Ch.155Conspiracy (2)

It was a story that unfolded just as the harvest ended in the village and winter farming was about to begin.

As usual, our village was finishing up preparations for the winter that was now truly at our doorstep, while simultaneously beginning other “preparations” such as organizing the village lands and sowing autumn wheat and rye.

The temperature was starting to drop sharply, as if proving that winter was indeed approaching, and the mystical abundance of life that had been so vibrant until autumn seemed to be gradually waning.

In this atmosphere of the village slowly welcoming winter, the villagers were actually enjoying a large-scale event called the “Harvest Festival,” one of the traditional celebrations of the Western Continent.

Though there might be some variations between individuals and villages, typically a village is most prosperous right after the autumn harvest ends. This prosperity extends beyond crops to include all kinds of harvested bounty.

As a result, people who wouldn’t let one of the few prosperous periods of the year pass by without celebration chose to enjoy a festival at this time—after the harvest but slightly before planting autumn crops.

It was nighttime. After everyone’s personal daily tasks were completed, at a time when they would normally be asleep, they joined forces to hold a festival.

Of course, since they couldn’t afford to invite minstrels or musicians like a proper festival would, this celebration was essentially more like a modest village-wide party.

In Earth terms, it was like celebrating Chuseok or Thanksgiving as a large-scale festival. Thanks to this, the festival was in full swing at the makeshift central square in the village.

Since the village wasn’t particularly large, there weren’t the typical festival stalls or street vendors; instead, they simply lit a large campfire in the center, laid out food prepared by each household, and enjoyed themselves.

The magical campfire that Gretel had cooperatively conjured blazed brightly, covering the cold autumn night breeze with warmth and providing light so people could enjoy themselves as if it were morning.

And since it was a special party, I specifically “emergency-aged” some of the beer that was originally produced for export and made wine distribution freely available for just one day, making their festival even more abundant.

Here and there, people sang folk songs without formality and danced with each other, while young couples occasionally held hands and disappeared somewhere secluded.

Although it wasn’t something I organized—the villagers prepared it and I merely gave permission—so it wasn’t particularly systematic, it still felt quite good to watch the festival proceeding in such a decent manner.

The festival scene was practically visible proof of what I had accomplished so far, so from my perspective, there was no way I could view this negatively.

Anyway, amid this atmosphere of villagers happily enjoying the festival, I was enjoying a simple harvest festival party with the village leadership in an improvised banquet hall converted from the “dining hall” in the basement of my mansion.

Myself, Corinne, Charlotte, Hanna, Gretel, Lucius, Droop, Malachai Falten, Magni Brunz, Priestess Joanna, and several others had been invited, but some had chosen to attend the village festival instead.

Well, it was understandable that participating in this basement party would be difficult for those with family at the village festival, so I respected their wishes and enjoyed a modest home party with those who did accept the invitation.

The vintage wine from the Valentine region that I had carefully selected after much deliberation, the dwarven ale that Magni had hidden in his belongings…

These fine drinks enhanced the atmosphere, accompanied by various foods.

Venison rubbed with herbs and roasted in a hearth, pies filled with fatty monster meat and baked in an oven, fruit pudding, Gretel’s confections, and even roasted Frostwind Eagle as a main dish.

Unlike usual times when I restrained myself from luxurious food to avoid public discontent, this was an exception, and I had put in some effort.

…Of course, no matter how much care and attention I put into it, my cooking skills were limited, so in reality, most dishes just looked decent but were actually simple recipes or outsourced.

Still, as long as everyone enjoyed eating them, it didn’t really matter.

Anyway, in this party venue converted from the “dining hall” in the basement of my mansion, I was leisurely leaning against the wall, munching on delicious Yorkshire pudding.

By the way, this Yorkshire pudding isn’t the jiggly dessert we might think of, but more like bread baked in meat drippings and oil, similar to a savory muffin.

From my past life’s perspective, it’s somewhat like the feeling of frying rice in the leftover sauce and oil after eating spicy chicken ribs.

And as I was enjoying my food, I saw Hanna approaching me in her usual attire, gnawing on a deer rib.

“Miss Hanna?”

“Hello, Lord Alzar! …*gulp* This is delicious!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. It makes me happy as the one who prepared it.”

“Oh! Did you make this, Lord Alzar?”

As she had always done, completely disregarding others’ gazes, she was chewing on the meat she had picked up with her hands (which is actually the proper way to eat such ribs). After expressing admiration at my words, she finally swallowed what she was chewing and approached me…

“I never thought there would be a place like this here…sir.”

“Well, everyone needs their personal space.”

As I was feeling slightly strange about Hanna’s oddly uninhibited approach, she came so close that it wouldn’t have been strange if she were right in front of my face, and lowered her voice slightly.

And the words that came from her mouth, which was clearly creating a suggestive atmosphere, were certainly not ordinary.

“Actually, I can smell blood here.”

“…Yes, it was used for butchering too.”

“No. Not that kind of blood smell. Something more primal, something that makes my heart race, that wildness, that primal essence that made you turn me into this…”

Her voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard even with intermediate hearing ability, but the meaning in Hanna’s voice was far from ordinary.

“…I’m amazed. By what you harbor inside your heart. By your secret, and by you still being sane despite having such a thing.”

Hanna was speaking with a voice tinged with madness. She was literally a woman who cared about nothing.

Harboring emotions that swirled like a vortex of desire, longing, and impulse, she was asking me about my intentions.

And at this point, it would be foolish not to notice.

“…I tried to hide it, but you figured it out?”

“Yes. After all, you smell the same as me.”

The murderous instinct of the “Dark Demon” that I had tried so hard to conceal, the violence and inhumanity stemming from my origin—and even the power of “Gluttony.”

From what she was saying, she seemed to view these two elements as the same power, but she had at least noticed the general direction of my secret.

Even if she didn’t know the specific details about me being a descendant of “Gluttony” due to physical limitations, she could probably quickly figure out my power of “Gluttony” and inherent violence, given the examples I had shown a few times.

“…How many people know?”

“Not many. Just me and my cute little sister… Oh, and the administrative lady probably knows at least vaguely that there’s something, though in a different direction.”

‘So it’s because of the eyes after all…’

While I could make up excuses for other things, there was absolutely no way to cover up the “Mystic Eyes.” I had recently informed some of my inner circle about the petrification mystic eyes, but I never expected it to lead to this.

So as I was about to frown and shake my head, suddenly in this subtle atmosphere, Hanna raised the corner of her mouth and increased the suggestive mood—

—Beep beep beep beep beep!!

“…Hmm?”

“Oh!”

Quite fortunately, what started ringing at this timing was my father’s communication magical tool.

Purely happy to escape this awkward situation, I suddenly realized that this contact pattern was from the emergency communication line.

‘—Father!?’

Therefore, after I stiffened my expression a bit late and activated the power of this magical tool, I caught the signal being transmitted and hurriedly contacted my father….

[….Camille! Camille! Can you hear me?!]

‘Yes! What’s the matter?’

After I asked my father, who sounded unusually urgent even at first hearing, the answer that came back contained more meaning than I had anticipated.

[A pioneer village near yours has declared independence! The political situation doesn’t look good, and the situation itself is uncertain, so I can’t tell you what to do yet, but be careful for now!]

‘….Thank you, Father.’

My father’s words suggested that something had happened, but it wasn’t clear exactly what.

Combined with my intuition starting to throb, I could naturally sense one fact according to my instinct.

Something, something very thick and deep, must be related to this declaration of independence.