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There are customs in the world that must be upheld, no matter how unsatisfactory they may be.

Socially, this is referred to as “sensitivity to social cues.”

For instance, one should not say that wine is tastier than beer in front of a dwarf, nor that beer is better than wine in front of an elf. Also, guests and hosts should refrain from wielding weapons against each other at a gathering.

Those who violate such customs typically face incredibly harsh treatment, both physically and non-physically, within societal norms.

However, there are certainly situations in which people might think, “Ah, this can’t be helped.”

For example, if a guest has an affair with the host’s wife or daughter, no one would bat an eye if the host killed the guest.

Or, if a host of modest means offers bread and salt in welcome, the guest can refuse it after taking just one bite.

For example…

Cha-ching! Cha-cha-ching! Cha-ching!

“You wayward child who ran away! Do you know how sad your father and mother are? What about the family honor?!”

“I…ack! Uncle! Dwarves are gutsy! I won’t make excuses!”

At a banquet where guests were invited, a long-lost nephew, who had committed a disgrace and run away decades ago, is discovered by his uncle, who swings his sword at him?

“What on earth is happening?”

“Well, didn’t they say everything? Looks like he shaved his beard and head to become a chef and cut ties with his family.”

“I think I heard something similar from the head cook.”

Such behavior could be reasonably excused.

“Then, is that adventurer over there part of the family?”

At the words of a close friend of the kitchen’s lowest-level chef, everyone’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m the uncle of Zigmeser.”

“Hmm. It’s rude, but we should consider he’s a dwarf.”

Even though Iceland was a backwater of backwaters, everyone knew how significant hair and beards were to dwarves. After all, dwarves existed even in Iceland.

Not only in Eisenvart, but the culture shared by all dwarves could be summarized in roughly eight characters:

“Hair and skin given by one’s parents.”

One must cherish the hair and beard passed down from one’s father, mother, and ancestors.

Of course, that doesn’t mean dwarves don’t cut or trim their hair and beards. Wild, unkempt hair and filthy beards were objects of disdain. They were so important and cherished that they needed to be beautifully styled and groomed.

In this sense, if a dwarf willingly shaves off his hair and beard, it only signifies a complete severance from his parents, family, and bloodline.

“Aren’t you going to do something about this?”

“Yeah. I guess I should.”

Alfred nodded at Elizabeth’s words.

As a head of the household, Alfred understood Sigurd IV’s fury. However, he couldn’t just stand by and watch this chaos unfold.

“Soldiers, calm things down first.”

Sigurd IV lowered his weapon and extended both hands to indicate submission as soldiers approached him. Before anything else, he understood what he had done.

Thus, he was obediently led out in front of the royal seats and willingly knelt down.

“You know your crime well. Do you have any excuses?”

“There’s no room for explanation, Your Grace. Even if you were to take the head of this A-Class Adventurer, Sigurd IV, I would gladly accept it.”

“However, considering your circumstances and Eisenvart’s culture, I believe there are grounds for consideration.”

At those words, Sigurd IV closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Still, since you caused a commotion at the banquet, you will cool your head in prison.”

“I extend my deep gratitude for such an oceanic heart.”

“Soldiers. Take him away.”

Everyone’s gaze in the Great Hall turned toward the back of Sigurd IV as he was quietly led away. While most were disappointed, thinking, “You should have fought more,” Zigmeser’s eyes were filled with unease.

*

*

*

The Wizard’s Tower had been empty for a while.

In the Chief Magic Consultant’s office, despite the watchful eyes of the Chief Magic Consultant, house fairy, and dedicated cook, Narque raised both hands high towards the sky.

Narque had done it.

Narque had achieved it.

Narque was amazing.

The day after Catherine returned, which is to say, today, she handed over the results of the task she had entrusted to the Grand Wizard. And it had been approved.

Just like that, her silent cheer of joy abruptly plummeted as she prepared to reward herself for all the hard work she endured.

“What, what!? D-Did you say I might not be able to eat a lot of Ship’s Claw Crab like I used to!?”

“Ah, of course not right away.”

“E-Explanation! Explanation!”

“N-Narque. Calm down. Calm down.”

“Ex-pla-na-tion! Ex-pla-na-tion!”

Narque had never been this furious before.

For her, crustaceans were akin to the relationship between a dwarf and beer. No, they were the same. Narque always wanted to eat as many crabs as she could.

Yet the wall of reality was always high.

As a mere wandering necromancer, her wallet was far too light to enjoy eating crabs to her heart’s content.

Reality and prejudice bore an unbearable weight for the timid Narque.

And so, she boldly set her course to Iceland, a place that everyone else hesitated to root themselves. That choice was not wrong.

After entering necromancy, she received resources, support, and advice that she had never experienced before. Most importantly, there were the crustaceans.

And lately, there had been a flood of Ship’s Claw Crabs crashing into the castle! Narque mentally ignited a fuse inside the explosive.

“The Duke may be thinking this.”

“…Huh?”

The fuse sparked out.

“The Duke…?”

“It’s virtually guaranteed that exclusivity will be confirmed, which means the majority of the Ship’s Claw Crabs will be processed based on recipes that I donated, to secure stable sales.”

“W-When-”

“Well, it was at yesterday’s banquet. Sir Viktor let it slip.”

Viktor was Godwin’s aide.

So it was clear where Karem’s statement was coming from.

They say the moment of joy passes in an instant.

Narque felt the deeper meaning of that saying and shriveled up much more than usual.

“Not right now, but once business kicks into gear…”

“…Huh?”

Narque’s revitalized eyes followed Karem’s Finger as it folded one by one.

“First, they’ll gather manpower and set up facilities, and while negotiating, more time will slip by, plus someone currently in prison has to relay messages to the Beolseong Family—”

“S-So for the time being, I can eat to my heart’s content?”

“Yes. Well, the last time the crabs overran the castle, they said the village chief deliberately sent them that way.”

“D-Deliberately?”

“Yes. With so many crabs around, it seemed unbelievable.”

Karem shrugged as if saying no further explanation was needed. Of course, who would believe that?

“Now that the Duke has gotten involved, the village chief will likely ease up and stop sending them like that, right?”

Karem quietly glanced at Mary, who was attending to Catherine. Although she didn’t speak, Mary caught the signal.

“All Ship’s Claw Crabs that arrive will be specially directed to Lady Eskarna.”

“…Huh? R-Really! But what about the meals for others—”

“We’ll prepare them simultaneously.”

“I-Is that okay?”

Just like how Narque had shouted confidently moments ago, this time Mary raised her chin proudly.

“That is rather welcome.”

“R-Really?”

“Then Lady Eskarna can rest assured and look forward to tomorrow morning.”

“Yay!”

With that unequivocal assurance, Narque cheered and dashed out of the office. Karem, who had been watching her blankly, grabbed a candy on the desk while Catherine was distracted.

“Still, Sigurd won’t be executed, right?”

“Considering his relationship with the head chef and the background, the worst-case scenario is likely just a few days locked up and a fine.”

When asked the tentative question, Catherine insisted that such a thing would never happen.

“Considering the business proposal brought by Duke Godwin, he’ll probably be out in a day or two.”

“Well, nobody would be crazy enough to sprinkle ash over soup.”

“More importantly…”

Clang. The teacup Catherine set down rang clear.

“Narque, that girl.”

“Huh? What about Narque?”

“…Um. Ahem. Hm.”

Suddenly, she stopped mid-sentence to clear her throat. Catherine couldn’t look him in the eye. In Karem’s peripheral vision, he noticed Mary gesturing and mouthing words behind her.

As Karem turned his gaze back to Mary, Catherine quickly took a sip of Alraune’s Tear.

‘No matter how I look at it, I can’t say this out loud…’

It’s impossible to suggest we ease up on titles with someone like her. People have ages, after all. How ridiculous.

However, whether before traveling to Ishikobaharten or watching someone address her by name right in front of her, it was somehow hard not to feel bothered.

Of course, Catherine knew that Karem’s feelings when calling Narque were closer to that of an owner to a pet. It was oddly amusing to see her flinch at a poke.

“Um. Indeed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing at all. Sister Catherine.”

“…Huh!? Cough! Cough! Cough!”

Clang!

Catherine slammed her teacup down onto her plate. The joyous Alraune she had been about to drink struck her throat and nose without mercy.

Sister? Had she ever been addressed with such familiarity? As far as Catherine could remember, there had been none until now.

Before that, brother, sister, or similar titles were just formalities. She had been addressed as “Catherine,” “Sir Atanitas,” “Sir/Madam Mage,” “Master,” or “Senior” since she came of age.

And so, she was not accustomed to nicknames. But suddenly hearing it as a party involved, it was quite shocking.

A little. No, a lot.

Catherine quickly covered her mouth with the handkerchief Mary had discreetly offered, finally managing to take a breath.

“Why, all of a sudden? Ahem! What do you mean, sister?”

“Huh? Hmm… Someone gave me that advice.”

Karem’s gaze slipped toward Catherine’s back. The house fairy who had handed the handkerchief to the contractee had vanished long ago.

“Mary, just—!”

And through Catherine’s intense reaction, Karem could infer two things about her innermost feelings. She didn’t dislike it, but she was embarrassed.

“Well, personally, I prefer calling you ‘sister’ over ‘Lady Catherine.'”

“…”

“If that’s not to your liking, I can just revert back—”

“It’s! Just! That! I mean, we’re connected! Changing titles isn’t a bad thing… right?”

With those words, Karem, like Catherine, subtly averted his gaze. The normally bold person brought to her knees by something as trivial as a title was astonishingly powerful.

Thus, in the atmosphere thick with embarrassment and awkwardness, Karem dragged a chair over and sat beside Catherine.

“You shouldn’t just do what you want without your master’s permission…”

“Mary ran away, so what choice did I have? Someone has to attend to Lady Catherine.”

“W-Well, I guess there’s no helping it.”

With reddened cheeks, Catherine cautiously took a bite of the treat Karem offered.

“Ah, wait.”

“What is it?”

“By the way, Mary has called me by name since long ago. Why—”

“Are you saying only Narque?”

“Um, yes.”

Mary had started calling her by name right after entering Winterhome. Compared to that, Narque had been little more than six months.

“Mary is… Mary.”

“Ah, I see.”

Both intellectually and emotionally, she understood. Feeling jealous of Mary would be the most trivial thing in the world.

“And that makes me just as trivial.”

Honestly, the magic to automatically peel vegetable skins and the spell to bake delicious, crispy bread would be things any chef would envy.

 

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