Inside the wooden caravan, the air carried the scent of old timber and worn leather. The planks creaked softly whenever the wheels rolled over uneven ground, as if the caravan itself were whispering stories from journeys long forgotten.

  Arttu sat near the back, facing the small open window. Unlike last time, he didn’t faint this time, though it was a little hard the time the caravan accelerated. Sunlight slipped through it in thin stripes, painting lines across his face. His pale hair caught the light, giving him a faint glow. His eyes were calm now, but there was still something distant inside them—as if his thoughts were wandering somewhere far from the road.

  Across from him sat Reid.

  His armor was scratched in several places, still faintly stained with dried blood. His red cloak rested neatly over his shoulders. His posture was straight, disciplined, but his face looked tired. The night had taken more from him than just energy.

  His eyes, however, were still sharp.

  At the front of the caravan sat Morty—also known as Lonesome—holding the reins loosely in one hand.

  He wore a new hat today.

  A soft lilac cloth wrapped around the brim, tied in a neat fold. A faint scent of lavender drifted back with the wind, fresh and clean. The hat gave him the look of a refined gentleman on a peaceful afternoon stroll.

  But the man beneath the hat told a different story.

  Morty looked like a man who lived as if he were young, even though time had long stopped agreeing with him.

  There were young men in taverns who moved like old men—tired, slow, already defeated by life.

  And then there was Morty.

  An old man who laughed too loudly, drank too much, wore lavender in his hat, and spoke to strangers like they were old friends.

  He gently turned his upper body to look back at them. His movement was slow, relaxed, almost graceful—but his eyes carried a wild spark.

  “So, fellas,” he said with a calm voice, “I’ve heard something strange happened back in that village. Something about ghouls?”

  Reid raised an eyebrow.

  “Weren’t you also in the village?”

  Morty let out a soft chuckle.

  “Oh, I was. Just… not in the serious parts of it.” He tilted his hat slightly. “Found a hot spring behind the hill. Met some lovely ladies. They insisted I stay.”

  Arttu blinked.

  Reid sighed.

  Morty smiled wider.

  “Can’t refuse hospitality, you know. It would be rude.”

  Reid shook his head.

  “We fought a group of them near the houses. Seven at first. Then more.”

  Morty whistled softly.

  “Now that sounds like a proper evening.”

  Reid continued, briefly explaining what had happened—the villagers, the injuries, the fight, and the aftermath.

  Morty listened quietly, his eyes forward on the road.

  When Reid finished, Morty nodded.

  “Oh… that is quite a story.”

  He flicked the reins lightly, guiding the horses.

  “Sounds like the two of you had yourselves a night worth remembering.”

  Reid leaned back slightly.

  Then he turned to Arttu.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What happened while I was gone?”

  Arttu stayed silent for a moment.

  The memory returned—the red eyes, the hand on his cheek, the calm voice.

  “There was… something,” Arttu said slowly. “It had red eyes and white hair. It looked like a man. But it wasn’t a man.”

  Reid’s expression hardened.

  “What did really happen?”

  “First, I felt cold. I tried to stop it, I found a coat and wore it to heat up, but it didn’t work.”

  Arttu’s fingers tightened around the edge of the seat.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Then I saw him, or it. He stopped me from moving. Like my body wasn’t mine anymore.”

  Arttu looked at Reid with unsure eyes.

  “It spoke. It said… it was only there to observe.”

  Morty’s hand paused slightly on the reins, but he said nothing.

  Reid’s gaze darkened.

  “That was a ghoul.”

  Arttu looked at him.

  “A ghoul that can speak means it has consumed a lot of human blood,” Reid continued. “The more they feed, the closer they become to humans. Smarter. Stronger. More dangerous.”

  He looked out the window.

  “I’ll need to report that to someone important.”

  Morty gave a quiet hum.

  “Sounds like trouble that wears a polite face,” he muttered.

  Silence returned to the caravan.

  Outside, the fields stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun. The grass swayed gently, bending and rising again with each passing breeze. Wildflowers dotted the land in small patches of yellow and violet, trembling quietly as the caravan rolled by.

  The sky was vast and clear.

  As if nothing had happened.

  As if no blood had touched the earth the night before.

  Arttu rested his chin against the edge of the window and watched the horizon move slowly. The wind brushed against his face, cool and steady. It felt ordinary.

  Behind them, a village had almost fallen.

  Ahead of them, birds flew lazily across the open sky.

  He didn’t say anything at first.

  Reid noticed the way his eyes softened.

  Reid looked outside as well.

  The sunlight caught the metal edges of his armor, reflecting softly. For a moment, he didn’t look like a warrior. Just a man traveling somewhere.

  They passed a small stream. The water shimmered under the light, flowing without hesitation.

  The caravan continued forward.

  In the distance, faint against the sky, the tall walls of Aquilonis began to rise.

  The fields did not grow darker as they approached.

  The sky did not change color.

  The world simply continued.

  And they continued with it.

  In front of the castle gates, Morty pulled on the reins and brought the caravan to a slow stop.

  The towering walls of Aquilonis rose above them, white stone catching the afternoon light. Guards stood at attention near the entrance, unmoving.

  Arttu and Reid stepped down one by one. The wooden steps creaked beneath their boots—an old, tired sound. Familiar.

  Morty removed his hat and bowed with exaggerated elegance, one hand across his chest, the other holding the lavender-brimmed hat low.

  “If you lads need a ride again,” he said smoothly, “you know who and where to find.”

  He blinked afterward—completely ruining the refined posture.

  Reid sighed.

  “We’ll run next time.”

  Morty barked out a laugh.

  “Ha! Good one, Reid!”

  He climbed back up, set his hat in place, and waved lazily as he guided the caravan away.

  Arttu and Reid lifted their hands in return.

  The wheels rolled off.

  Silence settled.

  Reid placed a hand on Arttu’s back and gently nudged him forward.

  “Let’s visit the king once again, Arttu.”

  The push was light.

  But something in it wasn’t.

  Arttu glanced up.

  That was when he saw it.

  Reid’s face was calm.

  Too calm.

  His jaw was set slightly tighter than usual. His eyes were not sharp like in battle—nor soft like when he spoke to villagers.

  They were still.

  Still like something buried beneath the surface.

  Arttu felt it without understanding it.

  Heat.

  Not the kind that warmed.

  The kind that waited.

  They began climbing the stairs.

  There weren’t many of them.

  But each step echoed louder than it should have.

  Step.

  Step.

  Step.

  Reid’s boots struck the stone with controlled force. Not rushed. Not slow.

  Measured.

  The wind caught his red cloak and lifted it slightly behind him. For a brief second, the fabric moved like a rising flame.

  Arttu swallowed.

  It felt as though something immense was walking beside him.

  Something that had chosen silence.

  But not forgiveness.

  The castle doors stood ahead—tall, unmoving, indifferent.

  The guards looked at Reid climbing the stairs with still motion,

  “Hello, Reid. Should we inform the king that you have arrived?”

  Reid didn’t look at the guards.

  His gaze stayed forward.

  Unblinking.

  Whatever waited beyond those doors…

  Reid had already decided something.

  And that decision walked up the stairs with them.

  Reid’s movements became hastier. He put his hands on the handles of the throne room’s high birch double door and pushed it gloriously.

  King Rucon was standing there with Baranor Klutz, clearly talking about an important topic.

  King Rucon was using glasses for the first time. He stood up slowly due to his age and greeted Reid with a happy visage.

  “Reid, you’ve come back, how was the—”

  Reid interrupted, fuming with anger as he approached the king with rapid movement.

  “You have left them to die.”

  King Rucon’s eyes widened with shock.

  Reid pointed backwards.

  “Those people in the village… They couldn’t do anything while cursed beasts roamed around freely. And thinking of how many villages we have in the south, there are probably hundreds of people like that. How can you make them think that ghoul attacks in the night are a usual thing?”

  Arttu never saw his brother like that before. He was always calm and happy, and laughed only when he thought it was okay. But the rage Reid was going through was the thing Arttu never anticipated.

  Reid’s breath became heavy but not heavier than his own words.

  “While those people suffered, you’ve stood here—”

  Reid felt an intense chill settle over the room. The amount of energy that was overflowing in the room was dissipating.

  It was Baranor Klutz, the Sovereign Knight of Aquilonis, the Unyielding…

  Baranor didn’t rush. Baranor walked slowly, maintaining a steady rhythm. With each step of Baranor, Reid felt an immense amount of pressure being applied to him.

  Baranor looked directly into Reid’s eyes.

  Not with rage.

  Not with contempt.

  But with something far more terrifying—

  Judgment.

  “Fwoomph.”

  Baranor landed a severing punch.

  The impact was not loud.

  It was decisive.

  Reid’s body was lifted from the ground as if the air itself had rejected him. His back struck the marble floor and slid several feet before stopping.

  The throne room trembled.

  But what shattered was not stone.

  It was momentum.

  For a single breath—

  Reid’s anger vanished.

  Silence flooded the hall.

  Arttu stared.

  He had seen his brother fight monsters.

  He had seen him bleed.

  He had seen him laugh in danger.

  But he had never seen him… divided.

  Reid remained on the ground for a moment.

  Breathing.

  Not fuming.

  Not roaring.

  Just breathing.

  The red heat in his eyes dimmed, not extinguished—but drawn inward.

  Baranor lowered his fist slowly.

  “I think you’ve forgotten where you are, Reid,” he said, voice even.

  Reid pressed a hand to the floor and pushed himself up.

  The dent in his armor marked where the blow had landed.

  He wiped the blood from his mouth.

  His eyes dimmed for a moment, looking at the ground. He clutched his hands tightly. It felt as if, the moment he unclenched his fists, the ground beneath him would disappear.

  King Rucon patted Baranor’s back, signaling him to go back.

  He looked at Reid. King Rucon’s face didn’t have any place left for madness because…

  …it was already occupied with sadness.

  “Hit me, Reid.”

  ??? Fantasy Cooking Isekai

  Reincarnation Noble Ducal Politics Food & Magic Slow-burn Romance

  CHEF'S KISS

  Ritsuka Izumi dies before she can ever hang her own sign over a restaurant door.

  On her forty-first birthday, the Tokyo chef who spent decades carrying other men’s careers on her plates is betrayed over one last “special” dinner. When she opens her eyes again, she’s in the body of Julia Wynnee, the quiet, sickly daughter of a duchess in Savora – a sunlit island state rich in gold and monsters, and starving for food, stability, and someone who actually knows how to run a kitchen.

  Ritsuka doesn’t care about thrones or prophecy. She wants one thing: a restaurant of her own and a dining room full of people eating honest food. If that dream now sits in the middle of a fragile sea duchy, a simmering holy war, and a droplet-shaped relic that reacts to her cooking, she’ll grit her teeth, sharpen her knives, and survive long enough to open the doors.

  For readers who like reincarnated heroines, political sea duchies, goddess relics, and food that can change the board.

  ? New chapters on Royal Road

  Come taste-test Savora’s future.

  Play “Chef's Kiss – Opening Theme” (CSN Publishing)

  

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