Chapter 40

“……”

In that horrifying instant, Lino intuitively knew his face must be violently splotchy. He had gone deathly pale at the sheer, boundary-shattering obscenity of the remark, only to flush a searing, violent red as his body traitorously recalled the visceral memory of Grondil actually penetrating that deep. Did Erin hear him? To spout such shockingly filthy degeneracy without a shred of hesitation in front of someone they had just met… was this man truly a noble? He was starting to suspect the Duke had actually crawled out of the slums.

Unable to draw a proper breath, Lino merely blinked rapidly in pure shock. Because Grondil’s lips were pressed intimately against his ear, Lino’s entire field of vision was filled with the Duke’s silver-grey hair. From the shockingly close proximity of Grondil’s neck, a crisp, piercing scent drifted into Lino’s nose.

The splotchy panic on Lino’s face rapidly smoothed into a deep, complete flush. It wasn’t because Grondil was grinding against his navel, nor was it because of the horrifically vulgar remark. It was entirely due to the Duke’s intoxicating, overwhelming body odor, which seemed far more potent today than usual.

If you could distill Isberg down into a single scent, it would smell exactly like this, Lino thought dazedly.

It smelled like the sharp, resinous tang of pine needles riding the crest of a brutal winter gale. He pictured an endless forest of pines piercing the sky, the wind heavy and damp with falling snow, yet so catastrophically cold it felt like ice needles against the skin. If that freezing wind mingled with the faint, biting aroma of the pines, this was exactly the scent it would produce.

Entirely forgetting that Grondil had just sexually humiliated him with the most vulgar words imaginable, Lino desperately and greedily inhaled the scent deep into his lungs. Inhale— he drew the breath in deeply, then exhaled it with agonizing, trembling slowness. He didn’t know if the grand snowfields of Isberg actually smelled like this, but he was so utterly convinced they should that he refused to let even a single wisp of the scent escape his lungs.

“Regardless, what brings you here? I thought for sure you’d skip visiting this time.”

Startled by Erin’s sudden interjection, Lino violently flinched back. He had been so entirely consumed by Grondil’s scent that he had completely forgotten where he was or who else was present.

“I have a few questions for you. And go prepare that,” Grondil commanded casually.

“Hmm, I think I can guess what you want to ask. I assume that is for your companion here?”

“Indeed. I will have my usual.”

“Understood. Please wait just a moment.”

Erin stood up, offered a slight, apologetic curtsy, and disappeared into the kitchen.

That? What is ‘that’? And what does he need to ask her? Lino felt incredibly frustrated. They were speaking the common Terne language, yet he couldn’t decipher a single piece of the conversation.

While Erin busied herself in the kitchen, Grondil began toying with Lino’s hand. The Duke’s long, thick fingers intertwined with Lino’s, tracing his palm before lazily stroking his knuckles.

Desperately ignoring the distracting tickle on his palm, Lino slowly surveyed the first floor, realizing the establishment completely lacked menus—a bizarre omission for a restaurant. Erin hadn’t offered a menu booklet, either, yet Grondil had placed a highly specific order as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Your Highness, where exactly are we?” Lino ventured. Because the two seemed intimately acquainted, he couldn’t bring himself to outright ask if this was some sort of illicit establishment. He was also burning to know why he had been brought here. Why me, specifically, when you have Yuneria? “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to visit a place like this with Sir Disson…?”

“Why bring up Sir Disson right now?”

Grondil’s voice, previously relaxed as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into Lino’s palm, abruptly turned sharp.

“W-well… because you always went on excursions with Sir Disson. I do not possess his eloquence, nor do I have an eye for art. And as for gastronomy, I have even less—”

“Sir Disson possessed neither eloquence, an eye for art, nor any concept of gastronomy, so there is no need for you to feel inferior. I wondered what you were getting at.”

“?”

The unexpected retort threw Lino completely off balance. It was an accepted reality that a noble like Yuneria would naturally excel at all those things compared to a commoner like himself. Yet Grondil stared at Lino with an expression of pure annoyance, as if baffled by why Lino would spout such irrelevant nonsense.

“Forced, artificial refinement cannot mask inherent vulgarity, and he lacked even the most fundamental tenets of conversation, let alone eloquence. His tongue might as well have been made of stone, equating quality solely with an exorbitant price tag. You have no idea how excruciating it was to endure his company, Sir Cliff.”

“I… um… I apologize.”

“There is nothing for you to apologize for, Sir Cliff.”

Grondil reached out and pressed a firm finger against Lino’s forehead, physically stopping him from bowing his head.

“But… if it was so excruciating… why did you continue to take him on excursions? Could it be…”

Is he blackmailing you? The question burned on Lino’s tongue, but he barely managed to swallow it. If they were close friends, perhaps he could ask, but the man was a Duke of the Empire. It was an incredibly brazen, disrespectful assumption.

“Could it be what? Are you wondering if I was forced into taking him out because Sir Disson blackmailed me?”

“Well, um… yes… If that is truly the case, shouldn’t measures be taken to stop him? If you brought me here to confess a problem like that—”

“Exactly. That is it.”

Interrupting Lino mid-sentence, Grondil ceased toying with the knight’s hand.

“Pardon? What is it, Your Highness?”

Startled by Grondil’s sudden shift in demeanor, Lino practically vaulted out of his chair.

“Haa…” Instead of answering, Grondil let out a long, heavy sigh, burying his face in his large hands as if desperate to hide his expression.

He remained in that posture for a long time before finally speaking. Because his hands still covered his face, his deep voice was muffled and heavy.

“You hit the nail on the head, Sir Cliff. Sir Disson… discovered my greatest secret. It was because of that discovery that I was forced into that situation. You have no idea how exhausting it has been to spend entire days glued to a man who has been blackmailing me for over a month.”

“Heavens…”

Lino had assumed the Duke was merely teasing him, but there was an actual, horrifying truth hidden beneath the sarcasm. Lino didn’t know the nature of the secret, but Grondil’s uncharacteristically defeated posture confirmed it was a matter of utmost severity.

“I had no idea… I am so incredibly sorry, Your Highness.”

“……”

Lino fidgeted anxiously, completely at a loss as to how to comfort the Duke. Patting his shoulder felt far too presumptuous, and he couldn’t offer his hand because Grondil’s face was buried in his own.

Standing beside Grondil looking like a condemned sinner, Lino offered the most reassuring words he could muster. “Please, come to me anytime. I do not know what this is about, but I will listen to whatever you need to say. I may lack divine power, but I am exceptionally good at listening.”

“Haa… Sir Cliff.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Grondil lowered his hands and called his name. Because his head was still bowed, Lino couldn’t see his face, but the heavily subdued tone convinced Lino that the Duke was in deep distress.

“Are you truly certain I can entrust my secret to you?”

“Of course. There isn’t a single member of the Order of St. Margia who doesn’t know how tightly sealed my lips are.”

“Is that so? Are you confident you could take the secret that the Emperor of the Cartia Empire is a foul-tempered, impotent bastard to your grave?”

“Absolutely. That is obvious… Wait, what?”

Lino, who had been nodding with practiced, automatic affirmation, froze. What did I just hear? The Emperor? Foul-tempered? Impotent bastard?

“W-wait a minute. Your Highness. You absolutely cannot drop a world-shattering secret like that on me without warning! Do you understand? That is a massive problem!”

“Did you not just vow to listen to whatever I needed to say, regardless of what it was?”

Grondil lifted his head and stared straight at Lino. Not a single trace of the anxiety, sorrow, or negative emotion that had supposedly crushed him moments before could be found on the beautiful man’s face.

“But! What you just said… merely hearing it is a state secret punishable by immediate execution!”

“You did say you were the most tight-lipped knight in the Order of St. Margia.”

“Well, yes, but…”

It was true, but there was a monumental difference in the psychological burden of not knowing versus knowing certain things. Crushed under the obsessive paranoia of keeping the secret, Lino might accidentally mumble, ‘The Cartian Emperor is an impotent bastard’ in his sleep, or get blindingly drunk and slur, ‘Hey, you know what? The Cartian Emperor is firing blanks.’ And the inevitable conclusion would be his arrest for high treason, followed by brutal torture and execution.

Vividly picturing his head separated from his body, Lino violently shuddered.

“Oh my, Sir Cliff. The fact that the Cartian Emperor is an impotent bastard is common knowledge to anyone worth their salt.”

Emerging from the kitchen pushing a rolling trolley, Erin casually took a seat at the table and dropped the bombshell as if remarking that the sun had risen in the east.

“Is that true?” Lino demanded, staring incredulously at Grondil. He had literally just been hallucinating his own decapitation.

“Lord Castillion, honestly. You’re supposed to treat the people you favor well,” Erin chastised lightly.

People he favors…?

Lino stared at Erin, his face draining of color. Excuse me. You and His Highness might be close, but we literally just met today. You can’t just casually throw around phrases like that. In what universe does it look like His Highness favors me? He desperately wanted to scream the rebuttal.

“Treat him well? Why should I?” Grondil asked, tilting his head at Erin.

“Because—”

“H-haha. Exactly. I am merely a lowly escort knight, so there is absolutely no reason for His Highness to treat me well,” Lino hastily interrupted before Erin could spout more lethal nonsense. Exactly. Why would a Duke of the Empire bother? There is literally zero reason for him to favor a complicated, fraudulent commoner orphan like me—

“I am already treating him exceptionally well. I honestly do not know how much better I am supposed to treat him,” Grondil grumbled, looking genuinely irritated.

“……?”

Erin burst into peals of laughter at his petulant response, while Lino… Lino simply stared at Grondil with a face completely devoid of expression.

They say that when a person is shocked beyond comprehension, they turn to stone. Lino stared blankly at Grondil, looking exactly like a man who had forgotten how to blink or breathe.

If Erin hadn’t finally stopped laughing to throw a teasing remark at Grondil, Lino likely would have stood there staring until his legs gave out.

“Lord Castillion, it seems your escort knight here is entirely unaware of your supposed good treatment.”

“Gah! N-no! His Highness has treated me incredibly well!”

Lino’s frantic shout cracked horribly. Finding his panic hilarious, Erin practically wheezed with laughter. Grondil, acting entirely deaf to Erin’s raucous amusement, simply stared up at Lino, who was still standing rigidly beside him.

“Sir Cliff.”

“…Yes.”

The agonizingly slow response carried a long, heavy sigh. It was a sigh born of pure internal suffocation, functioning simultaneously as a desperate attempt to mask his paralyzing terror over what the Duke might say next.

“Sit down first. Do your legs not hurt?”

“Well… this much doesn’t really h… No, they hurt. I will sit.”

He had fully intended to say they didn’t hurt, but the blazing intensity in Grondil’s eyes silently communicated that if he didn’t sit down immediately, he would be physically lashed to the chair. Lino hastily planted his rear on the seat.

Watching the bizarre dynamic unfold, Erin finally stopped laughing. Suddenly remembering her purpose, she clapped her hands sharply. Smack!

“Oh my, look at me. It’s all going to melt. Eat up quickly.”

She transferred the items from the trolley onto the table. First, she placed a bottle filled with a dark green liquid and a glass in front of Grondil. Then, she aggressively pushed every single remaining plate directly in front of Lino.

“Uh… what is all this?”

Lino stared at foods he had never seen in his entire life. It was clearly not a hearty meal; the vibrant, colorful arrangements screamed ‘dessert’.

“These are the desserts Lord Castillion used to enjoy frequently.”

“His Highness?”

He eats colorful, sugary things like this?

Lino shot a look of sheer disbelief between Erin, Grondil, and the spread on the table. Erin nodded affirmatively, while Grondil simply poured his drink in silence.

“I have never seen any of this before. Well… not that I have extensive experience with things like this anyway…” Lino murmured, picking up a small dessert spoon and agonizing over where to begin.

“Start with this one. It melts the fastest,” Erin instructed.

“Ah, yes. I will.”

Erin slid a plate piled high with powdery red snow directly in front of him. Having practically skipped breakfast, Lino’s stomach was entirely empty; he scooped up a massive spoonful.

“It is a dessert made by shaving perennial snow crystals, infusing them with chino berry juice, and dusting them with dried nuts.”

“…Perennial snow? Doesn’t that only exist in Isberg?”

About to shove the spoon into his mouth, Lino froze at the mention of the snow and asked suspiciously. Erin laughed heartily, waving her hand dismissively.

“It’s just a marketing name. Everyone knows perennial snow is exclusive to Isberg. But calling it ‘millennium snow’ or ‘century snow’… sounds a bit cheap, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose… that is true.”

Considering the astronomical distance to Isberg, it was impossible for anyone to simply stroll in and harvest snow. Even if they somehow managed it, snow and ice required mana stones to transport without melting.

A young woman operating a restaurant near the capital implied a certain level of capital, but mana stones weren’t something you could just pick up off the street.

Maybe the Duke gave her mana stones…

However, the fundamental premise of successfully entering Isberg in the first place was impossible. Lino neatly accepted Erin’s explanation.

“Wow. This is incredibly delicious.”

He had no idea what a ‘chino berry’ was, but assumed it was akin to a blueberry or raspberry given the vivid red hue. Yet, the shaved ice that hit his tongue wasn’t sour or astringent. Instead, a powerfully sweet, refreshing flavor exploded in his mouth. It wasn’t the cloying sweetness of honey or processed sugar. The entirely unprecedented sensation sent a violent shiver of pleasure through Lino’s body.

After aggressively shoveling a few more spoonfuls, the bottom of the plate revealed itself. He knew scraping utensils against porcelain was poor etiquette, but he genuinely mourned the empty dish.

Just as he was desperately fighting the undignified urge to pick up the plate and slurp the melted remnants, a bowl containing rich, beige ice cream was shoved in front of him.

“You should eat this one next.”

The person offering the bowl wasn’t Erin; it was Grondil.

“Ah… thank you.”

Lino bowed his head awkwardly.

“There is no need to be so excessively grateful. This is ice cream made from the milk of a Hambak-snow cow. However, you must eat it like this to truly experience the flavor.”

“A Hambak-snow cow…?”

It was a breed he had never heard of. Beside them, Erin nodded enthusiastically, claiming she raised them herself. Lino vaguely assumed they must be cows as white as heavy snowfall and focused entirely on Grondil’s moving hands.

First, Grondil meticulously arranged a variety of finely diced fruits around the perimeter of the ice cream. Then, he lifted his bottle of liquor and poured it directly over the fruit. He poured a substantial amount of the dark green liquid until the colorful fruit was half-submerged.

“Is it… really okay to pour this much alcohol over it?”

That’s going to taste horrific… Lino swallowed the critique before it could escape. Alcohol and fruit were a classic pairing, but usually when consumed separately. A dessert drowning in liquor seemed guaranteed to taste exclusively of harsh booze.

Grondil entirely ignored Lino’s concern, setting the bottle down. Next, he poured an equal amount of a thick, white liquid over the concoction.

“Adding fermented milk deepens the flavor profile. Save your worries until after you’ve actually tasted it.”

The Duke effortlessly snatched the spoon from Lino’s hand and began expertly folding the fruit, alcohol, fermented milk, and ice cream together.

Ice cream, fruit, liquor, fermented milk… What in the gods’ names is this going to taste like? While Lino was busy panicking about the impending culinary disaster, Grondil scooped up a perfect mixture and held it directly in front of Lino’s lips.

“Here. Open.”

Fully expecting Grondil to hand the spoon back, Lino was instantly petrified by the command to open his mouth. He was turning into stone with alarming frequency today.

“Are you not going to open?”