A Gift for Only One Person (2)

Jack Frost was a monster.

Among monsters, he had heard they were classified as Vermin.

Vermin was a catch-all term for anything that inflicted catastrophic damage on nature, civilization, or people. The list was dominated by creatures that formed swarms, living or otherwise. Naturally it also included certain monsters that did or did not travel in groups. In short, it was simply another way of saying “pest” or “vermin.”

And with pests and vermin, early response was everything.

In that sense, even Karem—standing idle at Catherine’s side—could see at a glance that the Jack Frost subjugation, or rather the pest-control operation, was proceeding with almost ridiculous ease.

People filled the command post and still formed lines outside it. Soldiers and adventurers kept pouring into the village without end. Evidence of successful kills piled high inside the temporary headquarters. Day by day the clamor beyond the village walls dwindled. There was no need for Catherine, who sat stamping documents and reading books, to lift a finger. Her role was pure figurehead.

After her subordinate mages spent half a day thoroughly surveying the Jack Frost outbreak zone, Catherine was finally able to declare the operation concluded. The entire affair had taken three days.

Karem climbed into the carriage bound for Coldon together with Catherine and Mary (who had joined them early the next morning). The sun had only just begun to set.

“Hah. I still can’t believe it.”

Catherine turned a dark-colored salmon bread over and over in her fingers, the corners of her eyes twitching as she wore an expression too complicated to name.

“Have I been too obsessed with the word ‘curse’ all this time? There was always a way to simply go around the problem instead of insisting on solving it head-on.”

“You look extremely happy, my lady.”

“Who, me? Who?”

“Well, the only snack you’ve eaten for the past three days has been salmon bread.”

Catherine took a neat bite out of the head and waved her free hand as if to say don’t talk nonsense. She was still eating nothing but the roasted Alrune custard salmon bread she could pick up with her fingers, yet she acted like that.

“Congratulations, Contractor.”

Mary, cradling a basket in her arms, spoke with an air of profound discomfort, as though she had just downed an entire kettle of Alrune’s Tear.

“So what exactly is bothering you?”

“Bothering me? Whatever do you mean, Karem Hubae? I am currently as serene as when I am eating custard pudding.”

“Did you leave Tower business unfinished? No… that doesn’t seem right.”

If that had been the case she would have shown the same reaction on the road to Afterglow Fortress, yet as far as Karem remembered she had not. Which meant something else was at work.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Catherine chided him lightly, as if wondering why he was even asking.

“She simply dislikes that I picked up this pastry myself.”

“What? Over something that small…”

No—on second thought, that was probably exactly it.

The only times Mary, who was otherwise expressionless and unflappable, openly radiated discomfort bordering on murderous intent were when her workload decreased. She had done it for quite a while after kitchen duties were stolen from her at their first meeting; she had done it when Narke cleaned the Tower; and whenever Karem unthinkingly tried to tidy a room or finish the kitchen cleanup, her aura of pure annoyance and killing intent became unmistakable.

“Yeah… that tracks.”

“Tsk.”

Karem had no choice but to accept it as half-confirmed. She was openly clicking her tongue right in front of him; of course it was the answer.

“But still—just because she picked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up one salmon bread?”

“‘Just’? How can you say such a thing!”

“You’re raising your voice over that?”

“Is it not only natural?”

Mary whipped her head around with a sharp whoosh to glare at the half-eaten dark salmon bread in Catherine’s hand. It was the exact same killing-intent stare Karem had seen on the first day.

“My Contractor cannot even properly eat a single dish without someone waiting on her hand and foot if she is to have a real meal.”

“Hey, minion. That wording is a little off.”

“For such a flaw to appear in my otherwise perfectly satisfying house-elf life… truly lamentable.”

“You’re bad-mouthing me right to my face, aren’t you? Hey!”

“Why must you take food into your own hands—even if only a tiny portion? My life of feeding you like a baby bird was so satisfying!”

“You little—!”

Come to think of it, every previous contractor Mary had served had either refused to eat or become so absorbed in research that some had literally starved to death. Was this workaholism a rebound from those days? Someone had once said she was especially extreme even among Brownies.

While Karem absently nodded at the thought, Catherine’s hand clamped onto the Brownie’s head like an eagle’s talons seizing prey.

“I! Am! Your! Master! Master!”

“M-my head! My heaaaad!”

Catherine stuffed the remaining salmon bread into her mouth in one bite; a vein stood out on her forehead, and vicious tendons bulged on the hand crushing Mary’s skull. The pain seemed a bit excessive, though.

“Aren’t you using a little too much force?”

“I agree, Contractor. Therefore at least remove the reinforcement magic—!”

She was in that much pain yet still completely expressionless. Wait—she’d used reinforcement magic too?

“Oho. So you still have breath to speak.”

“Ooooh, oooooooh!”

Even while twitching, Mary never once dropped the basket clutched in her arms. Truly admirable professional spirit.

Something about the scene felt familiar. Specifically, something that had happened in the Mage’s Tower under similar circumstances.

Karem fretted for a moment over the half-formed sense of déjà vu. In that interval Catherine decided the punishment was sufficient and withdrew her hand. Only after watching Mary stagger did the memory finally surface.

“How do you feel about the second round of discipline?”

“I thought my head was splitting into five pieces.”

“Are you all right?”

“No. This agony must be erased with a sweet snack.”

She had been in that much pain, yet she was still going to eat? Despite Karem’s incredulous stare, Mary plucked up a salmon bread far paler than the one Catherine had taken—one filled with custard cream. Just as he thought she would eat it, she began rummaging through the large basket beside her that held the salmon-bread mold and various tools.

“Looking for something?”

“I shall teach you a marvelous way to make this salmon bread even more delicious.”

“Yes?”

“You will surely be amazed when you see it.”

She was boasting that hard? Even Catherine, whose anger had not yet fully subsided, showed a spark of curiosity in her eyes alone.

“What, are you planning to spread jam on it?”

“I tried that as well, but it did not pair as well as I hoped.”

“You actually tried it? So how are you going to eat it, then?”

“See for yourself.”

Mary rummaged until she seemed to find what she wanted, then smoothly withdrew her arm from the basket.

“You said it wasn’t jam.”

What she produced was an extremely familiar object: a small jam jar of the sort they restocked from the warehouse every few days.

“I merely stored it in a jam jar for the moment. It is not as though I could bring a proper bowl in this situation.”

“What on earth did you bring that you need to talk about bowls?”

The jars were convenient in size, shape, and weight, so Karem often asked Mary to wash them clean and use them for portioning nuts, dried fruit, or spices. Judging by her tone just now, however, whatever was inside was definitely not nuts, dried fruit, or spices.

“Whipped cream. Whipped cream.”

“Just whipped cream and you’re making such a—hm? Wait.”

Catherine’s mouth, which had been scolding Mary for making a secret of something so trivial, snapped shut. Her expression was that of someone who had just glimpsed a cosmic truth.

“O-ohhh.”

Whipped cream, plus a “marvelous way to make it even more delicious.” Combine that with salmon bread and Karem suddenly understood as well. He had seen it once on television. He still remembered being shocked twice in a row. How could a sight look so piggishly decadent? And how could anyone come up with such a stroke of genius?

“You eat the salmon bread with whipped cream on the side.”

It was different from the scene he had watched on TV. She did not nibble the head first. She did not pry open the filling and stuff cream into the gap. And back then it had been red-bean bungeoppang, not custard-cream salmon bread. Yet the way Mary piled a mountain of whipped cream on top of the salmon bread and ate it in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one bite produced the same result—food going into the mouth and then the stomach—and the same visual shock.

Aah—chew—gulp—

“This is how you eat it.”

“Hah. Just putting whipped cream on top… I never imagined the appearance would become this destructive.”

The anger from the house elf’s insolence still not fully cooled, Catherine nonetheless picked up a salmon bread in an admiring voice.

“Contractor. Shall I heap a generous amount of whipped cream for you as well?”

“Yes. But less than whatever amount you’re thinking of.”

“Pardon? It needs at least this much for the flavor to come through.”

“Still too much.”

Even so, to Karem’s eye the amount she was allowing still looked pretty excessive. He watched the cream piling onto the salmon bread Catherine held out. It was less than Mary’s, but still far too much.

“Karem Hubae. Do you need some as well?”

“No. Wait—actually, hang on.”

“So will you eat it or not?”

Faced with a look that demanded an immediate decision, Karem turned his head.

“May I have just one of Lady Atanitas’s share?”

“…One is permitted.”

After a brief hesitation Catherine nodded, and Karem took a dark-colored salmon bread from the basket. Whipped cream and coffee flavor. That combination was irresistible.

“Have you changed your mind already?”

“Seeing that shocking sight changed my mind.”

“Shocking, is it.”

At those words ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Catherine absently looked down at her own hand. The deep-brown crust of the salmon bread, fragrant with the seductive, subtle roasted-bean aroma of powdered Alrune, still kept its crispness. Following the finely engraved wave-pattern scales up the fin she held, she found the place where the head should have been crowned with a cloud ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of whipped cream, as if someone had scooped a handful of clear sky and set it there.

“It certainly is a shocking visual.”

As she had said before—the taste you already know is the most dangerous. Catherine had thoroughly savored the roasted Alrune custard-cream salmon bread over the past days, and she knew the taste of whipped cream just as well. Soft, moist, crisp texture plus the cloud-like fluffy lightness… how could that possibly taste bad? And at least in appearance it rivaled that cream-jam doughnut sandwi—

Thud—clatter!

A sudden jolt slammed into the carriage.

Slip—

In that instant the salmon bread made a bid for freedom from Catherine’s grasp, true to its fishy form. Would it have been different if it had still held moisture? Different if she had been holding the head instead of the tail? Or if she used magic right now to snatch it back?

In a fraction of a second Catherine calculated countless possibilities. The calculation was meaningless. Even as she layered reinforcement magic and lunged, the salmon bread spun mockingly in midair, missing her fingers by the thickness of a sheet of paper—and hit the carriage floor.

“Hm? Vibration? An attack?”

“Whoa. Phew, almost dropped—”

Splat—

At the sudden wet sound that rang through the carriage, Karem—still clutching his own salmon bread and the jar—turned his head. And he shuddered.

Have you ever heard the phrase “the calm before the storm”? The weather immediately before a storm is, in the most literal sense, still. This stillness is not mere quiet. Even when no wind blows, the air itself continues to move; the atmosphere circulates whether you can see or hear it. That faint brush against the down of your skin is the sensation. But the calm before the storm is different. You cannot feel even a single thread of airflow before the wind arrives. It is like floating in a weightless swimming pool—an emptiness as if time itself has stopped.

“…Hoo.”

Catherine quietly curved her lips into a clear, refreshing smile. Neither Karem nor Mary had ever seen that expression before. She was simply smiling. Yet for some reason both retainers felt as though their master was radiating an uncanny aura, and they could not stop trembling.

“U-um… Lady Atanitas?”

“The entire procession has stopped, not just our carriage. It seems a problem has arisen.”

Catherine gave a silent nod, and from the emotion carried in her next words both retainers instinctively understood: she was furious. And they were correct. She was enraged.

What insignificant creature dares?

She had never shown it outwardly, but for the past three days Catherine had been so happy she felt almost light-headed. She could count on one hand the times she had been this excited: when she reached the threshold of sagehood; right after being recognized as an archmage; the moment she first cast magic; and recently, when the little one confessed to her. And the greater the joy, the greater the drop that follows. The moment she realized that the texture of food, of cooking, of pastry she had enjoyed for the first time in centuries had vanished, even Olivier could not have guessed how violently passion seized her.

Bang!

“S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s—!”

“Forced conscription’s already over—what the hell is this mess now?!”

“The carriage is fine! Nearly gave me a heart attack!”

While the procession erupted into chaos from the sudden attack and an eerie laugh echoed, Karem, following Catherine out, confirmed the identity of the assailant with his own eyes.

“…A huge Jack Frost?”

The attacker looked exactly like the Jack Frosts they had seen for the past three days—a cute conical snowman with a ghastly, half-split maw for a head. But the size was different. It seemed only a little smaller than the undead ogre they had faced before. And that thing was flying through the sky the same way a Jack Frost did.

“That is a King Frost.”

“What?”

“Do you see the crown on its head?”

Karem was about to follow Mary’s pointing finger when a bright, clear voice from beside him made his head turn of its own accord.

“—Burning ice, the cold of the white night—”

Before he knew it Catherine had taken hold of her staff. Her golden hair floated upward as snowflakes hung motionless like stars.

Uh… are you chanting a spell right now?

Attached Materials

—Whipped Cream × Salmon Bread—

A picture drawn by ChatGPT.