Chapter 122

Chapter 122: The Greatest Feast (5)

The three of us stood face to face in the hallway.

Among them, the one who had been standing alone—Duke Heriot of the West—approached Helena and me.

“Lord Roger.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A middle-aged man with golden hair slicked perfectly back from his forehead.

The ruler of the Empire’s West, with a refined mustache, quietly stared at me.

Then, glancing between his daughter and me, he spoke in a deeply meaningful voice.

“You certainly seem to have a way of moving people.”

At his compliment, I let out a sigh of relief inwardly.

From a distance, the look in his eyes had felt like that of a furious beast who’d lost something precious.

Apparently, that had just been my imagination.

“But I urge you not to abuse that power.”

The Duke of the West placed a thick hand on my shoulder.

He clearly didn’t apply any force with his palm.

Yet somehow, I felt a crushing weight behind his presence.

“If you cannot take responsibility for the people you move.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

With ten years of secretary experience behind me, I smiled leisurely, even in the face of his daunting presence.

On the other hand, Helena, realizing that her father was trying to intimidate me, looked visibly annoyed.

With both hands, she gently lowered her father’s hand, clad in her pure white silk gloves.

“Father, Roger is my guest. Don’t try to scare him.”

“Ahem. I haven’t done anything of the sort.”

The Duke of the West clasped his hands behind his back, as if he were entirely innocent.

“Besides, it’s the same for Harris and for me. Even if we changed our minds after listening to Roger’s advice, that decision was made entirely of our own will.”

“……”

Harriet quietly observed the young businessman who remained unshaken by his pressure.

His expression was a strange mix of pride and disappointment.

“Yes, I suppose so… But it won’t be easy.”

The Duke turned his gaze toward his son, still inside the office.

He looked on with concern at the boy who trembled in awe at being given a second chance.

Though he had scolded him harshly and acted coldly, the Duke clearly cared deeply for his child.

But that was the extent of his warmth.

Like a lion pushing its cub off a cliff and only raising the ones who manage to climb back up…

“If he can’t overcome even this, I’ll erase him from the family registry myself.”

He quickly regained his composure and walked off without a word.

“……”

Helena and I quietly watched his towering figure fade into the distance.

Then, coming to our senses, we turned to face his eldest son, who had just come out of the office.

“Lord Roger, it worked…!! Father gave me a chance!!”

“Congratulations, Archduke.”

I smiled with genuine warmth at the heir of a ducal house—a man of great investment value.

He was the kind of person humble enough to bow in gratitude even to someone like me, who wasn’t a noble.

“There’s no need for you to bow to me.”

“No, truly, if it hadn’t been for you, I never would have even had this chance!!”

His elated expression made me feel proud—and anxious at the same time.

Even if he had been given an opportunity, this was only the very first step.

Just like Duke Heriot’s grim parting words earlier—if he failed to satisfy both His Majesty and the Duke at the banquet…

He might truly be erased from the name of Yekaterina.

“This is only the beginning. From this point on, you’ll need to prepare thoroughly.”

“I understand. I’ll give it everything I’ve got until the banquet.”

Helena smiled faintly at the sight of her older brother, his eyes lit with passion for the first time in a while.

Then she looked up at me with a gaze full of curiosity—at the one who had brought about such change in him.

“And how exactly do you plan to give it your all? It’s not as if simply being good at cooking will be enough.”

Perhaps because they’d already experienced one round of seemingly magical results—

They now looked at me with anticipation, as if wondering what kind of trick I would pull this time.

“That’s right. The Imperial Banquet will certainly be the most difficult banquet I’ve ever faced.”

I returned to the cold gaze I’d used back when I was a chief secretary—one that had crushed opposing noble houses with baseless accusations.

With narrowed, cunning eyes that nearly squinted with scheming, I gave my advice.

“You’ll need to stand out among the dishes served by the Imperial chefs.”

“You’ll have to impress His Majesty and the Dukes—men who have tasted the finest cuisine all their lives.”

Harris sank into deep thought with a grave expression.

‘Well, of course he would.’

To put it in knightly terms, this was like a provincial knight from a remote island kingdom being told to defeat the Imperial Swordmasters.

Even in a novel, if you wrote something like this, readers would be furious.

But—

My thoughts were a little different.

Harris had one very distinct advantage over the Imperial chefs.

Youth.

Veteran chefs who had spent their entire lives serving only the finest dishes made with the best ingredients for His Majesty.

Compared to them, the young archduke was filled with experimental spirit and the drive to take risks.

And on top of that, the cooking school he attended wasn’t even in the Empire—it was in a distant island nation.

That meant he might be able to present something far more unique and full of character.

From this point on, it was entirely up to his own ability.

“Would the two of you spare a moment of your time?”

The Archduke politely asked for our understanding.

“I heard that you only had soup for lunch today. So, allow me to prepare dinner for you myself.”

“Will this be the same dish you’ll be serving at the banquet?”

At my question, the eldest son nodded without hesitation.

“Yes. I’ll serve a dish that will surely satisfy both Father and His Majesty.”

We chose to put our faith in his resolute determination.

Afterward, we made our way to the kitchen and personally observed the archduke at work.

Once again, Harris donned his apron.

What kind of dish would he prepare?

Would it be Ortrand, a dish made by braising the famously tender wild pigeon of the western empire for several days?

Or perhaps Sartebrian, a dish made from the finest cuts of meat, grilled to perfection by the chef’s mastery over extreme heat?

As someone who had experienced a fair share of fine cuisine in a ducal household, I watched Harris closely, his expression solemn.

What kind of ingredient would he bring out?

But—

The ingredient he pulled out wasn’t particularly special.

No, it was so ordinary that I couldn't help but be skeptical.

The ingredient chosen by the Western Archduke was none other than flap meat, a relatively obscure cut from beef.

“Flap meat?”

“Why? Is that a weird cut?”

Helena, who had spent her life reviewing business documents rather than meat, asked curiously.

I nodded with concern in my eyes.

That cut was hardly one favored by the royal family.

“Yes. It’s a special cut. Compared to other parts, it's cheaper, and if not cooked properly, the texture becomes tough—so it’s not very popular.”

I quietly watched, wondering what he was thinking.

Was he seriously planning to serve the dish his father once made for him to the highest echelon of the Empire?

I was sorry, but that sort of third-rate emotional play wouldn't work here.

For someone to relate to a memory, they need to have a shared or similar experience.

There was no way people like the royals and the Grand Duke of the North, who had grown up surrounded by luxury, would find satisfaction in that.

Even Duke Heriot himself was more of a rational man than an emotional one.

He’d rejected his son’s crab soup—there was no way he’d approve of a dish made from flap meat.

“I don’t quite understand why he would choose such a humble dish.”

I looked at him with mixed feelings, as if he were trying to recreate something his father once cooked.

Helena chimed in as well.

“My brother can be a bit like that.”

It seemed she was well aware of her older brother’s shortcomings.

“He’s always more interested in helping the weak than the strong, and prefers public-friendly policies over profitable business ventures. He’s the kind who puts the people first.”

Of course, that sounds like the model of a wise ruler on paper.

But history was full of kings who ruined their nations by clumsily pretending to care for the people.

“But do you really think the nobles will enjoy food infused with that sort of ideology? It’s far more likely they’ll misunderstand and assume he resents them.”

We both watched with concern as the busy chef moved around the kitchen.

A man trying to serve food that appealed to sympathy and common taste.

――――――

Archduke Harris handled the flap meat with impressive skill.

Then, setting his knife down briefly, he suddenly walked out of the mansion.

“…?”

Both of us blinked in unison, turning to look out the window.

That’s when we spotted a tiny vegetable patch tucked away in the corner of the estate garden.

As if it were familiar territory, the archduke strode straight over and began picking vegetables.

“I’ve heard the western Empire’s vegetable patches don’t yield good quality crops.”

“Right. With this kind of weather, the produce isn’t usually great…”

We could only stare in stunned silence as the duke’s eldest son returned, not with luxury ingredients, but with local vegetables.

In his hands were celery, crackling-fresh tomatoes, and stubby carrots.

Harris passed by our puzzled expressions with complete composure.

Then, with practiced ease, he began to cook.

Just as I had moved both his and Helena’s hearts, he began to unfold his own kind of magic.

He placed carrots, onions, potatoes, and bay leaves—harvested from the mainland—into a pot.

Then he poured in red wine from the western region and started boiling it over high heat.

As I watched, I furrowed my brow.

I had realized what dish he was trying to make.

“Wait, are you making beef stew right now?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied, sautéing the onions in a pat of butter as if to glaze them.

“But that dish normally needs to rest for a full day, doesn’t it?”

“That’s right. But our western-style method takes only one hour.”

A dish that normally required 24 hours, done in just one?

I let out a deep sigh, voicing my concern.

But—

Archduke Harris wasn’t someone who had given up his family legacy just to learn cooking on a whim.

True to his word, within the hour, the ingredients had been perfectly stewed.

“…?”

He smiled slyly as he watched me stare, dumbfounded.

Taking the stewed ingredients, he sautéed them with confident hands before returning them to the pot.

“In our western region, the vegetables soften and break down quickly due to the gloomy weather. So they stew quickly, too.”

Harris poured the sautéed mix into the pot, then playfully smashed the wilted tomatoes.

After that, he added a juice made from the tomatoes and began boiling the stew once more.

As time passed, the aroma drifting from the kitchen grew richer and more appetizing.

Helena swallowed hard, enchanted by the familiar yet mouthwatering scent.

Even someone like her, with a sweet tooth and a childlike palate, found herself growing hungry.

――――――

Even the maids and cooks who had been waiting in the hallway poked their heads in.

They stared in awe at the eldest son, who had returned as a chef, too mesmerized to speak.

Roughly thirty minutes passed.

And at last, Harris boldly set the finished dish before us.

Beef Yekaterina.

“Thank you for waiting.”

At a glance, it looked like a typical beef stew.

If anything set it apart, it was the speed at which it had been prepared—far faster than usual.

Despite that, the servants who had gathered couldn’t help but drool.

Because, as they say, familiar flavors are often the most dangerous.

“Shall we give it a try?”

Helena gracefully lifted a spoon.

I followed suit.

Together, we scooped a spoonful of the steaming stew and brought it to our mouths.

With expressions that held a blend of doubt and curiosity.

Then, the moment we tasted it—

“…!!”

The Grand Duke’s daughter and I locked eyes at the same time, eyes widened in shock.

Because what we had just tasted was nothing like the ordinary beef stew we knew.

“Uh…?”

「――――――」

A few days later, on the day of the Imperial Grand Council.

The capital was crawling with patrolling guards and imperial soldiers.

But that didn’t mean the atmosphere in the city was tense.

On the contrary, women whispered about their ideal types while ogling the men in their handsome uniforms.

Children waved excitedly at the knights, eyes sparkling with admiration.

It was an era of peace, befitting the Empire’s golden age—more peaceful than ever before.

And everyone here knew the reason for today’s heightened security.

Because…

The two houses second only to the Imperial family in power—the Grand Duchies of the North and West—were gathering today.

A black carriage, accompanied by countless escort wagons, came to a halt in front of the Imperial Palace.

From it descended a towering old man, known as the Empire’s Black Lion.

「Grand Duke of the North, Baylis Luton.」

He casually straightened his formal coat in front of the palace gates.

With those stern and sharp eyes that represented him so well.

Soon after, a dazzling platinum-colored carriage stopped beside the black one.

And from it stepped a relatively younger nobleman—middle-aged, successful, and clearly of high status.

「Grand Duke of the West, Harriet Yekaterina.」

The two central figures of the day faced one another.

And, like the rivals they were, exchanged a purely formal greeting.

“How have you been, Duke Luton? You look well—good to see.”

“You’re looking well yourself, Harriet. I hear your eldest son has returned—is that why?”

The Grand Duke of the North fired off a smooth verbal jab as soon as they met.

Knowing Harriet had been keeping information about his son tightly under wraps, he threw in a little provocation.

“Ah—yes. He returned recently. I didn’t expect you to take such an interest in my son.”

“The eldest son of the Western Grand Duchy is bound to be a hot topic in the Empire.”

Baylis let out a dry chuckle and held his head high.

However, his thick eyebrows twitched just slightly.

“A hot topic, huh… Now that you mention it, I heard your daughter Freya’s company took a significant hit recently…”

This time, the Grand Duke of the West had pressed a nerve.

“Judging by your face, everything’s fine?”

At Harriet’s calm remark, the North Grand Duke’s smile disappeared completely.

But he wasn’t someone who’d be rattled by a few well-placed words.

“Yes, quite. That’s how it is in business—you’re bound to make mistakes sometimes.”

He, on the other hand, skillfully shifted the topic with perfect ease.

“On the other hand, our second daughter is growing up splendidly. She’s got a keen eye for people.”

“Discernment is important. My daughter also brought in a remarkable talent recently.”

The two giants of the Empire faced each other.

“Is that so? My daughter also found a promising talent.”

The Grand Duke of the North replied in a relaxed tone, clearly thinking the talent his daughter brought in was far more impressive.

After all, the man he had seen was someone who had saved an entire city.

“Seems we both have quite the luck when it comes to people.”

But the Grand Duke of the West didn’t think any less of the person he had in mind either.

He was the man who had helped his once-disheartened eldest son regain his resolve—and had also inflicted economic damage on the daughter of the Grand Duke of the North.

“It might be a good idea to invite them both over sometime and have a conversation.”

“Sounds wonderful. There’s nothing more enjoyable than showing off good talent.”

Wearing polite smiles, the two men climbed the steps of the Imperial Palace together.

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