* * *
As Ranshel watched, transfixed, Zavad smiled—oddly pleased.
“Know why it goes on the right?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked….”
“Because I’m right-handed.”
“…Sorry?”
What does that have to do with anything?
Ranshel tilted his head. Zavad lifted his right arm and adjusted his cape.
The movement made the earring on his right ear sway elegantly.
“It’s an ornament meant to be seen. Think about how you use utensils at dinner.”
Ranshel imagined the dinner table.
Plates lined up, silverware poised over a well-prepared meal.
Of course, the dominant hand—usually the right—would move more.
“So you wear just one on purpose?”
“That’s the proper etiquette for invited nobles.”
“…To eat prettily?”
“What kind of phrasing… Never mind. The point is, you need to be mindful of details like these, or people will look down on you. If you’re going to stand next to me, you better start learning.”
“Right….”
He probably picked this stuff up from books or from Charlotte.
Ranshel stared at the glinting ruby, unimpressed.
He still didn’t get it.
Why parade wealth at dinner?
Isn’t it enough to just enjoy the food?
“Even if I’m reborn, I’m not coming back as a noble.”
“Fine. Be a noble’s servant then.”
“Nope, not doing that either.”
“…Then what?”
“I’ll be a farmer or something. The wheat fields on the way here were gorgeous.”
Ranshel recalled the golden waves he saw from the carriage.
Just looking at them made the tightness in his chest ease.
If there really was a next life, he just wanted to be a farmer who worked hard all year.
Physical strain, he could handle.
He just wanted peace of mind, even for a little while.
‘Come to think of it… in this world, being reborn probably just means going back to your old body.’
Since it only happens after death, maybe that’s how it works.
Which means no farming.
Ranshel gave a bitter smile.
Zavad stared quietly at his face.
The banquet hall was quite large—more seats prepared than people in their party.
“Some guests have already arrived ahead of you. They said they might be late, so please, make yourselves comfortable.”
He said “everyone,” but the viscount’s eyes were fixed solely on Zavad.
The difference between the main seat and the others was stark.
Here, the “head seat” was literally on a raised platform.
Petro sat elsewhere with the guards, while Ranshel stood beside Zavad.
According to Petro, it was customary for each noble to have one attendant at meals like this.
Even the viscount had an elderly steward standing by, tidying his napkin.
Ranshel saw and subtly copied him—fidgeting with the white cloth.
Zavad’s shoulder gave the tiniest twitch.
‘What’s so funny now?’
Probably because he was doing something out of character.
Ranshel ignored the reaction and folded the napkin into a frog.
He placed it beside Zavad’s plate, and Zavad flicked it off onto his lap.
Apparently he didn’t want it on the table.
It was a nice fold, though…
Viscount Venders raised a crystal glass.
“Now then, before we dine, let us offer a toast in gratitude to the divine. Would you care to say a few words, my lord?”
Zavad, still crumpling the napkin under the table, answered softly.
“…Let us praise the great god of the Holy Temple who provides our daily bread.”
He too raised his glass.
Once the highest-ranking noble drinks, the meal can begin.
Everyone in the hall turned to watch as Zavad tilted his glass—eyes filled with expectation.
Ranshel had been waiting for this exact moment.
Before Zavad could take a sip of his drink, Ranshel reached down unseen and grabbed the hem of Zavad’s clothes.
Zavad paused, and promptly lowered his cup from his lips.
“Master, may I have a quick taste first?”
“…I’ll allow it.”
Zavad raised his hand toward the viscount in a gesture of asking permission, his eyes questioning.
“I have a rather sensitive palate, you see. My servant always tastes it first.”
“Ah, haha, is that so?”
Even so—what kind of master has a servant taste their drinks to check the flavor?
But at this table, the words of a duke’s household were as good as divine law.
The viscount couldn’t even complain if Zavad suddenly praised God and splashed the drink all over the table.
While the others exchanged glances, Ranshel swiftly and discreetly slipped the drug into the glass.
“Gahk…!”
As expected, the moment he set the glass down, Ranshel began violently coughing up blood.
He knocked over the chair beside him and collapsed with a dramatic crash.
Naturally, he didn’t want to actually hurt himself, so instead of hitting his head, he gently laid it down on the floor while making noise with the chair.
“Wha—Aaaahh!”
“What—what’s happening?!”
People leapt up with shouts, and chaos erupted in an instant.
Petro, who had been waiting for this very moment, quickly ran to Ranshel’s side to check his condition.
Then he shouted loudly:
“He’s been poisoned! He drank poison!”
The one most shocked was the viscount, who had suddenly become the man who tried to poison a noble heir of the ducal house.
“N-no! I swear! We—we would never do such a thing!”
“…”
Suddenly, a system alert rang in Ranshel’s ears. He cracked one eye open.
[Contribution has changed.]
[Event Contribution]
+
?*: 0 → 5%
+
“Wait, five percent?!”
Why were they just handing out contribution like candy all of a sudden?
Ranshel coughed up more blood, then glared up at Zavad.
“…?”
What was that expression supposed to be?
Ranshel actually worried Zavad might faint on the spot.
His already pale skin had gone ghostly white, and his red eyes and ruby earrings were trembling subtly.
Ranshel knew full well those weren’t real, so why was he reacting like that?
‘Was it the sight of blood?’
He had spat out more than he planned, but it was hard to control how much you held in your mouth.
Still, with a stomach that weak, it was a miracle Zavad had managed to eat the rabbit he’d hunted himself.
What Ranshel had spit out was, in fact, the rabbit’s blood…
But regardless, he had a job to do.
Ranshel, out of sight of the others, pressed down lightly on the tip of Zavad’s shoe with his finger.
Zavad flinched and glanced down at the hand on his shoe—then swiftly composed his expression.
“…To think you would stoop to something so vile… I’m truly disappointed. I’ll have no choice but to report this to my father.”
“N-no, please! Believe me—we’ve done nothing! How could a humble house like ours ever dare oppose the Pomel family? I swear to God, we would never!”
It was not something one would do unless they were prepared to be annihilated.
But then, how could they explain what had just unfolded before their very eyes?
“Then are you saying someone else is the culprit?”
“Yes, of course! We will do everything we can to find them!”
The viscount immediately ordered his attendant to summon every servant in the estate.
“Seal off all the entrances and exits! No one leaves until the culprit is found!”
The guards who had been dining downstairs rushed out and began locking every door.
* * *
