* * *
“Let me be clear—if something ever happens to Petro, you’ll be my first suspect.”
“Oh, really? Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be careful not to leave any evidence, then.”
Ranshel stood up as soon as he finished speaking. He wanted to be done with this pointless back-and-forth.
“Where are you going?”
“To collect my inheritance. I’m off to go bother Petro.”
“…You’ve completely lost your mind.”
The voice that followed him was chilly.
Ranshel didn’t look back.
He needed to fetch firewood before nightfall.
It wasn’t winter yet, but the evenings had turned cold.
The kid who’d been cooped up indoors all his life hadn’t even been sleeping properly during this long journey. He could collapse at any time.
Prolonged exposure to the cold wouldn’t do his body any good.
Just then, a notification window appeared before his eyes. His hand, reaching for twigs, slowed.
[Contribution has changed.]
[Event Contribution]
+ The Most Villainous One: 8% ▶ 10%
+
‘Now what’s this?’
When he begged for an increase, the bar hadn’t budged, but just for running his mouth a bit, it jumped 2%.
Zavad must’ve taken that earlier conversation pretty personally.
‘Or maybe… he was really disappointed.’
Ranshel felt off.
A little hollow, a little sore.
He figured it was probably just hunger—he hadn’t eaten yet.
When he returned to where Zavad had been, the other boy was gone.
Only his sleeping bag remained.
‘Went off to do his business, maybe.’
Good. If they’d run into each other again, they would’ve just fought.
Ranshel stacked the firewood and lit it using a heatstone.
Heatstones, found in the nests of underground monsters, caught fire with just a few taps.
Unlike flint, which took effort to spark, they were incredibly useful—but expensive.
Commoners couldn’t easily get them.
Before being adopted by the Nameless family, Ranshel had had to make sparks with flint until his fingers cracked.
He’d fan the flame until his arms ached, blow on it with his breath, and end up with his face covered in soot just to start a fire.
“……”
The feeling was strange. The life Ranshel had lived wasn’t so different from Eunseong’s.
Maybe that’s why their bodies and souls could merge.
Staring at the flickering flames, Ranshel eventually stood.
Some time had passed, but Zavad still hadn’t returned.
*’He wouldn’t do anything himself, but…’
You never knew what that villain might be plotting from behind.
As annoying as it was to run into him, it was just as concerning when he was out of sight.
Right then, the hunting party returned, skinning rabbits and other small game.
The cleaned meat was chopped and added to a stew.
When portions were too small to roast individually, stewing was the best way to feed everyone evenly.
That was standard practice in food-scarce situations—but not all the meat was headed for the pot.
Some was being skewered and grilled over an open flame.
Drawn by the mouthwatering smell, Ranshel wandered over.
“It’s not fully cooked yet. Leave it alone.”
A squad member sitting by the fire chimed in casually.
“What kind of meat is it?”
“Quail. Small, but roasting it brings out the fat—makes it tasty.”
Now that he looked closer, bird feathers were burning among the firewood.
It wasn’t a big haul—probably just one or two caught.
But for a first-time forest trek before dark, it was a decent result.
“Someone here must be good with a bow.”
“Helped us save face. I mean, with a duke’s son among us, failing to catch even one bird would’ve been embarrassing.”
‘So what if you didn’t catch one? Why is pride even part of this?’
Ranshel just nodded along like he agreed.
Then, the soldier poking the kindling gave him a sidelong glance and asked:
“Since you’re from a ducal family, I bet you’ll be meeting other nobles often, huh?”
“I suppose that’s likely.”
“You’ll probably need a couple of bodyguards in the capital too, right?”
“I might, yeah.”
Ranshel replied half-heartedly.
The soldier, who had been glancing at him hesitantly, finally revealed what he really meant.
“Put in a good word for me with the young master, would you?”
“A word about what?”
“Oh, you know. Soldiers working in the capital get a better base salary and all.”
“…Sorry?”
“Well, there’s only spots opening up in backwater posts these days. I’ve got a widowed mother to look after, so I can’t be dealing with monsters and all that. If I could land a position in the capital, that’d be great—but without a recommendation, it’s tough.”
“…I see.”
*’This game, honestly…’
Ranshel blinked at the flickering firelight, then smiled awkwardly.
“I’d like to help, but… as you probably know, the young master… I’m not sure he listens to me all that well.”
“But still, you’re the one traveling with him to the capital. He must see you in a better light than the rest of us. I mean, sure, the young master has a bit of a reputation, but meeting him in person, he didn’t seem that strange, you know?”
Why does he sound so unsure of himself, even as he says it?
Ranshel nodded with a faintly sour look.
“So that meat over there—are you grilling it just for the young master?”
“Yeah. I think it’s ready now. Could you bring it to him? Tell him Hans grilled it with great care. Make sure you say that, okay?”
“…Alright, Hans. You can count on me.”
Ranshel trudged off in the direction of Zavad, sniffing the aroma of roasted quail.
It was a bird no bigger than his palm, but the glistening smell of its fat was mouthwatering.
The skin was golden and crisp from the open flame, and the inside looked tender and juicy.
‘Looks delicious,’ Ranshel thought.
After a day of being jostled around in the supply wagon, something like this was perfect.
But it wasn’t meant for him, so he’d just have to deliver it faithfully.
‘When’s that stew going to be ready…?’
He sighed inwardly—then froze in his tracks.
Zavad was back at their spot, sitting on his sleeping bag.
Next to him sat Petro.
The two of them were quietly smiling, looking at each other with a warmth that made them seem like a grandfather and grandson.
Zavad spotted Ranshel and beckoned.
Ranshel grinned and, right in front of him, tore off a wing from the grilled quail and popped it into his mouth.
Zavad stared at him, lips pursed in disapproval, then said,
“Already back with more food?”
“They said it was for you, sir.”
“…Then why are you eating it?”
“I had to check for poison.”
“Oh really? Whoever it was must be incredibly talented—managing to poison meat while everyone’s gathered around the fire cooking it.”
“Exactly. And since such a talented person might strike again, I’ll taste-test your food from now on.”
Ranshel spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, then spat out the tiny wing bone onto the ground.
Zavad fell silent for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, then spoke slowly.
“…Your shamelessness grows by the day. I’m almost impressed.”
“If you flatter me like that, I’ll get embarrassed.”
Of course, Ranshel wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest.
He licked the grease from his lips and handed the skewer to Zavad.
Zavad looked at the half-eaten quail—its one missing wing—and made a complicated expression.
“Anyway, where were you? Didn’t you say you were going to find Petro?”
“Oh, that… I was…”
* * *
