If You Do Your Job Well, Your Work Increases
As a rule, Karem—hired by Catherine and stationed in the Mage's Tower—rarely had reason to step outside its walls.
Most matters were settled by Mary the Brownie long before they ever reached him. Or rather, Mary actively discouraged him from taking on anything beyond cooking.
Thanks to that, the only time Karem ever left the tower was when the pantry ran dry.
Only three people lived in the tower, but those three included a growing boy, a female mage whose body was locked in perpetual adolescence, and a Brownie who had never once been witnessed looking full. That changed the math considerably.
As a result, Karem found himself leaving the tower more often than expected—though even then, his routes remained limited and predictable.
Then, toward the end of autumn, just as the first snow began to fall, Karem was abruptly dragged back into the personal-attendant duties he had thought long finished.
"Junior Karem. Didn't you say the personal-attendant work was over?"
"Hey, that's not fair—you're making me sound like the villain here!"
"But the contract-holder herself says it isn't finished."
Having been forced into an unintended lie, Karem protested loudly. Mary, however, had no interest in his wounded pride. She simply frowned and pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shh. Too much talk. Enough with the excuses."
"Lady Atanitas! Wasn't the personal-attendant job supposed to be over?"
"Redirecting the conversation toward the contract-holder, are we? I knew it. You've finally begun moving to steal my duties."
Catherine, walking ahead of the bickering pair, merely turned her head and shrugged.
"Kid. I never once said your personal-attendant work was finished."
"What? But all this time—"
"No. Think carefully. When did I ever say it was over? More importantly—when did the contract ever say so?"
At those words, Karem cast his mind back to a past that felt both distant and recent. He recalled the conversation in the inner keep of Borderster, with the castella cake sitting between them.
Annual salary: six crowns.
Kid. A private room and furniture will be provided for you.
Salary adjustments twice a year to account for inflation.
Duties: personal chef concurrent with personal attendant.
"And why not try remembering the contents of the contract while you're at it?"
"The contract?"
Karem remembered that contract with perfect clarity. It had been stuffed with benefits for him and utterly free of poison clauses. Even in his previous life he had never seen such a clean, worker-friendly document—wait a second.
"There's... no clause that ends the personal-attendant position...?"
"Keh-heh-heh. You read the contract carefully enough, but you still need to learn that curveballs like this exist."
Karem felt a cold jolt. He never imagined a trap like that could be waiting...! Mary, interpreting his reaction as confirmation, narrowed her eyes into slits.
"Junior Kareeem—"
"No, this was completely beyond my control."
"So you were encroaching on my territory after all."
"I wouldn't take that territory even if you offered it!"
"Do you dare look down on housework?!"
"That's a smear campaign!"
Mary's deliberate over-interpretation and twisted logic began to push Karem into a corner. Sensing the argument was about to drag on, Catherine stepped in to mediate.
"That's enough, Mary."
"To a Brownie, housework is as precious as the soul itself—"
"Even if the kid holds the concurrent title of personal attendant, that doesn't mean he takes over your work."
Catherine raised an arm and lightly flicked Mary's forehead with the edge of her hand, as if telling her to calm down.
"Looking after me is your exclusive duty, Mary. The kid's attendant role is purely nominal."
"...If the contract-holder goes so far as to say so, then I shall stop here."
Reassured that her domain had been reaffirmed by the contract-holder herself, Mary finally relaxed. Karem, who had nearly been caught in the crossfire, also let out a breath of relief at those words.
Of course, angering the person who handled every annoying chore in the Mage's Tower would have done him no favors anyway.
And yes—he was also relieved he wouldn't actually have to attend Catherine personally.
Time had passed, but Catherine's appearance was still far too much.
In a positive sense, of course.
"...Huh? Wait, so does that mean I don't have to come al—"
"What are you mumbling about? We've arrived."
"Ah."
He shut his mouth right there. If he had spoken up before they left, maybe. But turning back now was impossible.
After all, they were on their way to meet the master of this castle—Winterhome—the Duke of Iceland himself. Karem was not bold enough to announce, after coming this far, that he was heading back to the Mage's Tower alone.
Winterhome, the castle that stood at the heart of Coldon.
The study of Alfred Felwinter, master of Iceland, was nothing like what Karem had imagined.
His first impression was that it was surprisingly modest for a duke.
It wasn't that luxury was absent. The sofa, the chairs, the fireplace, the bookshelves—even the unknown beast hides and taxidermy mounted on the walls—all of it spoke of quality at a glance.
But that was as far as the thought went.
"So. You're the personal chef she hired herself?"
Alfred, seated at the desk in his study, regarded Karem with eyes full of interest. That interest was aimed squarely at the boy standing behind Catherine, following Mary.
"Yes, sir."
"No need to be so tense. I was merely curious."
Alfred's curiosity was genuine.
The archmage had abandoned her luggage and even her contract, claiming she would return for things she had forgotten—only to come back with some unknown boy at her side. How could he not be interested?
Karem, however, found that interest thoroughly uncomfortable.
Honestly, what ordinary person wouldn't be tense in this situation? And by "ordinary person," Karem meant the commoners and serfs who filled the streets—not the powerful.
Of course, the fact that he retained memories of a previous life already placed him far outside the realm of ordinary. That particular thought, however, never quite reached him.
"I heard Alicia boasting. She says you're an extraordinary cook."
"Ah—Lady Alicia, you mean?"
"Yes. She went around bragging endlessly about the snacks she ate after sneaking into the Mage's Tower."
Alfred's curiosity shifted into quiet appraisal. The boy was tense, yet still more composed than most children his age.
"My skills are still lacking, Your Grace."
"Nonsense. I know better than anyone how picky that girl's palate is. The fact that she at least doesn't refuse food outright is a blessing."
"Lady Alicia, sir?"
"Indeed. She wandered the castle boasting so much that the head chef of the main keep started developing a rival's consciousness."
As he spoke, Alfred studied Karem. Calluses on the hands were a point of note, but beyond that there was nothing particularly remarkable.
"Alicia would never lie to me, so the skill itself must be genuine."
"Thank you for the compliment."
That single sentence was all Karem could manage.
He was simply grateful he could form a proper reply at all.
He had expected something like this would happen eventually.
Someday he would have to face people of high station. But did it have to be someone this high?
Given his circumstances, avoiding the powerful was far harder than meeting them. Including this one, he had already encountered them three times.
"All right, all right. That is quite enough."
At that moment, Catherine—who had been sitting on the sofa with an expression that screamed I am not amused—unfolded her arms.
"Would you kindly stop tormenting my personal chef?"
"Tormenting? As her father, I believe it is only natural to wonder how someone managed to satisfy Alicia's exacting tastes."
"Before that—look at the boy. Does he look like someone who can handle this?"
Alfred, who had been examining Karem from various angles, realized the truth at once.
He had thought the boy was responding with maturity beyond his years. In reality, Karem's face had gone past pale into pure white.
Anyone could see he had reached the absolute limit of his composure.
"Hmm. That was my oversight."
"I am glad you noticed, my lord."
"Before we continue—allow me to speak not as a noble, but as a father."
Alfred set down the parchment and quill on his desk and spoke with grave seriousness. His solemn gaze rested on Catherine, who sat with Karem and Mary in attendance.
"Alicia didn't commit some grave discourtesy, did she?"
"She didn't cause an incident."
"Truly?"
"She simply snuck into the tower without permission, got caught, and polished off the snacks. That was all."
Only after hearing Catherine treat the matter so lightly did Alfred exhale in visible relief.
"If that is all, then I am truly glad. Allow me to apologize."
"She hasn't even undergone her coming-of-age ceremony yet—she's younger than this kid here. You needn't go so far. Still, I accept the apology gratefully."
Catherine shook her head as if to say it was nothing, but Alfred could not let it rest.
"No. This cannot simply be brushed aside. Entering without the host's invitation is no different from the act of a thief."
"Strictly speaking, this entire castle—and the whole city—belongs to you, does it not?"
"Yet you, Atanitas, are staying in a place I provided after accepting my invitation."
"Hospitality customs. Is that where this is going?"
"Rewards and punishments must be clear. It seems I may have spoiled Alicia far too much."
Alfred nodded heavily.
Children could never fully rein in their overflowing curiosity. Alicia was exactly that sort of child, and the number of people who could actually restrain the youngest daughter of a ducal house could be counted on two hands.
Moreover, her home was Winterhome—the main seat of the Felwinter family—vast enough on its own to rival a small village. It was only natural that the desire for adventure would bloom vigorously within its walls.
"Come to think of it, the castle used to grow noisy at least once a day while people searched for the young lady."
"I may have doted on my youngest too much and spoiled her manners."
And that was precisely why education—and discipline—were necessary.
Especially after she had barged in without even the master's permission.
This was a matter that could damage the dignity of Alfred himself, who had invited Catherine and provided her residence.
Karem, still tense, felt something close to awe—perhaps even gratitude.
Compared to his second set of parents in this life, this man was a true father.
"Haa... Very well, my lord. As you know, I am extremely busy. For what purpose did you summon me?"
"Busy, you say... As expected?"
"...Ahem. My lord. I trust you understand what I am trying to say."
"Mm."
Beside her, Karem suddenly grabbed the shoulder of the bristling Catherine. Mary did the same. Had they not, Catherine would have lunged forward on the spot.
It was only natural. Even if she was an archmage who had approached the realm of a sage, she was still a living, breathing human being—not some undead who had already died and risen again.
The other mages who should have shared the workload had been annihilated, leaving her to shoulder every single task alone. She maintained proper courtesy toward a duke who ranked alongside a king—but this crossed a line.
"In that case, I will apologize in advance. There is already a great deal of work entrusted to you."
And the words that followed only fueled her anger.