Chapter 11

Roo is searching for Dian Ket's legacy.

The butler assassin's claim was based on some reasonable evidence.

"A few days ago, you asked me if I knew anything about Dian Ket's eyes. Moreover, while tidying up the master's bedroom, I found a Midwinter travel brochure, and there was a bookmark in the section about urban legends. It briefly mentioned Dian Ket's eyes."

The image of Roo putting a bookmark in a book didn't seem to fit him at all.

'That suspicious guy's goal is Dian Ket's relics.'

It made sense.

However, it seemed insufficient to explain why Roo worked as a cook and gardener at the Weatherwax mansion. If he had such a significant goal, why would he be content with being an employee?

Reason.

'Could there be a connection between the Weatherwax mansion and Dian Ket's relics?'

Ah, that sounds quite plausible.

After entrusting the pub cleanup to the butler assassin, I handed over a thick envelope I had prepared in advance.

"What's this?"

"The seat rent that the Merchant's Guild took. I decided to return it to the creditors with a hefty interest. Right, friends?"

"......"

"Right?"

"Yes, sir."

Indeed, if you owe a debt, you should pay it back twofold.

With a much lighter heart, I left the pub.

They say the light under the lamp is the darkest. I felt the need to investigate the Weatherwax family more thoroughly.

The next day at noon.

The sky seemed unusually overcast today. The humidity suggested that rain would start to fall as soon as the sun set.

I stood in front of the Weatherwax Room, located next to the first-floor library, as soon as lunch was over.

Noble families with a long history usually have a room where they keep the family's obituaries, genealogy, ancestors' legacies, and portraits.

The Weatherwax family also had such a room within the mansion.

The problem with investigating the Weatherwax Room was that, except for the head gardener, entry was prohibited for other employees.

Click, click.

Moreover, it was locked, so no matter how much I turned the doorknob, it wouldn't open.

'If I force it, it will be noticeable, so I'll have to find the key and sneak in at dawn.'

There was no other choice.

I returned to the kitchen and boiled some tea myself.

A cup of tea infused with flower petals, carried by the gentle spring breeze, was one of the best ways to enjoy the noon.

"Mr. Roo."

I turned my head to the window at the familiar voice.

The head gardener approached Roo, who was sitting on a garden chair, and gave him some instructions. Roo nodded with a gentle smile.

"I understand."

"Then I'll leave it to you."

Roo, who turned his gaze, immersed himself in reading again. A cook and gardener reading peacefully?

But Roo always seemed at ease.

The head gardener didn't particularly pick on his ease, as it was the relaxation he enjoyed after perfectly performing his duties.

His work speed was so fast that I sometimes wondered if he had four arms.

'Sure enough, Roo and books don't go well together.'

I silently watched Roo, who was sitting in the middle of the green garden.

Under the bright light, his face, which was both noble and melancholic, suited a drug addict more than a bookworm, a drinker more than a newspaper, or a soldier suffering from severe PTSD, or a hunter hiding in the forest.

But Roo was a cook, gardener, and rich man.

The gap between prejudice and reality is terrifying.

'A drug-addicted gladiator, a black market dealer, the leader of a covert guild...'

As I listed the jobs that suited Roo, I discovered a new fact about him that I hadn't known before.

It was his ears, which were a mess.

Both his right and left ears had tiny holes drilled all over them.

Although they weren't clearly visible, it seemed that the cartilage and ear canals were in a similar state. Despite this, he wore no accessories, making his ears smooth.

Seeing those ears made me even more suspicious.

The holes were all in positions where the flow of magic was smooth.

He had even drilled all the points that most mages only drill a couple of.

'How many magical artifacts does he wear?'

Magical artifacts are generally rare.

Even a small-sized artifact, no matter how trivial its function, was worth a fortune.

Of course, since Roo owned a mansion on the most prosperous street in Midwinter, money wouldn't be a big issue.

The problem was the reason for wearing such artifacts.

The holes in his ears, combined, numbered over ten. Even the emperor of this country wouldn't need more magical artifacts than him.

Today, I ponder again.

'What exactly is Roo up to?'

Rustle. The sound of pages turning in the wind reached my ears.

Roo's hands, flipping through the pages, were delicate. They were as long and clean as Daisy's hands, which had no connection to swords.

There were no cuts, scars, or calluses, not even the smallest ones.

Although his hands were large enough to cover my face and had prominent knuckles, this was natural considering his exceptional height.

Such hands don't hold swords.

Considering all factors, Roo is indeed a mage.

He probably makes the magical artifacts he wears.

I had suspected he was an excellent mage when I heard the testimony that he had cast a spell on the Eshura mansion, but he was undoubtedly a very skilled mage.

"So."

Look at that. Even his voice is impressive.

"After staring at someone's face for a long time, shouldn't you leave some impression?"

A voice like a hot iron stamping deep into a mud-covered rock.

Should I pretend not to hear?

But since I had decided to maintain some communication, I couldn't outright ignore him.

I put aside the questions that were piling up in my throat and chose the safest topic.

"I planted flowers."

Specifically, the small, neat pot he had entrusted to me.

Roo, who turned his head, narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled.

"Answering a question with a question. Or do you think of flowers every time you see my face?"

Then he quickly withdrew his picturesque smile and said,

"You did plant a flower like me."

A flower like me? What kind of flower is that? And how do you know what flower I planted?

What I planted weren't even seedlings, just a few seeds I picked up from the market.

"Stop pretending to know what you don't."

Roo couldn't know the type of flower I didn't know.

"Pretending to know? Hmm. So what did you plant?"

To avoid being caught in a lie, I answered with the most serious expression I could muster.

"A secret."

A small laugh of ridicule escaped.

"Few things are as pitiful as not knowing what kind of flower you planted yourself."

Thud. The book Roo was reading closed, revealing the title on the cover.

"Seven Great Mysteries of the Continent: Treasure Edition"

Why?

Why am I so sure that this book contains a story related to Dian Ket?

I recalled the reason I started investigating Roo.

Dian Ket.

Ironically, just when I was trying to focus on my own affairs and cut ties with him, I ended up reconnecting through the common thread of 'Dian Ket'.

'Is Roo only after Dian Ket's eyes, or the other four relics as well?'

Actually, if I directly asked Roo if he was looking for Dian Ket, the distrust between us might have been easily resolved. If it had been just between the two of us, I would have done so.

But the problem was that the person who provided this information was the butler assassin.

The butler assassin was a valuable informant about Roo. If a moment of poor judgment led Roo to suspect and ultimately drive away the assassin, it would be a significant loss for me.

'Besides, I can't ignore the possibility that this man, Roo, intentionally leaked this information to me.'

This man, Roo.

Smooth on the outside, but sinister inside.

"Did you make a mistake with Miss Daisy, Mr. Roo?"

"Perhaps. Staring at my face isn't something that happens once or twice. From now on, I'll charge for the view."

And the most shameless person in the world.

"Miss Daisy, you seem to have a sincere side despite appearances."

The head gardener, crossing the small garden, blocked my view of Roo.

"Done looking?"

"......Yes."

"Then go back to work."

This woman, the head gardener.

The most heartless woman in Midwinter.

Just as I was about to get up from leaning against the window,

Roo, walking over with his long legs, handed me something. I took the small wooden sign he made out of wood.

"What's this?"

"Name the flower you planted and put the sign in the pot."

A name tag for the pot. I was speechless.

"Why should I?"

He answered my clearly annoyed, bothered, and uncomfortable question with a kind smile.

"Because our Miss Daisy is too lacking in sincerity. If you don't know the species, at least give it a name. Responsibility often starts with small things."

I stared at his broad shoulders as they disappeared, then looked down at the wooden sign in my hand.

It's not an animal, why does it need a name?

I laughed and threw it into the trash can. Then, slowly turning around, I picked up the wooden sign I had just thrown away.

"Hmm."

Roo is the type of person who, if you throw something away, will make you pay for it twofold. It might be better to comply with such a simple request.

I pondered the name for the pot for a long time and finally stuck the sign in the pot after the sun set.

The sign was blank.

In the end, I gave up on naming it.

That evening, a guest visited for the first time in a long while.