Living as a Butler to the Northern Duke chapter 52

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Fortunately, Ed seemed to enjoy not only the food but also the beer.

He gulped down the cold beer in large, satisfying swigs, shivering slightly from the chill but clearly relishing it.

After finishing his drink, he licked his lips with a pinkish tongue, a satisfied expression on his face.

“…”

He soon looked down at the empty glass, quietly wishing there was more.

Knowing Ed’s drinking limit, the Duke pretended not to notice and pushed some nourishing food toward him.

But when Ed’s disappointed gaze grew too hard to ignore, the Duke gave in and ordered another beer.

Ed smiled brightly, thanking him.

His happiness was so radiant that there wasn’t even time to be distracted by the full moon shining outside.

When the next beer arrived, Ed once again drank deeply, his small body somehow able to handle all that alcohol. It was impressive.

Then, in a slightly tipsy tone, he added,
“Thank you so much for taking care of the Roa orphanage, Your Grace. Every time I went there, those thorn bushes in front were such a headache. Seeing them cleaned up made me feel so relieved.”

He added another heartfelt “thank you,” his voice soft with the warmth of alcohol.

His usually sharp blue eyes, which could sometimes feel piercing, had softened under the influence of the drink.

Asnel lightly smiled and clinked his glass against Ed’s.

The soft tap was met with Ed lightly reciprocating the gesture, using both hands.

He enjoyed the response.

“That’s gratitude owed to Duke Jade, though. He’s the one who opened the gates and allowed the northern knights to act.”

“I’m well aware that it’s all thanks to Your Grace’s efforts. Truly, thank you.”

Blue eyes met his directly, and their conversation flowed smoothly without any awkward pauses.

So, when Ed’s glass emptied, Asnel ordered more beer and added an octopus dish to their table.

The beer was said to have medicinal herbs beneficial to health, and the octopus dish was touted as great for fatigue recovery by the waiter.

“…Hm.”

At first, Ed tilted his head, seemingly unaccustomed to the herbal scent of the beer.

But soon, he adjusted and drank it down smoothly, which brought a smile to Asnel’s face.

The way Ed’s Adam’s apple bobbed diligently up and down was strangely endearing.

Just as with wine, Ed seemed to become more rugged when drinking.

Whether it was the delicate curves of a wine glass or the rough iron of a beer mug, he approached it with the same energy.

He always finished about half of his drink before setting the glass down.

He didn’t leave the rest for long either, downing it all quickly, whether in large gulps or small sips, his glass was soon empty.

His pace was fast and unhesitant.

‘…He doesn’t seem particularly good at drinking, though.’

Was he just enjoying the atmosphere?

Or maybe he didn’t know his limit and drank recklessly?

Asnel tilted his head slightly.

“Ed.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“What’s your alcohol tolerance like?”

“My tolerance?”

“I’m not asking about the most you’ve ever drunk—just how much it takes for you to feel comfortably buzzed.”

“…”

“I’m not trying to nag, just curious. You don’t have to be tense.”

Ed, who was still holding the iron beer mug, scratched his cheek, looking as though he had never really thought about it.

“I haven’t drunk enough to know my exact limit, but I enjoy that cold, sharp sensation as the drink scratches its way down my throat.”

“…”

It makes me feel alive.

The words were soft, almost to himself, but Asnel felt like the world around them went silent, with only Ed’s voice remaining.

Those blue eyes, smiling yet somehow hollow, made Asnel instinctively reach out.

Just then, ding, ding, ding, a bell rang out.

It was the signal for an event the pub was about to host.

Ed turned his head toward the long tank being set up in the middle of the room, stretching his neck to see.

As he did, Asnel’s fingers, which had barely grazed Ed’s chin, fell away, touching the empty air.

Asnel’s eyes narrowed slightly.

The warmth that had briefly lingered on his fingertips slowly faded, and he rubbed them absentmindedly.

“…”

Ed’s cheek, now turned toward the event, was flushed from the alcohol and the warm light of the lamps, his soft jawline descending into a white, graceful neck.

‘Since we walked out of the “Crack of Ruin” together, I thought we had grown closer.’

He knew Ed was trying to erase everything—the playful moments on the bed, the relaxed slumber in the carriage, as if none of it had ever happened.

‘And that’s why it’s so infuriating.’

“…”

No, it’s not Ed who’s drunk—it’s me.

Suddenly, Asnel felt the urge to grasp Ed by the chin, to turn him toward himself.

He wanted those blue eyes, distracted by something else, to focus solely on him.

He didn’t want to let go of Ed, who was constantly retreating, pulling away from their connection.

He wanted Ed’s shadow to be completely covered by his own.

The fleeting warmth he had felt at the tips of his fingers was too tantalizing…

Asnel clenched his hand into a slow, deliberate fist.

What had started as a gentle ripple was now growing larger, spiraling into a stronger, more turbulent current.

‘If this keeps up, I’ll start thinking about locking him up in the northern castle, where no one can see him.’

Even Asnel found the thought absurd and laughed at himself bitterly.

He lifted his beer mug and took a sip, hiding his cold expression behind the glass.

That’s when Ed turned back.

His once sharp blue eyes had softened, now glimmering with excitement.

“There are five turtles, each in a separate straight line tank, and the goal is to guess which one will win,” Ed summarized the host’s explanation, pulling his chair closer and lowering his voice, wary of the nearby tables.

“They’ll run four rounds of the race. We get one chance per dish ordered, so what should we do, Your Grace? Should we spread our bets over two chances in the first race for better odds? Or should we go all-in on the first game and aim to win at least two bottles of Mandrake’s Liquor?”

Asnel chuckled, taking another sip of his beer.

“What do you think we should do, Ed?”

“Uh, I think…”

After a moment of thought, Ed came to a conclusion.

“It’d be best to use all ten chances in the first race. If we place two bets on Turtle 1 and two on Turtle 2… whichever turtle wins, we’ll have first place secured.”

“Hmm, that does make sense.”

With his arms crossed, Asnel nodded, and Ed enthusiastically echoed his agreement.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Alright, then we’ll place all ten bets on Turtle 1 for the first race.”

“Yes, that would be—wait, what?”

Ed’s head jerked in confusion, trying to process whether he had heard Asnel correctly.

‘So we’re putting everything on Turtle 1 in the first race, right?’

Asnel smiled faintly at Ed’s bewildered expression. He had considered following Ed’s suggestion but was struck with a mischievous impulse.

It irked him that Ed had so quickly shifted his attention to the game, abandoning the pleasant conversation they had been having.

Besides, Asnel wasn’t interested in drinking any more tonight, even if it was Mandrake liquor.

Alcohol was still alcohol.

‘If Mandrake exposed to the sea breeze is so good for you, I might as well just buy the whole root for him—why bother with wine?’

Tonight, it was better to stop drinking and instead focus on good food to help Ed’s stomach recover from the beer.

If Turtle 1 did somehow manage to win, Asnel would just hand over the prize to Walter and Yen.

With that decision, Asnel bet everything on Turtle 1.

As the turtle race began, Ed stood up and approached the tank.

He watched the turtles splashing about, some moving forward only to turn back, while others didn’t move at all, and burst into laughter.

The turtle Asnel had chosen immediately swam out of its lane and wandered into a neighboring lane, disqualified right from the start.

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It was the morning of the second day of the southern Illa Festival.

Ed walked briskly, having just returned from the racetrack.

Today, there was a horse race featuring some of the fastest horses at the Illa racetrack, and Ed had gone early to secure tickets.

The racetrack was popular, and tickets were sold on a first-come, first-served basis, so while waiting in line, he had anxiously hoped the tickets wouldn’t sell out before it was his turn.

‘The Duke seemed interested in racing games yesterday.’

Walter and Yen had mentioned the pub event, and the Duke had shown some interest.

‘But going all-in on that race like that must have been because it was a turtle race.’

There was no speed or excitement, just luck and chance, which must have bored him.

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