There Is Only One Truth
Mary the house elf.
Self-proclaimed finest all-rounder of the Mage's Tower.
Even she, who loved anything that involved freshly baked bread, eggs, or dairy, had an answer ready if someone asked her to name her three favorite foods.
Jam donuts stuffed full of soft, sweet cream, tart and sweet at once.
Freshly baked egg tarts crowned with vanilla ice cream.
And her own proud creation: sweet, pillowy cream puffs.
Out of all the colorful recipes she and (mostly) Karem had produced over the past year, these three had survived a ferocious internal struggle to claim the top spots.
Then, suddenly, a thought struck her.
They were all desserts anyway. Maybe the ranking was meaningless.
Mary reverently lifted the plate of tiramisu before her.
With both hands she slowly rotated it, or raised it from below to above, or reversed the motion, again and again.
She continued her appreciation the way one might study a work of art.
A thick, heavy layer of cream dusted with powder so dark brown it was nearly black.
Beneath it, shortbread cookies stained a deep light brown all the way to their hearts.
And between those cookies, cream cheese of a pale, almost white yellow.
Mary could swear that any house elf who happened past would call the sight sacred, so overwhelming was its presence.
Perhaps even some humans would.
Just who had created such a masterpiece?
Why, herself.
Mary the house elf.
I, the finest worker in Coldon, made this.
She lightly skipped over the fact that Karem had discovered and designed it.
After all, she had been the one to execute it, hadn't she?
Mary felt thoroughly justified.
"So, how long do you plan to keep worshiping it before you actually eat?"
"Please be quiet."
I'm currently appreciating it. Dismissing Gordon's words with a light wave, Mary resumed the viewing that a third party had interrupted.
"...Is it normal to go that crazy over something?"
"Oh, is this your first time seeing that?"
"That reaction suggests it happens often."
"Well, fairly frequently, yeah."
"Hmm."
Gordon pursed his lips and stroked his beard.
It looked decent enough, but was it really worth all that? Well, he'd know once he tried it.
He dug a little from the corner with his fork.
And was impressed.
"Mmm. Oh. Indeed."
Wearing a surprised expression, Gordon took a proper chunk this time.
He quartered the tiramisu, forked up one piece, and swallowed it in a single go.
"This is incredible. I can understand why those two over there are bickering."
"Huh? Bickering?"
"Take a look."
Following the fork Gordon pointed with, Karem turned his head.
"Oh? Not hungry, are we? Then there's no need to eat it now. Put the plate down and hold my fork instead."
Catherine scolding her to eat later if she insisted on staring like that.
"Please be quiet. I'm examining this form a little more carefully."
"Hey. Are you forgetting your relationship with me right now?"
"I'm being more serious about this than anything else."
"That's the problem. You insolent thing!"
And Mary, still absorbed in her appreciation, was locked in an argument with her.
Gordon met Karem's eyes and raised one eyebrow.
So what's this about? The unspoken question was plain.
"If it's like that, it'll drag on a while. Pretty unusual, right?"
"Well, the usual master-servant relationship feels a bit more strict and businesslike."
"Is that so?"
"...No. Come to think of it, it does happen sometimes."
Thinking about it, the relationship wasn't that unusual after all.
The one between Gordon and the (prospective) retainers he'd left behind in Coldon was similar, for one.
"Anyway, tell me more about what happened in the kitchen."
Gordon scooped up another piece of the quartered tiramisu and asked.
"Just what the hell happened?"
"No, that really is the whole story."
He'd simply turned around, and the situation had already unfolded.
"We got this dried and roasted alraune powder—"
"The old man from the herb shop who used to be a priest. Was his name Rowen?"
"Rowan. Rowan. Rowen is a woman's name. Anyway, he took a little of it, so Rowan was watching us make something for a bit, then he went back."
As he spoke, Karem used tongs to lift the shortbread cookies that had been soaking in the dried-alraune infusion and set them on a plate.
This batch was his portion.
"While we were prepping ingredients we heard a scream, and he was melting under his robe."
"What, no other peculiarities? That's all?"
"Well, until the scream we were just prepping ingredients and chatting, you know?"
It's not like we had eyes on the backs of our heads—how were we supposed to figure out the circumstances in that situation?
"You can figure out what's behind you without concentrating that hard, right?"
"That's because of your inhuman physical abilities."
"You can train for it too."
"To Sword Master level?"
"That's pushing it."
"See? There you go."
Karem clicked his tongue at Gordon's thoroughly unreasonable remark and layered another shortbread cookie soaked in the coffee-like brew over the roughly arranged cream cheese.
"But there really wasn't anything different?"
"When we looked at the scream, Rowan was as I said, and the other cooks were handling the situation."
In the end Karem and Mary had hurriedly returned.
That was all there was to it.
Karem declared as much while biting into the finished tiramisu.
Deflated by those words, Gordon swallowed the last remaining piece of tiramisu with a disappointed face.
"Then we'll just have to check it out ourselves."
Having finally won and gotten Mary to move from appreciation to tasting, Catherine tapped the table with her finger and gathered their gazes.
"With your eye for these things, a mercenary like you and I would be far better than these two."
"Well, that's obvious, isn't it?"
"What's the point of being cooped up here with nothing to do but get bored?"
"Didn't you say you still had paperwork left, Mage?"
"Shut that mouth."
Catherine dismissed Gordon's mood-killing remark and rose from her seat.
"Well, getting in under some pretext is all well and good, but..."
Karem bit into his tiramisu.
"How about going a little later?"
"I agree."
Having given up on appreciation and set down her half-eaten plate of tiramisu, Mary agreed as well.
Faced with unexpected refusal, Catherine frowned.
"What are you two complaining about now?"
"...There's still this much tiramisu left?"
Snack time wasn't over yet.
Mary nodded vigorously in affirmation.
"Ah."
At that, Catherine sat back down. In front of her, too, sat a barely touched tiramisu, perfectly intact.
The four of them rose from their seats only a little later—after all the ingredients they'd brought had been completely exhausted.
In Europa, someone dying wasn't anything particularly special.
Especially not in a place like Iceland.
Step beyond the boundaries of city and village and a savage world of beasts, monsters, and bandits awaited. No—even if you stayed tucked away in civilization, if you were unlucky they would come looking for you from that side.
Aside from savage invasions, death was frequent.
Dying in a tavern brawl, dying from picking a fight, freezing to death after passing out drunk outside, getting robbed, and so on.
Of course, if such a thing happened inside a city or village—within the bounds of civilization—it would give several people headaches. Mainly those responsible for the city's security.
So what if it happened in a person of power's residence?
And if that residence was a facility ranking among the top five most important in the entire Seophon Kingdom, beyond just Iceland?
An incident had occurred in the kitchen of Afterglow Fortress.
Upon receiving the report, Steward Wallace immediately issued orders.
Knights and soldiers promptly sealed the fortress and controlled access, while some of them began investigating those involved at the scene.
The steward himself led knights and soldiers directly to the kitchen.
Ordinarily, outsiders like Catherine and her party would also have been subjects of investigation.
But Catherine had moved a step ahead.
The pretext of Catherine and Gordon offering to assist the investigation.
Surveillance of the suspects at the scene, Karem and Mary.
Using that as justification, Catherine accompanied Wallace and led her group into the kitchen.
"Tsk. Unexpected expenses will be incurred."
The moment he entered the kitchen, Wallace clicked his tongue.
"Unexpected expenses, you say?"
"I'm talking about the fortress's dinner."
"Ah, that would be a headache."
At those words, Karem immediately understood the reason.
The massive oven occupying the center of the spacious kitchen.
By now the rotisserie should already have been turning with roasting meat in the hot heat.
But currently it was empty, merely burning slowly.
Upon entering the kitchen, the group first headed to the scene—where Rowan's traces remained.
"Just what kind of poison would make a person melt like this—"
Karem couldn't finish his sentence.
Beside the fallen bowl of doenjang stew, a dark brown stain had dried on the floor, melted beneath the disheveled Three Gods Sect priest's robes.
Gordon twitched his nose at the faint smell.
"This reeks of rotting corpse. Undead?"
"This is indoors. The smell's too faint for that."
"The smell's so faint I can't be sure either."
At Catherine's doubtful question, Gordon closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and shook his head.
"Sir Karem. I heard that you and Lady Atanitas's house elf were at the scene. Is that certain?"
"Uh, yes. We had our backs turned, so we don't know exactly what happened."
"We're interrogating the cooks about that. Could you reenact what happened?"
"Well, it really wasn't anything special."
Karem gestured to Mary to reenact the situation at the time.
Or rather, there really hadn't been anything special.
Asking Mary, obtaining the dried alraune powder from Rowan.
Portioning it out and plopping it into a pot of boiling water.
Waiting for it to steep sufficiently.
And then, with a scream—
"Ah."
"I see."
Karem and Mary realized something at the same time.
The group watching them observed what they were doing.
Karem and Mary left their positions and returned to the spot where Rowan's traces remained.
"The sound of the bowl."
"From the circumstances. This Rowan fellow ate the stew made with bean garum."
And then Mary turned her head to the spot directly opposite the traces.
She looked at the large cauldron of a pot and opened the lid.
"Then the culprit is only one person."
It was full of cold doenjang stew.
"Karem hubae. It's you!"
And she spat out something absurd.
"Hmm, is that so? Wait. What?"
"Who brought the bean garum that went into this stew all the way here?"
"...Well, that was me."
"So you're the culprit."
"No, if you put it that way, the cooks who boiled the stew with it would all be suspects too. And if that were the case, why are the cooks who ate it earlier fine?"
Karem immediately countered that it made no sense. Mary lightly punched her own palm, as if she hadn't thought of that part.
"Stop the useless friendly chitchat right now."
Catherine said so and shook her head as if it were ridiculous.
Then she hopped over Rowan's traces and the bowl to stand in front of the pot.
"Lady Atanitas. Have you guessed something?"
"I'm only just starting to get a faint idea myself. Mary. Cease the socializing as a retainer."
Answering Wallace's question as if she wouldn't hear any objections, Catherine wordlessly waved her hand at Mary to move aside.
When Mary, still holding the lid, stepped aside, Catherine immediately peered into the pot.
"Did you actually find poison?"
"No, with this I'm certain. It's not poison."
"Contractor?"
"I need to taste it, so bring a spoon."
At the completely unexpected words, Mary paused.
Karem seized the opportunity and stepped in for Mary with a spoon, skillfully scooping out some of the completely cooled doenjang stew from the pot and offering it.
Hap.
"...Mm. Just as I thought. That spicy-hot sensation I felt before."
"Spicy-hot sensation?"
"Yes. It's been so long since I tasted it that I thought I was mistaken."
Closing her eyes for a moment to savor the taste, Catherine turned her head toward Karem.
Her gaze was full of absurdity.
"...Holy water?"
She reached an outrageous conclusion.