Chapter 82

Count Mereloff frowned as he glared down at the table. The worn, small pouch lay wide open, revealing thick gula seeds inside. There were barely fifty of them altogether.

“So these little things are worth fifteen gold coins each?”

The count instinctively began calculating in his head.

Clark had been a slave the Rian slave guild had purchased while passing through the estate. Young, strong slaves were hard to come by, so they had paid fifteen gold coins apiece to acquire him back then.

But slaves depreciate in value over time, so from a long-term perspective, trading them for gula was an absolute gain—especially during times of famine like this.

“I was told they never trade a sack for less than fifty coins. But out of humanitarian concern, they let us have this just to put out the fire for now.”

“Unbelievable,” the count muttered.

Unbelievable? Did he mean the amount was too small, or that they had even bought gula at all? The steward couldn’t read his master’s thoughts and simply bowed his head. Whatever the case, money ran through their veins. It was no surprise the count was displeased.

Countess Mereloff lifted the edge of her snuffbox.

“Did you sign the slave certificate?”

“Just a simple signature. It was urgent, so we agreed to notarize it later when there’s time.”

“Hmph. Foolish youth. Who delays transferring ownership? Didn’t you consider what might happen?”

“Well, since we got gula like this, it’s good for us.”

The count said nothing, turning the gula seeds over in his hands. Though he’d known of their existence for decades, this was the first time he’d examined them so closely.

“So, how do you eat these?”

“Raw, boiled, grilled, steamed, stir-fried—there are endless ways. Shall I send some to the kitchen?”

They were worth fifteen gold coins each, after all. No matter how much they were considered worthless weeds, he couldn’t just let them go to the mouths of mere servants.

“Cook two, and plant the rest in the garden.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Two meant one for the count and one for the countess. The steward bowed and took the pouch away, while the countess exhaled a plume of smoke and leaned close to her husband.

“I hear they already eat a lot of gula in the capital?”

“That’s nonsense. Ian spread that rumor to feed the estate’s peasants.”

“Do you really think so? Romandro didn’t seem to mind it much either.”

Rumors were rampant throughout the estate, but one thing was certain: the taste was excellent. Otherwise, why would the peasants of Bratz go crazy planting it and eating gula three meals a day?

Knock knock.

“A simple gula dish is served.”

“Come in. Hmm, what’s that smell?”

“I tried a recipe I heard from Bratz, but I’m not sure if it suits your taste.”

“If I don’t like it, you’ll be the one to pay.”

Despite the servant’s polite words, the count’s reply was cold and sharp. The servant swallowed nervously and stepped back.

“Looks quite good.”

“Indeed. You wouldn’t know it was a weed if I didn’t say so.”

Grilled with a sugar glaze, it gave off a sweet aroma, and the edges were golden and crispy.

The boiled one looked like a firm pudding, soft enough to melt in the mouth.

The servant sliced small pieces and offered them to the count and countess. They were smaller than eggs, so cutting them was almost pointless.

“Husband, try it.”

The count hesitated but carefully brought a piece to his mouth. His usual image of gula made him want to gag, but what could he do? They cost fifteen gold coins each! Having paid for them, he had to taste.

“Hmm?”

The count’s frown faltered as the unfamiliar flavor slid across his tongue. The countess smiled knowingly.

“Quite good, isn’t it?”

“Better than I expected.”

“Seems the rumors about it being popular in the capital aren’t just hot air. I look forward to tasting a proper dish after a month.”

As the countess neatly finished her piece with a fork, the count stroked his mustache. He hated to admit it, but this was truly a delicacy he’d never tasted before. After clearing his throat a few times, he looked to the steward.

“Make sure this doesn’t get out. And post guards in the garden on shifts.”

“Yes, my lord.”

There would surely be those coveting it. Even the countess, the lady of the house, believed the rumors. It was obvious how the uneducated masses might think of gula. At fifteen gold coins a seed, it demanded strict management.

“And steward.”

“Yes, my lord?”

Wiping his mouth, the count gave another order.

“Bring two more for dinner.”

“Pardon me?”

“More gula, of course.”

“Ah, yes. Understood.”

The steward’s face fell at the count’s request for a different recipe. There weren’t many seeds left in the sack, and he worried they’d be gone in no time. But more than that, he feared punishment if the count didn’t like the taste.

Sighing, the steward stepped into the hallway, and the servants quietly withdrew. A suffocating silence settled between the count and countess.

“Shall I pour some wine?”

“What did you two talk about?”

“As you can see, very productive conversation.”

The countess rose and brought her husband’s empty glass. As she uncorked the bottle, a servant approached, but she waved him off with a glance. Pouring the wine herself, she shared the details of what had happened in Bratz.

“…So I checked Lady Mary’s room. Nothing there, of course. It’s natural it was lost in the chaos.”

“Why bring the belongings of a dead traitor?”

“Still, they were originally mine.”

The count’s unusually bright smile unsettled the steward. Bringing gula had turned out to be a bigger deal than expected. Before the countess returned, he’d only wanted to wring her neck, but now he calmly savored his wine.

Click.

“Ah, pardon me.”

“Tsk.”

A servant entered to clear the dishes, apologizing as he stepped back. As the count’s gaze shifted toward the door, the countess quickly sprinkled powder into his wine.

“Rian.”

“Yes, speak.”

“But this is the last time. If you come home after dark again, I’ll break your ankle.”

“…Is there going to be a next time? I won’t be going to Bratz anymore. And if I do, it’ll be with you.”

‘And you’ll be a corpse by then.’

“Answer me.”

“Understood.”

The count nodded with satisfaction and raised his glass. The countess did the same, clinking their glasses lightly with a smile.

---

“Hmm…”

“How’s his condition?”

Ian had called a doctor to examine Beric. Though he muttered in his sleep, he showed no sign of waking. Even shaking him didn’t help.

The doctor examined Beric and replied.

“He’s definitely asleep. He’s probably too exhausted to wake easily. What did you say the drug was?”

“It’s a new narcotic from Havan. The exact ingredients are unknown, but it’s a sleeping hallucinogen. Overdosing for a month can cause death by apnea. Beric fainted just from smelling the powder.”

“Some people’s bodies just don’t react to certain drugs. This is a severe case, but since he didn’t ingest it, you needn’t worry. However, since it’s a sleeping hallucinogen, you should be cautious…”

The doctor inserted an IV into Beric’s hand and muttered.

“It has anesthetic effects.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means until he fully regains consciousness, he might talk in his sleep, have strange habits, or even act like a sleepwalker.”

Romandro, who had been quietly listening, jumped up in alarm. If anyone else, it might be manageable, but Beric sleepwalking would be a real problem. His personality and strength were already hard enough to handle.

“Ian, shouldn’t we bring chains to tie him up?”

“That’s a good idea, but I’m not sure how effective it will be.”

“Better than doing nothing. No matter how wild Beric gets, he’s still human. He can’t break iron chains with his bare hands.”

Romandro dashed out, calling for servants. The sound of orders to fetch large, sturdy chains echoed into the room.

“Heh, hehe…”

Unaware of the situation, Beric smiled in his sleep, licking his lips. The doctor finished bandaging the IV site and stood.

“This IV is to restore his strength. If he’s not awake by tomorrow noon, call me again.”

“What about the wound on his side?”

“Oh, the wound?”

The doctor laughed wryly at Ian’s question.

“It’s healing nicely. Though the inside might not be fully healed yet, so be careful.”

“He’s not the type to listen to warnings.”

“Still, please keep me informed.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

The door creaked closed.

After the doctor left, Ian sat back down at his desk and spread out the documents again. The only sounds in the room were the crackling fireplace and Barrick’s quiet breathing. Ian had been deeply focused when he suddenly sensed something off and glanced over at Barrick.

“Ah.”

Startled.

Barrick was staring at Ian with wide, unblinking eyes. Ian flinched and frowned.

“The IV must be working well.”

“…Why am I lying down here?”

“You fainted after smelling Lady Lien’s perfume. I’ll have to call the doctor again. Any other symptoms?”

Barrick slowly got up and walked over to the window, his expression dazed. Then, with a low sigh, he muttered a curse under his breath.

“Haah, damn it all.”

“Barrick?”

“Am I dreaming right now?”

“No. You seem awake.”

His blinking was slow and sluggish, and his eyes lacked their usual sharpness. Could this be some kind of sleepwalking? Barrick pressed his forehead against the cold window, as if trying to shake off the fog.

“Barrick, what’s wrong? Is something bothering you?”

“Ah, I’m seeing something strange.”

“Strange? That could be a hallucination from the medication. Calm down and take a deep breath.”

Ian wondered why Romandro, who had gone to fetch the chains, was taking so long. Worried Barrick might get agitated, Ian approached slowly and grabbed his arm.

“If you’re having trouble distinguishing reality from hallucination, it’s better to get some more rest. I’ll call the doctor…”

“No. I can tell the difference.”

Barrick pressed his temples irritably.

In truth, there wasn’t a serious problem. It was just that his family—already dead, their bones long turned to dust—stood there silently, exactly as he remembered them.

Barrick sighed and muttered, “This feels awful.”

Clink.

At that moment, Romandro entered with a servant, carrying the chains. But when he saw Barrick standing there perfectly fine, he took a step back.

“His eyes are open?”

“What the—”

Romandro’s pale face stammered, as if asking what the thing in his hand was.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

“What?”

“Ian! Ian! Do something about this guy.”

“Please calm down, Romandro.”

Ian tried to reassure him that Barrick was fine, but then a mischievous smile spread across Barrick’s lips. Twisting his wrist playfully, he stepped toward Romandro.

“Look who just rolled in—a talking pig.”

“Eek! Lord Ian! Ian!”

“I’m gonna eat you! I’m starving, so I’ll roast you!”

“W-W-Warriors! Where are the warriors? Warriors!”

Judging by his teasing, Barrick was definitely recovering quickly. Romandro threw down the chains and fled outside, with Barrick chasing after him, just barely able to catch up.

“Oink oink! Where are you going? Come back here!”

“Ugh, aah! The warriors…!”

Bang! Boom!

Crash! Clatter!

“Lord Ian, is Barrick really okay?”

“Hmm? Seems like it.”

He was seeing things, but he knew they weren’t real. That meant no real problem. His mental strength was clearly nothing to scoff at.

‘No wonder he’s got the makings of a magic swordsman.’

The clueless servant, unaware of the situation, kept nervously fiddling with the chains.