The King Frost Alcohol Dispenser
Ianbert was looked down on by a great many nobles. Being the king's brother made scrutiny inevitable; his ambiguous bearing, the title of Great Sword Noble, or simply the fact that people found him disagreeable—the reasons piled up without end.
Of course, almost no noble was bold enough to show it to his face. The synergy between Great Sword Noble and royal blood was not something one could casually ignore. He was the living instrument of the king's will and judgment. Precisely because of that, Ianbert could never move carelessly. The weight of his name and the authority he carried were simply too heavy.
The gazes fixed on him now, however, had nothing to do with any of that. King's blood? Great Sword Noble? Authority? None of it mattered. To the people watching, the far more important fact was that the Duke they revered had rolled up his own sleeves to welcome the man in person.
Throughout his tour of Winterhome, Ianbert endured countless stares. Skipping lunch entirely, he poured out every conversation that had piled up with Alfred, and only then did they finally step into the office. The eyes scattered. A short while later, Catherine entered the office alone, Mary at her side.
After a brief round of introductions, a delicate floral fragrance began to drift through the room—the scent of tea. Ever since last summer, Alfred had followed the fad among the other nobles and taken a fleeting interest in the tea culture of Servianus; he had never quite climbed back out of it.
Alfred's nose twitched at the unfamiliar aroma. Clink. The moment the fragrant, steaming tea slid into his stomach, Ianbert's haggard face—looking ready to collapse at any second—softened into something that at least resembled a living man.
"You look as if you're about to drop. I didn't notice this morning, but are you truly all right?"
"Don't worry. I'm just tired."
Having soothed his hunger with the fragrant tea, Ianbert stroked the hide. Honestly, he still found the whole thing hard to believe.
"So… this is that thing?"
Every time he ran his hand down it, the hide wrinkled and sagged. It was a murky gray, translucent enough that the other side showed through, and simply looking at it was unpleasant.
"Atanitas?"
"Scout of the Demon King's army. The hide of a Shapeshifter."
Catherine gave the remaining pile of hides on the table a few light pats.
"Judging by the evidence, they all appear to have been shed by a single individual."
"Hah. Demons, of all things."
Ianbert still looked half-convinced as he propped his chin on his hand.
"All the way up there in the far north?"
"At Afterglow Fortress, the northernmost point."
The Demon King's army had been purged. That did not mean the demons themselves had gone extinct. The fewer they became, the harder they were to hunt down—that was simply how these things worked.
"This past summer, fragments of the evil dragon Naglfar and traces of necromancy were found in a village near Coldon. At the time we assumed it was merely the aftermath of some overbold necromancer's failed ritual, but…"
"A Grizzly Beaver black mage, a necromancer giant, another fragment discovered, and now demons on top of it all."
"Once might have been chance. Twice is not."
Iceland was commonly dismissed as the backwater of backwaters. Yet the value of its heart, Coldon, and of its front line, Afterglow Fortress, never diminished in the slightest.
"I am certain the same thing is happening in other regions. My chief magical advisor agrees."
Catherine watched Ianbert continue to stroke the hide with that half-believing look and gave a firm nod.
"It may already have begun."
Had anyone else said it, they might have been ignored. But looking at who was speaking made dismissal impossible. The duke who ruled the largest domain in the Seophon Kingdom. The youngest archmage in history, a mage who had reached the threshold of sagehood. Two figures of such power and authority were saying the same thing—and they had a fresh pile of demon hides as physical proof, not one or two sheets but a whole stack.
"…Wait. Don't tell me the other dukes have already—"
Yes. That was exactly why the other dukes had been—hold on, what?
"The other dukes?"
"…Even before the message from Iceland arrived, I'd already received similar reports from the others."
Ianbert frowned and kept stroking the Shapeshifter hide.
"There were raids in both Richgold and Southcoast."
"…Those two divide the southernmost reaches of the kingdom between them. Don't tell me…"
"It was much the same as the attack on Afterglow Fortress."
"Undead?"
"Undead."
Ianbert narrowed his eyes and continued caressing the hide. At those words, Alfred and Catherine both let out low, wordless sounds of unease.
"Which cities were hit?"
"Garfield. Falkenstein."
"…And the timing?"
"Between late autumn and early winter this year."
Richgold held the largest grain-producing region on the entire Seophon isle. Garfield was the city that stored the bulk of that harvest—and the direct domain of the Duke of Richgold. Falkenstein was the southernmost port city even within Southcoast, the harbor closest to the continent of Europa.
"I've never heard of fragments of the evil dragon before. You don't happen to have any of the actual pieces, do you?"
"The Nameless Traveler himself descended and reclaimed them."
"Oh…"
Alfred did not lie. And Catherine, who had been listening in silence, was nodding as well. Which meant a god had truly come down in person…
"Hah. So that's why you dispatched messengers to the other dukes as well?"
"Hm? Bert. Messengers?"
"Just a moment… I put it somewhere around here… Ah."
Ianbert rummaged inside his cloak and, a moment later, produced an elegant silk scroll, which he held out. The instant Alfred took it, Ianbert went right back to stroking the Shapeshifter hide.
"…Don't tell me this is a summons?"
The seal binding the scroll flared with golden letters that spelled SUMMONS, the light rippling across the office ceiling like an aurora.
"Come spring, my brother wants you to pay a visit to the capital."
"You're delivering a royal command with no procedure whatsoever?"
"This isn't an official audience, so what's the issue?"
Catherine watched Ianbert wave a dismissive hand and found herself unable to continue. She felt a little sour about it, but her lord Alfred showed no sign of taking offense; if anything, his expression said he had expected nothing less. There was nothing for her to step in and scold.
Catherine decided to simply ignore it. Or rather—more importantly—
Stroke— stroke— stroke—
"…Is there something about that hide that's bothering you?"
"Hm? Bothering me?"
"You've been stroking it without pause for some time now."
"Ah. I just like the soft, squishy feel of it."
In the middle of a conversation that grave, he was enjoying the texture. Catherine glanced involuntarily at Alfred. Catching his vassal's look, Alfred broke the seal on the scroll and gave a shrug that carried a lifetime of meaning: He hasn't changed a bit since we were children.
"Just hand him one of the sheets, would you?"
The great hall where everyone waited for dinner was more crowded than usual, filled with the guest's retinue and those eager for the banquet being prepared in his honor.
"The head chef has been staying up nights preparing for days."
"They turned several storehouses into extra kitchens, I hear."
"Tonight's dinner is going to be something special."
The anticipation was only natural. Very few people had failed to notice the stream of rare delicacies pouring openly into the castle—delicacies rarely seen even at festivals, let alone ordinary days. Even the grandest feast days usually featured only common livestock or game; the monsters and great beasts now arriving made those look like an insult by comparison. Some had even wondered privately whether the Duke had lost his mind. Privately, of course. Saying it aloud would have been disastrous.
Karem watched the swelling excitement from beside Catherine's empty seat, glancing back and forth between the banquet tables and the high seats.
"Just how long are they planning to take?"
Seats that would normally have been filled long ago still sat vacant. Karem was alone at the outer edge of the high table, looking rather forlorn. Of course he knew why Catherine was missing. He knew why Mary was missing too.
Important discussions, huh.
With Alfred and the guest Ianbert both involved, it was clearly no trivial matter. Still, that didn't make Karem any less awkward.
Hm? Young Master Karem is sitting alone today.
You're right. Doesn't he usually sit with the advisor?
The high table was where every eye naturally gathered. When every other seat was filled and only the places immediately around him remained empty, attention was inevitable whether he wanted it or not.
"What are you staring off into space about?"
"Whoa—!"
A familiar voice tapped his shoulder. When he turned, Catherine and Mary were already seated beside him as if they had always been there.
"What were you thinking so hard about?"
"The stares from below were getting to me. But where are His Grace and the guest?"
The high table where Alicia and the family sat. Originally a guest seat had been prepared to Alfred's left, in Godwin's place. Yet only Catherine had returned. The two men's seats were still empty.
"The two of them said they would continue their discussion a little longer and join us later," Mary reported.
Karem turned at her words, puzzled. The brownie was re-setting the place settings in front of her.
"Why are you re-setting the dishes?"
"They were crooked. It displeased me."
"Crooked? The dishes?"
Karem looked down at the freshly arranged utensils. Honestly, he couldn't tell the difference at all.
"The dishes are just an excuse."
"An excuse?"
"She's protesting a punishment that lasts only today—and only one meal of it left, at that. That's what this is."
Come to think of it, Mary's place in the great hall was on Catherine's right—for the convenience of the mistress she served. Right now that seat was occupied by Karem. Mary squeezed her eyes shut against the wretched reality.
"Stay calm, Mary. Just one more meal today and then—"
"For the record, there's still the late-night snack left, you know."
"Krrrrrrr—"
Mary re-set the dishes she had just re-set, trying to compose herself, then finally snapped and ground her teeth.
"That seat, that duty—they were originally mine…!"
"Hey, you're the one who messed up and got a barely-there punishment in the first place."
"Mary will remember this grudge."
"Oh, please. You think I wanted this job?"
Frankly, leaving aside the fact that someone had barged in without reading the room, if a certain someone hadn't openly overturned a situation Alicia herself had been desperately trying to smooth over, none of them would have been stuck with a three-day punishment at all.
"Oh-ho. So, little one—you're saying you're being forced to do something you don't even want?"
Catherine narrowed her eyes and murmured in a low voice that made it clear she was not pleased.
"No, Lady Atanitas, that isn't what I meant at all."
"So serving me is bothersome and unpleasant, is that it?"
"No. Actually, that part's rather nice."
When the person you liked let her guard down and leaned on you, who in the world would dislike it?
"Wha…"
Apparently that was the right answer; Catherine jerked in surprise. Her eyes went round as a cat's that had just seen a cucumber, and her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
"If anything, I'd like to keep doing it longer, but…"
Karem glanced past Catherine's head. He met Mary's bloodshot, expressionless eyes. She looked ready to crawl out of a nightmare. Terrifying.
"…So she says."
"…You cheeky little—"
"Everyone's too busy chatting among themselves anyway."
Once the empty seats around the high table filled, the attention of the banquet hall naturally dispersed; people went back to their own conversations, and it was plain to see.
Not all of them, though.
Mary flicked a glance one seat over behind Karem. Behind Iona—who sat with eyes closed, clutching a rosary and praying in silence—Alicia had frozen solid, bent at the waist like a herbivore that had just locked eyes with a predator. Alicia had seen the entire exchange. If Mary announced it the way she had last time, the result was obvious. Losing any more work was unacceptable.
I saw nothing.
Alicia will return to her seat.
Alicia watched Mary casually cross one index finger over her lips in an X, then backed away without ever turning her head.
"The stars of the evening are arriving."
"His Grace and the guest?"
Catherine wordlessly pointed toward the entrance of the great hall. Following her fingertip, Karem saw Alfred entering with Ianbert, who was still clad in the deer-skull armor and antlered helm.
"He's still wearing the armor."
"He probably never found a moment to take it off."
"Pardon?"
"Our business. Our side's business."
"Our business" almost certainly meant the discussion the three of them had been having. Karem shifted his attention instead to Jigmeser and the castle cooks filing in behind the two men—the living crystallization of sweat and labor.
The great hall, noisier than usual until that moment, fell silent for the first time.
A sky-blue Snow Runner the size of a carriage, looking ready to leap into motion at any second, sat amid a miniature forest that had grown across a vast, ornate platter. That was only the beginning. A colossal eagle threw back its head and screamed at the sky. A wyvern folded its wings and glared. Trees that looked like models bore strange fruits. Winterhome itself had been carved entirely from something pure white upon a plate. One dazzling, astonishing decorative dish after another paraded in, followed by an endless procession of dishes whose aromas alone were enough to let one taste them.
Beef, chicken, pork, lamb, Snow Runner, and the meat of every monster imaginable—steaks, spiced roasts, fried dishes, stews, pies—poured in without restraint, clearly outnumbering the people in the hall. Only when the seemingly endless feast of flavors finally began to settle did Jigmeser enter with servants carrying an enormous crate.
"A box?"
"That'll be the King Frost Lady Atanitas handed over."
"The one she told them to use as a vessel?"
"Yes."
As if confirming the guess, they set the crate in the empty center of the hall. Without hesitation Jigmeser flung the lid aside with a powerful heave.
Shhhhhhhhh— whoooooosh—!
Like a giant inflating a balloon, the King Frost slowly rose into the air. Catherine could see exactly how the King Frost she had surrendered had been processed. Valves studded its upper and lower torso in rows; purple wine and a translucent orange beer frothing with bubbles sloshed inside, catching the light and gleaming. Jigmeser climbed a ladder and casually knocked the King Frost's head off as if popping a lid. The entire hollow skull was packed with countless ice creams in red, orange, yellow, purple, sky blue, white—every color waiting for someone to eat them.
"…Men really are hopelessly childish."
"Come to think of it, I heard the wine in its belly is a ten-year Luare."
"…Ten years? The limited edition?"
"Yes. Even the cooks were shocked. You know—"
"Go get me a glass. Right now."
Catherine was completely serious.