as if it were nothing at all, while slicing into a Wellington steak swimming in gravy.
"Is that really something to laugh about so cheerfully?"
"Hahahahahaha!"
Gordon kept laughing emptily until Karem finally gave up and went back to focusing on his own meal.
Summer was drawing to a close.