To Kingsland, the Royal Domain
He had said he didn't want to go, but those were only words. It wasn't as if he truly hated the idea.
He was a chef, after all. And not just any chef—the exclusive chef of the archmage Catherine.
He had already followed her all the way to Afterglow Fortress, the northernmost outpost of Iceland, that backwater of the north. Was there any chance Catherine would leave him behind when she headed for the royal domain of Kingsland?
Karem was certain she wouldn't. When he asked her outright, she had simply replied that of course he was coming.
Besides, he didn't want to be separated from the person he loved either.
So the sensible thing would have been to stockpile food thoroughly for the spring journey—except there was nothing left for him to do. Nothing at all.
That was entirely Mary's fault.
Whether it was a side effect of her ongoing disciplinary restriction—still forbidden from so much as touching Catherine's meals or snacks—Mary refused to let him help pack a single thing. Compared to the last-minute scramble of the previous spring, this was far better organized, but the flip side was that Karem couldn't even pack his own luggage. The best he managed was to hand over a list of the provisions he wanted to take along.
As spring drew nearer, the castle grew busy once more.
And then it was spring—the very day they set out for Kingsland.
"Whoa."
Karem could only stare in open admiration.
"What are you looking at so hard, Karem Hubae?"
"There are… so many people."
"Isn't that only natural?"
Mary's flat, deadpan tone carried an undeniable truth.
Last spring, even a short three-day trip to Obsidianberry—official business though it was—had required a procession of several hundred. But this spring was different.
Not three days. A month at the absolute minimum. The destination wasn't even inside Iceland. It was Kingsland, the royal domain—specifically Pen Draig, capital of the Seophon Kingdom and the very heart of the realm.
Knights, squires, servants, laborers, mages, carriages, wagons, beasts, and livestock already far outnumbered last year's train. When adventurers and merchants began joining in as well, Winterhome's courtyard could no longer hold them all.
So now they stood clustered outside Coldon's outer walls, assembling the procession while the fierce spring winds of Iceland whipped around them.
"If it were up to me, I'd send even more."
A stout old man in priestly robes had appeared at Karem's side without him noticing. Iona, dark circles heavy under his eyes, clutched several thick rolls of parchment under one arm like clubs and twisted his beard between his fingers.
"Then why don't you just send more?"
"If I could, I wouldn't be standing here grumbling about it."
Iona rubbed his tired eyes and adjusted the scrolls threatening to slip free.
"Even a great noble has to be careful about moving more troops than this. People start watching. And leading that kind of force into another province? Easy to mistake for rebellion."
"Even when it's escorting a duke?"
"Even then."
Iona gave Karem's shoulder a weary pat.
"The only reason this stops at 'doting father' levels of excess is because the heir, the second in the line of succession, and the young lady are all going along."
"So last spring's force would have been the proper size?"
"Exactly. Well, I must be off. Need to check the merchants' goods one last time before they join us."
Supplies really were the hardest part of any campaign, it seemed. Karem watched Iona disappear into the midst of a vast herd of cattle draped in straw cloaks that had claimed a corner of the outer grounds.
"Finished sightseeing?"
"Yeah. That's enough. Let's head back to the carriage."
"A wise choice. Even more people are pouring in from outside the walls."
"Lead the way, please. There are just too many bodies."
"Simply follow me."
The hour of departure was drawing near, yet outside the walls the gathered crowd still seethed with heat and noise.
"Leather boots for sale! Leather boots! Sturdy, well-dried boots for those setting out on long roads! Buy now and get three pairs of socks free!"
"Jerky packed full of Red Witch's Fingers—real Icelandic man-food only true northern men can handle!"
"Hey, what happened to your helmet? Do yourself a favor and go buy one over there before the price goes up any more."
There had been plenty of time to prepare, yet some people still arrived on the day of departure missing gear or simply forgetting things. Setting aside the pure spectators, every other person clustered here was a peddler hoping to lighten the purses of those about to leave. Haggling, shouting, even the occasional fistfight over markups of two to five times the usual price—all of it was finally winding down.
"All units, form ranks! We depart shortly!"
The ducal procession began to move.
As the carriage started rolling, Karem found his mood oddly unsettled.
It wasn't homesickness. He hadn't felt this way when he left with the subjugation force, or when he traveled to the port of Obsidianberry, or even when he went to Afterglow Fortress on the northern edge of the Highlands.
The reason was obvious—painfully so.
Kingsland. Moston Village.
Just thinking of those worthless creatures who had no right to call themselves his parents, and the miserable village brats who had made his life hell, still made his teeth grind hard enough to crack. But unless they were standing right in front of him, he had no intention of hunting them down just to vent.
He was willing to bet Moston Village had already been wiped out. He had escaped in the first place while a monster horde was tearing the place apart. Even if survivors remained, it no longer mattered. A little over a year had passed since he left. Back then he had been a scrawny eleven-year-old. Now the curse had stretched him almost to the edge of adolescence. Almost none of the face he had worn in Moston remained. No one would recognize him now—and he would never have reason to pass through Moston Village again anyway.
"So how is the procession actually traveling?"
"Originally we planned to head due south toward Borderster."
Catherine's finger tapped the map spread across the carriage table. Each tap made the large, ugly boot-shaped outline of the Seophon island flutter.
"But Borderster is apparently overrun with undead right now."
"I thought undead in spring were just part of life in Iceland."
"Borderster is merely the northernmost city of the royal domain—of Kingsland."
"Hmm? It's not an Icelandic city? Ah."
He had forgotten; it had been so long since anyone mentioned it. Catherine finished the correction and drew a horizontal line with her finger from Coldon.
"Which is why the procession will not go to Borderster. We'll travel along Iceland's coastline instead, following the cliffs south into Kingsland."
When she told him he could ask anything he wanted, Karem raised his hand without hesitation.
"So we'll be able to get fresh seafood, then."
"…Out of everything you could ask about a journey this long, that's what you're curious about?"
"Yes."
Karem was utterly serious. The ducal castle did receive fresh seafood and dried fish, of course, but it had been a long time since he'd eaten any. He wanted fresh seafood.
Catherine stared at the appetite blazing in his eyes, then shook her head as if giving up.
"Don't get your hopes up. You won't see any freshly caught seafood until we actually enter the royal domain."
"What? But you said we're following the coastline."
Karem couldn't understand. Coastline meant the sea was right there. Saying they couldn't get fresh seafood was like saying you couldn't find trees in a forest or thieves in a city.
"You'll understand when you see it. When you see it."
Only after the long procession finally halted near the coastline for a rest did Karem understand what Catherine had meant.
"What in the world…?"
"Wooooow—!"
Karem and Alicia both leaned out as far as they dared and peered downward.
Grass still green with life despite the lingering snow stretched in a bright carpet, dotted across the white ground like ink spots on paper, until it simply… stopped. Beyond that edge lay a cliff—sheer, vertical, hundreds of meters high at the least. Far below, waves smashed with savage force against jagged reefs that looked like the fangs of hell itself, connected to the cliff base.
When he turned his head to the right, that same murderous cliff line continued on and on, vanishing somewhere far past the horizon.
"Karem, what exactly are you doing here?"
"You said coastline. I thought we'd be able to get fresh seafood."
"Alicia likes seafood."
Alicia's eyes had sparkled—until she followed Karem's gaze back down the cliff.
"…I think I can go without it for now."
"Yeah."
Fresh seafood was a dream on terrain like this. Anyone trying to fish here would need wings before they needed a rod. Even cliff fishing had its limits; a drop taller than most mountains was not a place anyone could fish, empty words or not. Finding a line long enough was impossible to begin with.
"I wanted fried fish, though."
Alicia's face crumpled with disappointment. The slender figure of Poppins, who had been standing with the escorts, walked over and lifted her into her arms.
"My lady, no need to look so crestfallen. We can simply eat other fried things instead. Isn't that right?"
Alicia's eyes glittered with expectation. Behind her, Poppins's steady gaze pressed down with silent force that allowed no refusal.
"Well… Lady Catherine already asked me to prepare snacks for the return trip. I can make them fried ones while I'm at it."
"There, you see, my lady?"
"Alicia believed in Karem!"
Alicia let out a delighted squeal. The escorts watching could only look on with fond, helpless smiles.
"Hmm? Wait."
Still glowing with joy, Alicia turned to stare at Karem.
"Karem."
"Yes? Is there a particular fried dish you'd like?"
"Alicia wants sweet-and-sour—no, wait."
You just called Kitty by her name, didn't you?
Following Alicia's gaze, the escorts and Poppins all turned to look at Karem as well.
Inside Winterhome, the only people who called Catherine by her given name were her master Olivier and Alicia, who insisted they were friends and used the nickname freely. Even her lord Alfred addressed her by family name. And yet this boy had just spoken her name so casually?
Come to think of it, there had been that rumor about Duke Atanitas raising a child of his preferred type until he could take her as a lover… The escorts whispered among themselves, voices softer than a breeze, while Alicia clapped her hands.
"You two have been so lovey-dovey, and now you're finally calling each other by name! Since when?"
"Well… after the coming-of-age ceremony, it just sort of… happened. She gave me permission."
"Finally!"
Alicia thrust a fist toward the sky; Poppins gently caught it and lowered it again.
"And Alicia remembers clearly—after the banquet, the two of you never showed up at the ball either."
Karem flinched. She had noticed even with all that food laid out?
"Mother's steamy novels always have scenes just like this. You two definitely snuck off for private time together!"
"…Ahem. I have nothing to say on the matter."
"Eeeh! That's so mean! Alicia wants to know what happened between the two of y—"
"More importantly, is there anything you'd like to eat? You must be getting hungry about now."
The moment the words left his mouth, Alicia—still nestled in Poppins's arms—put on the most serious face in the world and began to deliberate.
Good. He had managed to shut the little dumpling's mouth somehow.
"Ahem. In that case, we should return to Duke Atanitas's carriage."
But it was already too late. Alicia's escorts and her governess, Baroness Poppins, and countless others around them had all begun directing warm, knowing looks his way.
…Ah, whatever.
Catherine herself had said there was nothing that needed hiding. Rumors that he was a cradle-robber, a pedophile—every wild story imaginable had already spread. How much worse could a little more gossip make it?
Karem gave up.