Time Healer Ceres - Chapter 19

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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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I wondered if he would really come back so easily, having been driven out under the unjust accusation of Embezzlement of Public Funds.
If it were me, I think I’d be so sick of the place I wouldn’t want to see it again.
And what attachment could he possibly have to a house that’s falling to pieces?
‘May I return?’
But Collin had given a surprisingly straightforward answer.
‘Then I shall do my best once more.’
Collin, descended from a family of butlers who had served the Drew Baron Household for generations.
I found myself wondering if perhaps the Drew Baron Household held far greater meaning for him than I had dimly suspected.
‘He really is different.’
It hadn’t been long since his return, yet the atmosphere flowing through the house had unmistakably changed.
Had he perhaps redistributed the few remaining staff members according to their abilities?
The household, which had seemed subtly disjointed in places, now clearly ran with surprising efficiency—it was plain to see.
‘Even the garden’s changed, the one that was choked with weeds.’
While it fell short of becoming a magnificent garden ablaze with elaborate flowers, the jungle of wild overgrowth I’d seen at first was nowhere to be found now.
“This month’s income and expenditure ledger, sir.”
Seres read through it with a blank expression, noting the expense column crammed densely with entries while the income section remained sparse.
Most of the income went to loan interest as expected, and they scraped by on whatever pittance remained.
‘…Wait.’
The strange thing was that the meager living allowance Collin had set since his arrival…
“…had a surplus?”
“It must be preserved.”
I was astonished. Agnes had always complained that the living expenses were insufficient.
Even during that brief period when I’d lived with her before she was driven out, I’d heard more than a few suggestions to take out loans.
While a sum large enough to cover Yulia’s medical expenses would be impossible, she’d said they could manage small amounts necessary to get by day to day.
‘I’d already suspected Agnes wasn’t managing the household properly.’
But even so, could the difference really be this vast?
Seres shot the butler Collin a look of genuine admiration.
Whoosh.
“…?”
But then Collin strode forward and snuffed out the candle on the table with a sharp breath.
At Seres’s questioning look, he smiled, his eyes crinkling kindly.
“The sun hasn’t set, sir. It’s still bright outside.”
…But the glow was nearly gone, and it was already dark.
“We must be frugal.”
“……”
…Not “frugality is living well,” but we end up at just plain “surviving”?
Was it my imagination, or did Collin’s eyes flash with unusual intensity as he spoke about the need for thrift?
‘I’d heard he was a gentle person.’
Had his temperament changed?
Watching Collin carefully set aside the report he’d just handed over, saying he’d rewrite it on the back, Seres let out a short sigh.
* * *
“Guild Master.”
“What?”
Slurp.
“Word came from the Imperial Palace.”
“And?”
Gulp. Slurp, slurp!
“They want you to attend the Imperial Conference in a few days.”
“So what am I supposed to do about it?”
Slurp! Smack!
“You shouldn’t be leisurely eating Stew at a time like this!”
“…Stew ‘at a time like this’?”
Black—the Debrica Empire’s premier mercenary guild.
Skal, its master, is a dedicated regular at the Stew shop where the mercenaries’ comfort food is served, a place his feet carry him to without fail.
No matter how pressing his business, he always made time for at least one meal here a day.
It was Skal himself who had formally issued a stern warning to his guild members about the restaurant rules Seres had established—the clause that banned anyone who caused a disturbance, along with all members of their guild, for a full week.
‘If you’re going to raise a ruckus in the Stew shop, quit the guild!’
The guild members could only nod vigorously at his earnest declaration, for no one was unaware of Guild Master Skal’s devotion to Stew.
“Did you just call Stew ‘at a time like this’?”
“No, sir. When would I have?”
“…….”
“You must have misheard me, Guild Master.”
Skal watched the sub-guild master with a hard stare as he brazenly dodged responsibility, then brought another spoonful of Stew to his lips.
He was already on his third bowl, yet the taste showed no sign of diminishing. If anything, the deeper notes grew richer with each bite.
“Guild Master! So what are you going to do about it?”
“What?”
“You’ll attend, won’t you?”
“No.”
“No — why?”
“…Did you just use informal speech with me?”
“No, sir. You must have misheard.”
Sub-guild master Rot felt his patience snap.
The Imperial Conference was right around the corner, and here was the guild master, serene as a stone!
Other mercenary guild masters had been in a frenzy for a month — coordinating outfits, selecting attendants — but apparently that didn’t apply here.
And the thing that worried him most right now was…
“You’re really not going to attend the conference? You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“Why — just why?”
“Rot.”
“That’s it! If you don’t attend this time, I’m submitting my resignation!”
“You say that as if you haven’t threatened it before.”
“But why won’t you attend this time?”
Black was the most renowned mercenary company in the Debrica Empire.
As such, Skal, the guild master of Black, was dragged to the affairs of the nobility more often than not, half by circumstance and half by obligation.
Requests poured in — to attend galas hosted by the Imperial Palace, to sit in on conferences addressing matters of state.
Yet in all his years, he could count on one hand the times he’d actually attended in person.
More often than not, he invented some excuse and sent Rot in his stead.
And bearing the resentful glares of other guild masters — insinuating that he strutted about his rank-one status — fell squarely on Rot’s shoulders.
“Not this time, sir! They’ve specifically emphasized that there are genuinely important matters on the agenda — they begged for your attendance!”
“Important or not, it’s the same empty talk every time. They just want us to handle the defense while they sit back and watch, don’t they?”
With the Black Forest incursions growing more frequent of late, they were already stretched thin. What he didn’t need was some pointless conference eating up his time.
Skal scraped the last drop of broth from his bowl and set it aside, clicking his tongue with satisfaction.
“Besides, what?”
When had he ever seen anything good come from a gathering of nobles?
They always showed up shouting about their own interests, their own gains. What was there to discuss with people like that?
Meetings that stretched on for hours, only to reach conclusions that differed not one whit from the last ones.
The same refrain: mercenaries handle the dangerous work.
The same threat: suffer any losses to our holdings, and we’ll strip the guild of every privilege you’ve been granted.
“Why would I bother sitting through that predictable nonsense?”
“Because everyone else attends, sir. They all go to listen to it.”
“Then you go this time too.”
“This is ridiculous!”
He wasn’t some bitter thirty-year-old — the man was seasoned, worn in by the years. So why in all hells did he behave like this?
Rot buried his forehead against the table with a groan, thumping it repeatedly.
“Though I have to say…”
“Yes, sir?”
Had he actually changed his mind?
“The Stew tastes especially good today, doesn’t it?”
“Seriously — what are you…!”
Thump. Thump.
“I mean it.”
Ignoring the sub-guild master’s continued self-abuse, Skal gazed thoughtfully at his empty bowl.
There was something about today’s batch — a depth to it he couldn’t quite name.
And his body, which had felt sluggish since morning, somehow felt lighter now.
“That’s nonsense! You say the same thing every single time you eat!”
“No. Today feels different somehow… But what’s gotten into this one today? He’s more wound up than usual.”
“Enough! I’m putting in that resignation!”
Thump. Thump.
“Hmm.”
To solve this mystery, I suppose I’d need to taste another bowl…?
“You there.”
At the guild master Skal’s call, the server carrying food to the other patrons approached with a bright smile.
It was Jay, a maid from the Drew Baron Household.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Another bowl.”
“Right away.”
“By the way, is that a new employee? I don’t think I’ve seen them before.”
“Ah, Mark got injured a bit last night.”
“Injured? Mark?”
“Yes. So my lady and I have been helping run the shop in his place.”
Early this morning, Mark had sent an urgent message. He’d accidentally fallen down the stairs last night, or so he claimed.
Of all things, his right arm had snapped clean in two, leaving him unable to hold a ladle for some time—news that made Skal’s jaw drop.
“The head chef is injured.”
Not only guild master Skal, but the other mercenaries dining around the room cast startled glances at Jay.
They’d found it odd that Mark hadn’t shown up all day, but had simply assumed there was extra work in the kitchen.
Yet Mark wasn’t in the shop at all right now?
“Then who made the food?”
If Mark wasn’t here, who had prepared the stew they were eating right now?
Had it been made in advance?

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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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