A Heavy Proposal and the Price (2)
Once the consultation ended and they began settling the schedule, the hour was already late; the sun had long since set.
It was nearly time for the evening banquet to begin at the competition venue. Karem declined Iona’s invitation to accompany him. He was hungry, yes, but the fatigue weighed far heavier. He had endured far too much in a single day.
Iona nodded as though that were only natural and suggested they at least walk together as far as their paths overlapped. Karem did not refuse that much.
"I’d love to dig into some mammoth meat this very moment, but it’s far too late to arrange anything tonight."
"Shall I pass word to the kitchen tomorrow, then?"
"No. My attendant priest… no. Tch. Whom to send…"
"Or I could cook it for you myself."
"Oh? You would?"
"Yes. I’ll at least make certain the overall flavor is sound."
Iona’s face brightened as he nodded, his thick beard rustling against his plump neck and the fabric of his priestly robes.
"By the way, Karem. I should have asked sooner—how is your body holding up?"
"Me? Nothing much beyond some aching joints. It hurts far less than it did at first."
"Hmm. Glad to hear you’re all right. Do you have any idea how shocked I was? I take my eyes off you for a moment and you’ve grown a full ten years. And all because of the Curse of Aging?"
"I really almost died."
Karem’s dry laugh faded as his gaze grew distant, the horrific pain of mere hours earlier rising unbidden in his mind.
Iona pressed a hand to his forehead as though the mere thought gave him a headache.
"I know of it from knowledge alone. You were as good as dead. Even with two archmages present, that should not have been enough."
"Perhaps thanks to Lady Skadi’s blessing?"
The words were perfectly reasonable and pleasant to a man of faith, so Iona nodded again and again.
"Indeed—otherwise she would never have entrusted you with such a sacred relic. The Mistress of Winter seems quite interested in you."
"Seems so."
"She snatches up every offering the moment you make it, bestows a relic of that magnitude, and even awakens your divine power—"
Iona’s eyes flashed as if something had suddenly clicked. He leaned in and whispered so that only the startled, blinking Karem could hear.
"Just… out of pure curiosity. May I ask?"
"Uh, of course."
"Right. Just in case. Truly just wondering—while you were unconscious… did you receive an audience?"
Should I even say this? Yet Iona already seemed more than half-convinced, his beard twitching as he prepared to marvel.
No—Iona was certain.
Understanding the viciousness of the Curse of Aging required only knowledge. Two archmages, a magnificent sacred relic, and that mysterious pale-green virgin life force that had bloomed in the greenhouse? He had experienced the first two. Impressive, yet insufficient. But if, as he suspected, the hand of Skadi of the Three Gods had intervened? Then the sudden awakening of such immense divine power made perfect sense.
"Uh, I didn’t see either of them in person."
"Oh."
Iona looked disappointed—then tilted his head as if he had misheard. “Didn’t see them”? And “either of them”? Could it be?
"But I clearly heard both their voices—"
"Both of them? The Ascended One and the Mistress? Heavens, how truly regrettable. Regrettable indeed. To possess the faith and divine power to hear both their voices separately… Might you tell me what they said?"
"Uh."
Iona understood Karem’s awkwardness well enough. Of course—Tutatis and Skadi themselves whispering gospel into his ear. One could hardly speak of such a thing lightly. Iona had only poked out of curiosity.
If I tell him, won’t he just be disappointed?
It was the words of gods, yes. But neither holy nor sacred enough to warrant that joy.
—I’ve been watching with great interest, yet you make my guts twist instead. And you call yourself a reincarnator? Do you not know the feelings you hold for your master?—
—L-Let go of me! I threw you a sacred relic to block it, yet you go and take the curse yourself—my guts are about to—wait. Actually… this might be better this way—
If anything, they had sounded like viewers on the verge of exploding while watching a drama about to drift into frustrating territory. Saying that outright would be far too irreverent. Especially with Iona looking at him with such expectant eyes. And lying felt wrong too.
"It felt holy and sacred just hearing them. But the content is… well…"
Karem decided to hedge.
"Indeed, the gospel of the gods heard in dreams is often hard to remember upon waking. Hmm. So it truly was whispered into your ear."
"Yes. It felt sacred just listening. At first I wasn’t sure, but it was the same as Tutatis’s voice I heard at last year’s Winter-Ascend, so I realized later."
"Mmm. Truly a shame."
Iona made no effort to hide his admiration, twisting his beard as he kept glancing at Karem.
"Truly a shame."
"What exactly is so regrettable?"
"Do you truly have no interest in the faith, Karem? I guarantee you would rise quickly to become a priest. Considering your age and divine power, even a high priest’s seat. Or—"
"I appreciate the offer and the kind words. But I truly have no interest in the faith."
His current life, so utterly different from a previous one that had held no connection to religion whatsoever, was fascinating—but that was all. Karem genuinely had no interest in that direction. Of course he was grateful for the relics and the attention, yet if anyone asked whether he would devote himself entirely to religion, he would firmly shake his head.
"The grace I received from Lady Catherine is simply too great."
"Hmm… Indeed, Karem. Hearing what you’ve told me, I understand."
Suddenly Iona’s eyes curved into a smile.
"But you have other feelings as well, don’t you?"
"Looks like our paths split here. I’ll be heading in."
Without answering, Karem quickened his pace past him. The lukewarm gaze at his back vanished the moment he left Winterhome’s main keep.
"Haah, damn. It was already bugging me nonstop."
Karem did not slow his steps as he scrubbed at his face. The heat there cooled quickly. Yes—he did not deny it inwardly. And once he became aware of it, a certain embarrassment set in. Then, when he calmed, that unfamiliar fluffy feeling would surge up again, nagging at him. But he had no intention of turning away from it. Iona had said that looking away was the worst thing. And while he might not agree with everything else, he firmly agreed with that advice. Better to face it head-on than drag things out with excuses… how to put it.
Still, I’ll need some kind of chance or opportunity.
While he pondered, he arrived at the Mage’s Tower. A mage sitting in the first-floor lobby scribbling documents looked up and tilted his head.
"Hm? No appointments at this hour."
"Ah, it’s me, Karem."
"Hm? Karem? Wait—so the rumors were true?"
"Yep. Imagine how shocked the person himself is."
Fortunately the Mage’s Tower’s defensive magic and traps did not judge by appearance, so Karem passed the flustered mage without trouble and climbed the stairs.
"I ate so much earlier, yet I’m hungry again."
Karem clutched his rumbling stomach. Until he had been walking with Iona it had been fine, but now a deep emptiness yawned in his gut. Honestly, he had wolfed down what must have been several kilograms of mammoth meat that afternoon, yet he was already hungry. His own body astonished him. He wondered if his brain was simply mistaken about hunger, yet the empty ache squeezing his stomach was vivid.
Come to think of it, was it similar around this age in my previous life?
It was entirely plausible. After all, growing children supposedly eat their own body weight, and teenagers can chew through rebar, right? Then of course he would be hungry even after eating that much. Wondering what to eat, he headed for the cold storage beside the kitchen—only to turn at the presence he sensed inside.
"Junior Karem. You’ve arrived."
"Mary? And Lady Catherine?"
Catherine, seated at the table, gave a small wave of her hand, while Mary set a basket brimming with ingredients down on the table.
"Shouldn’t you be at the competition hall?"
"I’m too tired to feel like going all the way there. And my condition is hi—"
"Hi?"
"Hic—choo!"
Catherine’s body jerked as she whipped her head aside. A cute sneeze that suited her looks. Come to think of it, even on the way back to Coldon, Catherine had not looked well to Karem. She had sneezed in the greenhouse too. Glancing at Mary just in case, he received a confirming nod.
"Yes. Our contractor has a bit of a cold."
"What kind of disgraceful sight is this in front of my retainers?"
"Haven’t we already seen everything there is to see?"
"What was that?"
"I didn’t say anything."
Mary smoothly ignored Catherine’s sharp, sniffling glare, but another barrier stood in her way.
"Then I suppose I’d better prepare dinner."
"…Oh no."
"Come now, step aside."
"I should have prepared sooner…!"
"It’s late, so I won’t hog it all to myself."
Blocking Mary’s inevitable attempt to steal the work, Karem quickly checked the groceries she had brought.
"At a glance: deboned chicken, onion, carrot, garlic, celery, a bottle of wine, lemon, orange, lime? Cinnamon? Don’t tell me you’ve done my work for me again?"
"Tch."
"Just tell me straight what you were planning to make."
"Ingredients for chicken soup and mulled wine."
"Oh."
He finally understood what the ingredients were for. And here he had thought it was some cinnamon fruit sauce. His face automatically scrunched up. Mulled wine—commonly called vin chaud—he had no complaints about. But chicken soup? He understood. Just as in his previous life people commonly ate samgyetang when they had a cold, a similar notion existed here.
But that stuff doesn’t even taste good.
He remembered trying chicken stew out of curiosity a couple of times in his past life. And being disappointed. So disappointed that the memory was still vivid in Karem’s mind. Despite the advertising comparing it to samgyetang, it had been nothing more than plain, watery broth with boiled chicken shredded along the grain and a heap of vegetables thrown in. He had clicked his tongue the moment he tasted it, thinking Westerners must be out of their minds. If only they had at least made a stock by simmering the bones…
Karem whipped his head around just in case. Mary tilted hers at the rapid change in his expression.
"Just asking to be sure. Do you have stock?"
"Of course. I put it on to boil the moment I finished unpacking."
She pointed to a pot on the hearth. When opened, it revealed lukewarm but viscous fat and a rich, cloudy broth beneath which floated vegetable trimmings, chicken bones, wings, skin, and large bone chunks.
"Your preparedness really is thorough."
"Hmph. Since stock is the foundation of soups and stews, it’s only natural. I roasted some mammoth bone with the chicken offal before boiling it."
"Mammoth bone? That does sound interesting… but if you’d pre-boiled the meat too, the chicken soup would have been even more tender and delicious. Why only the stock?"
"I forgot because I was busy making the clothes you’re wearing."
"Oh."
Karem looked down at the clothes on his body and bowed his head in genuine thanks.
BOOOOOOM—!!
An explosion. The following tremor shook the kitchen. The epicenter was somewhere on the floor below. As metallic clangs rang from the shelves, Karem clamped the stock pot’s lid tight and braced it with his body so it wouldn’t tip. Ordinarily an explosion and tremor in a facility would mean invaders or an emergency requiring evacuation, yet neither ordinary Karem, nor Mary, nor Catherine did more than steady the nearby dishes and baskets. Instead the three slowly turned their gazes toward the kitchen floor.
"Ah, of all times for a blasting to happen."
Mary fretted, yet she looked so delighted she didn’t know what to do with herself.
"Even if the explosion made more work, aren’t you a bit too happy?"
"How could that be, Contractor? My heart is filled only with the sense of duty to clean the now-messed-up spaces of the tower."
And of course joy was in there too. That much was obvious without looking.
"Junior Karem."
"I can guess what you’re about to say. Go ahead."
"Though it truly pains me, I shall leave the contractor’s dinner preparations entirely to you."
"No, this was my job to begin with—"
"Then, farewell."
Mary vanished from the spot with a soft poof.