“That…that smells good…”

  “Oh, you’re awake? Good. Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  Marcus watched as Stella demurely rubbed her eyes after she exited the cave, the sun’s rays causing her to squint even after rubbing them. She still seemed quite drowsy. Her eyes soon, however, locked onto Marcus.

  He was sitting on a log, calmly cutting carrots with his dagger, while a pot of red stew was cooked on top of an open flame. He was still in the process of placing the veggies, but the meat, deer meat to be specific, which he had hunted earlier, should be cooked by now.

  “My, is that a stew? Can I have some, Sir Marcus?” Stella was somewhat drooling as she looked down at it.

  “Obviously,” Marcus let out a light snort. “It's for us.”

  While he carried the majority of the food they bought in his bags of holding, Stella usually cooked for the two. She apparently studied home economics extensively, which was a bit surprising for royalty, so she was quite capable at cooking. Unfortunately, she tended to cook food in a, shall we say, ‘rigid’ manner.

  On the other hand, Marcus was a purebred ‘throw whatever the fuck is available on the pot’ type of cook. Back in the underworld, whenever they hunted monsters and beasts that could be eaten in hell, it was essentially the only way to make food. He was, therefore, a bit surprised that Stella was looking at his food with amazement.

  Bet she’ll change her mind when she gets a taste.

  “I’m so excited to try it out then,” Stella said, smiling. “What is it called?”

  “Hell if I know. The meat’s venison, though.”

  “Oh, in that case, it’s a venison stew.”

  “...You just bashed the words ‘stew’ and ‘venison’ together.”

  “So?”

  “Nothing. Say, have you ever cooked something like this?”

  “Yep, though I usually only use beef. That, and it seems that the one you’re making is quite…barebones.”

  “Obviously.”

  While Stella sat beside him on the log, Marcus finished cutting up and throwing the vegetables. Then, he placed a lid on the pot to let it finish.

  A few minutes later, the two took their respective servings. Normally, Marcus would be a barbarian who would immediately dig in—and in some cases, eat straight from the pot—but this time, for some reason, he waited for Stella to eat first.

  She took a brief, cursory sniff of the food to smell its aromas before taking a delicate spoonful in her mouth. Marcus felt his heartbeat going haywire as he waited, which annoyed him a lot.

  “Mhm,” Stella’s eyes widened. “Sir Marcus, this is quite good!”

  “Coming from Lady Food Critic herself? No way,” Marcus was secretly pleased as he turned to eat his own portion.

  “I think it’s quite basic. The flavors don’t have much depth, and there’s very little variety inside…”

  I knew it.

  He died inside.

  “But, with the ingredients you used,” Stella turned to Marcus. “This is well executed. The meat chunks are cooked perfectly, and the vegetables aren’t mushy. The sauce is also perfectly savory.”

  “Ah, I see…”

  “In other words, it fits all the flavor notes of a simple comfort food. I quite love it, Sir Marcus!”

  “Pfft, are you sure you’re not just biased?”

  “Nope. And who cares if I am? A slight reason why I love my mother’s food even if she rarely cooks is because she’s my mother. Her food tastes like home! Why can't the same apply to a friend’s cooking?”

  “I suppose you do have a point…I do like my mom’s food that way too. Ah, now I’m starting to miss her...”

  Marcus continued eating the food that he had cooked. He wasn’t impressed by it. It just ‘tasted normal’ to him.

  On the other hand, she calls me a ‘friend’ now.

  That’s crazy.

  Quite frankly, Marcus rarely had friends. He had squadmates, platoonmates, peers, etc. Even his camaraderie with his old captain and best buddy was probably more professional than personal.

  He wasn’t exactly the type to make friends. He was foul-mouthed, an asshole, and somewhat of an arrogant prick. Even Marcus knew that and accepted that part of him.

  This meant if he struggled to form friendships with his fellow men, mostly soldiers, he was practically underwater forever with women. A small part of him laughed at his current situation as a result.

  He supposed he truly made it through hell, because he now somehow had a woman considering him a ‘friend’.

  “I need a second helping,” Stella said, embarrassed as she reached out for the pot. “This is so good.”

  “You never ate that fast,” Marcus said, as he himself was only halfway done with his share. “You must be extra hungry or something.”

  “I told you, didn’t I? I’m enjoying it!”

  There was no deception or ruse in her voice. She truly seemed like she enjoyed it. Kinda like how Marcus always devoured the food she cooked for the two.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He felt his heart lightening. Someone enjoyed what he created. It was such a rare thing—someone acknowledging what he worked on.

  Almost all of his achievements had been things that no one would remember but himself. Almost all of them too were not him creating wonderful things; it was just him splattering the blood of his enemies.

  Marcus knew he wasn’t a praiseworthy individual, so compliments outside of his enemies begging for mercy were alien to him.

  Until now.

  It was such a sweet and simple compliment from Stella, yet she managed to make him pause longer than most of his mortal enemies combined.

  Shit, I’m getting too soft.

  Marcus began stuffing food in his mouth in response, as usual, to distract his mind.

  Now I want to kill more cultists. That will definitely help me out.

  When the two were both done, leaving the pot empty, Stella once again spoke to him.

  “Thanks for the food, Sir Marcus. I enjoyed it, truly.”

  “...Thanks for liking it, I guess.”

  “Pfft, I knew you could be cheered up too, Sir Marcus~.”

  “I did say that I’m an emotive person, didn’t I?”

  “Yet your dead fish eyes are back again. Hmph, you’re such a closed man.”

  “Shut it and begin cleaning up.”

  Stella puffed her cheeks at Marcus before laughing. What a childish elf.

  After cleaning up, the two soon emerged from the forest. Marcus used [Blink Step] and [Levitate] on the horses, all while carrying Stella.

  Due to a spell that Stella used, which involved her light magic, the two horses were docile throughout the process, allowing Marcus to use [Blink Step] without incident. As a result, they moved rather quickly.

  Travelling through the flat plains, away from the main roads, they managed to cover the lion’s share of their travel distance within two hours. After that, in order not to attract attention, the two rode on horseback until they reached the outskirts of Pinkerton City, the capital of the Margraviate of Canville, and therefore, the seat of Marquise Hansa Nelson’s power.

  “Well, we’re here…at last,” Marcus said as he used his telescope to observe the city.

  Unlike Almarche, Pinkerton City was a major city through and through. It was massive, and it even had settlements outside of its strange, angular walls. Apparently, according to Stella, Pinkerton City’s fortifications were based on ‘Lourian Outline-styled forts’, featuring angular curtain walls, bastions, moats, and ditches, alongside outworks called ravelins, forming a structure that was said to resemble a star when viewed from the sky.

  “Recently, battlemages developed powerful ‘breaching spells’ against fortress walls,” Stella explained. “So, in addition to barrier spells, engineers nowadays, mostly from the Kingdom of Louria, use the Lourian Outline style when updating or building new walls to counter that.”

  “How fascinating,” Marcus mildly grinned. “Heh…hehe, if only we had that back in our time, so many more demons would have been dead.”

  “...Your mind must truly consist of nothing but ‘kill demons’, no? Sir Marcus, please appreciate the art of the architecture first!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m a cultureless swine, I get it.” Marcus waved her off after lowering his telescope. “In any case, we’re infiltrating on the south side of the city, and then we’ll search for the Marquise.”

  Stella sighed.

  “Are you planning to immediately kill him too?”

  “Of course. He did business with the Death God Cult. He signed his death warrant, not me. I’m just enforcing it.”

  “I see. I’ll do my best to help you out with that then.”

  “It’s nice that you always have my back.”

  “Of course, Sir Marcus. We’re allies from now on, so expect my support in everything.”

  They then began planning their next moves before two entered Pinkerton without incident.

  “Is it confirmed? Count Talsby is dead?”

  “Yes, sire. It appears that the Death God Cult truly lost its reasoning and attacked one of ours. This is unprecedented.”

  “Unbelievable. Why would they do such a thing? And if they did that, why is one of them en route to Pinkerton?!”

  “Who knows?”

  Marquise Hansa Nelson glowered at his friend, Baron Frederick Halsey, who arrived today at his estate inside Pinkerton. Of course, there was nothing to be done, except for Hansa to sit down and grumble at his desk.

  Frederick, on the other hand, removed his cavalier hat before taking a seat in front of the Marquise’s desk.

  “I do have some good news for you,” Frederick said, his tone now slightly giddy. “I received word earlier from a vassal of mine by an emergency pigeon. Esterton seemed to have repulsed an attack from the cult last night.”

  “Esterton too? Damned devils, I knew they’d renege on their terms!” Hansa bashed his hand on the table. “I thought they backed us; now they’re attacking us. I need to send a messenger to Duke Locke.”

  “Ah, but why are you so focused on the attack?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? My friend, we’re now at war with them!”

  “Indeed, but what I’m saying is, we repulsed them this time around.”

  “And pray tell, how did the rabble guards in Esterton manage to do such a thing? A miracle from the goddess?” Hansa laughed. “You and I both know the last time we resisted, they slaughtered our troops!”

  “Yet, yesterday, a small group called the ‘White Watch’ defeated hundreds of them, on their own.”

  “White Watch? That name sounds awfully generic.”

  “Please, overlook their name, Sir Hansa. You must understand that this team is made up of only two individuals, yet they defeated the cultist attack in Esterton,” Frederick grinned. “They must be quite powerful then. I know, things look bad now, but you can instead search for them and utilize them.”

  “And how reliable is this farce?”

  “Extremely. I swear on my honor that my vassal’s reports are credible. I presume this group must be wandering gold-ranked adventurers, maybe with a personal vendetta against the cult.”

  “And you wish to ally with this unknown rabble? Bah, forget about it. Even if the report is credible, there’s no chance we’ll find them in time.”

  Hansa stood up from his desk.

  “We must begin preparations to talk with Archbishop Selena should she arrive. Maybe we can smooth over ruffled feathers. It’s the only way forward for now until we have the strength to resist them. Even Duke Locke cannot help out posthaste.”

  “I see. I’ll help you out then, sire.”

  “Good.”

  Hansa and Frederick left his office after they took their respective hats. Hansa always hated this—meeting the cultists. He worked with them not because he wanted it, but because he had no other choice.

  They had an ‘alliance’ with Duke Locke’s faction in the kingdom, which he was a part of. Every nobleman aligned with the cult below the Duke was therefore just following his instructions in lockstep.

  Cooperate, and they shall not be attacked, and the Duke will be pleased—or at least, that was the arrangement. Count Talsby’s death and the attack at Esterton showed the reverse.

  Those lunatics.

  Hansa scoffed.

  I don’t get why we don’t just crush them once and for all.

  If they were just gone, he’d be focused on his hobby and business—alchemy. Instead, he’d soon have to talk to a deranged elven woman with a very distorted view of love. Such scum should be executed, but instead, Hansa was working with them to save his skin. It was truly a saddening state of affairs.

  He just wanted to formulate new forms of detergent, damn it.