Chapter 19
Being falsely accused of embezzling public funds and practically kicked out, I doubted he’d want to return so easily.
If it were me, I’d be sick of it all and never want to see the place again.
Besides, why would anyone want to come back to a family that was on the verge of collapse?
“Would it be alright if I came back?”
But contrary to my expectations, Colin gave an unexpectedly positive answer.
“Then, I’ll be in your care once again.”
Colin was from a family of butlers that had served the House of Drow for generations.
Perhaps, to him, the Drow Baron’s household carried far greater meaning than I had vaguely assumed.
“He really is different.”
It hadn’t been long since his return, but the atmosphere in the house had already changed noticeably.
Had he reassigned the few remaining servants according to their strengths?
The house, which had once seemed to run awkwardly and chaotically, now visibly functioned far better.
“Even the overgrown garden has changed.”
It wasn’t exactly a splendid garden full of colorful blooms, but at least it no longer looked like the jungle of weeds it had been before.
“This is this month’s income and expenditure report.”
Looking at the expenditure column crammed with writing compared to the income section, Seres skimmed through it indifferently.
As expected, most of their income went to paying off interest on loans, with only a small portion left to scrape by.
“…Huh?”
What was surprising was that ever since Colin had come back, that measly budget for daily expenses…
“There’s money left over?”
“There should be.”
That was astonishing. Agne had always complained about not having enough to cover living expenses.
Even in the short period they had spent together before she was driven out, she would frequently bring up the idea of taking loans.
Not for the huge amount needed for Yulia’s treatment, of course, but at least small loans to cover day-to-day expenses, or so she had said.
“I suspected Agne wasn’t managing the household properly, but…”
Still, for the difference to be this drastic?
Seres genuinely looked at butler Colin with eyes of admiration.
Whoosh.
“…?”
At that moment, Colin suddenly stepped forward and blew out the candle on the table.
When Seres looked at him in disbelief, he smiled kindly, eyes crinkling.
“It’s still early, the sun is out. There’s plenty of light.”
…The sun was practically set. It was getting dark.
“We have to save if we want to live.”
“……”
Not live well, just live.
And when Colin said we have to save, his eyes seemed to gleam unnaturally. Surely that wasn’t my imagination.
“I’d heard he was a gentle person…”
Did his personality change?
Watching Colin carefully put the report away, saying he would reuse it as scrap paper later, Seres let out a short sigh.
“Guildmaster.”
“What?”
Slurp.
“The Imperial Court sent word.”
“So?”
Gulp. Slurp, slurp!
“They said you must attend the meeting in a few days.”
“And? What am I supposed to do about that?”
Slurp! Cough!
“This isn’t the time to be sitting around eating stew!”
“…Did you just say stew like it’s nothing?”
The Black Mercenary Guild—ranked number one in the Empire.
Its leader, Skal, was a regular at Where Your Feet Rest, the stew shop beloved by mercenaries.
No matter how busy he was, he never missed a daily meal there.
When Seres created the restaurant rule, “Cause a commotion, and not only you but your entire guild will be banned for a week,” Skal himself warned his guild members in all seriousness:
“If you want to make trouble in the stew shop, quit the guild first!”
He hadn’t been joking—his passionate cry made every member nod furiously. Nobody in the guild was ignorant of Skal’s love for stew.
“You… Did you just call it ‘stew’ like it’s nothing?”
“Nope. When did I ever say that?”
“……”
“You must’ve misheard me, Guildmaster.”
Skal squinted at his shameless deputy before returning to his bowl.
It was already his third, yet the flavor hadn’t dulled one bit. If anything, the more he ate, the richer it tasted.
“Guildmaster! So what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“About the meeting! You’re attending, right?”
“No.”
“What?! Why not!”
“…Did you just drop honorifics on me?”
“No way. You must’ve misheard again.”
Deputy Guildmaster Lot was about to burst.
The Imperial meeting was just around the corner, and this man had the nerve to act so carefree!
Other guildmasters had been busy for weeks preparing formal attire and deciding who to take with them.
Most concerning of all—
“You really won’t attend? You’re not joking?”
“I’m serious.”
“Unbelievable! Why!”
“Hey.”
“That’s it! If you skip this meeting again, I’m handing in my resignation!”
“You say that like you didn’t say it last time too.”
“Then why aren’t you going this time?”
The Black Guild was the most famous mercenary group in the Debrica Empire.
As such, Skal, its leader, was often summoned—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—into the affairs of the high and mighty.
Imperial events, important discussions, council meetings—he was frequently asked to attend.
But Skal himself had almost never shown up.
He usually threw out some excuse and sent Lot in his stead.
And every time, Lot had to endure the hostile glares of other guildmasters, who accused them of showing off their rank by shirking duties.
“This time you can’t refuse! They specifically said there are crucial matters that require your presence!”
“But it’s always the same nonsense. ‘Protect everything yourselves, mercenaries.’ Isn’t that it?”
With Black Forest appearances becoming more frequent lately, they already had their hands full. And in this chaos, they wanted a meeting?
Finishing his stew down to the last drop, Skal pushed the bowl aside with a click of his tongue.
“Besides, tell me—”
Had attending those noble-filled meetings ever once been worthwhile?
It was always the same: nobles shouting for their own interests.
And in the end, the decision was always the same—
The mercenaries handle all the dangerous work.
If the nobles so much as suffer a scratch, the guild’s privileges would be stripped away.
“Why bother sitting through that kind of useless talk?”
“Because everyone else does!”
“Then you’ll go again this time.”
“Gods, no!”
How could a grown man—well into his years—be so impossible!
Lot banged his forehead against the table in frustration.
“…But hey.”
“…What now?”
Had Skal actually changed his mind?
“Doesn’t the stew taste even better today?”
“…What the hell kind of—”
Thump, thump.
“No, really.”
Ignoring his deputy’s head-banging, Skal looked down at his empty dish in wonder.
Somehow, the flavor really did feel deeper today.
And strangely enough, the stiffness he’d felt in his body since morning was gone too.
“What nonsense! You say that every time you eat here!”
“No, it’s different this time. Feels… oh? And you’re getting mouthier today, aren’t you?”
“Whatever! I’m resigning!”
Thump, thump.
“Hmm.”
Maybe the only way to solve this mystery… was to order another bowl?
“Hey.”
At Skal’s call, a maid serving food to other customers came over with a bright smile.
It was Jay, maid of the Drow Baron’s household.
“Do you need anything else?”
“One more bowl.”
“Of course.”
“…Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“Ah, Mr. Mark injured himself last night.”
“Injured? Mark?”
“Yes. So my lady and I are helping out in the shop for now.”
Early that morning, Mark had sent an urgent message. He’d tripped and fallen down the stairs the night before.
Unfortunately, his right arm had broken cleanly, leaving him unable to lift a ladle for some time.
Skal’s jaw dropped.
“The head cook… got hurt?”
Not only Skal, but even the mercenaries dining nearby looked at Jay in shock.
They had wondered why Mark was nowhere to be seen today, but assumed he was busy in the kitchen.
And now they learned he wasn’t even in the shop?
“Then… who made the food?”
If Mark wasn’t here, then who had cooked the very stew they were eating?
Had it been made in advance?
