Chapter 11

Chapter 11
Chapter 11: Never Mind The Heir, I’ّل Focus On Healing

“Why is he here?”

Lion felt a genuine wave of astonishment. He never imagined that he would cross paths with Rikschel deep within the Mimir Forest instead of inside an opulent mansion.

‘Did he come looking for me?’

For what purpose?

Certainly, Lion and Rikschel shared the same biological parents, but that bond had never driven them to seek each other out for idle chatter, play, or sibling teasing.

If anything…

‘To be entirely accurate, we were mutual strangers.’

When he delved into Lion’s retained memories, the picture became clear.

Whether Lion was enduring the agonizing torment of mana shock or being whispered about as the household’s oddity, he had always maintained an aloof and detached exterior.

Whenever they did happen to cross paths, Rikschel offered the polite deference due an older brother, but that was the absolute extent of it.

‘And the former Lion simply accepted that distance.’

The previous owner of this body had been chronically frail.

He spent his days frantically chasing cures for a physique completely deaf to mana, and when he wasn’t desperate, he was bedridden, leaving zero margin to forge a warm bond with his younger sibling.

In short, they were brothers who simply lacked the time and space to grow close.

While Lion methodically sorted through these reflections, Rikschel’s entire posture locked rigid the instant he caught Lion’s gaze.

‘How am I supposed to phrase this?’

More precisely, he was panicking over how to explain himself so that his older brother wouldn’t jump to painful conclusions.

Rikschel was well aware that his relationship with his eldest brother had never been intimate.

Born into a prestigious magical dynasty, his older brother tragically lacked the foundational attribute of mana talent.

Meanwhile—though he felt a prick of guilt admitting it—he himself possessed innate genius and was widely acknowledged as the inevitable heir to the estate.

An unbridgeable chasm had naturally opened between them.

It wasn’t as though he looked down upon his brother or held any malice.

In fact, he had always harbored a quiet awe for the way his older brother stubbornly endured and exhausted every conceivable avenue to defy his grim reality.

‘It is merely a tragedy that every single attempt ended in defeat.’

He had often longed to step forward and offer direct assistance, but after all, he was only the younger sibling.

If a subordinate or a younger brother aggressively meddled, there was a high risk of straining their fragile dynamic even further, so he kept his distance until Granny Sylvia finally shattered the ice and paved the way for this encounter.

And yet, despite all that!

‘Of all things, he’s actually trying to eat that…’

Rikschel stared down at the haphazardly exposed roots and the churned-up earth, fixing his gaze on the dusty, buried object.

“…I apologize for resorting to magic, older brother. But you really shouldn’t consume things covered in soil.”

“Ah, I believe there is a slight misunderstanding here.”

“A misunderstanding? Do you even realize what it is you are attempting to eat?”

“…Isn’t it a sweet potato?”

“A sweet potato… are you speaking of a standard starchy root?”

Indeed, what else could it be?

‘Though, to be fair, you’ve never phrased it quite like that before, leaving me somewhat speechless.’

Normally, Lion was never at a loss for words, but Rikschel had managed the feat effortlessly.

Lion cast a downward glance at the mashed sweet potato resting on the ground.

Granted, the outer skin looked a bit rugged, but to anyone with eyes, it was unmistakably a sweet potato, wasn’t it?

A sweet potato.

Honestly, it was a boundless ingredient with endless potential.

You could simply roast it to perfection, whip it into a velvety mousse for a delicate salad, or incorporate it into a rich cake.

You could even ferment it to brew potent alcohol.

Surely, its identity as food superseded its identity as a mere plant, didn’t it?

‘Come to think of it.’

Searching through Lion’s memories… if it were an elaborately plated banquet dish, perhaps, but he had never once roasted a sweet potato with his own hands.

Which meant, could it possibly be…

“Rikschel, you have never tasted one of these before, have you?”

This absolute masterpiece of flavor?

“Pardon…?”

Rikschel’s expression shifted through a kaleidoscope of subtle nuances.

His face clearly broadcasted the thought: *Why on earth would I eat something like that?*

It wasn’t born of aristocratic snobbery or the notion that a noble shouldn’t touch such food, but rather a profound, genuine bewilderment—a silent *Why? What even is this?*

‘Good grief, this simply will not do.’

Lion’s resolve hardened instantly.

No matter how distant their past relationship had been, going through life completely ignorant of the sublime joy of a roasted sweet potato was a tragic loss.

“Stop standing there like a statue. Come over here and take a seat.”

“Would my presence truly be welcome?”

“Naturally.”

Lion gestured toward a thick tree root where he had neatly folded his outer garments.

“Rest your legs here and wait a moment.”

“Thank you.”

The moment Lion saw that Rikschel had settled onto the improvised seat, he spun back around and drove his hoe into the dark earth once more.

“Why on earth are you unearthing these roots?”

“Just watch for a moment.”

As Lion carved into the dirt with his tool, rich, damp soil yielded to the surface, piling neatly to the side.

At a glance, it might have looked like child’s play, but a disciplined rhythm soon emerged.

Break the soil, carefully cradle the sweet potatoes, and extract them intact without a single scratch.

Particularly when unearthing an exceptionally large specimen, a deep, satisfied smile curved his lips, accompanied by a subtle thrill of accomplishment.

“Rikschel, if your repertoire includes fire magic, would you mind conjuring a small campfire? I have already gathered the kindling.”

“…Understood.”

Igniting a blaze was hardly a daunting task. Rikschel flicked a concise spell toward the stacked wood, coaxing a lively flame to life.

Within moments, the fire roared with a comforting, steady heat, leaving Rikschel with nothing to do but resume his silent surveillance of his brother.

‘Is he genuinely deriving joy from playing in the dirt like this?’

Frankly, the logic behind Lion’s actions escaped him entirely.

Besides, even if it was categorized as farming equipment, the tool possessed a sharp edge.

One careless slip could easily result in a nasty laceration.

And everyone knew how notoriously clumsy his older brother could be. It was his duty as a sibling to step in and put a stop to such reckless behavior if it served no purpose.

…Right as that thought crossed his mind.

“Finished.”

Lion, having filled a small wicker basket with freshly harvested tubers, casually brushed off the clinging dirt and hurled a few straight into the heart of the roaring campfire.

“…”

“Now, we simply exercise patience until they are roasted.”

“Won’t they incinerate if you leave them exposed to the direct flames like that?”

“Not at all. The outer skin is wonderfully thick, ensuring the inner flesh cooks to absolute perfection.”

“I see.”

Rikschel, possessing zero prior education regarding sweet potatoes, accepted the explanation without a trace of skepticism.

In truth, a multitude of questions buzzed in his mind, but since the answers were literally cooking right in front of him, he decided silence was the prudent choice.

Crackle… crackle…

And so, Rikschel sat in quiet contemplation, watching the sweet potatoes swallowed whole by the blazing embers.

Though conversational words had dried up the moment the tubers hit the fire, the atmosphere felt surprisingly far from awkward.

Perhaps the steady crackle of the wood filled the empty spaces.

Perhaps his gaze was simply hypnotized by the mesmerizing, shifting dance of the flames.

Glancing over at Lion, he noticed his brother staring just as blankly into the fire, utterly lost in his own reverie.

In that exact stillness, Lion’s lips parted, speaking in a soft, dreamy tone.

“Endurance and exertion are virtues, but knowing when to halt and rest is equally vital.”

“…”

Rikschel tilted his head in confusion.

The sentiment didn’t immediately register as an agreement or a disagreement; it felt entirely unprompted.

To pivot so abruptly to the philosophy of resting.

‘Did I somehow appear exhausted to him?’

If anyone had the right to look fatigued, it should be the head of the household or his chronically ill older brother.

Why would he, a young man in peak physical condition whose only burden was academia, feel tired?

Lion resumed speaking, breaking the quiet.

“On occasion, stepping entirely outside your habitual routine is the only true way to clear the mind.”

“I suppose…”

Rikschel lowered his gaze back to the campfire, letting the warmth wash over him.

Indeed, sitting motionless and doing nothing save for watching wood burn was an activity universes away from his rigid daily schedule.

Yet, to be entirely honest, the radiant heat kissing his skin felt remarkably comforting.

“I believe I am beginning to grasp your meaning.”

“Though putting it into practice is the genuine challenge.”

The underlying lesson was clear: when you rest, your mind must truly detach from your labors.

‘Could he possibly be worrying over my well-being?’

It was a surprisingly warm sensation in his chest.

As minutes ticked by in peaceful silence, watching the embers glow, a rich, mouthwatering aroma of caramelized sweetness began to drift through the air.

“They should be adequately roasted by now.”

Using a sturdy branch, Lion retrieved the banana sweet potatoes from the ash, allowed them to cool for a safe interval, and extended one directly toward Rikschel’s open palm.

“Here.”

“My thanks.”

While his instincts recoiled slightly at accepting food pulled straight from the earth with bare hands, out of respect for his brother’s gesture, he took it…

‘Oh?’

The reality exceeded his expectations.

Though the tuber radiated a gentle heat, it was entirely free of grit or clinging dust.

In fact, the skin gleamed softly, as though it had been meticulously scoured and polished before meeting the fire.

“Now, watch closely, this is the proper method to peel it.”

Furthermore, as Lion demonstrated by stripping back the skin of the banana sweet potato to expose the golden interior, an intensely rich, sugary fragrance bloomed instantly, tickling his senses and waking his dormant appetite.

…To be completely frank, it was irresistible.

Even so, hesitation held him in place.

Sensing his hesitation, Lion bypassed ceremony and took a generous bite of his own sweet potato!

“Mmm. Exquisite.”

The steaming flesh looked utterly fluffy and soft to the eye.

Watching his brother relish the food made it look ten times more tempting.

Failing to partake now felt like committing a grave error against one’s own happiness.

“I shall sample it as well.”

Before rational thought could intervene, Rikschel tentatively broke off a piece and tasted it.

Under normal circumstances, every morsel crossing his lips would undergo rigorous screening for toxins before being served on fine china with silver cutlery, but—

“…!”

The flavor profile exploding across his palate was extraordinary.

It carried the velvety softness and rich sweetness of a fine pastry, yet lacked the cloying, exhausting sugariness of traditional desserts.

Simultaneously, a profound sense of liberation washed over him.

A mental barrier had shattered, carrying with it an unexpected rush of pure freedom.

Rikschel’s entire life had been governed by strict refinement.

He had been thrust into the grueling training of a primary heir in Lion’s stead.

Consequently, his days lacked soaring highs of joy or crushing depths of sorrow.

Even when Granny Sylvia, who had nurtured him since infancy, announced her retirement, his reaction had been little more than a mild, polite melancholy.

His inherent temperament as a spellcaster tended toward emotional detachment anyway.

Yet, in this precise moment…

He might actually be happy.

‘Was this the lifestyle my older brother was always yearning for?’

He was acutely aware of how fiercely his brother had fought just to carve out a viable existence.

Regardless of how harshly outsiders dismissed Lion as an eccentric, the family understood all too well the harrowing battles he had waged behind closed doors.

Perhaps that realization was precisely why this simple flavor tasted so profoundly deep and sweet.

The genuine taste of living.

His older brother was attempting to teach him that very secret.

“…This is remarkably delicious.”

“Isn’t it? They are a special variety known as banana sweet potatoes.”

Lion beamed, highly satisfied with Rikschel’s honest reaction.

As anticipated. He possessed the good sense to appreciate fine food.

‘It is only natural that he is moved.’

Sweet potatoes were the ultimate culinary companion for this exact atmospheric mood.

While the relatively temperate Asteri Territory lacked true harsh winters, chilly snaps were far from uncommon.

Especially within the shadowed depths of the forest, the wind carried a biting edge as twilight fell.

What style of food did one instinctively crave in such moments?

Surely, something piping hot and comforting, much like roasted sweet potatoes.

While he hadn’t mastered the art of making street pastries just yet, these banana sweet potatoes eclipsed ordinary varieties in every conceivable metric.

It was an unbeatable harmony of organic sweetness and nutty warmth!

Even if someone possessed a hyper-refined palate, it was nearly impossible for a first-time consumer not to fall completely in love with them.

And besides…

‘No matter how cold and composed young nobles try to act, at that age, their appetites are bottomless.’

Watching his younger brother devour the snack with undisguised enthusiasm instantly transported him back to his own academy days.

Breakfast, midday rations, afternoon refreshments.

Not content with the provided schedule, they would routinely scale courtyard walls just to scavenge illicit pastries and beverages between lectures.

And the evening routines didn’t end there either.

Inevitably, the hunger pangs would strike late at night, forcing them to boil simple meals in secret.

‘Good food is meant to be devoured with passion.’

True to form, Rikschel looked utterly entranced, polishing off his entire first potato before Lion efficiently slid a second one into his hands.

It was only after the tally surpassed three tubers that reality crashed back in…

‘Good heavens!’

Rikschel froze mid-motion.

‘I… I consumed this massive quantity?’

Concern for his aristocratic dignity and composure only returned *after* he was completely and comfortably full.

“…”

“Heh, it appears the meal met with your approval.”

“…Indeed it did.”

There was no escaping the evidence, nor any room left for clever excuses.

Though mortifying, he chose to embrace total honesty.

Lion slid a flask of fresh water across the ground and settled back comfortably, pressing his spine against the thick trunk of the sturdy tree.

“This kind of pacing has its merits as well, doesn’t it?”

“…I suppose one could argue that.”

Once the barrier of enjoyment was breached, honesty followed naturally.

Rikschel tossed a few more dry branches onto the dwindling campfire, letting a prolonged, comfortable silence settle between them.

“Thank you for sharing this remarkable meal with me.”

“There is no need for such formal gratitude. Can an older brother not even share a snack with his own kin?”

“…”

Thump, thump. Lion’s hand reached out, giving Rikschel’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

“You have carried a heavy burden. Well done.”