* * *
“It looks like we’ll have to camp out tonight. But if we go just a bit farther, we’ll reach the territory of the Venders Viscountcy. It’ll be more comfortable than the inn in the last town.”
One of the guards, checking the map, knelt beside Zavad and offered his advice.
Zavad furrowed his brow, puzzled by the man’s excessive courtesy.
“You don’t have to kneel to talk to me.”
“I deeply appreciate your generosity. Then I shall dare to stand.”
“…Right.”
As Zavad moved his legs to change positions, the guard noticeably flinched, then backed away slowly—like he was trying to dodge a kick.
Watching this, Ranshel grinned and was soon approached by Zavad.
“…You seem awfully pleased with yourself after making me out to be a completely unhinged noble.”
“Whatever do you mean? You were already known as a crazy noble long before I came along….”
“Was the carriage that comfortable? Want to move in permanently?”
“…I’ll clear up all the misunderstandings soon. You’ll be famous as the sanest noble in the realm.”
“That’s so touching, I might cry.”
“Aw, don’t cry…”
Zavad didn’t kick Ranshel.
Instead, he flicked him hard on the forehead.
Ranshel grabbed his head in mock agony, rolled around dramatically, then suddenly perked up at the smell of food.
He approached the guard stirring a large pot over the campfire.
“Are you making stew?”
“Gotta have warm broth when sleeping outdoors.”
“Do we have enough ingredients?”
“The others are getting ready to hunt now. Dried meat and potatoes aren’t much to work with.”
Indeed, the other guards were now gearing up with bows, arrows, and snares.
Ranshel, having no intention of showing off his hunting skills, went off to find Petro, who was fussing with something in a corner.
“Oh, mushrooms?”
Petro was inspecting a mushroom with a colorful cap. He shook his head.
“This one’s poisonous.”
“Will it kill you if you eat it?”
“Not immediately, but it’ll make your stomach so itchy you might die laughing.”
“A mushroom that kills you happily, huh…”
Well-cooked mushrooms had a great scent and a delightful chewiness.
A shame it wasn’t an edible variety.
Ranshel smacked his lips and pulled out the medicine bottle, handing it to Petro.
“Hey, can you tell what kind of medicine this is?”
Petro’s expression turned serious as he opened the lid.
A few compressed pills tumbled out—solidified powder.
“How’s it supposed to be used?”
“They said to apply it to cuts or bruises.”
“Even though it’s solid like this?”
Ranshel chuckled.
“Yeah. It’s the perfect size to swallow whole, but you’re supposed to crush it into powder and mix it with water before applying it.”
“I see… Depending on the method, the effect could change.”
A smile spread across Petro’s wrinkled face.
He wasn’t a pharmacist, but when it came to flowers—the source of all medicine and poison—he was quite the expert.
Slipping the bottle into his robe, he gave Ranshel a gentle shove.
“I’ll take a closer look at this. Go back to your master. He keeps glancing over here. Don’t leave him alone.”
“Yes, yes. As you wish.”
‘What, just leave the human shield behind and go to the target instead?’
Ranshel laughed at his own thoughts and trudged back toward Zavad.
Zavad was sitting silently where he had laid out his sleeping bag.
As Ranshel approached, he looked up at him and suddenly asked:
“Were you always this sociable?”
“Huh?”
“You chatter with everyone so easily.”
“Well… it’s better than keeping my mouth shut, right?”
“You haven’t known Petro long, and there’s a big age gap. But you seem comfortable with him.”
“I guess you could say that…”
They had, after all, once threatened each other with sickles and chains to the face and neck.
It’d be absurd to suddenly act awkward now.
Of course, Ranshel couldn’t say that, so he just offered a vague smile.
But Zavad frowned slightly and pressed further.
“Last time you brought up your little brother. Now you’re thinking about your grandfather or something?”
“Uh, it’s not really like that.”
“Then why do you keep clinging to Petro?”
“Clinging…? Me?”
“You’re always around him, like you’ve got no plans to leave.”
…When had he ever done that?
Ranshel was baffled.
He couldn’t understand why Zavad was suddenly asking him these things.
It wasn’t like he’d suddenly become curious about how sociable Ranshel was.
‘Wait a second.’
As he thought it over, realization struck Ranshel.
Zavad… was jealous?
Jealous of how close he was getting to Petro?
‘Is this because you’re afraid of losing your favorite servant?’
He was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even speak.
A hollow laugh escaped Ranshel.
“Now that you mention it, you suddenly remind me of my late grandfather. I feel all choked up and teary, and it just makes me want to stick closer to Petro, you know?”
Of course, there was no dear, departed grandfather in his life.
Maybe there had been one once, but Ranshel had never even seen him, not even at his parents’ funeral.
He might as well not exist.
Still, when someone scratches at you like that, it’s only human nature to want to hit back.
Zavad furrowed his brows and tilted his head slowly.
He seemed to be thinking about something as his eyes moved lazily, and then he looked straight at Ranshel and spoke, cold as ice.
“Petro isn’t someone who can leave behind an inheritance you’d be satisfied with. A fallen noble’s finances are no different from a commoner’s. You know that, right?”
“……Excuse me?”
Wait, what?
“I’m saying don’t waste your time flirting for nothing.”
“…That’s not what I was trying to do.”
“Then what is it? You after something besides money?”
“…….”
Ranshel had no words.
He never wanted money in the first place.
But what would Zavad say if Ranshel claimed he was just concerned about Zavad’s well-being and had only been discussing things with Petro out of worry?
He’d had similar conversations with Zavad before. Zavad would ask:
— What do you want from me, saying things like that?
— It really doesn’t seem like it’s about money. So what is it you’re after?
And Ranshel always gave the same answer—money.
That was the easiest explanation.
It made sense.
Even if it left questions, it was at least understandable.
Because there was no way he could say, “I need to die at your hands to complete the quest and return to my original world.”
If he’d just tried to pass it off as kindness, Zavad wouldn’t have believed a word.
He wouldn’t have even allowed Ranshel to join this pilgrimage.
Ranshel bit the inside of his cheek.
It stung.
The pain reminded him this was reality.
He wasn’t dreaming.
A real person living in the real world had to think ahead—had to consider consequences before acting.
He thought. Then he spoke.
“Even if it’s not enough to be satisfying, it’s not like there’s nothing, right?”
“What?”
“His only son passed away a long time ago… doesn’t he need someone to leave what little he has to?”
“…….”
Zavad let out a bitter smirk.
Ranshel just grinned and shrugged.
* * *
