“Why are you suddenly asking about Viola?”
The Duke’s gaze shifted instantly.
His smile remained, but his eyes turned sharp—like a guard spotting a thief.
The stewardess, caught in the middle, nervously watched the Duke’s reaction.
‘What’s with this atmosphere?’
Ian sensed the sudden tension.
“Are you also after Viola?”
Ian’s face twisted in disbelief. How could he not react that way?
‘Me? After her? Why?’
The misunderstanding was almost insulting.
Ian was the one praying Viola would marry anyone just so he’d never have to see her again.
“Even shoes need a matching pair. Someone as noble and beautiful as Lady Viola is beyond my reach. I only asked because she mentioned wanting to hear my stories yesterday—yet she’s absent.”
The Duke burst into laughter, as if the tension had never existed.
“Hahaha! You and I speak the same language. And why not? My daughter is stunning!”
The stewardess exhaled in relief.
Disaster had been averted.
[Serbio de Endran’s Affinity +3]
‘Huh? Why’d his affinity go up?’
The Duke was truly an mystery.
“Father.”
Viola’s voice cut through the air.
Turning, Ian saw her sighing deeply.
“You’re here.”
“Must you do this when I’m not around? It’s embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing about stating facts?”
She sighed again and took her seat.
‘Why do I feel…’
Something inexplicable unsettled Ian.
‘Like she’s looking at me the same way I look at her.’
For the first time, he sensed a strange kinship with Viola.
After exchanging greetings, she sat quietly.
“Ah, about the wine you sent. I received it.”
The Duke recalled Ian’s gift and thanked him.
“It’s nothing compared to the victory gifts you bestowed upon us.”
“Is that so? Still, I’ll put it to good use. Dwarf-brewed, you said…?”
He’d received it but hadn’t tasted it yet.
“Stewardess.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Now that we’re on the topic, fetch that wine and some food.”
“Pardon? I thought this was a tea gathering.”
“Tea doesn’t suit me.”
The stewardess glanced at the sky—the sun was still high.
“Isn’t it too early for drinking?”
“Since when has that stopped me?”
Her resigned expression suggested this was routine.
“Very well. But are you certain this is wise?”
“Meaning?”
“Her Grace explicitly warned you this morning to temper your drinking.”
The Duke flinched.
He’d conveniently forgotten.
“Ahem! This is a victory celebration for our loyal vassal. Let’s keep it between us—I’ll stop eventually.”
“…As you wish.”
The stewardess left with a sigh.
“Now, while we wait, let’s enjoy the tea.”
The Duke smiled as if nothing had happened—though the twitch in his cheek betrayed his dread.
‘Even the mighty Duke has someone he fears.’
Some things were universal.
The drinking session lasted longer than expected.
And, frankly, it was enjoyable.
The Duke, in private, was far from stiff—quick with jokes and easier to talk to than most.
As the person Ian had most wanted to befriend in Meta Pangaea, sharing drinks with him was naturally fun.
‘But I’m hitting my limit.’
The fun couldn’t last forever.
A worry nagged at Ian: Tomorrow was their return to Schrantz.
Even his alcohol-resistant body was starting to waver.
If he drank more, tomorrow’s hangover would be hell.
“A rare young man indeed! It’s been ages since I’ve met someone who can keep up!”
Oblivious to Ian’s struggle, the Duke showed no signs of stopping.
Empty bottles already littered the floor, yet he kept pouring with gusto.
‘Thank god this body doesn’t get drunk easily…’
But even it had limits.
‘Where did she go?’
Viola was nowhere in sight.
Shouldn’t she be the one reining him in?
‘She definitely fled.’
Ian was certain.
After the “tea party” devolved into a drinking bout, she’d excused herself—and never returned.
She’d seen this coming and escaped.
Some help she was.
“Drink up! There’s plenty more!”
With her gone, no one could stop the Duke.
[Excessive alcohol consumption disrupts thinking. Remember, drinking harms your hea—]
“Then why don’t you step in and stop him?”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but Ian found himself muttering at the system message before dismissing it entirely.
‘This isn’t even some punishment drinking session.’
It was almost surreal—no nausea, no dizziness. His stomach remained steady despite the absurd amount he’d consumed.
Even the servants scurrying around with trays of food and wine paled at the growing pile of empty bottles.
‘The Duke looks pretty far gone too. Will he even make it back on two feet tonight? …No, forget two—will he crawl back on all fours?’
The logistics of their return were already giving him a headache.
“It’s rare to find a drinking companion like you. I’d keep you by my side if I could.”
Oblivious to Ian’s concerns, the Duke slung an arm around his shoulders. In private, he was disarmingly casual.
“If you ever feel lonely, call for me. Assuming I’m free, of course.”
A calculated reply—the Duke was too busy to summon him on a whim. Just traveling from Rosen to the Endran duchy took a week.
Even if the craving struck, distance made casual visits impossible.
“Hah! As if I’d take no for an answer. Unless you’ve got a damned good reason, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
The Duke laughed, mistaking Ian’s deflection for a joke. Then, he waved off the servants.
“Enough food for now. You’re all dismissed.”
“But… who will handle the cleanup?”
“What’s the issue? Do it tomorrow.”
The stewardess surveyed the disaster—overturned bottles, spilled food and drink. Leaving the garden in this state until morning violated protocol, but…
“…Understood.”
The Duke’s word was law.
“Everyone, withdraw.”
With a bow, the stewardess followed the others out, leaving the two alone in the now-silent garden.
“……”
“……”
Suddenly, the Duke stood, gazing at the night sky.
“The view from here is unparalleled, don’t you think?”
Ian looked up.
He wasn’t wrong.
The moon and stars painted the darkness like a masterpiece—rivaling even the view from Rosen’s terrace.
But.
‘Why the sudden sentimentality?’
This side of the Duke was unfamiliar. In-game, he’d never been one for poetic musings.
Yet Ian couldn’t dwell on it. The alcohol was clouding his focus.
The Duke sat back down, removing his brooch and tossing his coat aside—ready for another round. Just as Ian resigned himself to not returning upright—
“Tell me, lad. What do you want?”
The Duke’s tone shifted abruptly. His gaze turned piercing, but Ian, too buzzed to notice, blinked.
“Want?”
“For the future. Dreams, ambitions—anything.”
In short: What’s your goal?
“If you’ve got something in mind, I’ll back you.”
‘What do I want?’
Ian hesitated.
When the game first became reality, survival as the “Troublemaker Tyrant” had consumed him. Now, with those fires put out, he felt… unrestrained.
‘It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.’
But he couldn’t figure out a clear purpose.
His baseline was comfort—eating well, living well. A vague plan, yet it was progressing fine.
‘At least I won’t starve.’
He knew the rough trajectory of events. Leveraging that knowledge was enough.
But was it meaningful?
‘Money’s not an issue.’
The merchant guild, though nominally the territory’s, was effectively his. Profits flowed without his direct involvement.
‘Being a lazy rich heir isn’t exactly a dream, though.’
Not bad, but Ian craved more.
This wasn’t his past life—no corporate ladder to climb, no soul-crushing deadlines.
“Honestly… I don’t have anything specific.”
“Hmph. At your age, most are chasing childhood dreams.”
Or scrambling desperately toward something.
“I’m just… going with the flow.”
“Going with the flow?”
“I’m not the type to run myself ragged for responsibility.”
“…You?”
The Duke’s scepticism was noticeable.
And rightly so.
Ian had literally run himself into the ground for his family. Even without witnessing it firsthand, the Duke had pieced together his relentless efforts.
Every move Ian made—every alliance forged, every resource gathered—was a countermeasure against the anti-Schrantz coalition.
He’d predicted their war years in advance.
Sure, Hubert and others contributed, but the driving force was undeniably Ian.
Hearing him say this was absurd.
“If I left the family… I suppose I’d travel.”
“Travel?”
“Just walk wherever my feet take me. Maybe my mind will change later. But for now, that’s it.”
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