The Possession-Spoon Chef Feeds the Empire - Chapter 22

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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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Chapter 22
“I’m a cook.”
Luciel set down the cutting board as she answered.
“I entered the kitchen with the Bellahon Baron’s permission. Jerome has done nothing wrong.”
“Pardon me, Cain?”
“For what it’s worth, Osborn also knows I’m here. So far, no one has told me to leave.”
It was a fair point.
Osborn might have looked at her with distaste, but he wasn’t simple enough to drive away someone the Duke’s own son had brought without good cause.
At the mention of Osborn’s name, tension flickered across Renar’s face.
Yet his gaze toward Luciel only grew sharper.
“Well, you’re quick-tongued.”
He let out a derisive laugh.
“I was on my way back after hearing about you from Osborn. He said that in a few days you’ll be Theo’s handmaid. Said a little thing like you, who can’t even grip a kitchen knife properly, can play cook until then.”
He folded his arms as he spoke.
“A few days, and that’ll be the end of your little masquerade.”
“How reassuring that you’ve confirmed I’m a cook before that happens.”
Luciel smiled brightly and took his words in stride.
‘I’ve had my fill of threats from big men at Nor Territory Castle.’
By now, she knew from experience: if you didn’t push back, you’d be crushed.
Renar’s face grew even more menacing.
“Hmph. I don’t know where you crawled up from, but now that I’m back, you’ll have no business in the kitchen—”
“You’ll be wrong about that. Very wrong indeed.”
A cold voice from behind cut his growling short.
Renar turned his head.
Cain stood at the entrance to the garden.
“It’s been a long time, Cain.”
Renar spoke in a tone and expression that bore little resemblance to civility.
“Indeed.”
Cain walked slowly forward, regarding him.
“You’re still at the Duke’s Residence.”
Renar spoke with a twisted smile.
“It seems the Bellahon Barony has no proper sleeping quarters for you.”
“The Barony is too quiet, you see. The Duke’s Residence certainly has more to interest me.”
Cain replied with a sharp smile.
“Things like a man returning after months who immediately strikes his own servants, or the way the kitchen staff try to drive out their master claiming it’s their domain.”
His expression was devoid of warmth, his voice glacial.
Cain’s presence was unlike what Luciel usually witnessed.
There was a palpable killing intent—the sort that suggested a single wrong move would end another’s life in an instant.
Sensing this, Renar stepped back with a flinch.
“I have never… I only disciplined the staff for the Duke’s sake.”
“The Duke detests nothing more than inferiors making a fuss over trivial matters. Surely you know this.”
“…You certainly understand Father’s tastes well, don’t you, Cain.”
Just as Renar was faltering, another voice drifted from behind him.
“Anyone would think you were his legitimate son, not me.”
A lean man with platinum hair and a pale, angular face. Osborn.
“Or rather, anyone would think you were the master of this residence.”
“I’m not the one acting like the master of this house, brother.”
Cain’s pupils darkened with deeper killing intent.
“Then who is?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Cain continued slowly.
“Though I recall someone who, for years now, has thrown tantrums about managing the estate’s affairs directly, and who has worked hard to line the servants up under his own authority.”
His voice was quiet but unwavering.
“Someone who encourages others to call him the Duke’s eldest son, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ha.”
Osborn laughed with genuine amusement.
“You can’t possibly mean me?”
“You’re hearing me plainly and yet don’t understand. How strange.”
Cain replied.
“It’s you, of course.”
Osborn’s forced smile faded gradually.
“A misunderstanding.”
He said.
“When one plays the eldest son for so long, it naturally comes to appear that way.”
His tone remained soft, but ancient hatred gleamed in his eyes.
It was obvious to everyone.
This man hated Cain.
Not the mere condescension with which he regarded Luciel, but the sort of hatred that ran through his very bones.
“I thought you were simply struggling to play the Duke’s son, but it seems you want to play the younger brother of Cedric, whom you’ve never even met.”
Osborn twisted his lips.
“Is it not you who wishes to become the Duke’s eldest son?”
“Not particularly. You see, unlike you, I possess a title.”
“…!”
Osborn’s composure shattered instantly, his face contorting.
Well said.
Luciel nodded inwardly.
The rank of Bellahon Baron—master of a wealthy land with silver and iron mines.
It was the very title the Duke had received in his youth as heir, and the position that should have gone to his eldest son.
When Cedric died, Osborn must have believed the title would become his.
So a boy, not yet of age, rolling in from who knew where and receiving the title to heroic acclaim—no wonder Cain looked anything but favorable in his eyes.
“…I am the one who filled Cedric’s place. Not you.”
Osborn’s voice dropped.
“Not some collateral branch who wanders about and barely graces official functions.”
“One would think that man left no bloodline at all. Yet I have my nephew, Bael.”
“My nephew as well. And as you know, the boy is…”
Osborn let out a scoffing laugh.
“If he’s been a ghost for years now, Cedric’s line is effectively extinct.”
“Be silent.”
For once, it was Cain who failed to mask his emotion.
Thump—
Blue mana rippled around him in his anger, and a silver magical mark gleamed on his neck.
The killing intent was suffocating in its weight.
Cain fixed him with a look suggesting he might reach for Osborn’s throat at any moment.
The fury was not Cain’s alone.
For Cedric’s line to be extinct meant Bael was as good as dead.
If Osborn were the one who’d caused Cedric’s death and exposed Bael to poison, then Cain’s restraint in not drawing his blade was an act of extraordinary self-control.
“Ha.”
Osborn let out a short laugh.
It seemed less fear than satisfaction at having drawn such a strong reaction.
“Will you kill me?”
“Continue wagging your tongue if you’re curious.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Osborn’s lips curved up with ease.
“I’m curious how far the indulgence of a mere collateral branch can go against the direct line of a Duke.”
The magical mark on Cain’s neck flared once more.
Every vein in his body stood out, and the air around him grew sharp as a blade’s edge.
Osborn planted his feet firmly and grasped the sword at his hip.
For a moment, the two seemed poised to tear into each other.
“What in blazes are you doing!”
Someone shouted from the far side of the garden.
“Father’s arrived and you’re causing this spectacle? Cain, you weren’t about to use magic, were you?”
A man who resembled Osborn but seemed younger and weaker rushed between them, voice straining.
“Father is right. Uncle, what on earth is this about?”
Beside him stood a youth of perhaps not quite twenty, with a pale face and wide eyes.
There was no need to ask who they were.
The Duke’s third son, Debron of House Bellahon, and his son, Edwin.
Cain, turning his gaze toward them, withdrew his killing intent, and Osborn’s expression smoothed into gentleness.
Luciel followed their sight to the far side of the garden.
There were not two people there.
Theo, his younger sister Isolde holding his hand, and beside them a cold-faced woman presumed to be Osborn’s wife.
Next to them stood another noblewoman with long silver hair pinned up, and a delicate girl holding her hand.
Behind them stretched dozens of servants and maids in formation.
Luciel’s eyes widened.
A retinue of this size moving at once meant one thing.
“Quite a spectacle.”
Sure enough, someone slowly parted the crowd from behind them.
Gulp.
The moment Luciel saw his face, she swallowed hard without meaning to.
“Months away in my fiefdom, and I return to find my sons quarreling like this.”
Marcellus of House Bellahon.
The current Duke.

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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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