Reunions and a Dessert Emergency

I spent a while talking with Uncle Parnel — no, Duke Pamel Germent.

We sat on a small rock, and he removed his helmet, setting it atop the stone. The moonlight revealed his signature mohawk hairstyle. His dark skin and the scars across his face were just as I remembered. Seeing that familiar face, memories of Galnem Village began to surface.

Uncle Parnel was most impressed with me when we played chess. On a worn wooden board with names hastily scrawled on the pieces, I often played chess with him beneath the shade of a tree. And out of five games, I'd win three. Chess was one of the games I was best at, after all.

"To use such a tactic... A flanking maneuver I never would have expected. If I'd employed this method during the war with Giles, I might have taken the capital without spilling a drop of blood. Heh."

Uncle Parnel rambled on, reviewing our chess moves, then praised me in his deep, metallic voice.

"Arinell. You must come to serve under this general."

Everyone in Galnem Village had their quirks, so I'd simply thought Uncle Parnel's habit of calling himself "this general" was just another eccentricity. When the big man would plow my fields with a massive iron plow in just a couple of passes — work that would take me half a day — I'd always thank him by bringing him slices of red sugar beet.

"Since it keeps well, it would make suitable military rations. A truly excellent idea."

Looking back now, I suspect Uncle Parnel had very different thoughts when he received those slices.

"To sit with you again like this... It fills me with emotion."

"I... never imagined it. That you'd be the Minister of Military Affairs."

To be fair, in a small place like Galnem Village, his size and presence were overwhelming for farm work.

"Heh heh. Surprised?"

Standing over two meters tall, with an aura so fierce it made you shrink just from meeting his gaze. Seeing him in his helmet, wielding a greatsword, it was immediately clear he had a proper profession.

"This general's house, Germent, is a prestigious military family that has commanded the Aslet imperial army for generations. We went to Galnem together to guard His Majesty."

"I see... That makes sense."

Aunt Piolet... no, Lady Alence. This was the second one. Neighbors who had been hiding their strength alongside Parmes Aslet in Galnem.

"Then besides you and Aunt Piolet... are there others?"

Galnem had seven households. One was my family, one was Uncle Zimmer's... Parmes's. So there were others, after all.

Thud.

He'd merely set his hand on the rock, yet I felt the vibration. The kind of tremor that could send a small fry like me bouncing into the air.

"They exist, yet they don't. They will lose in the succession war against this general, and only Pamel Germent will remain. A legacy that cannot continue is as empty as a blank sheet!"

"Oh..."

At my question, he seemed to think of someone and grew excited. And I couldn't understand what he was saying. Truth be told, conversations with Uncle Parnel in Galnem had never been particularly smooth.

"Arinell."

He called my name in his deep, resonant voice.

"This general came to this masquerade ball today solely to meet you. And in Galnem, it was this Pamel Germent who recognized your talents most clearly."

"I... Your Grace."

"The Germent house has no heir with talents like yours, so for the empire's eternal peace and prosperity, this general..."

"I'm sorry, but I think I need to go now."

Spotting Britain approaching from a distance, I sprang to my feet. Reuniting with Uncle Parnel — no, Duke Pamel Germent — was a joyous and grateful occasion, but today wasn't the day for a long conversation.

"The ballroom is the safest place for Arinell. Only those who've passed identity verification can enter. Master, I'd be grateful if you quietly scouted for any hostile forces lurking outside the ballroom. I'll finish re-verifying the nobles inside and come back for Arinell."

Those were the words Britain had spoken before entrusting me to Pamel and heading inside. And now, it seemed Britain had finished verifying everyone inside the ballroom.

"...Very well. For the safety of my successor and the purging of disloyal elements."

Pamel let out what he considered a "small sigh" — though to the genuinely small me, it sounded like a dragon's roar — and rose to his feet. The giant over two meters tall spoke to me.

"Go in safely, Arinell. We'll meet again soon."

Beside him, a dark greatsword capable of shattering enemy bones stood propped at an angle.

"What did Duke Pamel Germent say to you?"

At Britain's question, I puffed out my cheeks slightly before answering.

"He keeps saying I should be the successor to the Ministry of Military Affairs."

It was the same reaction I'd gotten when reuniting with Lady Alence. He'd clearly been evaluating me as a very talented child since Galnem Village.

"That's ridiculous. I've never even swung a sword once."

I shook my head vigorously. But Britain, with a faint smile, spoke to me.

"As my master, he does teach me swordsmanship, but the most important quality for a Minister of Military Affairs isn't martial strength. Even when war breaks out, it's rare for them to personally go out and fight enemies."

"..."

"Well, that's historically speaking. The current Minister, Duke Germent, seems to be a different type."

Then the most important quality for the Ministry of Military Affairs was...

"The mind that moves troops. It requires meticulous calculation — how to play the best moves in battle, how to strike at the enemy's weaknesses with the fewest casualties."

"Then I'm even less suited for it. I'm really far removed from that kind of thing."

"..."

"Actually, Lady Alence, the Minister of Palace Affairs, also proposed that I become her successor. She said I have talent for etiquette and social affairs."

I continued, recalling what had happened to me.

"But that can't be right. I've already fallen out with the Marcella princess's faction. Those women look at me like I'm a crookedly driven stake."

But for her to say I have talent for social affairs... she must have misjudged.

"Well... Marcella. That was a good move. An important quality in social affairs is the 'sense' to distinguish friend from foe — Lady Alence probably became even more convinced by your shrewdness."

Britain looked at me with a strangely meaningful expression. His serious gaze — I wasn't sure what he was thinking, but he seemed to have great faith in me.

Britain smiled faintly and continued.

"In my opinion... you have abundant talents."

"..."

"That's why everyone is vying for you. Hoping you'll choose your own field."

Hearing this from the golden-spoon crown prince, the face genius, made me feel somewhat embarrassed. And "talents"...

"In the modern world, I was just an ordinary office worker who grew up normally and worked at a company..."

There's no way someone like me has such extraordinary talents. Just as I was about to gently refute him,

"So I'm a bit anxious. I need to become a husband worthy of you."

I wasn't even drinking water, but the moment I heard those words, I coughed violently. I'd choked on dry air.

Kuh- kuh-

"Husband...? This kind of sudden attack is cheating."

But Britain, who had just said those words, looked at me with gentle eyes as if nothing was wrong, patting my small back.

"I see smoke coming from the back — looks like something got burned while cooking."

It was when we put on our masks and re-entered the ballroom.

"Oh no, the crème sherry needs to be served, but all the crème is ruined..."

"Viscount Zail and Lady Matten played with fire in the storage room. The fire's out, but the burned food can't be undone."

"What do we do? We're short on fruit for the sherry."

Suddenly, I heard the voices of attendants and maids. Hearing their urgent, panicked voices, it seemed like quite a big problem had occurred.

"Viscount Zail and Lady Matten... I think they were part of Lariel's entourage."

"Is there nothing in reserve?"

"Nothing. We're in trouble."

Since the first Emperor of Albreon had eaten crème sherry after the inaugural ball, nobles traditionally look for that sherry at the end of Albreon's masquerade balls. But seeing them flustered, it seemed an accident had occurred and they couldn't get more crème.

"...Excuse me for a moment, Your Highness."

"My lady...?"

I gave Britain a quick greeting and hurried toward the kitchen. As expected, chaos reigned here too.

"Damn it, we need to get some crème somehow."

"If we ruin the masquerade ball, our heads will all roll!"

Some of the chefs were terrified.

"The imperial palace, where people worry about their lives just because some crème sherry can't be served..."

I had no obligation to help them, but with lives hanging in the balance, I couldn't just stand by. And I realized this was the perfect opportunity to reveal the true identity of the dessert that had become the talk of high society, centered around Lady Alence!