Chapter 82: The Taste of Gula

Count Merelev frowned and glared at the table. An old, small pouch lay open, revealing large Gula seeds, perhaps fifty in total.

"Are you saying these are worth fifteen gold coins?"

The count, as usual, began calculating in his head.

Clark was a slave Merelev had bought when a slave caravan passed through the estate, just like Rien. Young and strong slaves were hard to come by, so he had paid fifteen gold coins for him at the time.

But the value of a slave would continue to decline over time. From a long-term perspective, exchanging him for Gula would be a definite gain. Especially during times of famine like this.

"They say they won't trade for less than fifty gold coins per bag. But out of humanitarian concern, they gave us this to put out the immediate fire."

"Damn, this is ridiculous."

Was he saying it was ridiculous because there was so little, or because he had bought Gula in the first place? The butler, unable to gauge his master's thoughts, merely bowed his head. No matter what, he was a man with money in his veins. He couldn't be pleased.

Countess Merelev lifted the edge of her tobacco pipe.

"Did you write the slave certificate?"

"Just a simple signature. Since the matter was urgent, we agreed to have it notarized later."

"Hmph. You're still a fool. Who would delay the transfer of a certificate? Do you know what could happen?"

"But since we got the Gula this way, it's a good thing for us."

The count silently examined the Gula seeds. He had only been aware of their existence before, but this was the first time he was looking at them in such detail. After living for decades.

"So, how do you eat this?"

"You can eat it raw, boiled, roasted, steamed, or stir-fried. They say it's versatile. Should I send it to the kitchen?"

It was worth fifteen gold coins. Even if it was just a weed, he couldn't let it go to the servants' mouths alone after paying such a price.

"Have two of them cooked and plant the rest in the garden."

"Yes, my lord."

Two must mean one for the count and one for the countess. The butler bowed and took the pouch, while the countess blew out a puff of smoke and leaned closer to her husband.

"By the way, I heard they eat a lot of Gula in the capital?"

"It's all nonsense. That Iain spread the rumor to feed the people of the estate."

"Is that really the case? Even Romandro didn't seem to mind it much."

Rumors were already rampant in the estate. But one thing was certain: it tasted very good. Otherwise, the people of Brats wouldn't be farming it like mad and eating Gula for every meal.

Knock knock.

"I've brought a simple Gula dish."

"Come in. Hmm, what's that smell?"

"I used a cooking method I heard from Brats, but I'm not sure if it will suit your taste."

"If it doesn't, you'll be the one to suffer."

Despite the servant's polite words, the count's response was cold. The servant, stepping back, swallowed nervously.

"It looks quite good."

"Indeed. You wouldn't know it was a weed if I didn't tell you."

The Gula, roasted with sugar sauce, emitted a sweet aroma, and the edges were crispy and golden. The boiled ones looked like they would melt in your mouth, as soft as pudding.

The servant cut small pieces with a knife and offered them to the count and countess. In truth, the Gula was smaller than an egg, so cutting it was almost meaningless.

"Dear, try it."

The count, though reluctant, cautiously brought a piece to his mouth. The usual image of Gula made him feel nauseous, but what could he do? Fifteen gold coins! He had to taste it after paying so much.

"Hmm?"

The count, who had been frowning, paused. A new, unfamiliar taste slid down his tongue. The countess smiled, as if she had expected this.

"The taste is quite good, isn't it?"

"Better than I thought."

"It seems the trend in the capital isn't entirely baseless. I can't wait to try a proper dish after a month."

The countess, who had neatly eaten a piece with her fork, stroked her husband's mustache. Though he didn't want to admit it, he had to. This was indeed a delicacy he had never tasted before. After a few coughs, he turned to the butler.

"Make sure no one talks about this. And it would be wise to set up guards in the garden."

"Yes, my lord."

There would surely be someone eyeing the Gula. Even the countess, who should know better, believed the rumors. It was clear what the uneducated and ignorant would think of a crop worth fifteen gold coins. It needed to be managed thoroughly.

"And butler."

"Yes, my lord."

The count wiped his mouth and gave instructions.

"Bring two more for dinner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Gula."

"Ah, I understand."

This time, the count wanted it prepared with a different method. The butler turned pale. There weren't many left in the bag, and he was worried they would run out quickly, but he was more afraid of being beaten for not pleasing the count's palate.

Creak.

The butler sighed and left the room, and the servants also retreated. A suffocating silence filled the space between the count and countess.

"Shall I pour you some wine?"

"Where did you go?"

"As you can see, it was a very productive conversation."

The countess got up and took her husband's empty glass. As she opened the wine bottle, a servant approached, but she waved him off. She poured the wine herself and began to recount the events in Brats in detail.

"...So, you checked Lady Mary's room as well. It seems she didn't have any."

"Why would you bring something from a dead traitor?"

"Still, it was originally mine."

The count, who usually smiled more than usual, was troubled. But it seemed that bringing the Gula was a bigger deal than he thought. Before the countess returned, he had only wanted to strangle her, but now, sipping his wine calmly, he felt differently.

Click.

"Ah, my apologies."

"Tsk."

The servant, who had come in to clear the dishes, apologized and stepped back. The moment the count's gaze turned to the door, the countess quickly sprinkled powder into her husband's wine.

"Rien."

"Yes, my lord."

"But there won't be a next time. If you come home late again, I'll break your ankles."

"Is there going to be a next time? I won't have any reason to go to Brats anymore. If there is, it will be with you."

'And you'll be a corpse by then.'

"Understood."

The count nodded in satisfaction and raised his wine glass. The countess did the same, lightly clinking her glass with his and smiling.

* * *

"Hmm..."

"How is he?"

Iain had called a doctor to examine Beric. He occasionally mumbled in his sleep, but strangely showed no signs of waking up. No matter how much he was shaken, he couldn't regain consciousness.

The doctor examined Beric and replied.

"He is indeed asleep. Given the accumulated fatigue, it might be hard for him to wake up. What was the drug you mentioned?"

"A new drug circulating in Havan. I don't know the exact components, but it seemed to be a sleep-inducing hallucinogen. They say if you overdose for a month, you die from respiratory failure. Beric just smelled the powder and fainted."

"Some people are naturally resistant to drugs. This is a bit extreme, but since he didn't ingest it, there's no need to worry. However, as a sleep-inducing hallucinogen, you should be cautious... It has anesthetic effects."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"He might mumble, have unusual sleep habits, or even act like a sleepwalker."

Romandro, who had been listening quietly, jumped up in alarm. If anyone else, it might not be a big deal, but if Beric started sleepwalking, it would be a real problem. He was a force to be reckoned with in terms of both temperament and physical strength.

"Iain, shouldn't we get some chains and tie him up?"

"It's a good idea, but I'm not sure how effective it will be."

"Still, it's better than doing nothing. And even if Beric goes wild, he's still human. He can't break chains with his bare hands, can he?"

Romandro, without waiting for a response, hurried out to find the servants, his voice echoing in the room, asking for a large, sturdy chain.

"Ah, heave ho..."

Beric, unaware of his situation, lay there, smiling and licking his lips as if dreaming. The doctor, attaching a bandage to the back of Beric's hand where the IV needle was inserted, stood up.

"This is a nutrient-rich IV to boost his strength. If he doesn't wake up by noon tomorrow, call me again."

"What about the wound on his side?"

"Oh, the wound?"

Iain's question made the doctor laugh awkwardly and shake his head.

"It's healing beautifully. Still, be cautious, as the inside might not be fully healed."

"He won't listen to caution."

"Still, please keep me informed."

"Thank you. You may go."

Creak.

As the doctor left, Iain sat back at his desk and opened some documents. The room was quiet, with only the sound of the fireplace and Beric's breathing. After a while, Iain, sensing something odd, looked at Beric.

"Oh."

He was surprised.

Beric was staring at him with wide, alert eyes. Iain, startled, frowned.

"The IV seems to be working well."

"...Why am I lying here?"

"You fainted after smelling the powder from Lady Rien's sachet. I'll call the doctor again. Is there anything wrong with your body?"

Beric slowly got up and walked to the window, sighing and muttering a curse.

"Damn, really."

"Beric?"

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, you seem to be awake."

Beric's eyes were slow to blink, and his pupils lacked focus. Was this a form of sleepwalking? Beric pressed his forehead against the cold window, trying to wake himself up.

"Beric, what's wrong? Is there a problem?"

"Ah, I'm seeing strange things."

"Strange things? The drug might cause hallucinations. Try to calm down and take deep breaths."

Suddenly, Iain wondered why Romandro, who had gone to fetch the chains, hadn't returned yet. He slowly approached Beric, grabbing his arm.

"If you can't distinguish reality from hallucinations, it's best to sleep more. I'll call the doctor..."

"No, I can tell the difference."

Beric pressed his temples in frustration.

There was no major issue. He just saw his family, who had long since turned to dust, standing there silently, just as they were in his memories.

Beric sighed and muttered.

"I feel a bit dirty."

Click.

At that moment, Romandro entered with a servant carrying chains. But he immediately stepped back upon seeing Beric standing there.

"You're awake?"

"What is this?"

The question was about what he was holding, but Romandro's face turned pale, and he stammered.

"Can't you recognize me?"

"What?"

"Iain, Iain! Do something about him."

"Calms down, Sir Romandro."

Beric, who seemed more recovered than expected, smiled and playfully twisted his wrist as he approached Romandro.

"Where did a pig roll in from?"

"Ah! Sir Iain! Iain!"

"I'm going to eat you! I'm hungry, so I'll roast you and eat you!"

"Wh-where are the thousand warriors? Warriors!"

Clearly, he was recovering quickly. Romandro threw the chains and ran out, and Beric, half-heartedly, chased after him.

"Oink oink! Where are you going? King Illu!"

"Aaah! Warriors...!"

Bang! Thud!

Crash!

"Sir Iain, is Sir Beric alright?"

"Seems so."

Since he could see hallucinations but recognize them as such, there was no problem. His mental strength was indeed formidable.

'No wonder he has the constitution of a Swordmaster.'

The servant, unaware of the situation, only polished the chains.