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In one corner of a grand hall, illuminated by the brilliant light of a magic device disguised as an opulent Bohemian crystal chandelier—far brighter than any candle—a boy and a portly gentleman, nearly twice his age, stood chatting. Both were dressed in the finest evening attire, each holding a glass of white wine.

“Live dolphin on my tongue, Oozy Cheese that leaps at you upon touch, the taste of Moet pig brains—oh, I’ve sampled quite a variety of exotic foods in my time. But when it comes to delicacies, the crown jewel has to be the Eunice Groß Nacktschnecke, or the Great Slug of Eunice.”

Earl Bartolucci, a central noble of the Graviol Empire renowned both for his voracious appetite and love of fine dining, laughed heartily, his jowls and paunch quivering with amusement.

“A delicacy… You mean to say people actually eat slugs?”

Luke, startled and uneasy, managed to respond half out of politeness, and half out of genuine curiosity, though his hesitance was plain to see. Bartolucci, however, grinned with the satisfaction of a seasoned prankster whose trick had landed perfectly.

“Indeed! Even the smaller ones measure at least a merte, and the larger specimens exceed three mertes. They are practically monsters. Believe it or not, the mountainous regions of Eunice are positively teeming with them—squirming about everywhere.”

As he spoke, Bartolucci deftly moved his hand to pluck cheese and ham from a plate offered by a servant, popping the morsels into his mouth without disrupting the conversation. His ability to eat without being unsightly and maintain a steady rhythm in his speech was, in a way, a remarkable skill.

“Ordinary slugs might nibble on vegetables, but these are ferocious omnivores. There’s an old saying about the hierarchy of fear: ‘a frog frozen by a snake, a slug staring down a frog, and a snake caught by a slug.’ It’s no joke—these beasts are known to devour frogs, snakes, and even humans or large magical creatures, depending on the situation. Honestly, it’s a blessing that these monsters are exclusive to Eunice. If they roamed freely across the continent, it would be a nightmare.”

Count Bartolucci let out a hearty laugh, and Luke managed a dry chuckle to go along with it.

Meanwhile, a group of young noblewomen, who had been hovering nearby, hoping for an opportunity to approach Luke, overheard snippets of the conversation. The grotesque subject matter visibly soured their mood, and they quietly retreated, leaving a small bubble of space around the two men.

Well, that’s only natural, thought Eren, who was currently playing the role of Luke’s temporary maid.

After talk of bat eyeballs, crab meat with the crunch of human bones, and now a slug larger than a person being hailed as the ultimate delicacy, it was hardly surprising that the sheltered noble ladies found the conversation unbearable.

With a mix of relief and sympathy, Eren let out a quiet sigh.

It had been over ten months since the disastrous field trip to the town of Arlea. Despite their relentless efforts, Luke and his companions had yet to locate Jill or Cestlavie (and their accidental “tagalong”). To make matters worse, the upper echelons of the Eunice Theocracy had politely but firmly requested their departure, leaving them at a dead end as they desperately searched for clues.

Even back home, Lieselotte, Viola, and others had been leveraging their networks to gather information. However, between the politically precarious status of the princess and the rigid secrecy of the Eunice Theocracy, progress was painstakingly slow.

Luke’s attendance at events like this party was a desperate measure to forge connections and glean even the smallest scraps of information about Eunice.

Though the results thus far were unimpressive, no one had lost hope for Jill’s survival. They were certain she would return, wearing her usual unbothered expression. That unwavering belief kept them going.

“Why, even the esteemed Shrine Maiden Princess Clara herself is said to have enjoyed them—she polished off an entire slug in one sitting! Ha ha ha!”

Count Bartolucci swirled his glass, brimming with good cheer. Luke, however, forced a polite smile, hiding his growing discomfort.

(So Lady Clara had a taste for something as bizarre as giant slugs? I guess she had an adventurous palate after all…)

Eren, thinking such thoughts, cast her gaze upward toward the ceiling.

♢♦♢♦♢

“Heaven’s Punishment—!!”

Coppelia suddenly kicked her chair over and stood up.

Locking onto the bewildered young gentleman beyond the head of the boy who had just arrived, she prepared to launch a rocket punch amid a puff of white smoke. Before she could, I swiftly delivered a spinning kick to her solar plexus, while Cestlavie kicked up her arm along with the table.

The misfired rocket punch blasted a hole in the ceiling, scattering white dust. The force knocked my hood loose, causing my previously braided hair to unravel and fall into slightly wavy strands.

“Cough—What are you doing, Lady Clara?”
“That’s my line! What were you trying to do just now?!”
“—? Of course, I was about to execute that thing since he’s trying to hinder you, Lady Clara!”

As she reattached the arm that had returned from the ceiling, Coppelia pointed at her target. Other customers in the direction of her line of sight yelped and leaned back in alarm. Standing at the end of her pointing finger was the young gentleman, still frozen in shock and unable to comprehend the situation.

“You’ve just met him! How can you decide to kill someone in less than a second?!”
“To eliminate any potential future grudges for you, of course!”
“Who said anything about inciting murder?! Explain the circumstances that led you to this decision!”
“It’s an urgent situation, and explaining it would take too long, so I’ll skip it. Besides, wasn’t it Lady Clara who once said, ‘Words are unnecessary. If you’re a woman, settle it with your fists’?”
“I never said that! Also, I feel like your pronunciation of ‘settle’ is slightly off!”

While Coppelia and I were caught up in this ridiculous exchange, Cestlavie silently restored the table amid the murmuring crowd and cleaned up the fallen dishes and wooden plates. Taking a few coins from his pocket, he handed them to the boy.

“Sorry about that. Here’s some compensation and a little extra for the ceiling repairs.”
“Ah… y-yes.”

The boy, looking entirely at a loss, accepted the money and nodded mechanically.

“That’s Lady Clara, right?”
“Why did the maid’s arm just fly off?”
“…Could it be some sort of performance?”
“Oh, that makes sense. I heard that her church has been struggling with finances lately.”
“Ah, so it’s a skit.”
“Impressive as expected of Lady Clara!”
“That kick was spectacular!”

Amidst the cheers and applause, small donations were thrown our way, accompanied by lukewarm, pitying gazes. “…Ahem.” I cleared my throat and straightened my posture.

As the boy bent down to collect the donations, the young gentleman—the apparent cause of Coppelia’s sudden outburst—stepped forward.

“So, may I take it that I am permitted to share this table after all?”

His daring attitude made even Cestlavie blink in mild surprise as he gave the gentleman a closer look.

“—Even after all this, you still want to sit with two eccentrics?”
“Who are you calling eccentric?!”
“Hey, peasant. While I appreciate your attempt at accurate self-assessment, do refrain from lumping Lady Clara into the same category as you.”

This useless maid seems to think she is safe from the insult.

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Corald Simon, a humble countryman.”