MCFPM 18

chapter 18

Eonian Baskalia and Cherylot Chartreuse were engaged.

This news was shared only with close acquaintances: Liam, Clément, and the three knights of the Rodier Order.

“What? Wh-what? Your Highness?”
“M-marriage. Yes. Uh… congratulations. Hey, what are you doing?!”
“Uh… w-wow… should we hold a banquet or something? Congratulations.”

They awkwardly congratulated the couple on the sudden news. But when she shoved the property contract—secured through their contract marriage—into their view, their attitudes flipped 180 degrees.

“Thank you! We will never forget this favor for the rest of our lives!”

Clément, eyes brimming with tears as he backed away, remained vividly in her memory even days later.

Of course, since spies could be anywhere, their wedding preparations were kept secret.

Cherylot used the planned construction of a chapel as a cover while she checked over the assets Eonian had transferred. At last, even with the finances full of gaping holes, she had enough to breathe a little easier.

Now her responsibilities multiplied: developing mines, surveying forest lands, repairing collapsed bridges and railroads with gold… her workload had exploded. And it was in the midst of this that she ran into Eonian, dressed like an ordinary priest.

“…What are you suggesting?”
“An inspection.”

No, more accurately, he was urging her to accompany him into the city.

Ever since the engagement, his mouth had been nonstop, barging even into her private space. Cherylot wondered if she ought to kick this wolf out of her bedroom at dawn. But choosing patience, she asked:

“Why so suddenly? Did you learn something useful about farming?”
“Yeah.”
“And the reason you won’t just tell me now?”

He grinned.

“It doesn’t mean much unless the one who governs sees it with her own eyes. Even if I’ve already gathered the rumors myself.”

He waved a slip of paper.

Now as her fiancé, he had begun forming an actual information network. Nothing formal—just tossing coins to merchants and dancers—but they were everywhere, making it easy to track the mood across the domain.

“Oh, right. I can tell you this much. The north’s been warming, and people are saying something about it.”
“What are they saying?”
“That ever since the new duke arrived, the volcano’s come alive again. Maybe its heat is affecting things.”
“…Is that a good thing?”

Even if volcanic ash was good for crops, eruptions were still disasters. Worry crossed Cherylot’s face as she pulled on the cloak Eonian handed her.

But he only shrugged, unconcerned.

“Nah, not really. The lava hasn’t overflowed. The skies cleared up right away too.”
“…”
“The worry died down quickly.”

Well… that was good, then.

Relieved, Cherylot reached under her bed and pulled out a box.

“What’s that?”
“The key to our reforms.”
“Seeds?”
“Something like that.”

Nodding, she hummed a little tune. From her usually stiff tone, such a sound of cheer was rare.

She opened the box and showed him its contents.

“Ta-da. What do you think?”
“…”
“…Why aren’t you saying anything?”

She tilted her head.

Inside were seeds that looked like seed potatoes—a famine crop perfect for planting.

She’d acquired this patented seed through the help of a senior from the Academy. In the north, where wheat and potatoes were staples, she had secured an improved strain.

…So why was Eonian silent? Just as she was about to demand an answer—

“What’s this cursed lump?”
“Cursed lump?!”

Cherylot nearly leapt like a fish, shouting. True, she often lost her composure around him, but rarely this fiercely. Eonian’s tail practically bristled.

He grimaced at the sight of the box.

No, but that thing…

It really did look like some hell-born tree root.

If it had been an actual demonic tree, at least it could be cut down. But unfortunately, this was just a potato twisted up like a mandrake root.

“Isn’t that just a deformed potato? Or diseased maybe…”
“You idiot. It’s improved.”

Eonian blinked at her insult, baffled, while she smirked triumphantly.

“This is a crossbreed between mandrake and potato.”
“…Heavens, my god. What sacrilege…”
“It only looks like a mass of tangled roots, but it’s really one solid piece. Just… a bit bumpy. Nothing more.”
“Looks like a bundle of tentacles.”
“Shut up. Peel it and it’s just a potato.”

Hands trembling, Eonian poked at the mandrake-potato hybrid. Unable to stand his cowardice, Cherylot launched into passionate defense like a proud parent.

“Eonian, you wouldn’t know as a priest, but… this grows easily just from seeds, grows fast, and yields more than normal potatoes. And it’s especially cold-resistant, perfect for the north.”
“…Well, alright. It’s been verified, right?”
“What do you take me for? Of course you can trust it.”

Her Academy senior had shown her both the patent certificate and years of research. Though he never said “don’t worry,” she understood his actions were meant to reassure her better than words.

Seeing her confident smile, Eonian glanced again at the mandrake-potato.

Crop-based agricultural reform was relatively quick and effective…

“…But the problem is how to get people to actually plant this.”

Sighing, Eonian realized he’d have to think hard this time. His fiancée seemed far more obsessed with magical botany than he had expected.

Their inspection was scheduled for after breakfast.

Liam offered to assign guards, but Cherylot refused. They were only visiting rural areas outside the city, and Eonian’s protection was enough. She could also defend herself if necessary.

“Lea and Cécile say the servants are on tighter watch than usual. We’ll report if anything happens.”

Handing her a packed lunch from the kitchen, Liam whispered, as if telling her not to worry about Château Lavre.

Cherylot nodded and patted his back in encouragement.

So, mounted on horses, they first rode not to the duchy’s central city, but its outskirts—the farmlands supplying food to it.

Since the city had shrunk in size, it didn’t take long to reach the rural boundary. But broken bridges and such along the way forced them to stop and mark the map, delaying them somewhat.

“…Already this late?”

Cherylot muttered at the reddening sky. Eonian, who had been watching her all day, pouted.

“Yeah.”
“Put your lips back in.”
“You said you wanted to see the farms, so we came all the way here. But all we’ve done is other things.”
“…I didn’t know our lands were in such chaos either.”

She spoke with rare apology.

“Are you tired? Should we rest somewhere?”
“No way. I’ve got more stamina than you.”
“Then why…”

Burying his face in his horse’s mane, Eonian mumbled:

“You won’t even talk to me…”
“…”
“So mean… I’m still your husband, you know…”

Her eyes chilled. Damn it—what grown man sulks like this? It was maddening.

“…Hey, technically you’re still just my fiancé…”
“Does that matter right now?”
“No, I mean… Forget it. Sorry.”

Just as Cherylot admitted defeat in their little standoff—

“What? How dare you say that nonsense!”

A sharp middle-aged woman’s voice rang out, making both of them snap their heads up.

At the corner of a small field, beneath the thin shade of a willow, five people were arguing heatedly.

…Or was it really just an argument?

Cherylot’s eyes narrowed. Quietly guiding their horses behind a tree, they observed.

“Why do you keep taking our potatoes! They’re not yours!”

One side was a middle-aged cow-beastwoman and a youth who seemed her son.

“Come on, lady. We’re not stealing. Just borrowing. In a few months, they’ll sprout plenty anyway.”

The other side: three rough-looking men dressed as farmers, but clearly ruffians.

“It’s not like we’re not paying. We’re giving you goods, aren’t we?”
“What kind of junk heap is this…”
“Then go sell it at the scrap dealer.”

So, it was basically extortion—forcing her to trade crops for worthless junk.

The son stepped up to stop them.

“Listen, we’re part of the co-op! Even if our plots are small, they’re ours, and—urk…!”
“Co-op? That’s just kids’ play.”

One thug grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently.

“We need food too, you get it?”
“Ugh, kuh…”
“Times are tough, so we’re stuck scrounging in places like this.”

Hah. Not farmers—thugs.

A vein bulged on Cherylot’s forehead as her hand darted to the revolver holstered at her hip. In a blink, she had it drawn, ready to fire a warning shot.

But suddenly—firm fingers clamped her wrist.

Eonian shook his head. When she whispered why, he stood up as if her gesture had been a signal flare.

…Wait, was he really planning to beat them up, like last time in the rain?

Cherylot motioned frantically for him to come back, but he didn’t even glance back. Instead, he approached the thugs and spoke calmly.

“Huh? …Who the hell are you?”
“Hello. I’m a priest overseeing this region. I happened to be passing by.”
“…So what.”
“I think I can resolve your dispute. What do you say?”

His smooth smile made the thugs scowl. Though angry at their plan going awry, they didn’t dare pick a fight openly with a priest.

“Ah—wait, no!”

Predictably, they snatched the seed potatoes from the woman’s hands and bolted.

“Cough—kugh!”
“Son, are you alright? No, those bastards took our last seed potatoes…”

Even as the mother checked her son’s condition, she pointed to the mountain the men were fleeing toward.

Thump—whoosh!

With a heavy step and a sudden gust of wind, Eonian launched.

The gale was so fierce even Cherylot’s bangs blew straight up. She gaped as the ground where Eonian had stood caved in like a crater.

Turning her eyes, she saw him darting like lightning, fists slamming the thugs one after another.

Cherylot froze in shock.

No way—he was just going to beat them up!