* * *

A quiet self-assuredness, the ability to control the mood at will—Ashton exuded a calmness that stood in stark contrast to Hayworth’s fiery temperament.

While one burned with intensity, the other flowed like water, deftly adapting to the situation.

Hayworth found Ashton’s composure infuriating but managed to restrain himself.

Now wasn’t the time to let loose.

There was no sense in fighting further when nothing had actually happened.

When the time came to make his anger known, it would be more effective then.

For now, ensuring Remy could recover peacefully was the priority.

Without another word, Hayworth stepped out of the tent and headed back to his own quarters.

As Ashton watched his retreating figure, he muttered softly,

“Rest well, Your Highness Hayworth.”

---

The morning sunlit the mountain ridges of Mount Molaris, the dewdrops on the leaves sparkling in its rays.

After sleeping deeply without stirring once, Remy awoke feeling refreshed and stretched in his bed.

“What happened last night? Why can’t I remember anything? And why did I sleep so soundly? I feel great.”

He tried to recall the events of the previous evening, but his mind was blank, as though it had been painted over with black ink.

Giving up quickly, he hopped out of bed, stretched his arms and legs, and stepped out of the tent to enjoy the crisp morning air.

It wasn’t long before his eyes caught the sight of servants bustling about, carrying food to the dining area.

The sight snapped Remy back to reality, Remynding him why he was here.

“Ah, that’s right. The food. I need to poison the drink meant for Allen. I should familiarize myself with the route the food takes first.”

Thankfully, it was early, and the nobles hadn’t emerged yet.

After last night’s banquet, they were surely still passed out from overindulging.

“This is my chance. I should follow the servants and find the kitchen.”

Blending in with the busy servants, Remy made his way to the temporary kitchen.

The exterior wasn’t much different from his own tent, as it was a makeshift setup for the hunting competition.

Outside the kitchen, a large cauldron of stew simmered over a fire, filling the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

Inside, the kitchen was much larger than Remy’s quarters, as expected.

It had to be, given that it was responsible for feeding the many participants of the competition.

Servants darted back and forth, preparing breakfast, while the head chef, a man in a white kerchief and apron, busied himself plating a roasted goose on a large dish.

Remy’s attention shifted to a large table at one side of the kitchen.

“This must be it. The place where completed dishes are set out.”

Most of the servants seemed to be carrying food from this table to the outside.

It appeared that after the head chef finished preparing a dish, it was placed on this table for the servants to deliver.

“In that case… the thing I’m looking for should be here too…”

Remy scanned the table, his eyes flitting across the dozens of plates spread out before him.

He searched for the item he needed, keeping his movements inconspicuous.

As he peered closer at the table—

“You there, what are you doing?”

A voice called out, stopping Remy in his tracks.

Remy was startled and blurted out formal speech without realizing it.

“Y-Yes? Me?”

Gathering his senses, he looked at the person speaking to him—a furious head chef who had just finished plating a roast goose was glaring at him.

“Yes, you. Can’t you see we’re busy to death this morning?”

“Oh, well, yes. That’s to be expected since it’s breakfast prep time…”

“And you know that, yet you’re dawdling at the table? Why aren’t you carrying out the dishes yet?”

“Wait, me?”

Why me? Remy thought about asking, but he refrained, as the head chef had picked up a cleaver meant for chopping through bone.

The chef’s expression screamed, ‘Say one more word, and I’ll deal with you with this cleaver!’

Remy wisely shut his mouth.

“Uh… should I take this out, then?”

“Yes! Why are you even asking when you know the answer? Now take it and get out!”

“Alright, alright. But, um, could you please put down the cleaver…”

“What?”

“Nothing! I’m going!”

Remy picked up what seemed to be the lightest dish on the table—a salad bowl—and tried to quietly slip away.

“Hey, you!”

The chef’s sharp voice stopped him in his tracks, sending a shiver down his spine.

The tone felt like a hand yanking him back by the scruff of his neck.

Turning around, Remy asked hesitantly, “Y-Yes? Is there something else?”

“That. Take that too.”

“That… what?”

“The ginger syrup, of course!”

At the mention of ginger syrup, Remy flinched again. It was precisely what he’d been looking for.

“You said the Count of Aylesford’s young master requested it, didn’t you? Since he’s unwell, he wants ginger tea with every meal.”

“Yes, that’s correct…”

“Then don’t forget to take it. I don’t want to hear complaints later.”

“Got it, I’ll take it.”

Gulping nervously, Remy set aside the salad bowl and began frantically searching the table for the ginger syrup.

Unfortunately, the assortment of dishes made it impossible to tell which one contained it.

Even in the original story, it was only referred to as ginger syrup, without any description of the container.

‘Ah, this is driving me crazy. Should I just ask? But that chef is terrifying…’

With no other option, Remy decided to speak up.

“Uh, Chef?”

“What now? You still haven’t left?”

“Sorry, but I don’t know which container has the ginger syrup…”

“What?”

The chef glared at him with wide, menacing eyes.

“So, if you could just tell me this one time…”

“What exactly are you doing here? Why are you even in this kitchen?”

Me?

Oh, I’m here to poison the ginger syrup for Allen.

“P-Poison? No, I mean, I’m here to help serve food and do odd jobs…”

“And you can’t even find the ginger syrup?”

“Apologies…”

“Useless brat!”

The chef shook the cleaver menacingly as he stomped over to Remy, who flinched at every step.

Even though he doubted the chef would actually swing the cleaver at him, the sight of its sharp edge made cold sweat drip down his back.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d end up dead before he even had the chance to carry out his plan.

“Here it is! In this glass jar!”

“Oh…”

The solution had been simpler than expected.

The ginger syrup looked similar to the quince syrup his mother used to make when he was a child.

It was even stored in a transparent glass jar, making it easy to spot—if not for its slightly tucked-away position.

“What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you didn’t even know what ginger syrup looks like.”

“No! Of course not!”

“Good. Now get out of here!”

“Yes, sir! Understood, Chef!”

With the ginger syrup and salad bowl in hand, Remy hurriedly left the tent.

“Whew, that was close. I almost died by cleaver this morning.”

Once he was far enough from the kitchen, Remy exhaled in relief, patting his chest.

He murmured to himself about how narrowly he had escaped death.

“So this is the ginger syrup Allen’s been drinking? Just like in the original story. He always asked for ginger tea. I’m glad this part hasn’t changed.”

Carrying the glass jar and salad bowl, Remy arrived at the large dining table set up in an open field.

Among the busy attendants, someone noticed him and rushed over in shock.

“Why are you carrying these, Young Lord?”

Scratching the back of his head awkwardly, Remy replied, “Ah, well… it just sort of happened.”

“My goodness. You should leave this to the attendants! You’ll spoil them if you keep doing this yourself.”

Remy found it hard to understand the logic of an attendant complaining about spoiling other attendants.

“It’s not that big of a deal…”

“Anyway, please wash up and come eat your breakfast.”

“Ah… alright.”

* * *