Chapter 19
It seemed unlikely that Colin, who had been falsely accused of embezzling public funds and practically driven out, would easily agree to return.
If it were me, I wouldn’t even want to see this place again, let alone come back.
And what sentiment could one possibly have for a family that was already on the verge of ruin?
“May I return?”
However, Colin unexpectedly gave an affirmative response without much hesitation.
“Then I’ll do my best once again.”
Colin hailed from a family of butlers who had served the Baron Drow family for generations.
Perhaps the Drow family meant more to him than I could ever comprehend.
“He is definitely different.”
Though Colin hadn’t been back for long, the atmosphere within the house had noticeably changed.
Perhaps he had reassigned the remaining staff according to their capabilities?
The previously disorganized household now appeared to be running quite smoothly. Even to the untrained eye, the improvement was obvious.
“Even the garden filled with weeds has changed.”
It wasn’t yet a dazzling garden bursting with flowers, but it was no longer an overgrown jungle like before.
“This is the income and expense report for the month.”
Ceres skimmed through the report, where the expense section was significantly more detailed than the income section.
As expected, most of the income was spent on loan interest, with only a meager amount left for living expenses.
“…Huh?”
What was surprising, however, was that after Colin’s arrival, the meager living expenses…
“It’s been saved?”
“It must be saved.”
This was astonishing. Agne constantly complained about insufficient living expenses.
Even during the short period when Agne was still around, she often suggested taking out loans, claiming they could help cover Yulia’s medical expenses or provide enough for everyday needs.
“I suspected Agne wasn’t managing the household properly, but this much of a difference?”
Ceres couldn’t help but look at Colin with genuine admiration in her eyes.
Whoosh.
“…?”
But then, Colin suddenly walked over and blew out the flame of a candlestick on the table.
Meeting Ceres’ questioning gaze, he offered a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling kindly.
“It’s still early in the day. There’s plenty of daylight left.”
…The sun was already setting. It was getting dark.
“We must conserve to survive.”
“……”
Survive? Not thrive or live well—just survive?
The way Colin’s eyes gleamed as he spoke about conserving made it clear that this was no exaggeration.
“I’ve heard he’s a very mild-mannered person.”
Has his personality changed?
Watching Colin carefully stash the report to reuse the blank side, Ceres let out a small sigh.
***
“Guild Leader.”
“What?”
Slurp.
“There’s a message from the Imperial Palace.”
“And?”
Gulp. Slurp, slurp!
“They’re requesting your attendance at the meeting in a few days.”
“So, what do you want me to do about it?”
Slurp! Ahhh!
“This isn’t the time to leisurely sit here eating stew!”
“…Stew, you say?”
The leader of the Empire’s top mercenary guild, Black, Skarl was a true regular at the stew shop Where Your Steps Rest.
No matter how busy he was, he made it a point to eat at least one meal a day here.
It was Skarl who had strictly enforced the restaurant’s new rule: “If you cause a commotion, not only are you banned for a week, but so is your entire guild.”
“If you’re planning to cause trouble in the stew shop, leave the guild first!”
His words, spoken with utter seriousness, had left his guild members with no choice but to fervently nod in agreement. Everyone knew of Skarl’s love for stew.
“You called this stew ‘just stew,’ didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. When did I say that?”
“……”
“You must’ve misheard, Guild Leader.”
Skarl shot a pointed glare at his vice leader before returning to his stew.
It was already his third bowl, but the taste never diminished. If anything, the deep, rich flavor seemed to grow stronger with each bite.
“Guild Leader! What are you planning to do about the meeting?”
“What meeting?”
“You’re attending, right?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“…Did you just speak informally to me?”
“No, I didn’t. You must’ve misheard again.”
The vice leader, Lot, felt like he was going to explode inside.
How could a guild leader remain so relaxed with the Imperial Conference just around the corner?
Other mercenary guild leaders had been busy for over a month, tailoring outfits for the event and selecting personnel to accompany them.
Most concerning, however, was…
“Are you really not going to attend the conference? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope, I’m serious.”
“Ah, come on! Why?”
“Hey.”
“Whatever! If you skip this one, I’m resigning!”
“You say that as if you didn’t do it last time.”
“What’s your excuse this time for not going?”
Black was the most renowned mercenary guild in the Devrica Empire.
As such, its leader, Skarl, was often summoned for high-profile matters, both voluntarily and involuntarily.
From Imperial events to meetings on critical issues, requests for his attendance were frequent.
However, the number of times Skarl personally attended such meetings could be counted on one hand.
Most often, he would make up excuses and send his vice leader, Lot, in his place.
Dealing with the glares from other guild leaders, who accused Black of flaunting their #1 ranking, always fell to Lot.
“This time, it’s different! They specifically asked for your presence because the agenda is incredibly important!”
“And yet, it’s always the same thing. Isn’t it just them telling us to handle all the defenses?”
With the increasing frequency of black forest appearances, things were chaotic enough without wasting time on a meeting.
Skarl pushed aside his now-empty stew bowl, having cleaned it down to the last drop, and clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Besides, huh?”
When had he ever seen something good come out of attending a meeting full of nobles?
All they ever did was shout and fight for their own interests. What kind of meaningful discussion could possibly happen there?
And the conclusion? Always the same as before:
Leave the dangerous work to the mercenaries.
And if the mercenaries failed? Threaten to revoke every benefit given to the guild.
“Why should I waste my time listening to that nonsense?”
“Because everyone else does!”
“You’re going this time.”
“Ah, for crying out loud!”
How could someone in his 30s act like this?
Lot slammed his forehead on the table, repeatedly.
“But you know what?”
“What?”
Was he reconsidering?
“Doesn’t the stew taste even better today?”
“Ugh, come on! What does that have to do with—”
Thunk thunk.
“No, seriously.”
Ignoring his vice leader’s dramatic table-thumping, Skarl stared at his now-empty bowl.
Today, the stew seemed to have a richer, deeper flavor.
And somehow, after eating it, his stiff body felt lighter and more refreshed.
“Don’t give me that nonsense! You say that every time you eat!”
“No, it’s different today… Also, is it just me, or are you acting out even more than usual?”
“Forget it! I’m handing in my resignation!”
Thunk thunk.
“Hmm.”
Skarl pondered briefly. The only way to solve this mystery… was to order another bowl.
“Hey.”
In response to his call, someone carrying dishes approached with a bright smile.
It was Jay, a maid of the Drow baron family.
“Do you need something else?”
“Another bowl.”
“Understood.”
“By the way, are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“Oh, Mark injured himself last night.”
“Injured? Mark?”
“Yes, so my lady and I are managing the shop in his place.”
Earlier that morning, Skarl had received a frantic message from Mark, who had apparently fallen down the stairs by accident the night before.
To make matters worse, he had broken his right arm, rendering him unable to use a ladle for the foreseeable future.
“Mark, the chef, is injured?”
Not only Skarl but also the other mercenaries dining nearby shot Jay surprised looks.
While they had noticed Mark’s absence earlier, they had assumed he was busy with kitchen work.
But now they were hearing he wasn’t even in the shop?
“Then… who made the food?”
If Mark wasn’t there, who had cooked the stew they were currently eating?
Had it been prepared in advance?
—
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