The Madwoman's Invitation (5)
"Master... this is..."
Della held out what she'd been hiding behind her back. It was a black suit hanging on a hanger.
"What's this?"
"Wear it to the funeral tomorrow..."
No way she'd gone out and bought it after hearing about the dinner conversation earlier. All the shops in town were closed by now. So this must've been something she'd bought in advance... but why? Why would Della buy a men's suit?
"I've been saving up my wages bit by bit... I was planning to give it to you after summer... but since you're going to a funeral tomorrow..."
"You bought this for me?"
"Yes... um... I mean... as a gift."
"Thanks. But what kind of gift is this?"
Della rolled her blue eyes around, fumbling for words.
"This spring, you saved me from my father's inn... and you've always taken such good care of me... and recently, you gave me that massager..."
"That's just because you're one of our inn staff. It's the least I could do. If anything, I should've treated you even better. You've been working non-stop since we opened."
"N-no...! I just want to be with you, Master..."
Her face flushed beet red as she bowed her head and thrust the suit forward. I took it from her hands.
"Thanks. I'll wear it tomorrow. I was wondering what to put on anyway."
I gently stroked Della's bowed head. She let out a short squeak and clamped her thighs together.
"I... I should go now...!"
Della bolted from the room in an awkward, unsteady stagger. I held the suit up to my body. It looked like a perfect fit—suited me just right.
Della... such a cute kid.
That night, I kept waking up to noises from the empty guest room in the corner of the third floor. A low humming vibration, muffled grunts like something was stuffed in a mouth, the sound of water splashing wildly—it went on without end, ruining any chance of real sleep. My sharp hearing, which picked up even the tiniest sounds others missed, was a curse right now.
Della... just go to sleep already...
The next day, at dawn under a drizzling rain, Brione arrived at the inn. Idwild, who'd come out to see me and Francois off, froze at the sight of her, breaking into a sweat.
"Oh? Hey, Milk Cow. Long time no see?"
"H-hi... Brione..."
I stepped between the flustered Idwild and Brione.
"I told you before. Don't mess with the nice ones."
"Can't even say hi? Hilarious."
Brione shot me a glare, then turned to Francois. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by the tall, elegant woman in black.
"Uh... who... might this be...?"
"I'm Francois, the head chef here at the inn. Pleased to meet you, Miss Brione."
Even as nobility, royal mages were treated near peerage, so Francois used polite speech with her.
"Ah... yeah..."
Brione shook Francois's offered hand in a daze, still processing this noble lady's sudden appearance.
"Bertrand... uh... so this person... I mean, this lady... is coming with? What's your relationship...? Oh, right, the chef."
Brione, usually so sharp, was rambling, eyes darting everywhere. What was her deal?
"That companion thing... you mean spouse...? I mean—"
"Francois and I aren't married, mage. Think of me as staff assisting the master."
"Oh? Oh! Right...!"
Only then did Brione calm down a bit, regaining her signature mage's smug smile. Was she seriously mistaking me and Francois for a couple?
Brione opened a dimensional gate in the courtyard. Swirling blue-and-white vortices formed an upright oval portal. The staff, witnessing magic for the first time, gaped wide-eyed. Mages were rare and expensive—most commoners never saw one in their lives, let alone magic in action.
"Alright, I'm off. Everyone, hold down the fort."
I turned back to the staff with the gate at my back. The spinning portal whipped up fierce winds, tousling their hair.
"Let's go, Bertrand."
Brione stepped through first. I let Francois go ahead, gave the staff a final wave, and followed.
People often misunderstand dimensional gates. They imagine a chaotic cylindrical tunnel sucking you in. But that's not it at all. A gate is just a door between spaces—nothing more. So I stepped through and emerged right onto Verabche's central boulevard, the royal palace looming ahead under low gray clouds.
I wasn't much of a history buff, but I knew that palace dated to the Avenger King era. Blavan the Avenger King, who subdued every monster and demon plaguing the world, made these Verabche plains his capital and laid the kingdom's foundation. The original palace was apparently a small, shabby wooden fort—like a noble's manor, or more like a field command post.
Even after forcing transcendent beings to kneel, most humans still defied him arrogantly. The plains soaked up the blood of countless challengers as the kingdom took shape. That humble tent grew through endless expansions into the grand fortress before us.
Like my distant ancestor did, can I grow this inn the same way? Piece of cake.
"Hey, Brione. If you're opening a gate anyway, why not drop us inside the palace? Why the middle of the street?"
"Can't open gates near the palace. It's sealed by the Avenger King's blessing—no magic works there. You didn't know?"
"Oh, right. Yeah. So we gotta walk in the rain? This is a new suit."
Right on cue, a ornate carriage pulled by four horses stopped before us. The royal crest on the door marked it as ours. The horses were prime stock, glossy-coated, and the carriage gleamed with gold leaf at the edges—top-shelf luxury.
Good. Won't ruin Della's gift after all.
We climbed aboard. The interior was plush, cushioned to the ceiling—cozy as hell. We could use one like this at the inn. Charge for rides around Rosens, or to Bue and Fribourg. Or fix up that abandoned castle in the Vurn Mountains where Idwild hid, slap on a fake history, and run tours. Plenty of dried bloodstains and moving statues already—perfect spooky vibe. Hell, the Demon King's castle went from terror symbol to tourist trap in a year.
Francois beside me pulled back the curtain, peering at the capital's streets. Verabche was where all the kingdom's wealth converged, the trendsetter. Ten-story buildings dotted the avenues—unthinkable in Rosens—flanked by fancy restaurants and shops rare outside big cities. Plenty of national chains too, backed by noble or tycoon capital, selling the same brands nationwide under uniform policies, raking in cash.
Folks griped about local economies tanking, but that was just sour grapes from stakeholders. Citizens loved the convenience, and remote towns lobbied hard for these chains to open branches.
Rosens got a few this year—cosmetics, clothes, women's stuff. Not my wheelhouse.
"Doesn't seem much different from five years ago."
Francois gazed nostalgically at the grandeur. She'd studied at the capital's Cuisine Academy back then.
Following her gaze out the window, the carriage passed a towering eight-story building: the famous Wipered Hotel. Top-tier chain, only in major cities—even a branch in Bue, though smaller. Never stayed, but it had to rival Marquis Kekers's Grace Bay resort. Nobles with business here always crashed there.
The carriage rolled on, high-rises thinning out until suddenly, open plains stretched ahead. Francois pressed to the window, gasping.
"My god... what is that...?"