The garden of the Eisengard estate.
Beneath the warm sunlight, a peaceful tea time was in full swing.
“My, Lady Kara. The angle at which you hold that teacup... It’s the standard form from the imperial etiquette manual. How do you learn so quickly?”
The head maid clapped her hands in admiration.
Seated at the table, Kara set down her teacup gracefully and smiled.
“Really? I’m just doing what feels comfortable.”
“Your posture is so natural. You’re far more elegant than most young noble ladies.”
At the barrage of praise from the servants, Kara wrinkled her nose as if embarrassed.
The servants, who had found her difficult to approach at first, had now fallen completely for Kara’s easygoing and affable charm, to the point that they treated one another like sisters.
I watched the scene from afar and clicked my tongue.
‘That’s what she calls comfortable?’
No matter how hard I practiced, my hands trembled like mad.
I was afraid I’d snap the handle off.
When I asked her about it later, Kara’s answer was simple.
“It’s easy because it’s similar to swordsmanship. Relax your shoulders, get the angle of your wrist right, control your breathing. There’s no difference, really.”
She had applied the delicate sense needed to handle a sword to handling a teacup.
‘How is that any different from telling someone to just watch the ball and hit it...?’
Swallowing my bitterness, I turned my head.
Because an even greater trial awaited me.
That afternoon.
The estate kitchen was thrown into an uproar.
“L-Lady Kara! You mustn’t!”
The head chef turned pale and tried to stop Kara.
It was because of the armful of plants Kara had picked from a corner of the garden.
“That is ‘root bracken’! It’s a poisonous weed that gives you a stomachache if you eat it! If the count sees this, he’ll faint!”
In the Empire, it was a plant treated as poisonous and pulled out by the roots.
In the past, Eisen had also brought some back after returning from the diplomatic mission, saying it was edible, and planted it in the garden, but no one knew how to remove its poison, so it had remained untouched.
But Kara paid no attention and rolled up her sleeves.
“Oh, this isn’t poisonous. If you prepare it properly, it’s delicious.”
The winters of Norheim, where food was scarce.
To survive in that harsh land, the tribespeople had acquired the wisdom to turn even poisonous plants into food.
Kara set a pot of water on the stove with practiced ease.
“You blanch it in salt water to draw out the poison, then soak it in water mixed with flour to get rid of the bitterness. I’ll show you.”
She took command of the kitchen and began cooking.
The cooks, who had been anxious at first, soon began assisting her as if entranced by her skilled knife work and cooking method.
And a short while later.
Bubble, bubble.
“Oh my...?”
A pleasantly bitter yet savory aroma spread throughout the kitchen.
The foul stench unique to poisonous plants vanished, leaving only the deep fragrance of mountain greens that made one’s mouth water.
“It smells... really nutty.”
“Right? In our tribe, this is a delicacy we rarely get to eat. It tastes even better stir-fried. We used to stir-fry it in deer fat.”
Kara tasted the seasoning and nodded in satisfaction.
“The count will like it too. Probably.”
At the same time, in the estate dining room.
I was sitting across from Count Eisen, breaking out in a cold sweat.
I had graduated from the hell of quill pens, only to be thrown into the hell of silverware.
“Varg. When cutting steak, you must not press down with force as if you were sawing.”
Count Eisen pointed it out in a stern voice.
“Think of it as gently pushing along the grain of the meat... Yes, as though playing a cello.”
“A c-cello...?”
For me, who had been in charge of drums back in the tribe, it was far too advanced an analogy.
I moved the knife in my hand with the utmost caution, as if it were Excalibur itself.
Screeech...
Fortunately, no disaster occurred in which the plate shattered or the meat was reduced to mush.
‘Now that I think about it, the quill pen was just way too fragile.’
“Phew... Was that a success?”
“Excellent. Your control over your strength has improved considerably.”
Count Eisen adjusted his glasses, looking pleased.
“Now, try the soup. Without making a sound, from the inside outward.”
I moved the spoon like a robot.
This wasn’t mealtime. It was torture.
At this rate, lifting my drunken father Gorgon would have been easier.
After the dining etiquette lesson that felt like an hour finally ended, Count Eisen stepped away for a moment.
“Haa....”
Only then did I lean back against the chair and relax.
Even though it had only been a simple meal, every muscle in my body felt like it was screaming.
Especially because of the cursive practice.
Thanks to those fragile quill pens, the gap in progress between Kara and me had been especially obvious, and the tension from that time had become ingrained in my body.
Without thinking, I looked down at the silver spoon in my hand.
“...Huh?”
My eyes widened.
The neck of the spoon had bent like pulled taffy and twisted like a pretzel.
It had definitely been fine during the lesson, hadn’t it?
‘Ah.’
The moment the lesson ended and I relaxed, my grip must have unconsciously tightened as the tension left me.
“What happened to this? I loosened my grip, though?”
Even though I had been more careful than when I broke the quill pens, this was the result.
If I couldn’t control this strength, I might have to pay for spoons every day in the academy cafeteria.
‘This is bad. At this rate, Ronas is going to chew me out...’
As I was staring at the twisted spoon and worrying seriously—
Creak.
The dining room door opened, and someone staggered in.
It was Ronas.
“Water... Some water....”
With hollow eyes, he accepted the cup a servant handed him.
Inside was a thick, dark-green liquid.
A special vegetable juice said to be good for recovering from fatigue.
Ronas downed the unappetizing green liquid in one shot as if his life depended on it.
Gulp, gulp.
Then, as he caught his breath, he casually glanced over at me.
“......?!”
His gaze locked onto what was in my hand.
An artistically mangled silver spoon.
Ronas’s pupils trembled as if an earthquake had struck them.
‘That man... I gave him a spoon to eat with, and he turned it into modern art. Is he a monster?’
It had clearly been an eating utensil, yet once it entered that man’s hands, it emerged as a weapon.
Ronas flinched and took a step back.
The way he was startled at the sight of a barbarian was somehow the spitting image of my father.
When our eyes met, he silently set the empty cup down on the table and quickly left.
“...Excuse me? I think you’re misunderstanding.”
My excuse vanished behind the closed door.
* * *
Dinner time.
At the center of the dining table sat the “seasoned root bracken greens” Kara had made.
Among the splendid imperial dishes, it had an especially rough and simple appearance.
But its smell, at least, had a definite presence.
Count Eisen picked up his fork with a puzzled expression.
“This is...”
“I made it. I heard people don’t eat this plant in the Empire, but I guarantee the taste.”
Kara recommended it with sparkling eyes.
With a trembling hand, the count took a bite of the greens.
Chew, chew.
In that instant, his eyes widened.
“Th-this is...!”
The count’s fork came to a stop.
His gaze drifted into the air before slowly returning to the plate.
A wistful look settled in his eyes.
“...It’s the taste I ate until I was sick of it with that fellow Gorgon during our diplomatic mission.”
“You know it?”
“How could I not? Twenty years ago, during that cold winter, when our supplies were cut off and we were isolated... This was the only food Old Lady Baba managed to find for us.”
A bitter yet nostalgic smile spread across the count’s lips.
“Back then, things were hard for all of us. We survived with this one vegetable dish, mixing liquor into plain water to drink. It was bitter, tough... But still, it was something we were grateful for because it filled our stomachs.”
As if savoring the memory, he swallowed another bite of the greens.
Then, suddenly, he tilted his head in puzzlement.
“But that is strange. When I went to the tribe a few days ago to escort you two, this wasn’t on the table. There was meat, even precious fruit... The table was so laden it nearly collapsed.”
The count seemed inwardly disappointed.
“I had been secretly missing that taste, you see. That Gorgon fellow must have forgotten the palate of an old friend.”
At those words, Kara smiled.
“No. Father didn’t want to serve it to you.”
“...He didn’t want to?”
“How could he serve an old friend food we were forced to make and eat to keep from starving?”
Kara spoke calmly.
“Father is proud, you know. Even if he himself went hungry, for the table of a friend and honored guest like you, he wanted to put out only the best meat and the best liquor.”
“......!”
Count Eisen’s eyes shook.
“That’s why, for days beforehand, he sent the hunters out and hounded them to catch the finest deer. He told them not even to look at these greens.”
“Ah....”
Count Eisen could not continue speaking.
Something settled heavily in a corner of his chest.
‘So that was it. Gorgon, you foolish friend.’
He himself had simply missed the taste of old memories.
But to Gorgon, that taste was a memory of poverty and pain, a shameful side he did not want to show, least of all to a friend who had returned in success.
‘What I missed wasn’t a splendid feast, but the taste of those bitter roots I chewed with you on a day when the snowstorm raged.’
Gorgon’s rough yet deep consideration, hiding the memory of poverty and trying to offer his friend the finest treatment.
The count’s throat tightened.
He removed his glasses, wiped the corners of his eyes, and picked up his fork again.
“...It’s delicious. Truly delicious, Miss Kara.”
“I’m glad. Please eat a lot.”
“Yes. I should. I can’t leave something this precious behind.”
That day, Count Eisen left the splendid steak untouched and emptied the rustic plate of greens completely.
* * *
The dining table of Eisengard was plain, but warm.
A retired old gentleman and his household, together with a barbarian couple, sat around it sharing small conversations and laughter.
But around that same time, in another place in the northern Empire, an entirely different atmosphere flowed.
The main castle of the Northgard Archduchy.
A place where massive walls and sharp spires exuded a sense of intimidation.
A boy was walking down the corridors of the castle, where darkness had settled.
It was Kairon.
Having just returned from inspecting the border, the boy’s steps were lighter than usual.
He had not even changed his clothes yet.
With the hem of his dust-stained coat fluttering, he headed toward the annex located deep within the castle.
It was the residence of the archducal family’s eldest son and Kairon’s older brother, “Karl von Northgard.”
‘I have to tell my brother first.’
A childlike excitement lingered on Kairon’s face.
The things he had experienced at the border.
The peril of the carriage accident, and the story of how he had been saved by a barbarian named Varg.
And above all, he wanted to boast that he had seen with his own eyes the true form of the strength he had admired all his life.
Because his brother was the only one who would listen to his story seriously and sympathize with him.
To Kairon, Karl was his brother, his teacher, and a source of lingering pain.
A tragic genius whose lower body had been paralyzed in an unexpected accident when they were young.
But he had not given up.
After grueling rehabilitation, he had recovered enough to walk with a cane, and when it came to swordsmanship theory, even the knight commander clicked his tongue in astonishment.
However.
‘If only that damned illness hadn’t flared up....’
A year ago, an illness of unknown cause had struck him, and the muscles he had built through rehabilitation wasted away again. In the end, Karl was once more confined to a wheelchair.
Even so, his brother had not collapsed.
Rather, he worried about his younger brother and remained a dependable pillar of support, quietly backing him from behind.
‘Brother’s body may be inconvenient, but he’s far more exceptional than I am... So why won’t Father acknowledge him?’
Swallowing his bitterness, Kairon knocked on the door of the annex study.
Knock, knock.
“Brother? It’s Kairon. May I come in?”
But there was no answer.
Kairon carefully opened the door, but the study was empty.
“Are you looking for the young master?”
A passing servant bowed his head.
“Yeah. Where did my brother go? It’s not time for him to sleep yet.”
“Well... He went to the main building to report on business to His Grace the Archduke.”
“To Father?”
Kairon tilted his head.
Normally, it was customary to have a servant or aide handle regular reports.
Why would his brother, whose body was inconvenienced, go in person, and at this late hour?
‘Is there something important going on?’
Feeling puzzled, Kairon turned and headed to the main building, to the archduke’s study.
In front of the archduke’s study.
The escort knights were guarding the door, but they did not stop Kairon, the younger lord.
Just as he was about to grasp the doorknob—
A voice that seemed to leak a chill from within sounded out.
“Karl. Did I not ask you?”
It was the voice of his father, the Archduke of Northgard.
A businesslike, cold tone from which all emotion had been stripped away.
“Why did you insist on dragging that inconvenient leg all the way here in person? It would have been enough to send the report through an aide.”
“That is... I thought it only proper to report to you directly, Father... as I always have....”
Karl’s voice was cowed.
It trembled as though a sinner were pleading for mercy.
“And... there is something I wished to say regarding this border defense budget proposal....”
“Enough.”
The Grand Duke cut him off.
Rustle.
Only the sound of paper being turned filled the silence.
“I will review the budget proposal you drafted. Since it is your work, a review alone should be enough to settle it. However, there is no need for you to explain it in front of me.”
“......”
“It is unsightly. Go back now.”
“......!”
Kairun, listening outside the door, clenched his fist tight.
Unsightly.
Was that something to say to his own son, and a son in poor health at that?
But the Grand Duke’s venom did not stop there.
“And from now on, do not come here to report unless necessary. The sound of you dragging that wheelchair along is unpleasant.”
“......I apologize, Father.”
“Go. I am tired.”
A moment later, the sound of wheelchair wheels rolling could be heard.
Creak—.
The office door opened.
Kairun tried to hide himself beside the door, but he failed to move in time and came face-to-face with his brother.
“......!”
Karl, seated in the wheelchair, flinched and stopped.
His legs, covered by a blanket, were withered to the bone, and there was no color in his pale face.
But what pained Kairun more than that were his brother’s eyes.
The shame of having his wretched state seen by his younger brother.
And eyes in which deep resignation and sorrow were mingled.
“...You’re here, Kairun.”
Karl forced a smile as he called to him.
But the corners of his mouth were trembling.
“Brother....”
Kairun could not say a word.
Not the exciting tales of adventure from the border, nor the stories about Varg.
In this cold air, he could not bring himself to speak of them.
“...You look tired. Please go in and rest.”
“Yes. You too... take care on your way in.”
As if fleeing, Karl rolled his wheelchair wheels and disappeared down the end of the corridor.
His brother’s back receding into the distance.
And the tightly shut door of his father’s office.
Between the two, Kairun clenched his fist hard.
It was a scene that stood in stark contrast to Eisengard’s dinner table, overflowing with warm campfire light and laughter.
This place was the heart of the empire’s north, the Grand Ducal House of Northguard.
A place as cold as ice, where only suffocating silence flowed.
Kairun lowered his head.
Just as the inferiority and anger in his eyes were about to blaze up—
‘Forget it... anyway...’
They soon cooled coldly.
Because Varg’s figure suddenly flashed through his mind.
Overwhelming strength.
And yet, the broad back that had saved him.
Originally, for Kairun of the original work, Karl had been the sole object of admiration.
Gorgon, whom Aizen had praised until his mouth ran dry, had of course been someone he admired as well, but that was admiration born of fantasy.
The only living, breathing admiration he had was Karl.
That was why the reality of his brother being disregarded by their father later became the catalyst that stimulated and amplified Kairun’s own inferiority complex when other nobles looked down on him after he entered the academy.
But now, it was different.
He had met Varg.
A new object of admiration had appeared—one greater, and freer.
The weight of admiration that had been fixed solely on his brother had been distributed.
Thanks to that, he was able to prevent his anger toward his father from twisting into a warped inferiority complex.
‘That’s right... what does it matter if some old man like that acknowledges me?’
Cooling his heated head, Kairun slowly unclenched the fist he had been holding tight.