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Luke had just finished changing into his formal attire for an outing, but as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, he unconsciously furrowed his brows.

“…What an unpleasant face I’m making,” he muttered bitterly.

His facial features themselves hadn’t changed much over the past year—or so he thought. His family and close friends had remarked that he looked more mature now, but he didn’t particularly feel that way.

Sure, he’d grown about ten centimertes taller, but what bothered him more was the exhaustion and weariness etched onto his features, like a thin film covering his natural looks. It made his face seem perpetually dull, and he couldn’t help but be conscious of it.

“I look like I’m screaming, ‘I’m tired’ and ‘I’m troubled,’ don’t I? If Jill saw me like this, she’d probably laugh at me… Or maybe she’d just be worried?”

Luke tugged at his bangs, which he felt had lost some of their vibrancy. Normally, blonde hair would darken toward brown with age, but his hair seemed to be growing closer to white, likely from the stress he was under.

“Pathetic… That’s what I am,” he murmured.

In front of the mirror, he made a series of exaggerated faces, ending with a self-mocking smile. Behind him, Eren, the maid, watched him with a pained expression.

Over the past year, Luke had tirelessly searched for any news about Jill’s safety and whereabouts. Yet, even now, he had not found a single clue leading to her.

As time went on, his initial hopes and determination gradually faded. In their place, creeping fears and despair began to fester. No matter how much he tried to brush them aside, they clung to him like sediment, slowly accumulating and weighing heavier on his heart.

Noticing Eren’s pained gaze reflected in the mirror, Luke momentarily showed a faintly guilty expression. He shook his head slightly and forced a faint smile as he turned to face her.

“I’m fine. I haven’t given up hope yet. Jill is alive… The letter from great-grand—I mean, Her Majesty Grand Founder—affirmed the oracle of her survival. I wholly believe in her.”

Right after Jill disappeared, Luke desperately sent a letter detailing the events to his father in the Graviol Empire, his home country, his great-grandmother and Jill’s teacher, Grand Founder, and Ms. Christy, his former tutor and Jill’s senior disciple.

“—Jill is alive, but she’s in a place where she can’t easily come back from. If you want to do something on your end, then do everything you can, come hell or high water.”

That was the content of the letter sent by his great-grandmother more than half a year later.

The document was sealed with powerful Arts, and instead of any sympathy or pity whatsoever, it was written succinctly with only the information he most wanted to know. It does sound like great-grandmother alright… And that’s why Luke was able to believe—That Jill was still alive.

“Then I’ll do what I can. Even if I’m mocked as a fool or ridiculed for futile efforts, I will absolutely bring back the one I hold dear.”

With renewed determination, Luke turned back to the mirror. Gone was the worn-out, desperate youth from moments ago. In his place stood someone with resolute eyes, radiating unwavering resolve.

“Let’s go. Today’s meeting is with Count Aulanthia. If anyone might have a lead connecting to Jill, it’s him.”

Recalling the kindly, grandfatherly face of the Frontier Count—one of the most prominent nobles of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom, yet utterly devoid of any air of authority or intimidation—Luke began walking toward the front entrance, where the carriage awaited him.

Following behind, Eren murmured softly under her breath. “Count Aulanthia… is it?”

“Yes, it seems that Princess Syltianna has finally recovered and will be transferring to the academy next month. I was invited under the pretext of celebrating the occasion and reconnecting after a long time.”

While the true intent behind the invitation remained unclear, it was likely an attempt to use this opportunity to rebuild ties with him and, through him, the Imperial family he represented.

“You’re meeting that Princess Syltianna?”
“Yes, that Princess Syltianna,” Luke replied with a wry smile.

Though not as notorious as before, the unflattering nickname “The Ragweed Princess of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom” still lingered in people’s minds.

Eren regarded Luke with a mixture of pity and sympathy.

To think that he, with his heart set on the most beloved and ideal princess, now had to play the courtesy game with the most dreadful and infamous “Ragweed Princess”—it was, in a way, a testament to his remarkable devotion.

As Eren searched for the right words to offer comfort, a memory suddenly came to mind.

“…Now that I think about it, whenever Lady Jill heard mention of the Ragweed Princess, she would always make a strange expression.”
“True. I suspect there’s something behind it… a secret Jill was keeping. That’s why I’ll have to tread carefully when dealing with them, fumbling my way through. It won’t be easy.”

If he said too much, he might step not on the tail of a tiger, but a dragon. Yet, Luke also believed there could be a critical clue that might lead him to Jill.

“Please be careful, Master Lucas.”
“…I will. Rushing things and losing everything in the process would defeat the purpose. I’ll proceed with caution.”

As if to reaffirm his resolve, Luke nodded firmly. This time, he straightened his back and walked forward with purpose.

♢♦♢♦♢

Now, after finishing our meal and leaving the restaurant, we found ourselves heading toward the guild headquarters.

Following the earlier commotion, everyone had chosen to gloss over the incident, chatting idly over tea as if nothing had happened. However, it was during this relaxed atmosphere that Cestlavie offhandedly remarked, “…Come to think of it,” and steered the conversation in a new direction.

Apparently, when he submitted a report on yesterday’s events at the “Sidonia Grand Labyrinth,” some of the male guild staff members became oddly intense, practically clinging to his every word. They earnestly requested, “If possible, we would love to hear the details directly from Lady Clara herself. Please, we insist.” It made me wonder—was there some kind of issue with my treatment?

“They claimed it was all ‘purely personal curiosity,’ but even the deputy guildmaster showed up, and they started questioning yesterday’s adventurers as witnesses. I have no idea what’s driving them, but honestly, it’s not mandatory, and they’re not offering any compensation. I really just wanted to refuse.”

“Of course you should refuse! Dragging Lady Clara into this? What do they think your purpose as a meat shield is, you foolish plebeian!”

Coppelia’s biting criticism prompted Cestlavie to begin his retort, but he uncharacteristically slumped his shoulders in apparent exhaustion.

“Ugh, I just couldn’t handle the sheer intensity of those old men… Damn that bald guy.”

And so, while Cestlavie was even less enthusiastic than usual, it wasn’t as though we could simply ignore an unpleasant situation. Fortunately, the guild headquarters was within walking distance, so we decided to briskly attend to the matter while also working off our meal.

“Lady Clara, if you’d like, I can have my family’s carriage brought around to take us to our destination.”

Sir Simon, who was attempting to keep up with us on the uneven cobblestone road in his impeccably polished leather shoes, made the suggestion as he turned to me.

I had assumed we would part ways in front of the restaurant, but for some reason, he had taken a peculiar interest in tagging along. Given his choice of footwear and the rough terrain, walking must have been quite the ordeal for him.

Sensing the situation, his attentive valet, Emil, gestured to a nearby man who appeared to be one of his guards.

“No, thank you, your offer alone is more than enough. The distance is not far, and above all, for a clergyperson who values modesty above all else, riding in an ostentatious carriage meant for nobility would invite undue scrutiny, even if it were not a town coach.”

When I gently declined the offer, Emil, who had started to signal the guards to leave, quickly gestured for them to hold their position.

“What shall we do?”

With a questioning look, Emil sought Sir Simon’s direction. The young lord silently shook his head in response.

“My apologies. It seems my offer was overly presumptuous. But indeed, strolling leisurely through the streets has its own charm, doesn’t it?”

Since I had effectively rejected his goodwill, I should have been the one apologizing. However, his quick and polished response displayed either the poise of a true gentleman or the composure of a seasoned adult. I found myself impressed.

“Well now, if Sir Simon truly needs a carriage, this humble Coppelia can arrange one for you. Of course, taking Lady Clara’s wishes into account, I’d probably borrow one of those carts lying around. I could act as the driver, with Lady Clara seated beside me while the rest of you ride in the back. How does that sound?”

And so, the ever-provocative Coppelia made her play.

Incidentally, riding on the back of a cart is, in some circles, considered the ultimate humiliation. Should anyone be seen in such a state, they might as well surrender all claims to dignity. Naturally, Coppelia was fully aware of this when she made her suggestion.

Sir Simon, unfazed by her rudeness, simply shrugged it off. However, Emil, his loyal valet, clearly couldn’t let it slide. His expression darkened noticeably, and the guards around them began exuding a tense, foreboding air.

Their hands drifted toward their swords and hidden weapons, tightening the encirclement around us inch by inch.

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“—Cough, cough! Enough. You’re jumping to conclusions. The only reason I came to this establishment is to try the rumored delicacy. My encounter with her was purely coincidental!”

Simon coughed lightly, seemingly having choked on his food midway through his defense.

“Quite the exotic delicacy, indeed. I do understand that you’ve been mindful of both, my lord, but don’t you think this was a tad bit imprudent?”

Emil cast a faintly disdainful glance at his master.

“…I mean, it is delectable. In more ways than one,” Cestlavie muttered to no one in particular as he picked at the side dish of potatoes.

“…They’re talking about the Groß Nacktschnecke, right?”
“If Lady Clara believes so, then it must be. Burp.”

Feeling as though the conversation’s focus had inexplicably shifted in my direction, I cautiously whispered a confirmation. In response, Coppelia downed a glass of cooking oil in one go, burped audibly, and dismissed the matter with a careless remark.

“You sound like you’re implying something—”

Just as I was about to press her further, the noisy clatter of wheels echoed outside. A white carriage I recognized all too well pulled up directly in front of the tavern.

“What the heck is that?”
“It’s blocking the door.”
“What an idiot.”
“Tsk, annoying.”

Murmurs of irritation rippled through the room as the regulars glanced toward the window.

“…Goodness, what a dreadful location.”

As the coachman politely opened the door, a strikingly beautiful young woman in a shrine maiden’s ceremonial attire descended from the carriage, accompanied by several shrine maiden apprentices.

“Oh? Miss Eliza.”

Even from a distance, her presence was impossible to miss. Adorned head to toe with flashy accessories of gold, silver, and jewels, the confident and assertive Shrine Maiden strode into the tavern with an air of entitlement. She ignored the curious onlookers—both the nosy neighbors who had gathered outside and the patrons inside, who instinctively stood to take notice.

“An acquaintance of yours?”
“Yes, well… something like a colleague at work.”

I gave Simon a vague answer in response to his inquiry.

Perhaps I should count myself fortunate. Thanks to the other patrons creating a sort of wall, it seemed Miss Eliza hadn’t noticed me seated at the back of the establishment.

Without a glance in my direction, she marched haughtily up to the counter and called for the tavern’s owner, who had been working in the kitchen.

“Listen to me and listen to me good. I must host an important guest next week. This individual has expressed an exceptional interest in this establishment’s signature dish. It would have been inconceivable for a mere backstreet cook to step into the sacred kitchen of the cathedral in any normal circumstances, but I am willing to grant you a special exception. Come and prepare that dish of yours for my guest.”

Her condescending demand, delivered with impeccable arrogance, caused an immediate and palpable shift in the room’s atmosphere.

Unlike the earlier tension with Emil, however, no one seemed willing to pick a fight with a Shrine Maiden, not in the heart of the Holy City. Even so, there was a visible unease in the air.

“As if there isn’t already enough friction brewing under the surface between the Church and the beastfolk and demi-humans. Is she really going to stoke the fire in their territory?”

While I quietly muttered my grievances, Eliza continued her string of demands without the slightest regard for her audience.

“Three days should suffice for preparation and cleanup. Of course, I will ensure compensation for the work and any losses incurred during the closure.”
“I refuse.”

A deep voice cut through Eliza’s monologue without hesitation.

“—What?”
“I said no. I don’t care who you or your guest might be. If you want my cooking, then come and eat here. I’ll treat you as a customer.”
“Wh-what!?”

Eliza stood speechless, her lips trembling as if she had been struck, while the owner waved her off like one might shoo away a stray dog.

“If you’re not a customer, then kindly get out. And don’t leave your carriage parked out front—it’s in the way.”
“…”

Her lips pressed tightly together, Eliza began to quiver with barely restrained fury.

“—D-do you even realize who I am?! And let me remind you, the person you’d be cooking for is none other than Prince Corrad of the mighty Aulanthia Kingdom, one of the greatest nations in the northern territories! On the day in question, you’ll have access to the finest kitchen, the finest ingredients, the finest tools, and an unlimited supply of seasonings! Do you not see this as the highest honor for a chef?!”
“For me, the greatest honor is cooking here, in my own kitchen, the way I like, and hearing my customers say my food is delicious.”

His casual yet unshakable declaration was met with a round of cheers from the surrounding patrons.

“Stubborn, huh? But I like it.” Cestlavie reached for another slice of the Groß Nacktschnecke, stuffing his mouth with a grin. “Yeah. It’s good.”

“Indeed.” I found myself agreeing with him.

Though undeniably stubborn, the chef’s unwavering stance—refusing to let status or rank influence his principles as a cook—was admirable. More than anything, as much as I felt sorry for Eliza, I found it thoroughly satisfying.

“I see. It was worth coming all the way here,” Simon remarked, nodding thoughtfully as he reached for more food.

Meanwhile, Eliza, her face flushed red and trembling like a rigid pole, was finally coaxed and ushered out of the store by her apprentice priestesses.

Soon, the neighing of horses and the forceful sound of a carriage door slamming echoed throughout the street. The heavy clatter of hooves grew fainter as the carriage departed, and with it, the tension inside the shop dissolved, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief.

“…Well, that was an unexpected visitor.”
“She mentioned escorting Prince Corrad. So, does that mean she’s the renowned prodigy of the Saintess’ Church, Lady Barbara Eliza?”

Feeling their questioning gazes, Simon and Emil included, subtly directed toward me, I nodded honestly in response.

“Indeed. As expected of Eliza, her name is renowned even in distant countries,” I commented.

“Well… yes, I suppose. While not widely known among general believers, she’s something of a niche celebrity in high society,” Simon replied, his tone somewhat vague.

Cestlavie and Coppelia, however, had no qualms about making their opinions heard, chiming in with scathing remarks.

“Well, she’s just a flash-in-the-pan celebrity who’ll be forgotten in thirty years,” Cestlavie quipped.

“A big fish in a small pond, really,” Coppelia added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Interesting, interesting. This is most enlightening,” Emil remarked, nodding repeatedly with a knowing expression. “Still, it’s impressive how well they seem to understand Prince Corrad’s tastes. It’s as if they planned to win him over through food. Makes one wonder about the source of their information leaks,” he mused, seemingly more concerned about the aristocratic gossip network than the incident itself.

Perhaps this level of perceptiveness is just par for the course in noble society, always keen-eyed and sharp. As I mulled over this thought, recalling Simon’s family crest I’d glimpsed earlier—

Suddenly, the rhythmic clatter of heavy hooves echoed once more. Another large carriage pulled up in front of the shop, and a middle-aged man in an official-looking uniform descended with a haughty demeanor.

The entire room collectively winced, their faces darkening in unison at the unpleasant sense of déjà vu. Unperturbed by the stifling atmosphere, the man loudly announced:

“I am a secretary of the Duchy of Enyuria! Consider yourself honored! By the request of Princess Simonetta, one of this establishment’s signature dishes is to be prepared for—”

“GET OUT――!!!”

A deafening roar erupted from the kitchen, followed immediately by a torrent of boiling water hurled toward the unwelcome guest.