IBSECP 13

Chapter 13

Wife?

Not exactly wrong, but why does it make me so mad?

“…I didn’t know we’d be dining together.”

At least the table was wide enough—it was a blessing.
I sat at my seat, which was practically at the opposite end of the room from him, and spoke.

“Are you feeling better?”

Feeling better, huh.
Nice of him to ask—after I nearly died and spent a week recovering.

“Thanks to you.”

“If it were thanks to me, you’d have seen my face at least once.”

So he does know.
I didn’t even glance at Aemin Wilhelm as he made those empty remarks. I simply prepared to eat.

Almost instantly, an aperitif was poured in front of me.

Of course, I didn’t touch it.

There was no way I was going to get drunk alongside that alcoholic.

“Ah, I’m fine, by the way,” Aemin said with a light smile.
“Not that you asked.”

I coughed and put down my spoon mid-sip of soup.

“…”

When I looked up at him, he chuckled softly.

He took a small sip of his drink, then added,

“I should be the one thanking you.”

“…!”

I glanced at the maids standing by to serve the meal, and Aemin immediately gave an order.

“Bring out the rest of the food and leave us.”

“Pardon?”

As the maids looked stunned, Aemin stood and walked over to me.

What now? What is it?

Nervous at his sudden approach, I instinctively scooted my chair back.

But he didn’t care. He simply picked up a napkin and wiped the soup from my lips.

“I’d like to spend a quiet moment with my bride. We are newlyweds, after all.”

The maids’ eyes widened.

Flushed fifteen- and sixteen-year-old girls quickly disappeared, and I furrowed my brows.

“What are you doing…?”

“Why not think of it as a touch from dear Valter?”

“…”

I almost swore.
Honestly.

I slapped his hand away.

“You sure know how to ruin an appetite first thing in the morning.”

“Hm…”

He looked intrigued as he casually sat on the edge of the table.

I ignored him and resumed eating.

Just because a lunatic is talking nonsense doesn’t mean I get to stop doing my job.

Sure, I’d have to cooperate with that lunatic at some point.
But for now, reviving the domain and establishing Gram came first.

Without the domain and Gram, even being the empire’s greatest swordmaster would be meaningless.

Aemin frowned slightly as he watched me eat soup and bread like a savage, with no regard for table manners.

“Funny. The woman who used to nibble like a bird in front of Valter and say she was full doesn’t seem to be here.”

Did she really do that?

I searched Diana Isla’s memories.
Yeah, she probably did. Among the many stupid things she used to do, that was hardly surprising.

“No wonder I collapsed for a week after a little poison. Skin and bones—that’s what happens. I need to take better care of myself now.”

I looked up at Aemin with bread crumbs all over my lips.

Thankfully, he didn’t wipe them off this time.

Instead, he took a sip of the untouched aperitif and asked,

“Did you know the March of Rochen was involved in the plot to poison me?”

The question came out casually, but it had a hidden edge.

So, the maid’s true identity has been revealed.

At this point, the March of Rochen was considered an ally of the Wilhelm domain.

Even when Valter went to war, he had no concerns about Rochen watching his back.

Now that Rochen’s true colors had been exposed, the ducal house was likely in turmoil.

And yet—

“…You’re slow to answer. Which, in itself, is an answer.”

He set down his glass and smiled faintly.

I failed to react appropriately to such shocking news.

I missed the timing.

I chewed my bread and ran a quick calculation.

There was no point in denying it. That luxury had passed.

“I suspected. Because Valter imported iron ore from the March of Rochen when he was manufacturing weapons.”

“Really? And why didn’t you mention your suspicion to Hannah?”

“Because I thought she’d resent me for it.”

I stared straight into Aemin Wilhelm’s calm, sleepy eyes.

When lying, mix in some truth.
Even lie in a way that you believe it yourself.

“This castle trusts the March of Rochen more than it trusts me.”

At that, Aemin made a strange face.

But only briefly.

He soon nodded, seemingly convinced.

“You know your place well. My wife does, at least.”

Did he fall for it…?

I kept chewing my bread.

“So that’s why you made such a reckless suggestion?”

“What suggestion?”

God, he talks a lot. Let me eat, man.

“That we use that money to build a drainage system—to cut ties with the March of Rochen.”

“….”

I bit my lip.

Esben. That’s right. I forgot he was basically the domain lord’s wet nurse.

“That wasn’t it. I just thought Wilhelm Castle needed to become self-sufficient.”

“Self-sufficient?”

“We can’t keep importing food. We need to produce what we eat with our own hands.”

“…‘We,’ huh.”

His brows furrowed slightly.

“Wilhelm… Castle,” I added, hesitating.

Cheap move. Seriously.

“Well. For the past thousand years, every lord, king, emperor, and even bandit that ruled this land failed at that. You think you can succeed? Our land has too much underground water. Drawing some out won’t suddenly make crops grow. Wouldn’t focusing on iron production and forestry be more realistic?”

Aemin’s logic was sound.

He might be a drunkard, but apparently he’d thought it through.

Still, there was a flaw in his reasoning.

Iron production is going to decrease, and textile demand will decline as well.

“I never said we should stop producing iron and lumber. They both have their uses.”

“…”

“And the next thousand years will be different from the past thousand. Technology is different now.”

Just because it hadn’t been done for a thousand years didn’t mean it couldn’t be done in the future.

In my nineteen years working in a forge, I’d seen countless technological advancements.

Weapons and tools that were once impossible to make were now being produced efficiently, in bulk.

To use those technologies, iron production had to continue.

I just opposed the idea of relying only on iron.

We need to do something with the iron.

“If we draw groundwater using modern techniques, we’ll secure drinking water for winter and prevent the farmland from freezing. That alone will improve agriculture.”

It would also prevent soil calcification.

Of course, I didn’t feel the need to explain all that to Aemin.

“I don’t think I need to explain more.”

“Why not? I’m the lord of this castle.”

He sounded incredulous, but I bit into a hard roll like it was meat and replied,

“You didn’t come here to oppose my decision.”

“…”

I narrowed my eyes and stared at Aemin.

“You came here because you support it.”

His eyes widened.

Exactly.

Aemin Wilhelm was also looking for a way to increase the territory’s production.

Wilhelm’s isolation wouldn’t end overnight.

And continuing to rely on the March of Rochen for food might bring more danger.

So he had to grit his teeth and develop agriculture—even if he did it with a bitter smile.

I saw his subtle expression and knew I’d hit the mark.

Of course, he’d never admit it.

“…Fine. I’ll respect your decision. But at least pretend to convince the steward next time. This place isn’t like the South with a strong central government. If the lord seems like he’ll starve the people, there are plenty just waiting to slit his throat.”

My hand stopped mid-bite.

I hadn’t considered that.

I’d only explained about half of this to the steward.

I coughed and responded, slightly flustered.

“W-Well, I didn’t think that far ahead. I’m not really… good with words…”

Aemin chuckled.

“Not good with words, my ass.”

He grabbed a napkin again and pulled my chin toward him.

He moved so naturally I didn’t even have time to swat him away.

As his face drew close, I couldn’t help but recall that night—

When I’d shoved my tongue into his mouth, sucking out the poison in the most unromantic kiss imaginable.

“…Maybe you are a bit clumsy.”

He stopped wiping the crumbs from my mouth.

His golden eyes scanned me lazily—until our eyes met.

His expression twisted strangely.

As if he’d been looking at me like some ornamental sword lying around the house—only to suddenly realize it had a soul.

I saw a faint red creep across his ears.

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

He bit his lip slightly.

But I had no time to ponder the cause of his sudden change.

My hands began to tremble strangely.

I wanted to hide somewhere, but there was nowhere to go.

As soon as my chin was free, I lowered my head, pretending to inspect my knife.

I grabbed what looked like a butter knife and began stabbing the butter like I was killing it.

The butter had hardened from the cold.

And then—

[Are you trying to eat it or kill it?]

The knife spoke.

In a very familiar voice.

[Listen. If you heat it too long, the iron gets brittle.]

Leon Kowalski.

The voice of the man who had once been my father’s apprentice.