SRVB 17

Chapter 17

By now, Raphael’s knights had crowded into the dining hall.

“Lady Bridge! I heard you won the bet against His Highness!”

“Why are people here so loose-lipped?”

Was there no confidentiality clause or anything? They were openly talking about their master’s affairs.

“It’s the power of our bond! So, how does it feel to have defeated His Highness?”

Though it wasn’t meant as praise, he seemed proud.

I pierced strawberries repeatedly on a long wooden skewer as I replied,

“I don’t know the result yet.”

Raphael hadn’t stated it clearly.

“One of the maids managing the dining hall said it was Lady’s victory, though,”

another knight who had interjected chimed in.

“That’s right. I heard that His Highness, with his picky palate, finished an entire plate clean. It’s clear he liked it.”

I pouted my lips.

“I don’t think His Highness feels that way. He said it wasn’t tasty.”

“Ugh, then does that mean Lady will be locked in the studio from now on?”

“I’m not sure about that either. He didn’t say anything about the result.”

Despite saying it wasn’t tasty, he had cleared the plate.

Judging by the result, it was technically my victory—but he judged the taste as bad.

‘Ambiguous.’

I wanted a clear victory, not such a halfway result.

If he had truly found it bad and pushed it away after one bite, I wouldn’t feel this sticky, uneasy feeling.

It’s like something wasn’t completely cleaned up.

Perhaps Raphael sensed the ambiguity as well, because he didn’t mock me in his usual way and simply told me to clear the plates.

I quickly took the dishes to the kitchen, wondering if his mood might change.

It also happened to be a task I wanted to finish anyway.

I skewered four luscious strawberries on a thin wooden stick.

Then, taking a new skewer, I washed it clean and skewered plump green grapes, one after another.

A knight watching me opened his mouth.

“By the way, isn’t the bet over? What are you making now?”

“You asked me to make something.”

Did he forget what he had begged me for?

“F-For us?”

“Yes. I’m making these for the knights.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s true. Tell anyone who’s hungry to gather around.”

The knight, with tears in his eyes, hurried off to call everyone.

Once the knights disappeared, the kitchen instantly fell silent.

“All right, let’s get started.”

I was making tanghulu (candied fruit skewers) for them.

Since there were many people, I chose something simple to make.

I also wanted to eat some myself.

I dipped the fruit on the skewers into the sugar syrup the chef had melted and turned them around before taking them out.

The strawberries, emerging from the syrup, glistened as if coated in glass. I placed them on clean parchment to set.

Both strawberries and grapes hardened and became glossy, like candy.

Repeating the simple process over and over, the shock of having heard “It’s not tasty!” slowly started to fade from my mind.

Clearly, his true feelings lay elsewhere, but hearing him say it wasn’t good was quite a blow.

As I dipped the last strawberry into the syrup, Maximus, who had briefly stepped away, appeared.

“Strawberries! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen the whole time. Where have you been?”

Now that I thought about it, he hadn’t been visible since the bet started.

“I had something His Highness ordered, so I stepped out briefly. What’s the result of the bet?”

“I don’t know.”

“A draw?”

“No. His Highness’ mouth and hands weren’t in sync.”

“What? He didn’t even taste it and just said it was good?”

“Actually, the opposite.”

Maximus squinted one eye, thinking, and then spoke.

“I need a clear answer. Depending on the result, I might need to adjust my station. Since we’re at it, I’ll ask you directly!”

If I became a permanent resident of the studio, Maximus, who was assigned to guard me, would also become confined.

I shrugged lightly, letting him do as he pleased.

Back in his office, Raphael was reviewing the documents he had started looking at in the dining hall.

Though his eyes were on the papers, he couldn’t focus.

All he could think about was the croffle Lilia had made.

Sigh.

He set the papers down with a low exhale, crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and drifted into thought.

At first glance, Lilia’s dish looked like a flattened croissant topped with fruit compote.

‘I thought it wouldn’t be anything special, considering the hype.’

But the moment he cut a piece and tasted it, layers of compressed pastry exploded in his mouth, releasing a rich buttery aroma.

He focused all his senses on the scent.

How long had it been since he smelled a dish like this?

It wasn’t just butter.

There was a subtle floral aroma blended with honey,

the taste of slightly salty cheese reminiscent of caramel,

and finally, the soft, rich flavor of blueberries.

All combined, it felt as if fireworks were exploding in his head.

Raphael wiped his lips.

The compote melted instantly on his tongue, leaving a lingering, intense sensation.

It felt almost magical.

The culmination of this pleasant memory was Lilia’s eyes—round, sapphire-like—gazing at him intently.

Recalling her expression, his face grew hot.

Why must she stare at me so intently!

“Damn it.”

He muttered a curse, habitually searching his pocket for a cigar.

Pausing with it at his lips, he frowned.

“How strange…”

By now, the effect of the painkillers should have worn off, and pain should be creeping back.

Yet, despite the time elapsed since inhaling the painkillers, he felt fine.

No, there was more that was odd.

The painkillers had recently caused side effects that dulled taste and smell.

Yet Lilia’s cooking gave him an overwhelmingly rich experience.

Could it be the effect of the relic?

He put the cigar down.

He removed his jacket and began undoing his shirt buttons.

Through the opened shirt, his tightly built, muscular body was revealed.

He turned to a nearby mirror.

On his reflection, the grotesque black curse still lingered like a brand.

But it had visibly shrunk.

“Finally, the effect of that scribbled drawing is showing.”

After seeing and touching that messy painting every day, his body was reacting.

“Her power is indeed real. But… this is not enough.”

The power Raphael desired from Lilia wasn’t merely to reduce the curse.

As he had seen clearly, he needed her strength to be enough to heal thousands of people.

Having confirmed that, the remaining task was to properly awaken her abilities.

“Do I need to meet more conditions?”

Just recreating the same studio wouldn’t be sufficient.

It seemed necessary to give her the full extent of what she had possessed.

What more should he give her?

He recalled the Lilia he had met.

Standing beside Dantalion, she had smiled wickedly and said,

“Curious about the source of my power? I’ll tell you.”

It was an important memory, and his head throbbed as he pressed his forehead.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall the latter part. His past memories were incomplete.

He didn’t remember the source of her power, but he knew other details clearly.

‘At this time, she had received a title.’

Even for a small, unknown noble family, a painting by a titled person sold for more than one by an unknown commoner.

Dantalion, her patron, had wanted to increase the value of her art, so he obtained a title for her.

‘She became a baroness of the Grimoire family.’

Noble titles couldn’t be bought or sold directly—they had to be traded through the black market.

Dantalion added her name to the Grimoire baronial register via the black-market dealer who sold anything.

She inherited the name of a cadet of the Grimoire family who had died of illness.

Celestine Grimoire.

The noble registry recorded that she had miraculously been revived.

‘Highly likely.’

Although she was a cadet, being a noble changed her demeanor.

With a new attitude, it might have influenced her artwork.

‘If possible, I should prepare it in the same family line.’

The fewer variables, the better.

He decided he would first need to visit the black-market dealer.

Knock, knock—someone tapped at the door.