Chapter 77

Chapter 77
Chapter 77: Never Mind The Heir, I’ll Focus On Healing

The following day.

A letter arrived at the Byrdentis household.

“Who delivered this?”

“L-Lord Lion Asteri sent it personally, Your Grace.”

“Hm.”

Duchess Clarentia took the message and carefully scanned the contents.

In short, the message conveyed the following points.

He had originally planned to present himself immediately, but due to lingering health concerns, he intended to rest nearby for a brief period before paying his respects.

“Understood.”

Duchess Clarentia nodded, her demeanor completely static.

“Wh-What course of action should we take? Since he mentioned he is unwell, perhaps we ought to dispatch a separate carriage to escort him safely? Furthermore…”

The butler trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

From a certain perspective, the gesture could easily be interpreted as discourtesy.

That reaction was entirely justified.

After all, when matters required his attention, Lion had simply sent word that he would arrive eventually, without even making a personal appearance.

Despite being the eldest scion of a prominent magical lineage, Lion remained merely a young noble without an official title.

“Where is Young Master Lion currently residing?”

“He indicated he is staying at a local tavern within the domain, though no one has actually spotted him.”

“…”

“Ah, Your Grace. How should we proceed?”

The butler inquired, searching Clarentia’s face for any hint of her thoughts.

“Shall we have him brought here at once?”

“No, that will not be necessary.”

The butler cast a cautious glance upward.

Yet, he found himself utterly unable to decipher her intentions.

*Such a tragic lady…*

Only a few years prior.

That is, before the former Duke’s sudden demise, Lady Clarentia had not possessed such a frigid and piercing aura.

The butler reflected on his earliest days in service.

*That wound… it must be extraordinary.*

The very maids who had once nurtured and protected her had betrayed her, and her own siblings had turned upon each other in a bloody struggle.

Those malicious currents had ultimately reached Lady Clarentia as well.

Poisonings, covert assassinations, sudden blazes, and coordinated monster raids.

Unimaginable trials had rained down upon someone who was once merely a graceful noble lady.

Even so, she had persevered, eventually attaining the legendary tier of a Sword Master…

Consequently, she had hardened into someone seemingly stripped of all warmth.

The aura she projected, chillingly surpassing that of a frost giant, was merely a secondary trait.

The first instance such a woman had taken proactive steps toward anyone involved the eldest son of the Asteri family.

Specifically, during Lion Asteri’s Coming-of-Age Ceremony.

Hearing whispers that something untoward had transpired there as well had caused him deep anxiety…

“A seamstress will soon arrive from the Asteri domain.”

“Pardon? A seamstress, you say?”

“I have commissioned new attire.”

It was an entirely unexpected development.

The head of the household had expressed no personal desires since that fateful day.

Until now, she had strictly limited herself to the duties expected of her position.

Meals were calculated purely for nutritional sustenance.

Sleep was kept to the absolute minimum. Training was unending.

Monster subjugation was pursued solely to ensure the safety of the territory’s inhabitants.

Yet, the Duchess had commissioned new garments for herself.

Through Lion Asteri.

*Could it be that the head of the house has found a companion she genuinely appreciates?*

Lion Asteri.

Though rumors of his eccentricities were widespread, the butler understood he was not fundamentally dangerous.

Was not the designated heir of the Asteri household his younger brother, Rikschel Asteri?

Therefore, the veteran servant, who had watched her grow from childhood, felt a flicker of eager anticipation.

Perhaps these two might forge a genuine bond.

Perhaps the Duchess would no longer have to navigate such a perilous path entirely alone.

Such was his hope.

And that sentiment remained… steadfast.

“Ahem, Your Grace.”

“…”

Clarentia lifted her gaze to meet the butler’s.

Her look was like a drawn blade, utterly devoid of sentiment.

Even the loyal servant, who had known her since infancy, instinctively recoiled, yet he summoned his resolve and spoke.

“Well… since your schedule is relatively light over the coming days, might you consider venturing out to visit him first?”

“Me?”

“Indeed.”

“For what reason?”

“Ah…”

The butler scrambled to assemble a plausible justification.

“Well… receiving guests is a traditional duty for the lord of a domain. Furthermore, checking on the residents’ well-being during a patrol would serve a dual purpose…”

Clarentia offered no immediate response.

Was this a rejection? His heart hammered nervously against his ribs.

“Very well.”

“…”

The butler’s face brightened instantly.

Indeed! This presented an ideal opportunity for Her Grace to secure some much-needed respite.

Unable to conceal his broad grin, the servant dipped his head briefly in acknowledgment.

“In that case, I shall see to the preparations regarding your attire.”

Still, this was the estate of a Duke.

Even if she had placed an order out of a lack of suitable wardrobe options, the basic selections available were more than adequate…

“…Your Grace?”

The casement stood wide open.

“Pardon?”

The heavy draperies billowed wildly in the biting draft.

Only then did he realize that the Duchess, who had been conversing with him mere moments prior, had vanished.

The servant, searching for someone who had already departed, hurried toward the terrace.

Surely not…

You did not simply depart dressed as you were, Your Grace?

“Oh, heavens!”

The butler pressed a hand to his forehead.

Even now, numerous adversaries lurked beyond these walls!

Naturally, he doubted she would face immediate peril… yet as one who had served her for decades, concern was second nature.

Moreover…

Her Grace was notoriously unmindful of everyday practicalities!

The servant, who had nearly bolted in pursuit, forced himself to halt.

*No. In any case, she is heading toward Young Master Lion Asteri, so matters will somehow resolve themselves.*

He had heard the young man traveled with a dependable escort. And with the seamstress arriving shortly as well… yes.

*Rather, I should focus on preparations for his reception.*

Suppressing his racing pulse, the butler clenched his fist.

Please, look after Her Grace well!

—

This establishment, bearing a weather-beaten placard, stood as the oldest tavern within the region.

Perhaps owing to that distinction, or perhaps simply because daily existence was grueling, patrons filled the Oak Barrel Pickle even during the high noon hours.

The climate was arid, mirroring the harshness of their lives.

The sole solace capable of softening that reality was a draught of golden spirits.

That remained their only refuge.

“Ha! This is what makes life worth living.”

After tossing his head back several times, the burly patron emptied his massive mug.

The man slammed the vessel down with a heavy thud after licking away the final traces of foam.

“Really now, drinking so heavily in broad daylight?”

The tavern keeper chided him gently.

“It’s fine. The fellow’s a dwarf; his capacity for spirits is limitless.”

“Precisely. Exactly.”

Other patrons, seated at neighboring tables, chimed in agreement.

“Hah. Silence! Another round.”

The man, far too large of frame to be mistaken for a typical dwarf, feigned deafness as he thrust his mug forward. A fresh tankard was deposited into his thick palm, and he promptly poured the contents down his throat with a crisp, refreshing gulp.

“Without this, how is one supposed to survive this desolate world?”

Cheering up slightly, the man chuckled deeply and leaned against the counter.

“Even so, moderation is wise. Quite a few have met their end through excessive drink.”

“That applies to humans.”

“Rubbish! Even for dwarves, too much poison is lethal. By the way, hasn’t the mood in the settlement remained rather bleak?”

“You mean *that* village?”

The customer hoisted his empty mug before setting it down firmly.

“…Well, both the elders and those of my generation are weary these days.”

“I am exhausted as well,” the dwarf muttered before reaching across the bar, seizing a bottle, and taking a direct swig.

“Tsk, do you not stock anything with more bite?”

“Hey now! It is still the middle of the day; you cannot carry on like this! One must keep a clear head during times such as these!”

“Bah, enough with the lectures…”

Just as the dwarf prepared to snap back at the owner.

*Creeeak!*

“Found you.”

The instant the portal swung inward, a melodious voice, rarely heard in these parts, resonated through the room.

It lacked the rough cadence forged by worldly trials, carrying instead a vibrant, youthful timbre.

Particularly given that it belonged to a young man.

Such speakers were commonly categorized as greenhorns.

“Hm?”

As anticipated, the newcomer was a young man with a deep hood pulled low over his features, glancing around the interior.

His facial features remained shadowed beneath the fabric, yet his skin was smooth and refined, bearing the unmistakable air of an aristocratic scion.

“Are you the resident dwarf?”

Ah, so that explained his presence.

The sole motivation for an outsider, let alone a young noble, to journey this far into the territory was self-evident.

The acquisition of dwarven craftsmanship.

It was widely known that wealthy elites and nobles prized dwarven steel as priceless heirlooms.

*For which those pieces were originally forged.*

Tsk. To see items created with such dedication relegated to mere display pieces.

The massive dwarf.

Or rather, the head of the dwarven settlement, ‘Giant Baldodum,’ held little regard for such inexperienced youths.

Meanwhile, the tavern keeper stepped in to smooth over the tension with an amiable smile.

“Indeed he is! This is the craftsman you seek.”

“Hey!”

Despite Baldodum’s growl, the proprietor continued addressing the youth unfazed.

“This fellow possesses legendary skill as a master smith.”

“…”

Baldodum understood precisely why the tavern keeper was meddling.

Genuine concern, no doubt.

Ever since laying down his forging hammer, the smith had occupied this stool without interruption.

“Is that so? It appears I have arrived at the correct destination.”

The young man approached without hesitation.

Naturally, this heralded a commission for a custom blade.

And the remuneration would undoubtedly be substantial.

However.

*I lack all inspiration.*

Giant Baldodum was in no condition to fashion anything whatsoever.

More accurately, his motivation had vanished entirely.

Thus, even as he prepared to dismiss the tavern keeper’s well-intentioned intervention.

“…Hm?”

Something caught Baldodum’s attention.

It was a compact dagger secured to the thigh of the youth, who otherwise appeared entirely unaccustomed to bearing arms.

*This is…*

Though partially obscured by the sheath and harness, the craftsmanship visible along the hilt alone indicated it was not the work of a common artisan.

He briefly wondered if it originated from one of the elders within his own village.

Yet something remained amiss.

*I have never encountered this technique in all my years…*

Every blade leaving the settlement passed through his inspection, yet this specific style was entirely foreign.

It was not merely a matter of a failing memory.

The design philosophy differed subtly.

So subtly, in fact, that only a true master of the craft would perceive the nuance…

As Baldodum stared at the blade, utterly transfixed.

The young master—Lion Asteri—allowed his lips to curve into a broad smile.

*Just as I anticipated. You would find your curiosity piqued.*

Lion unfastened the dagger from his thigh and placed it onto the wooden surface with a soft clatter.

“You seem intrigued by this piece.”

“It would be dishonest to claim otherwise.”

“Then, how about a wager involving a drinking contest? Should you prevail, I shall permit you to examine it to your heart’s content.”

The logic behind utilizing a drinking contest to inspect a weapon remained entirely obscure.

A drinking contest?

“You—a pampered young noble like yourself—against me? In a drinking duel?”

Ha-ha-ha!

Mirth erupted from the surrounding tables.

“Listen well, young master! That fellow is a bottomless pit when it comes to spirits. A true master!”

“I have never once witnessed him sober.”

“You would be wise simply to display the weapon before you find yourself regretting it!”

Despite the surrounding mockery and warnings, the young man, keeping his hood shadowed, maintained his gaze fixed squarely upon the massive smith.

Baldodum tilted his head in confusion.

“…”

Such unwavering confidence was unusual.

Yet, strangely, Baldodum found it far from disagreeable.

Why? Could it be that he sensed an unfamiliar, revitalizing energy?

*Reminiscent of the spiritual resonance I encountered in my youth…*

No, that was an exaggeration.

Regardless, his instincts whispered that this visitor was not malicious.

“Ha! Very well. And what are the stakes on your end?”

“I wish for you to grant me entry into your village as an honored guest.”

“…What?”

Not a request for a blade, but passage into the secluded settlement?

*I cannot fathom what scheme occupies his mind.*

Still.

The terms were hardly disadvantageous.

After all, this was a contest he was entirely incapable of losing!

“Let us not prolong this. What of the spirits?”

“The loser settles the tab.”

“Fair enough. Keeper! Fetch a flask of ‘Oak Barrel Pickle’!”

Lion offered a knowing smile at the confident declaration.

Excellent. Everything was proceeding precisely according to design.