Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing - Chapter 77

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Successor Can Wait; I’d Rather Heal — Episode 77

The next day.
A letter arrived at the Bydentis Family Estate.

“Who sent it?”
“I-it was sent directly by Lion Asteri, the Young Master of House Asteri.”
“Hmm.”

Clarentia, the Marquess, received the letter and read through its contents slowly.
The gist of it was this:
He had intended to pay his respects immediately, but due to health concerns, he would rest nearby for a time before visiting.

“I see.”

Clarentia nodded without any visible change in her expression.

“Um, um—what should we do, my lady? Since he mentions being unwell, should we not arrange for a carriage to bring him here? Moreover…….”

The Butler trailed off, unable to voice the rest of his thought.
In truth, it could be perceived as a ‘discourtesy.’
And rightfully so.
Here was Lion, in a situation where business was at hand, not even showing his face, casually sending word through a letter that he would come ‘later.’
Young Master or not, Lion was still merely the eldest son of a noble house with no titles to his name—and from a Magical Prominent Family at that.

“Where is Lion staying at present?”
“At an inn in the Territory, or so we’ve heard—though no one has actually laid eyes on him.”
……
“Begging your pardon, Marquess—what would you have us do?”

The Butler asked carefully, gauging Clarentia’s mood.

“Shall we bring him at once?”
“No. There’s no need.”

The Butler steeled himself and stole a glance at Clarentia’s face.
But he could make nothing of what lay beneath.

‘Poor mistress…….’

Only a few years ago—
That is, before the previous Marquess passed away suddenly, Miss Clarentia had not been so cold as winter frost.
The Butler recalled his days as the youngest servant in the household.

‘Was it a wound so ordinary?’

The handmaidens who had always cared for her and cherished her had betrayed her. Siblings born of the same womb had slain and been slain by one another.
And that curse had extended to Miss Clarentia as well.
Poisoning, assassination, sudden fires, and visits from monsters.
Too great a trial had befallen one who had been merely a beautiful young lady.
Yet somehow she had endured, and ultimately ascended to the formidable rank of Sword Master. But……
As a consequence, she had grown cold as someone drained of all feeling.
The chill about her was even more piercing than that of a frost giant.
And the first person toward whom this young lady had shown any inclination was the eldest son of House Asteri.
At Lion Asteri’s coming-of-age ceremony.
There had been some incident there, or so he’d heard, and he’d worried greatly…….

“A seamstress will arrive from the Asteri Territory shortly.”
“Pardon? A seamstress, you say?”
“I commissioned some clothes.”

It was unexpected.
Since that day, the Family Head had never asked for anything.
Until then, he had done only what was necessary as a Family Head.
Meals focused on replenishing nutrition.
Minimal sleep. Endless training.
Monster culling for the safety of the Territory’s people.
And now this Family Head had ordered clothes for himself.
Through Lion Asteri.

‘Could it be that the Family Head has found a kindred spirit?’

Lion Asteri.
Though rumors painted him an oddity, he’d heard the man was no threat.
And House Asteri’s heir was none other than his younger brother, Ricshel Asteri.
So the Butler, who had watched over her since she was a girl, felt hope kindle in his chest.
Perhaps these two could build something good together.
Perhaps the Family Head need not walk that precarious tightrope alone anymore.
That was what he believed.
And that belief remained…… still valid.

“Pardon me, Marquess.”
“……?”

Clarentia lifted her gaze to the Butler.
Eyes sharp as a blade, empty of all feeling.
Even the Butler, who had known her since childhood, instinctively shrank back—but he pressed on.

“Well…… your schedule is clear for the next few days. Might you consider visiting the estate first?”
“Myself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Um…….”

The Butler wracked his brain for the right words.

“It is, after all, the lord’s duty to receive guests. And you could conduct patrols as well, and confirm that the Territory’s people are living in peace and prosperity…… I merely thought it would be beneficial, Your Grace.”

Clarentia said nothing.
Was that a refusal? His heart began to race.

“Very well.”
“……!”

Color flooded back into the Butler’s face.
Yes! With this, the Marquess would finally take a breath and truly live.
Unable to hide his brightened expression, the Butler lowered and raised his head in quick succession.

“Then I shall prepare suitable attire for you.”

After all, this was a Marquess’s household.
Even if a commission had been placed for lack of something to wear, the basic wardrobe had been more than adequately maintained…….

“……Marquess?”

The window stood wide open.

“What?”

The curtain fluttered violently in the cold wind.
And then the Butler realized that the Marquess, who had been speaking with him just moments before, had vanished.
The Butler, searching for someone already gone, rushed quickly toward the terrace.
Surely not…….
He didn’t leave in that state, did he, sir?

“Oh, please!”

The Butler pressed his forehead with his palm.
Even so, there are still quite a few enemies outside, aren’t there!
Of course, he didn’t think the Marquess was in real danger—but still, after serving him all these years, worry was only natural.
Moreover…….
The Marquess is terribly unskilled at practical matters!
The Butler was about to step out and search for him when he forced himself to stop.

‘No. Either way, he’s going to meet Young Master Lion Asteri, so it will work out somehow.’

He’d heard the Young Master brought quite a capable escort, and if a tailor was coming along as well……yes.

‘I should prepare to receive them instead.’

The Butler forced his anxious heart to settle and clenched his fist firmly.
Please, I beg you—look after the Marquess well!

* * *

Orc Barrel Pickling

This establishment, bearing an ancient sign, was the oldest tavern in the Territory.
Perhaps because of that, or perhaps because life wore people down, patrons came to Orc Barrel Pickling to drink from midday onward.
A harsh climate and a life to match.
What moistened it was a single gulp of golden liquid.
For many, it was their only solace.

“Ahh! I live for this taste.”

A massive man swallowed several times, and the beer in his enormous mug vanished entirely.
He shook out the last of the foam and drained it, then set the glass down with a resounding thunk, his manner hearty and unguarded.

“Say, aren’t you drinking awfully hard for broad daylight?”

The Tavern Owner chided the man.

“It’s fine. That fellow’s a dwarf, so he can hold his liquor.”
“That’s right. That’s right.”

Other patrons seated nearby each chimed in with their own remarks.

“Hmph. Enough! Another round.”

The man, far too large to be called a dwarf, pretended not to hear and held out his glass. A fresh mug of beer was placed into his thick hands, and he gulped it down swiftly, the liquid disappearing down his throat.

“Without this, how would I endure this harsh world?”

The man, now in better spirits, laughed heartily and leaned against the bar.

“Still, drink in moderation. There are plenty of folk who’ve gone to the next world through the bottle.”
“That’s a human thing.”
“Goodness! Even for dwarves, too much drink is poison. But tell me—the mood in the village still hasn’t improved?”
“The village, you say?”

The man picked up the empty cup, then set it down.

“…Well, the old-timers are worn out, and folks my age too. Everyone’s exhausted these days, I suppose.”

The dwarf, muttering that he was just as weary, leaned right over the bar and began pulling out bottles to drink directly from them, gulp after gulp.

“Tch—anything stronger?”
“You stubborn fool! It’s still broad daylight and you’re already drinking like that? Times like these are exactly when you need to keep your wits about you!”
“Ah, enough of the nagging already…”

The dwarf was about to fire back at the Tavern Owner when—

Bang!

“Found you.”

With the door swinging open, a voice rang out—the kind you rarely heard in this place.
Not the hoarse rasp of someone battered by the world’s sorrows, but a bright, youthful one.
All the more so because it belonged to a man.
A proper young gentleman, in other words.

“Hm?”

As expected, a young man stood in the tavern doorway, hood pulled low, looking straight at the dwarf.
The hood hung so deep you couldn’t make out his exact features, but at a glance, his face was smooth and refined—clearly some wealthy lord’s son.

“Are you the dwarf I’ve been looking for?”

Ah, so that’s why he’d come.
A young master. An outsider journeying all this way—the reason was obvious.
He wanted to get his hands on the dwarf’s weapon.
Among the wealthy and nobility, a dwarf’s sword was treated like treasure.

‘Made it to be used, didn’t I.’

Tch. Keeping his handiwork locked away like some relic.
The burly dwarf.
No—the village elder of the Dwarven Village, Giant’s Footstep, had no love for these fancy young gentlemen.
Meanwhile, the Tavern Owner, rather than mirror the dwarf’s scowl, smiled warmly and addressed the visitor.

“That’s right, sir! This fellow is indeed that dwarf.”
“Hey!”

Even as Giant’s Footstep bellowed in protest, the Tavern Owner pressed on, unflinching.

“He’s famous for crafting swords of exceptional quality, you understand.”
“…”

Giant’s Footstep understood perfectly well why the Tavern Owner was sticking his nose in.
Concern. That was all.
Ever since he’d put down his hammer, he’d done nothing but drink himself senseless in this tavern.

“Is that so? Then I’ve come to the right place.”

The young man approached without hesitation.
No doubt this was a commission to forge a blade.
And by the look of it, he’d be paying handsomely.
But.

‘Inspiration won’t come.’

Giant’s Footstep found himself utterly incapable of creating anything at all.
Or rather, the motivation itself had simply evaporated.
So when he decided he ought to thank the Tavern Owner but decline his help—

“…Hm?”

Something caught Giant’s Footstep’s eye.
A small short sword fixed to the thigh of the young master—a man who’d never so much as held a weapon.

‘That’s…’

Hidden as it was by the sheath and holder, he couldn’t see it clearly, but from the hilt alone he could tell this was no ordinary craftsman’s work.
He wondered if it might be the handiwork of one of the elders in the village.
But something felt off.

‘I’ve never seen a style like that in all my years…’

Every blade that left the village for sale passed through his eye first, and he’d never laid eyes on a sword of this kind.
It wasn’t a matter of forgetting.
The form was subtly different.
So subtly, in fact—so deliberately understated—that only a master craftsman would recognize it.
Giant’s Footstep stared at the short sword as if entranced.
The young master. No—Lion Asteri—smirked.

‘Yes. I thought you’d find this interesting.’

Lion drew the short sword from where it hung at his thigh and set it on the table with a soft thunk.

“You seem curious about this short sword.”
“If you say you’re not interested, you’d be lying.”
“Then let’s make a wager over drinks. If you win, I’ll show it to you as much as you like.”

It seemed odd to stake a bet just to see a blade, but—
A drinking wager?

“A drinking wager? Between someone like you, young master, and me?”

Ha-ha-ha!

Laughter erupted from every corner.

“Sir, young master! That man there is a drinker—a real drinker!”
“I’ve never seen him drunk.”
“You’ll lose your shirt before you know it! Better just show him the blade!”

Despite the laughter and protests from those around him, the young master, hood pulled low, kept his eyes fixed on the large man before him.
Giant’s Footstep tilted his head slightly.

“…”

A peculiar confidence.
Yet somehow, Giant’s Footstep found he didn’t dislike it at all.
Why was that? There was something refreshingly good about this aura he was sensing.

‘Like a spirit I saw when I was young…’

No, that was going too far.
But his instinct was telling him clearly enough—this man was no villain.

“Ha! Fair enough. So what should I wager?”
“I’d like you to take me to your village as a guest.”
“……What?”

Not a request to forge a blade, but to grant entry to the village?

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what he’s thinking.’

But then.
It wasn’t a bad proposition.
After all, there was no way he could lose this fight!

“No need to drag this out. Who pays for the drinks?”
“The loser.”
“Clean and simple. Tavern Owner! Bring us a bottle of Orc Barrel Pickling!”

At that confident shout, Lion broke into a broad smile.
Good. Everything was going according to plan.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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