---

The rescue mission of Elder Iona by the Rescue Team was successfully completed.

However, due to unavoidable circumstances, the team, now transformed into a Subjugation Team, has yet to return.

Thus, the role of the protagonist at this banquet has instead fallen to another key figure of the rescue—Mercenary Swordmaster Gordon.

The man whose past leaves everyone curious as to why he became a mercenary despite his formidable skills.

But no matter how terrifying his past may be,

that was no longer a significant issue.

“Whooosh!”

“For a stronger Iceland!”

The Great Hall was a whirlwind of chaos in itself.

Nobles, who would usually preserve at least a modicum of decorum, were drunkenly mingling with commoners, clashing glasses and cheering loudly.

“Tsk, quite the ruckus. It feels even louder than at Wintersend.”

“Uh, Sir Atanitas. Is it usually this noisy at such events?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, isn’t that right?”

Of course, the atmosphere of an event would naturally differ based on its purpose.

Like a solemn memorial service honoring the deceased. (Though, a place may indeed hold a festival to cheer up those on their way out, despite being dead, due to their gloomy feelings.)

Celebratory gatherings are no different.

Honestly, the mere presence of people at such an event should make it odd if it weren’t noisy. Karem wondered if this was how it was meant to proceed.

Wasn’t this a formal occasion? One with a solemn and dignified atmosphere?

“Wasn’t this a formal occasion?”

“Given that the Duke of Iceland personally awarded the title and not through an agent, what else could this be if not a formal occasion?”

“But isn’t it so noisy?”

“Well, that’s usually the case. But it’s not uncommon for places to get excessively loud, where hardly anyone can keep their mouths shut.”

Catherine nodded as she accepted a piece of apricot offered by Mary.

“Kid. Think simply. This is Iceland.”

“Yes. But?”

“But who would dare to suspect the Felwinter Family?”

Such a person simply could not exist.

Karem had not yet spent a full year in Iceland.

But it was sufficient for him to grasp the atmosphere.

“Who would have the audacity, not just a person, but at all?”

“Right. Even if they aren’t a native, they’re still a Duke. No, this isn’t about that. In the end, an event is a stage for the host to display their power and dignity to others.”

Catherine tilted her head slightly and pointed towards the center of the Great Hall.

Every time a loud cheer erupted from the surrounding crowd, Gordon flinched, but the knights donned in splendid ceremonial attire alongside Alfred and Iona maintained composed expressions as they conducted the proceedings.

“To put it differently, it means there’s a need to display power and dignity.”

Catherine shifted her gaze to Karem, sitting beside her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s a noble-style threat, saying: My power is still this strong. So don’t even dream of foolish thoughts.”

“That’s quite an expensive threat.”

“Well, if you have enough funds, it’s often cheaper than using force.”

“That’s an extremely expensive threat.”

“Yeah. If the extravagance gets too much, it could burn a nation’s entire annual budget.”

Karem shook his head and sighed, to which Catherine nodded as if confirming it.

“On the other hand, Iceland has no such worries.”

“Because loyalty is unwavering?”

“Loyalty serves as the foundation, alongside strength and history. Even the current Contractor’s Contractor has driven famine out of Iceland.”

“I don’t need to boast that our family is this remarkable?”

Mary affirmed as she peeled an apple.

“The achievements of having ruled longer than the history of the kingdom, protecting the people and subjects, and halting the demon lord’s armies—who would dare question that?”

“And on top of that, there’s the feat of ensuring no one has starved to death in Iceland.”

“If the Contractor’s Contractor were to rebel against the kingdom, Iceland itself would surely plummet apart.”

Mary’s serious words, based in her usual inscrutability, sounded quite convincing. But hey, even here, people live, right? Could it really be that extreme?

“Kid, hide your expression a bit. It’s clear to see what you’re thinking. Tsk.”

“No, but even so, isn’t that too extreme? Is it true?”

“Of course, no matter how strong loyalty and faith may be, there can still be traitors. But think about it.”

Catherine clicked her tongue and drummed the table, expressing her boredom.

“Would anyone merely stand by and watch that traitor?”

“Ah.”

“From the farmers seeing them for the first time to the maids they’ve known for ten years who once brought them cold medicine, everyone would come to take their lives.”

“That does make sense. I can’t argue against that logically.”

“Congratulations, traitors! Thanks to your rash acts, you and your family have just turned all of Iceland into your enemies. Good luck. Now, die!”

Karem couldn’t help but feel as though Iceland’s will was whispering to him.

“By the way, the meal seems to be winding down.”

“Oh, is it finally?!”

“Yeah. Just take a look around the hall.”

“…Oh?”

Just a little while ago, those who had been cheering loudly immediately hushed as Iona walked in wielding a longsword.

A unique, yet simple-formed sword without a hilt.

Karem thought something was up, but Alfred drawing it out swiftly changed his mind.

As blue hilts sprouted on either side of the handle held by Cantlet, illuminating the blue flash straight through to the tip of the sword in a line along its blood-red hue, the previously heated atmosphere of the Great Hall chillingly cooled down.

Catherine, who could clearly see the difference in the three lights and temperature from even the royal seats, let out a small exclamation of awe and exhaled white breath.

“Whoa, indeed they brought out the holy sword because the Swordmaster is here.”

“Holy sword?”

“Yeah. The holy sword of the Felwinter Family. Winter’s Mirth.”

Now we can be quiet.

Catherine placed her finger to her lips.

Karem bit his lips and stared at the center of the Great Hall.

With all eyes turned, Alfred lightly tapped Gordon’s head and shoulders with the tip of Winter’s Mirth.

“—As the ruler of Iceland, by the right to reign over the Winter’s Lady, the Ascendant, and the nameless traveler, I declare. Mercenary Gordon, rise from your seat.”

Unlike before, Gordon’s extravagant armor seemed to struggle with the attention as he awkwardly rose.

“Will you carry out all that you have sworn?”

“I will carry it out, my lord.”

“Then, Gordon Stark, present your cheek.”

Huh? Cheek? Why suddenly the cheek?

Karem wondered if he misheard, but he definitely didn’t.

Stepping forward, Gordon bowed his head and presented his cheek to Alfred.

And then!

Slap!

“You are now Baron Bolton!”

“Ugh?!”

Alfred’s gauntlet connected with a full swing to Gordon’s cheek.

“Glory to a stronger Iceland! Glory to Felwinter!”

“I’ve personally felt how painful a slap from the Duke’s hand is!”

“Let’s toast to the new Swordmaster of Iceland!”

As they witnessed the torturous sight, everyone seemed to forget the previous stillness and shouted boisterously.

All were cheering to celebrate the newly created knight.

Or perhaps they were cheering for the spectacle of a Swordmaster being slapped.

With a handprint-shaped bruise blossoming on his right cheek, Gordon adjusted his disheveled attire.

“Ah, good grief. Couldn’t you go a bit easier on me?”

“Well, think of it as a fast-tracked initiation ceremony from another region.”

“But seriously, your strength is no joke, my lord.”

“Of course. Naturally.”

“Indeed—”

“Now, the awarding ceremony is complete!”

Alfred interrupted Gordon, patting his shoulder as he pushed him toward the eager nobles vying for attention on the newly minted Swordmaster.

Then, he turned, addressing the Great Hall.

“Let the feast begin!”

*

The day of the Swordmaster’s title awarding ceremony was significant.

Though the preparation time was short, the banquet was grand and exquisite—enough to satisfy all guests, like Wintersend, befitting the Duke’s name.

Those invited from the last Wintersend gasped at the array of dishes they had never seen before, and those unable to attend for personal reasons were astonished, while first-timers were left spellbound.

In a scene where everyone tossed aside their nobility and greedily piled various dishes onto their plates, Karem couldn’t help but smile at the amount of preparation required.

“Karem. Is there really no way I could have just a single piece?”

“No, Duke Godwin. Before the meal starts—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I should only eat from what’s in front of me. But look over there!”

Gasping in disbelief, Godwin pointed vigorously to the common seats below the royal area.

“That massive porchetta! How can I resist that?!”

“Ah, Zigmeser worked quite hard to make that.”

Cooking only becomes more complicated when the piece grows larger.

As such, every table held colossal plates.

Parked atop a crispy pork skin base like french fries, the grand porchetta was equivalent in size to a fully grown adult—its preparation difficulty was beyond imagination.

A whole pig skillfully deboned and molded, slathered in butter, stuffed with various ingredients and spices, rolled, and deep-fried.

Zigmeser, inspired by the abundant oil from Fungusbee, treated it like a divine revelation, frying batch after batch all day long.

Perhaps that’s why Karem, in a previous life, had never borne witness to such overwhelming visuals and destructive power.

It was indeed a dish to stir the hearts of men.

Godwin’s fidgeting made sense as his appetite was ignited.

“Well, the dishes in front do look scrumptious, don’t they?”

“Yeah. The smell, the appearances—one and all is enticing and piques curiosity. I’d certainly agree with that.”

“These dishes were exclusively developed for Duke Godwin.”

“Karem, I appreciate your efforts. But—”

Godwin glanced down at what’s in front of him.

Leafy greens. Tender segments of cabbage layered with thinly sliced fresh beef like parchment, alternating with leaves decorated by a large rose blooming with mushroom pistils and stamen.

Various roasted poultry and pork pieces, crusted to a golden brown with a salty-sweet aroma wafting from the dark brown sauce.

A delightful medley of steamed vegetables, resembling a thin rainbow, layered with cheese and tomatoes, dressed with balsamic vinaigrette on a wide pan.

Alongside oat rice were various other familiar dishes piled atop.

Next to him wafting the smell of oil and sugar.

Godwin unconsciously turned his head to the side.

There was Elizabeth spreading whipped cream on castella, Alfred slicing a giant porterhouse steak joined at the bone, while Iona and Mary were tearing off bits of a crispy suckling pig’s bone and enjoying seafood tempura served by Catherine.

There was an empty seat in honor of Baron Bolton—the protagonist of the feast and heir to the Stark family, Gordon, currently being forced into a state of half-drowning in alcohol by the guests at the center of the Great Hall.

Godwin turned his head the other way.

“You pig. Can’t you eat more cleanly?”

“I think I’m eating better than Robin, who nibbles like a bird…!”

“What are you, an orc? Holding a bone in each hand!? Seriously?”

“Hmph, there’s someone over there eating just like me!”

“Unlike over there, you’re a lady. Are you going to tell Lady Poppins about it?”

“That’s a no-go!”

The youngest, Alicia engaged in a playful argument with the former youngest, Robin, while second son William, stuffing seasoned fried chicken into his cheeks, noticed Godwin’s gaze and saluted with half a munch of a chicken leg in hand, grinning.

In response to his foolish antics, Godwin turned back towards the common seats.

Before Godwin laid dishes arranged at various intervals, with one right next to him remaining out of the ordinary.

Except for the oat rice, of course.

“Alright, leaving aside oat rice. How about those? Unlike those, they smell way too—”

“Healthy?”

“Yeah. You nailed it. They all smell too wholesome. And besides, there’s no dessert. Is it really this absurd?”

Godwin gazed at Karem with longing eyes.

“Of course.”

Karem steeled himself and firmly replied.

Godwin sighed.

“If you’re dissatisfied, we can switch to the Duchess’s meal—”

“Hahaha! This dark meat roast looks incredibly appetizing!”

“You seem rather untroubled.”

“Compared to that, this is a feast fit for royalty!”

Whoosh!

As he gracefully brushed off Elizabeth’s probing gaze, Godwin quickly piled the beautifully cooked black poultry and pork onto his plate.

First, Godwin speared the chicken roast with his fork.

It seemed as though balsamic vinegar cooked it, but oddly enough, no such scent emanated.

Instead, it was a sweeter, salter aroma far removed from balsamic altogether.

“Well, I’d certainly say it appears much tastier than boiled, salt-seasoned meat.”

“Oh. Haha. It’s an insult just to compare them.”

Godwin nodded in agreement with Karem and popped the chicken roast into his mouth.

 

---