The 10-Year Limited Edition Luare Wine

Who was it that had just called the whole thing childish a moment ago?

Of course, that thought stayed only inside his head. Karem did not go overturning the situation with zero tact the way Mary would.

"Then I'll go get some."

Instead he picked up the two glasses from the table and stepped down from the seat of honor. Up close, the banquet tables stood in even sharper contrast to the high seats thanks to the overwhelming scale of the decorative dishes. Ordinary dishes barely registered at all.

Anyone looking would think they just laid freshly killed creatures straight onto the tables.

Among them, the monsters and beasts that had been butchered in the warehouse-kitchen were laid out on platters in their full living forms, lavishly garnished.

"That Icebeak Snowrunner leg meat over there!"

"One moment, please."

The servant who took the order moved with awkward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠haste. Once every feather had been stripped from the carriage-sized sky-blue Snowrunner leg, the bright reddish-brown shell caught the light and gleamed like armor.

"I really can't wait to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠taste that."

"Is a knight allowed to say something so undignified out loud?"

"But how am I supposed to hold back when it looks so fresh it might start moving any second? Ohhh, finally!"

Only then did the servant, now with practiced, delicate hands, carve off generous portions of meat still attached to the shell. The knight accepted the heaping plate.

I wonder what it tastes like.

Karem slowed his steps just a little. The knight immediately bit into a dark piece of leg meat together with its reddish-brown shell.

Crunch—

The crisp yet finally chewy sound of the shell cut clean through the grand hall's noise and slammed into Karem's ears. From the sound alone, it was impossible for the thing to taste bad. It was exactly the sound of chewing a pile of pure Peking-duck skin.

"Ohh, the shell is crisp, yet the more you chew the more flavor and aroma keep seeping out."

"So it's good?"

"Only the shell. The meat is tough—far too tough. The taste is there, but it simply will not break down. Incredibly tough."

"Let me try… mm… flavor's there, but if it's this chewy…"

"We'll just peel off the shells and eat those."

Chew—chew—

The wet, gum-like sound of meat that refused to give way rolled alternately from the two knights' mouths.

"Lord Ianbert! If the food isn't to your liking, how about this instead?"

"With a feast this magnificent, of course you must say a few words!"

As Karem approached the King Frost ice-cream-and-drink dispenser, the people crowding the banquet tables had completely surrounded Alfred and Ianbert.

"People are saying that. Why not have a little more?"

"Mm… well then, maybe just a bit more."

"You seem to be eating far too little."

It looked as though Ianbert was only eating under pressure. Caught between the surrounding stares and Alfred's words, he raised reluctant hands to the food. Karem watched for a moment, then quietly slipped past them and walked up to the King Frost sculpture—the dispenser.

Wow, how did they even make this?

Seen up close, the King Frost placed in the middle of the banquet tables drew an involuntary gasp of admiration. Behind a faintly translucent ice film, beer and wine were visible. The thought occurred that once it melted the drinks might dilute.

"Ah, Lord Karem. May I assist you?"

"Yes. One glass of beer and one of wine. But won't that melt?"

"I am told the Chief Magical Advisor herself placed a preservation spell on it."

A preservation spell? Karem would have bet anything Catherine had done no such thing. The King Frost had been crammed into a box exactly as it was hunted and hauled off to the warehouse.

Hissssss—!!!

A heart-stirring blast of vapor. Just hearing it made everything feel cooler. Karem lifted his head. Even through the chill, a rich aroma of grain and nuts rolled out thickly.

Right. Who cares about any of that when there's beer right in front of me.

The servant filled a glass to the brim with beer, then poured the wine until it was perilously close to overflowing and held both out.

"Beer is of course Eisenwald. And this is the Luare 10-year limited edition. Here you are."

"Thank you for your trouble."

Karem carefully steered clear of the people now enthusiastically answering Alfred, who had given up and begun delivering a congratulatory speech. Both the beer and the wine sat so full in their large glasses that the slightest jolt threatened to spill them.

Among the statements that come close to universal truth is this one:

If money cannot solve it, consider whether you simply do not have enough money.

It is not an absolute law, of course, yet for the majority of problems that arise—or will arise—in a person's life, it is remarkably effective at both solving and preventing them.

Still, nothing in the world is absolute. There are things even money cannot buy.

Not emotions such as love, friendship, or courage. Something more material—for instance, a limited edition among limited editions.

When the quantity is already tiny and demand is explosive, and when the item in question is also a consumable—food or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drink—its value only climbs with every passing day; it never falls.

The famous Luare Winery of Berseingeto was exactly such a case. Its limited 10-year vintage was even more so.

"Lady Atanitas? Excuse me?"

And that very wine was sitting in a large glass—not a silver or copper goblet, but a huge beer mug of the sort a dwarf would lift and drain in one shot.

"Why a beer mug of all things?"

"Uh… I didn't want to make two trips?"

"For a reason that small?"

"Take a look over there."

Catherine wordlessly turned her head in the direction Karem indicated—toward the King Frost dispenser.

"Ahhhhh— beer really does have to be cold enough to freeze your bones—" "Two more beers!" "Coming right up!" "Gulp-gulp— there, fill it again!" "Everyone! Return to your seats once you've finished—" "Mm. Cold, yet the aroma develops with time—" "Make way for a moment for His Excellency, his family, and the guests of honor!"

At the maid's shout the chaotic center of the banquet cleared all at once, then the instant she left it snapped right back into the same crush.

"There are… a lot of people."

"If you send me there again I will never come back."

Everything that could possibly stir the romantic fantasies of heavy drinkers, men and women alike, was sitting right there in the middle of the grand hall's banquet tables.

"…On second thought, this is more efficient than making multiple trips. Better to leave the glass here and keep drinking until I finally stand up."

"Well, if Mary stepped in it wouldn't matter, but—"

"Not a chance. Until midnight tonight."

"Yeah, I figured."

Karem tilted his head slightly. Mary's eyes had gone wide; she was heaving a great sigh.

"She says that's how it is."

"Truly regrettable. If not for the disciplinary measure, scattering a crowd like that would have been nothing…"

"No, you shouldn't scatter them."

"Ah, my boiling point seems to have dropped after someone stole my work. If I just endure a little longer, starting tomorrow—"

"You're terrifying."

Karem shook his head and lifted the wine glass. It was heavy, yet he tilted it carefully so Catherine could drink.

"You're quick on the uptake."

"Hard not to be when you're staring at me like that."

Catherine shot him a brief sideways glance at the remark, then snorted and brought her lips carefully to the glass.

The liquid, deep and soft purple enough that cream might float on it, spread through the mouth with a sweet-and-sour grape aroma that nearly went too far—only for a bitter, astringent finish to pull it back into perfect balance.

In the brief instant one might have thought of simply savoring the scent, the wine's fragrance shifted so swiftly and so naturally that it was hard to believe it was still wine.

"Raspberry, blueberry, blackberry, juniper berry. Hah. The elves of Berseingeto may be arrogant, but when it comes to wine there is simply no comparison."

"Is it really good enough to make you sound that impressed?"

"What, are you curious too?"

"Your reaction is completely different from when you drink any other wine."

"Of course it is. There's no comparison."

Catherine gave a small shake of her head and tilted the glass just a little. A spark of mischief glimmered in the eyes that met his.

"If you're so curious, would you like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sip? There's plenty of it, after all."

"Then I'll take you up on that."

"Wha…"

At Catherine's startled voice Karem himself felt a sudden jolt of oh no. He had bristled for a second at the teasing tone, but there was no backing out now.

Gulp—

"Geh-buek—"

And the moment the sour, astringent, puckering wave rolled from mouth to throat, he regretted it instantly.

"Bleeegh— augh, wine really is just… ugh."

"Kh."

Catherine, blinking in blank shock, could only laugh softly at the indescribably contorted expression on Karem's face.

"Hmph. Well, kid, the most you've ever managed is a little beer."

"Even in my previous life I never got along with alcohol… wine especially. I use it a lot when cooking, though."

"Wine especially?"

"That unique sour-astringent finish at the end is just…"

"Can't even drink properly. You're every bit the little kid."

"I can still drink beer, though."

"And other liquors?"

"…Fruit wines, maybe?"

Catherine snorted lightly and tipped her head. She flinched slightly at the closer wine glass, then slowly drank.

"Aren't you going to eat any of the food?"

"Then… ah, perfect timing. The dishes are arriving."

Servants had come up to the high seats and were offering the carved decorative dishes. Catherine ordered only small portions of each, yet there were so many varieties that her plate filled without a gap. Karem followed suit, loading his own plate with a sample of every decorative dish. He had already heard they were not good, but he was still honestly curious.

And then he was disappointed.

The skins were crisp or tender and richly flavored—mostly delicious. The meats, on the other hand, had no gamey smell yet either overflowed with aroma or were simply too tough.

"Decorative dishes whose skins are at least edible. Truly the height of extravagance. I can feel Jigmeser and the cooks' resentment in every bite."

Catherine rinsed the grease from her mouth with wine and murmured in admiration.

"The skins are good, sure, but that good?"

"Yes."

She paused to catch her breath and shifted in her seat, lightly brushing back the golden hair that had slipped free while she savored the wine.

"Decorative dishes are exactly that—decoration. Their purpose is the eye rather than the tongue. They are meant to be appreciated for spectacle and beauty; taste is not a consideration."

"So the fact that the skins taste good—"

"Is only natural when magic tools and ingredients are used without restraint."

The reasons decorative dishes taste bad are complex, but they boil down to two: either the seasoning never reaches the interior, or flavor was never considered in the first place.

"The meat is tough or overly aromatic, yet it was still cooked to the point of being barely edible. They poured magic tools and spices into it without holding back. Quite a fortune in gold must have been dumped on this."

"So that's why Jigmeser was weeping."

"The head chef cried?"

"In the warehouse, overcome with emotion—tears just rolling down."

Catherine's brow furrowed for a moment, as though she were picturing the bald, beardless dwarf in tears. Understanding exactly how she felt, Karem quietly tilted the wine glass toward her again.

"I could make even decorative dishes delicious any time I wanted."

Mary cut in while biting into an apple pie that looked exactly like a real apple.

"If I combined my outstanding cooking skill with my people's magic, I could take even a fish the size of a calf and cook it so the outside is crisp and tender while seasoning and aroma penetrate every part. It's such a pity."

"Then why didn't you help?"

"Unless my contractor issues an order, the contract requires me to manage the tower and attend my contractor."

The sight of someone already buried in work still hungering for even more work left Karem speechless with horror.

"So, the point is?"

Catherine frowned as though displeased.

"Therefore, if you would entrust tonight's late-night snack preparations to me, I could prove—"

"The disciplinary period lasts until midnight tonight. No early release."

Mary's not-really-a-punishment was ending today. That only made her more impatient and restless. She kept begging for early termination until their glasses were empty, their plates cleared, and they rose from the high seats along with everyone else.

"One more word and I'll extend the discipline."

"…!!!!!!"

At that ridiculous farce Karem had to dig his nails into his thigh to keep from laughing out loud.

Plenty of people were leaving the grand hall. The mages had already returned; on the road leading to the magic tower there were only Catherine, Karem, and Mary following behind her.

"Ah, I completely forgot about the ice cream."

"Shall I prepare some for a late-night snack, then?"

"I think vanilla ice cream would be good."

"You can't even make that—"

They were walking along, discussing what kind of ice cream to have for a late snack, when all three of them stopped at the same moment.

"Urgh— uuurgh—"

From the middle of the path came a small, suppressed sound of retching.

The sun had long since set. In the light of torches and magic-stone lamps only a vague silhouette of armor and a helmet tucked under one arm could be seen.

"A knight? Whoever it is must have drunk far too much."

"And Lady Atanitas is the one saying that?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing at all."

Judging by the capacity of the glass, she had drunk at least a full bottle of wine, yet Catherine only looked puzzled by the implication and urged them onward.

Then, just as the group was about to move again, moonlight naturally fell across the retching silhouette that had been trying to muffle the sound.

"…That person—no, that gentleman. Isn't he that guest?"

Before Catherine could react to the whisper, the silhouette—Ianbert—whipped his head around and locked eyes with them.

"Oh, damn. Uuuurgh—!"

Ianbert, about to say something, gagged and hastily turned his face toward the wall of the training ground.

This is a picture drawn by ChatGPT.