Pretty and Competent Administrator (11)
"Booze? Didn't you say you'd be busy starting tomorrow? And you're drinking?" Hildeva winked.
"It's the last night before that. I'll go wash up~"
Before I could even respond, Hildeva scurried out of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, tidied up, and came right back out. Flipping open the ledger, I saw that Della had meticulously organized it in her neat handwriting while I was away. What an excellent employee.
"Master. Go rest now. I'll finish up."
Della came right down and stood beside me.
"Did you organize the ledger?"
"Ah, yes... I thought it'd be tough later if it piled up... Did I do something wrong...?"
"No. You did it perfectly."
"Heehee."
Della smiled shyly, twisting her body bashfully.
"Hildeva wants a drink. You wanna join?"
"Me? No... I'm weak with alcohol..."
I told Della to go upstairs and rest since she declined. She hesitated a moment before heading to the stairs.
"Um... where are you drinking?"
From midway up the stairs, Della poked her head over the railing and asked.
"Probably in the hall."
"Ah, got it."
Della headed up to the third floor, and I whipped up some simple snacks. I julienned potatoes, poured plenty of oil into the frying pan, and deep-fried them. They were rich and nutty even plain, but a sprinkle of salt added the perfect salty kick.
I'd just lined a wooden bowl with paper and filled it when Hildeva came back down. She sniffed the air entering the kitchen and smacked her lips.
"Mmm... smells delicious."
She carried a fresh soap scent, and her already pale skin seemed even whiter after washing, practically glowing on its own. She'd changed into short shorts and an oversized shirt that didn't quite fit. The shorts were so tiny that the shirt hem hung longer, making it look at a glance like she wasn't wearing pants at all. Her legs were long and sleek, fully on display—plump thighs tapering to firm calves, ending in delicate ankles and small feet slipped into backless sandals.
"What'll it be? I've got options."
"Something strong and sweet."
Strong and sweet, huh... Perfect, I had some mead in stock. Mead's made by fermenting honey into booze, and this stuff packs a punch. Leave it too long and it turns into straight alcohol, brutally bitter, but stop at the right point and you get that sweet-bitter honey edge. I'd sampled it last time—Mollo brought some top-shelf quality.
"Have a seat out there."
I loaded a tray with the big jar of mead, two mugs, and the fries, then headed out. Hildeva had gone to the table by the fireplace.
"Brr, chilly."
She kicked off her sandals, crossed her legs, and wiggled her toes toward the fire. Spotting me, she flashed a charming smile.
"Bertrand."
With all the hall candles out, the fireplace's soft glow bathed her in crimson hues.
"What's this drink?"
I set the tray down, and she peered at it.
"Mead. Your strong, sweet request, served."
"Heeheehee."
Hildeva giggled and held out her pewter mug. I poured, and she immediately pressed it to her nose, inhaling deeply.
"Mmm... nice."
I filled my mug and sat across from her. She raised hers; we clinked and took long pulls. The mead hit with subtle sweetness and body, finishing with a honeyed afterglow. Masterfully aged stuff.
"This booze is sweet."
Hildeva popped a fry in her mouth and crunched away.
"Nutty and salty."
Her short, blunt verdict was followed by another deep swig, draining her mug. Mead might sound mild, but it's wickedly strong—pure fermented honey. Yet she downed two mugfuls like it was nothing and shoved it back at me.
"More."
I refilled; she sipped once and set it down.
"Bertrand."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for saving me."
She propped her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her hand, and smiled softly. Her eyes curved into lovely crescents when she smiled.
"Eh, no big deal... I like having you around as administrator."
"Like how, exactly? Good to have a pushover Grade 7 to steamroll, or just me being in the city?"
It felt like a loaded question with an obvious answer, but no reason not to give her what she wanted.
"Hmm... well... having you around's nice."
"Yeah? Hmph..."
Hildeva let out a weird little hum-laugh and grabbed a handful of fries.
"But seriously, what'd you do before this? No 'rich innkeeper' crap."
"Nothing special... wandered into various things till I ended up here."
"How'd you snag an unlimited travel pass? Those are brutal to get unless you're special envoy or elite civil servant. Hmm..."
She adjusted her glasses, studying my face.
"You look and talk like some prince or duke... hmm..."
She tilted her head, pondering, then blurted out.
"Got it! Disgraced noble youngest son. Lived wild, tarnished the family name, got kicked out with a payout. How's that?"
"Entertaining."
"Nah? Feels right though... all that money, and that sword back there looks just like a family heirloom."
Hildeva glanced at the Holy Sword hanging behind the bar.
"They give you the family blade when exiling the black sheep?"
"Fair point. Heehee."
She chugged more mead, grinning like she'd cracked the case.
"My guess: elite civil servant doing dangerous shit. Assassinations, terror ops, political schemes."
"No way."
"Unlimited pass, loaded pockets. Those types retire young with fat pensions. That's why you're hiding it, right?"
I just chuckled and sipped my mead in silence. Better to let her misconception ride than spin pointless lies. Strictly speaking, she wasn't far off. I had been a Grade 1 elite civil servant, and those gigs handled exactly that shadowy work on the down-low. But what I'd done was fundamentally different. Slaying dragons, purging monsters, lopping off the Demon King's head—those were feats no one pulls off without the Goddess's blessing. I'd retired whole because of her grace. And for some reason, she still had my back even after I hung up the hero cape. I could still wield the Holy Sword's old functions(?) just fine.
Hildeva didn't press when I dodged, figuring secrecy oaths or whatever. She switched topics to reviving the city—what needed doing. Honestly, the location was prime; it'd boom without much effort. She seemed more focused on restructuring admin for the population surge than growth plans per se. I didn't know much about that stuff, so I just nodded along. Long as the city thrived and packed my inn, I was golden.
Meanwhile, she'd nearly polished off the mead solo. I'd noticed before, but damn, the woman could drink.
"Whew, hot."
She undid a few shirt buttons. Her cleavage spilled into view—pale, full, like fresh-baked white bread. Tempted to point it out, but no way I'd risk the "perv" label for mentioning it.
"Not hot for you, Bertrand?"
"I'm good. You're too close to the fire, maybe?"
"Guess so."
Hildeva stood, circled the table, and plopped down beside me.
"Better. That fire's brutal. I'm sweating."
She fanned her open shirt collar; a wave of soap scent hit me. Glancing over, I caught her perky breasts and glossy thighs. Her sideburns clung sweat-damp to her cheek—pretty damn alluring. She caught my gaze.
"What're you looking at?"
"You, Administrator."
"Why?"
"'Cause you're pretty."
Only then did she look down and hastily button up.
"You should've said something instead of staring!"
"Figured you'd chew me out for looking if I did."
"Doesn't make sneaking peeks okay!"
"Wasn't sneaking—it was right there..."
She glared, then softened.
"Hmph... whatever. Fine."
Then, playfully, she tugged her shirt open a peek.