Ingrad? Is That Something You Eat? A Noble… Me?! (9)

Meanwhile, deep inside a certain guild of the Terakan Empire.

“Damn it. Any news on that pharmacist?”

At the snarl of Marquess Dorian, the man before him bowed his head as low as it would go and spoke.

“There is no way to enter Ingrad Territory itself. That land is called a demonic den.”

“Damn and blast! How long could some lowly Free Citizen possibly last in a place that dangerous? Even if we wanted to contact him, there may be no way.”

“Even so, that’s no reason for us to go.”

‘Damn it, damn it! I’m running out of invigorators—where the hell is that damned pharmacist… grrr!!’

As fury boiled in him, the man before him cautiously lifted his head and said,

“How about placing a request with the Adventurers’ Guild?”

“A request? On what grounds?”

“A ‘rescue’ of Baron Ingrad. That might pass.”

“…Why should we rescue him?”

“Ah—rather, the opposite. We denounce the danger of that demonic den called Ingrad, and argue he should be extracted for the sake of his intellectual property and his talents that will benefit humankind.”

“You mean… I have to front this?”

“It would be ideal if Your Excellency Marquess Dorian stepped up, but I don’t think you need to lead from the front. We’re not the only camp in need of ‘God’s Blessing,’ are we?”

“Oh-ho… I see. Yes, that’s it. It’s a medicine every dignified human male needs. Yes, that’s right. That’s how we’ll do it.”

A rancid stench all but poured from Marquess Dorian’s sly smile.

At the same time—

“R-Rita, don’t be like this! Why are you so hysterical?!”

“Master, why can’t you get it up?”

“D-don’t talk about something so embarrassing out here!”

“At least once a day was still… doable, right?”

Guts was getting an earful from early morning under Rita’s scolding.

The reason was simple. They had lost that medicine—coveted by anyone with good intel under the name “God’s Blessing.”

Strictly speaking, the medicine stored deep in the display cabinet had been “stolen,” but Rita could not accept it.

So even if it meant provoking it into action in the morning when it barely stirred, she had somehow been making things happen—but now that no longer satisfied her.

“…Pharmacist Jin-woo is now Baron Ingrad, sealed away in that demonic den—so even if we try, we can’t get to him! What are you going to do?!”

“I kept it carefully! Maybe one of those fast-information types put out a job because you’ve been all smiles lately?”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

“…I’m sorry!”

Guts immediately tucked his tail, and Rita’s thunderous decree crashed into his ears.

“Either go get the medicine or don’t even think about coming home… Take that vaunted Invisible Mercenary Company of yours and go!!”

The Invisible Mercenary Company was the unit Guts captained. Guts—both Adventurers’ Guild Master and the Company’s captain—was being thrown out by Rita, the true power of the guild.

Unrelated to the bustle of Terakan high society, I was wholly absorbed in making a magic-power recovery potion, poring over the ingredients again and again.

“Hm. This herb called Selliat—do I only use the root…? But it says the leaves, with a few auxiliaries, can give pretty decent efficacy—ah, that ingredient… there.”

In one corner sat an herb shaped like a sweet potato; my pharmaceutical knowledge surfaced—some kind of ma (yam).

“Witeras Ma—so I use its juice?”

Just like with Tiger’s Fang Grass, you mash Witeras Ma well, squeeze out only the juice, and gently heat it until it sets with a beeswax-like feel.

Mix that with roasted, powdered Selliat in specific ratios and it thins like water while maximizing Selliat’s magic-power restoration component.

“Liquid medicines are hard to store or carry; pills are better. To turn this into pills… ‘Baal Shoot’? What a ferocious name.”

Baal Shoot was a herb shaped somewhat like bamboo shoots, named for resembling a demon’s horn. It was huge, grew fast, and only the shoots dug up right as they sprouted could be used medicinally.

The key was to split it with a knife and use the inner, jelly-like part.

“Like aloe, maybe?”

Despite the name, I recalled it was quite famous as a skin-care ingredient. When you mixed an appropriate amount of that with the Selliat–Witeras Ma juice blend, a chemical reaction formed a ‘paste’; the more Baal Shoot you added, the harder it set, so finding the right ratio was crucial.

After that, adding powdered ‘Wizard Grass’—which paired well with Baal Shoot—helped with magic-power recovery and even gave a very slight boost to magic capacity.

“So, both magic power and mana increase their usage limits the more you use them… but the process is very slow, huh?”

A few more tips surfaced—enough that ‘medicine’ could cover part of it.

“I have to make this no matter what—but the problem is magic-power addiction…?”

The note said it was ‘recommended’ not to take more than three pills per day.

“Recommended… or a warning?”

If it’s merely recommended, a few more pills shouldn’t be a big deal. But if ‘recommended’ was code for ‘warning’…

Better safe than sorry. My body was my capital.

“Maximum five. No more.”

I decided it was best to set my own limit. With that, I started producing magic-power recovery pills using ‘Forest of the Demon Dragon’ ingredients.

The method went smoothly—combine proper amounts and you got the effect.

But here, the power used wasn’t mana; it was magic power.

Remembering the side effects when I used magic power for the scar treatment, it seemed risky—perhaps that’s why the recipes and pharmaceutics flagged ‘magic-power addiction’ as a side effect.

Still, I figured caution would suffice.

So I began churning out the magic-power recovery pills en masse. Using up every ingredient I had kept me at it all morning, and only when the newly-rested Seria came to fetch me for lunch did I escape the mire of production.

But trouble was brewing elsewhere.

“Did you hear what the knights were saying?”

“Mm-hmm, that among the lord’s medicines there’s one that’s good for beauty?”

“Ah… do you think he’ll give us some if we ask?”

A few maids had overheard the knights chatting, got restless, and started hovering where they shouldn’t—outside the lord’s workshop.

It just so happened I’d stepped out to eat, and since maids had access anywhere under the names of ‘cleaning’ and ‘tidying,’ they naturally made their way into the workshop.

Then, they grabbed three bottles with a familiar look—the kind the knights had mentioned—and slipped out carefully.

Unaware of any of that, the lord—me—was now:

“Whoa. A feast.”

Vincent heard me and replied with a remark.

“My lord, you sometimes say things I cannot fathom. What do you mean?”

“It’s a saying from where I lived. It means ‘a generous spread of delicious food.’ What luxury…”

I often wondered how they procured the supplies to cook so much food, so I asked Vincent.

“By the way, how do we get cooking ingredients?”

“Once a month, a trader comes from outside. Everyone on the continent covets the precious herbs from the Forest of the Demon Dragon.”

“So we trade with those herbs?”

“Half wrong, half right.”

“Half wrong?”

“Yes. We cannot obtain the Forest’s herbs ourselves. Instead, we broker all transactions. We collect a set fee and food supplies as commission.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean? Are you blocking direct trade with Beastkin?”

“It is the law. If Forest herbs flood the market, not only would their value plummet, but fiefs with existing herb production would face ruin. Restrictions exist as a safety mechanism.”

“Couldn’t merchants make secret deals?”

“They could. But every herb on the market carries a certificate of authenticity and of storage quality, and when a merchant enters, they are accompanied by the relevant nobility. I understand Her Majesty the Empress’s vassals rotate the duty each time.”

So the region was managed with extreme importance. I couldn’t fathom why the Empress had so freely granted such a critical area to me.

“Then what authority do I have as the lord here?”

“I imagine… the relevant nobles will come.”

“Huh…?”

So that meant those tremendous powers were being entrusted to me, didn’t it?

This was staggeringly vast authority—beyond what I had imagined. Perhaps people shunned Ingrad because of the belief that ‘Beastkin are dangerous.’

From what I had seen, Beastkin didn’t look dangerous at all, which I found hard to reconcile.

“Great power always demands a price. And… though there are no immediate restrictions, I am certain pests will gather.”

“Pests, huh… I intend to make them buzz off on their own before that. Let’s eat first.”

Vincent sighed at my words.

If possible, I wanted to dine with the household. I believed that would help break the ice and bring us closer.

The word ‘household’ had a magical power to forge bonds beyond imagination.

Sharing meals—taken literally—was not to be taken lightly.

When you began to eat with others, you got time to learn little by little who they were. You could exchange small talk, and by hearing that small talk you learned about them—or about someone else.

Who something happened to, and what someone was preparing—these were things you learned as a household.

It might sound like sophistry, but it was undeniably important.

I hoped to take that small first step.