Summoned by the Marquis
Celereja licked her lips, her face flushed with excitement. I knew exactly what she wanted. After repeated attempts thwarted by one excuse or another, she was dead set on making it happen tonight no matter what.
"Got it. Let's go."
I wrapped an arm around Celereja's waist and headed down the stairs. In her impatience, she kept stepping on my feet or nearly tripping over her own. The closer we got to the first floor, the rougher her breathing became, her grip on my arm tightening with incredible force. Seeing her so worked up like this, I couldn't help but feel the blood rushing southward myself.
The night with Celereja almost half a year ago flashed vividly in my mind. Reviving me endlessly with her holy power like some goddess, she'd ravaged my body without rest.
"Hurry... hurry... haa..."
That's when a middle-aged man from across the lobby started walking toward us. The way he kept locking eyes with me suggested he had business with us. I pulled Celereja closer and slowed our pace. She turned to me with a puzzled look, then followed my gaze to the man.
"Bertrand Balder, sir?"
The man stopped in front of us, offering a friendly smile as he spoke. How does he know my name? Well, as a club employee, he probably had ways to find out. But why now, all of a sudden...?
Celereja, peeved by the sudden interruption, shot him a fierce, wary glare and pressed into my side.
"Yes, that's me."
"I'm the club manager. Could you spare a moment? Someone wishes to meet you."
Someone wants to see me? The manager's deferential tone suggested it was someone above him in the hierarchy... Could it be about the commotion earlier today?
"Me? Who?"
"Marquis Kekers, the club's proprietor."
I did a double-take. Marquis Kekers wanted to meet me? I racked my brain for any connection during my decade as a hero, but nothing came up. I'd crossed paths with dukes and grand dukes a few times, but marquises and below? No real interactions. So, was it really about the beach brawl? Sure, I'd beaten them pretty badly, but no one died. It was the kind of thing that happened all the time on beaches like this. No way the marquis running this resort would summon me over something so trivial.
What the hell is going on? And more importantly, right now I had Celereja at my side—transformed into a bristling, hissing cat who hated baths, all sharp edges and feral energy. I needed to hustle her back to bed and satisfy her burning wish(?) if I wanted any peace of mind. I had no time to spare for some bearded old geezer.
"Sorry, but I'm a bit busy right now."
"You were promised free use of the club."
"Wha... what did you say...?"
I stared at the manager, dumbfounded. Free suite stay—ten gold coins—and comps for the kids' spending? That was more than Idi's ten months' salary. Why go that far just to meet me? Was private audience with the marquis some VIP perk for suite guests?
"Sorry, but... you're saying you'd go that far just to see me? The marquis?"
"Yes. It's directly from Marquis Kekers himself."
"But why..."
"I don't know his exact intentions. In any case, please—just a moment of your time."
I hesitated and glanced at Celereja. Even she, glaring daggers at the manager like she wanted to bite him, looked utterly baffled now. She'd already been heartbroken watching me hand over those ten gold coins at the desk earlier—a fortune she'd never even touched, vanishing into someone else's pocket for one night's stay. So even in this interruption of her deepest desire, the promise of it all being free left her claws sheathed.
"Celereja. Mind waiting a bit?"
"If it's really free... don't we have to? Ten gold coins..."
With her okay, I turned back to the manager. He glanced politely at Celereja.
"Is the lady your wife, sir?"
"Uh...? Ah... ngh...! Y-yes. She is."
Celereja, who'd been pinching my arm, relaxed at the answer and leaned her head on my shoulder. This crazy saintess. Total yandere...
The manager led us back up the stairs, toward what seemed to be the administrative wing on the fifth floor where the marquis's office was. Sure enough, he guided us to the club's grand central staircase. The railings featured carvings of nude women entwined around pillars, and at every landing, massive abstract paintings loomed imposingly. The stairs teemed with people in flashy, expensive clothes, glasses in hand, laughing and chatting as they ascended and descended—all radiating effortless wealth.
Passing the fourth-floor casino, I peeked inside and spotted Idi and Marim at a blackjack table, stacks of coins piled high. Della stood behind them, clutching her head with a miserable pout—something clearly going wrong. Give 'em bracelets and they hit the tables... Burning through my money like it's nothing. How much are they planning to lose?
"Nooo!!"
Marim's wail echoed from behind just as we reached the fifth floor.
Oh boy...
The administrative floor was far quieter than the rest, with only staff milling about sparsely and an air of solemn silence in the halls.
"This way."
The office door at the hall's end was massive, dominating one entire wall. Its surface bore exquisite reliefs of King Blavan's Seven Labors, the handle gleaming solid gold. The manager entered alone, leaving us waiting. As the door shut, Celereja clung to me.
"Why on earth does the marquis want to see you...?"
"No idea. Can't think of any reason... You think it's really about the fight earlier?"
The manager soon swung the door wide, ushering us in.
"Gasp...!"
Celereja sucked in a breath upon entering. I widened my eyes in shock too.
The first thing that greeted us was the massive chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. Crafted entirely of gold, it dripped with hexagonal gems of unknown type, glowing transparently like morning dew on leaves. Beneath the glow of its dozens of candles, the office outshone any place I'd ever seen in opulence. Everything in sight was gold: table, chairs, bookshelves, ashtrays, pen stands, coat racks, teapots—you name it. Not a single thing lacked that shining yellow gleam. Selling off just this room's gold could probably buy a whole territory.
Everyone knew marquises ranked high, but I'd never imagined this level of wealth. Even the dukes I'd met didn't flaunt it like this.
In the midst of that golden splendor stood the marquis. His white hair slicked back neatly with oil, a thick white beard cascading to his chest, and piercing eyes gleaming between. His straight posture made him look not like some aged noble, but a figure of dignified authority.
"Come in."
"Hello, Marquis."
The marquis gestured to the sofa, inviting us to sit. Plush red velvet cushions atop legs and backrests of pure gold—pure luxury. Celereja, intimidated, perched only lightly on the edge. Across from us, the marquis leaned back comfortably and regarded me silently. His clear eyes seemed to pierce straight through me.
"I am Marquis Kekers of Turks. I run this Grace Bay Club."
"I know. Saw your portrait in the hotel lobby. Caught you arriving too—staff bowing and all. Quite the sight."
"Haha. They won't stop, even though guests say it feels out of place."
"Nothing wrong with greeting the guy who signs the paychecks."
A staffer brought drinks in the meantime: transparent glasses with ice, lime, and a strange greenish hue. Mojitos, huh. Ice in midsummer by the seaside...
"Drink up. No poison, I promise."
Chuckling at his own lame joke, the marquis sipped first. We followed suit.
"Mmm...!"
Celereja let out a big sigh of delight at the cool, refreshing taste. A satisfied smile spread across the marquis's face.
"Seems the lady approves."
"First time trying this. It's delicious."
"Have plenty."
The marquis watched Celereja sip eagerly with a pleased gaze, then turned to me.
"Bertrand. Never dreamed I'd see you again here."