Episode 7. How to Survive as a Divine Beast (3)
The man who had shouted abuse at me was the same fat man I’d seen earlier that day.
From what I’d gathered while roaming around the castle, he was an imperial tax auditor — someone responsible for inspecting whether any noble estate was cheating on their annual taxes to the Empire.
Most great noble families only went through routine inspections, just a formality.
But the Devon family was different.
The poorest and weakest among the great houses, they were constantly under suspicion — so even the smallest issue could trigger a full-blown investigation.
‘Pigden, was it? What a name. Suits him perfectly.’
I wrinkled my nose at the sight of Pigden’s pudgy fingers and flabby belly.
“Don’t shed fur while I’m eating! Get lost!”
He shouted, his breath reeking, and kicked me in the side with his foot.
Fortunately, I rolled with the blow and escaped unscathed.
Landing neatly on all fours, I quickly glanced around to make sure no one had seen me move so nimbly.
Luckily, the hallway was empty — only me and that pot-bellied Pigden. The maids were all busy setting the dinner table.
As Pigden waddled into the banquet hall, I quietly followed and hid behind a large vase by the wall.
A moment later, Russell, the steward, entered and informed everyone that Kassirian — who had gone scouting in the northern forest — would return late and that they should start dinner without him.
“Ha! You could’ve told me sooner! I’m starving!”
Pigden scowled and gulped down a glass of wine.
‘Right. Says the man who’s been gnawing on duck meat for hours, pretending to wait.’
As soon as Russell left, Pigden snapped off a leg from a roasted piglet and began chewing greedily.
‘A pig eating another pig. How poetic.’
I shook my head at the tragic scene of interspecies cannibalism.
“The legs are so plump — perfect texture! Whether it’s man or beast, the legs are where the beauty lies, right?”
With a greasy grin, Pigden slid his hand around the maid’s waist as she refilled his glass, his eyes roaming indecently beneath her uniform.
‘That disgusting bastard!’
I was about to leap out when the head maid entered.
“Count Pigden, I’ll be serving you tonight.”
Pigden quickly pulled his hand back, picking up his wine glass with fingers slick with duck fat.
“Oh? Isn’t that unnecessary? Surely you’re too busy…”
The head maid gave a subtle signal to the trembling maid beside him, who immediately retreated in relief.
“The next course has a lot of bones, sir. I’ll debone the fish for you while you dine.”
As soon as she finished speaking, servants began bringing in platters of grilled fish — all male servants, notably. One by one, the maids left the hall.
‘Huh… not bad, head maid.’
I watched her expressionless face as she dissected the fish beside Pigden.
“Ahem, where’s that maid from earlier? The one who poured my wine? Call her back, would you?”
“Yes, sir. Right away. Bring the wine.”
At her cue, a male servant carrying wine entered.
“No, not him — where’s the girl? The wine she poured tasted special.”
“This servant’s family runs a winery. He’s formally trained in handling wine — much more suitable for a connoisseur like yourself. Please, enjoy it.”
“Well… fine, I suppose.”
Defeated by the head maid’s sharp tongue, Pigden resumed eating in silence.
After dinner, he retired to his guest room — the one in the center of the third floor.
From that moment, no maids dared step foot on that floor.
But the next day, Pigden began wandering the castle “to look around,” harassing every maid he saw.
Every time, I wanted to bite his fat thigh clean through — but I had to restrain myself.
If Kassirian ever heard that I’d attacked a guest, I’d be kicked out immediately.
“Ugh! That filthy pig makes my skin crawl! I swear, I’ll hit him next time!”
“Don’t. Remember what happened when His Grace cut off the last auditor’s beard?”
“How could I forget? Because of that bastard, even our silverware and candlesticks got confiscated! The imperial knights took everything.”
“Ugh, why are tax inspectors always such garbage?”
Hearing the maids gossip in the hallway, I flicked my tail irritably.
‘Gods… I’d love to sink my teeth into that radioactive waste of a man, but I can’t.’
If I wanted revenge, I’d have to act when he left the castle.
Sitting on the window ledge, I glared down at the garden — and there he was, Pigden, strolling and grabbing the maids’ wrists, laughing creepily.
‘Trash like that never changes unless you beat it out of them.’
I remembered the sleazy convenience store manager who’d harassed me back in my early twenties.
Back then, I’d been too naive and scared, running away without pay.
But now?
Now I knew better.
‘How can I destroy him quietly…?’
Grinding my teeth, I caught sight of a cluster of red berries hanging from a nearby tree.
Yes! That’s it!
I jumped down from the window ledge and sprinted toward the stairs.
***
Kassirian returned to the castle late the next morning, after scouting the northern forest.
Entering his office, he handed his uniform coat to Russell.
“Has the tax auditor left?”
“No, Your Grace. He insisted on seeing you before departing.”
“Anything unusual happen?”
Russell froze for a moment.
If he told Kassirian the truth, the duke would pulverize Pigden on the spot — and that would only invite more imperial scrutiny.
If the family’s assets were frozen during the investigation, their famine-stricken lands would suffer even more.
“…Nothing serious, sir.”
Russell shut his eyes briefly and answered flatly.
Kassirian narrowed his eyes at the subtle shift in his steward’s tone.
“Bring him to the reception room in thirty minutes. Let’s finish this quickly.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Once Russell left, Kassirian tilted his stiff neck and walked into the bath.
The tub was already filled with steaming water.
As he unbuttoned his uniform shirt, the fabric slid to the floor, revealing a body of bronze, hard muscle.
Heading toward the tub, he caught sight of his back in the mirror — and remembered the tiny white ferret that had pressed its little paws on his bandaged wound while pretending he was asleep.
“…Ha.”
Sinking into the hot water, Kassirian sighed and ran a wet hand through his hair.
***
About an hour before Count Pigden was due to leave the Devon estate—
Crunch, crunch— ptoo!
“Piiik! (Ugh, so bitter!)”
Sitting on the bed, I spat a mouthful of sour red juice into a glass bottle.
The bottle, clutched between my paws, was one I’d found in Pigden’s luggage.
And the reason I had become a one-ferret juice extractor was simple:
revenge.
For kicking me — and for harassing the castle’s maids — that filthy pig would pay.
Smirking wickedly, I shook the bottle so the red berry juice would mix evenly with the black tea inside.
Those berries were poisonous. About twenty-four hours after consumption, they caused violent intestinal twisting — sometimes even fatal dehydration.
Mari had warned me about them the day I first arrived at the castle.
“Never eat the red berries in the garden, okay? They’ll make your insides twist up and you’ll have awful diarrhea — you could even die! There’s no antidote, so promise me you won’t touch them, alright, sweet ferret?”
Of course, of course. I wouldn’t — unless it’s for scum like Pigden.
By the time he started shitting himself senseless, he’d be far from the North.
No one would ever suspect me.
I worked my jaws harder, squeezing out as much juice as possible.
Since it had taken forever to unscrew the bottle with my clumsy paws, I had to finish before Pigden’s breakfast was over.
I was just crushing the eighteenth berry when—
Bang!
“Pff? (Huh?)”
The door suddenly burst open, and there I was — mouth full of red pulp, clutching the bottle in my tiny paws — staring back at whoever had entered.
