Episode 13: “I Worried Over Nothing”
Around the same time that Verite Barony in the East was busy wrapping up its auction, King Ekitard de Dublanc of the Kingdom of Dublanc was facing a major predicament.
“Your Majesty! The kingdom’s foundation must be secured for our land to be at peace! Please do not reject our humble advice—think of the future and produce an heir as soon as possible…!”
Every morning, right as court began, his officials would chant the same demand, as though performing a ritual.
For the king, it was pure torment. He’d had nightmares about it night after night.
“Enough! I’m tired of hearing it! Didn’t I spend last night in the royal bedchamber? It’s not as though I’m doing nothing—why do you hound me so?!”
“Your Majesty! Even if you share the bedchamber, there’s been no result. We humbly suggest increasing your nightly… efforts to two sessions per day…”
“Silence! Quiet!”
The king bellowed like a frightened child.
What they referred to as the foundation of the kingdom (국본, “gukbon”) was the next royal heir.
Having no children at the age of forty-two, the king faced constant pressure from his ministers to produce a crown prince soon.
The king hated it, but the officials had their reasons. Dublanc had long been a peaceful kingdom, but that stability rested on having a legitimate successor to the throne. If the king died abruptly without children, the sweet peace could collapse overnight. The dukes or marquises might vie for the crown and spark civil war.
So they were desperate in their own way.
But the king also had a reason:
Damn it all… If it’s not happening, what do they expect from me?!
He really had tried: from health supplements touted to help men, to daily workouts said to bolster vitality.
But no matter how often he tried, there was no result.
He loathed the nights. He dreaded the mornings. His confidence eroded day by day.
One day, a small eastern fief sent their customary tribute.
It was Verite Barony—once somewhat famous for fairy-grown produce but lately too poor to send anything worth mentioning.
“A gift from Verite Barony?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. They sent a single bottle of wine made from fairy grapes, plus a whole cart of the grapes themselves.”
The royal chamberlain wouldn’t typically inform him of minor tributes, so this was apparently no ordinary offering.
“Well, that’s nice. Even in these times of waning magic, they must’ve grown a decent fairy harvest. Good for them.”
Pleased, King Ekitard read the baron’s letter that accompanied the tribute. It was stuffed with flowery language—appropriate for a letter to the king—but it basically boiled down to this:
“Your Majesty! These are the finest quality fairy grapes! If made into wine, they’re said to be wonderful for men!”
What?! The king’s eyebrows shot up.
Wine enjoyed by the lustful demon, Amorix, before bedtime?!
This was different.
He’d tried every possible remedy or tonic rumored to help a man at night, but never had he encountered anything with such a bold claim.
He stared at the small wine bottle in his hand. The letter explained it was a hastily made “sample”—if he liked it, they suggested using the included grapes to produce a proper batch.
“Y-Your Majesty, you’re in the midst of state business—”
“Silence! Enough!”
The king could not restrain himself. Forget state affairs; he was already uncorking the wine.
“Huh… Such color… Splendid!”
Even the ministers who’d tried to stop him from daytime drinking were now mesmerized by the wine.
It seemed like a rainbow in a bottle, scattering seven iridescent shades over the palace ceiling and walls.
Gulp.
Sensing something extraordinary, the king swallowed his saliva and drained the cup in one go. A short while later…
Thump!
He stood bolt upright.
“Y-Your Majesty?”
“I’m ending court business for today.”
“Y-Your Majesty! But—”
“I’m going to the bedchamber. That’s all.”
“Gasp…!”
“Y-Your Majesty, an excellent decision! This is a joyous development for the realm!”
“Indeed! A blessing for the kingdom!”
Ignoring their delight, King Ekitard strode briskly out of the throne room, the corners of his mouth curled in a confident grin.
“Heh heh heh heh heh…”
The next day, a royal decree was issued from the palace—regarding a long-standing dispute between Verite Barony and Viscount Felix over a shared border territory.
Here was the gist:
Decades ago, there was once a barren patch between the barony and the viscounty, but as a river changed course, the land became fertile. The baron suggested dividing it fairly, but the more powerful Viscount Felix said, “No, I want it all,” and seized it. The weaker baron took the dispute to the royal courts, where it lingered unresolved for over ten years, letting Felix quietly use the land.
But on the day after King Ekitard tried that fairy wine, a verdict was delivered:
“That land goes to Verite. Felix, leave them alone or else.”
The bribe had worked—flawlessly.
After the auction, everything at Verite Barony began to change.
It started with the lady of the house, Baroness Roorua Verite.
“Oh my, Baroness, your skin is absolutely radiant!”
“You’re sixty-two? That can’t be true—I would have guessed you were forty-ish…”
Until now, Roorua had avoided high society. She’d been too busy managing the tight estate budget, and in any case, few wanted to invite the wife of a poor baron to their parties. There was no benefit in it for them.
But now everything was different.
She received invitations daily, picking out the most prominent parties to attend. Since the barony had risen in prominence, she needed to be more visible socially. Thanks to that, she relished more attention and praise than ever in her life.
Yet that was just a side effect.
She had a more important purpose for her constant partygoing:
“Oh my—so this handsome gentleman is your eldest son?”
“He’s thirty-five? He looks so young!”
“I hear he displayed vast knowledge at the auction—he even surprised a librarian of Arandria? Marvelous!”
“Ah… T-thank you…”
Perseta scratched his cheek awkwardly.
That was her real objective. She took Perseta to every event, hoping he would meet a potential partner.
“Look around, my son. Is there anyone who catches your eye?”
Perseta found it all quite exhausting.
“Uh… not really, Mother.”
“Don’t say that. You need to marry. Even if it’s not a blemish for a noble to marry late, you’re already thirty-five—forty is not far off, and that’s late…”
“Huh…”
Perseta blinked slowly.
He did want to make his mother happy, to repay her kindness somehow. Attending social events and watching her glow with pride was fine. But as for finding a partner…?
Should he force himself, just to please her?
He pondered it for some time, finally deciding:
“Mother?”
“Yes, Perseta? Found someone you like?”
“Well…”
He swallowed, a bit nervous.
“I’m not really thinking about marriage yet.”
“Not thinking about marriage?”
She blinked at him curiously.
Perseta explained. “I honestly don’t even know what ‘love’ is yet. I’m not sure what ‘marriage’ really means. I don’t want to do something I don’t understand.”
“That’s so… wizard-like. It’s something you experience and learn as you go.”
“But I am a wizard. I won’t do it unless I know it. Maybe later, if I figure it out, I’ll try.”
Though Roorua felt disappointed, she understood. Such a straightforward, truth-seeking answer was very much her son.
Still, it was a bit sad—thirty-five and not even a first love… But she couldn’t force it.
She let out a sigh.
“I’m only worried because you’re already older…”
“But we still have Zwart and Illianne, right?”
“That’s not the point!”
She exhaled heavily and took his hand:
“All right. I won’t push you any further. But promise me one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Always treat the ladies happily—make them feel wonderful.”
“Always?”
“Yes. Think of it like sowing seeds now, so they may bloom when needed.”
Perseta didn’t fully grasp her meaning but agreed to it, mostly to escape this awkward conversation.
“All right. I will.”
While they spoke pleasantly, many ladies at the party kept glancing Perseta’s way:
“I want to approach him, but… how?”
“He may be older, but you’d never guess it from his looks—he’s so handsome.”
“And the barony’s in the king’s favor. Rumor says the king himself took Verite’s side over Felix.”
“He’s Bardente’s disciple, full of secret talents. Who knows what else he can do?”
Perseta was a rising star—the top eligible bachelor.
But the ladies hesitated. This was a rural region, and local noblewomen tended to be shy.
“But we just met today…”
“I want to ask him to dance, but would that seem too forward?”
“I can’t. I’m too nervous… Ahhh…”
Then one timid young lady mustered the courage. She had freckles and no makeup, but a strangely captivating charm:
“Um, Sir Perseta?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Bianca Ash, from Ash Barony. Would you… like to dance with me?”
She asked, blushing.
Behind her, Roorua glared at Perseta as if to say Grab her hand immediately!
Perseta rose awkwardly and took her hand:
“Ah, yes… I’d be honored. Shall we?”
“Y-yes!”
They walked to the dance floor, where couples spun to gentle, sweet music. Softly, she said:
“Don’t worry if you’re not familiar with the steps. Just lead me however you can—I’ll follow.”
She assumed Perseta might not be skilled at dancing. She was correct. Perseta had spent thirty years in a tower with only a crash course in dance afterward. Objectively speaking, he was pretty bad at it.
Yet he shook his head calmly.
“I’ll be fine. Just let your body relax.”
“Huh?”
“Like this…”
Fwoosh.
As Perseta guided her waist and hand, a breeze arose—soft, cushiony, tangible, like a gentle swirl carrying them across the floor.
“What… oh…?”
She felt as though she was floating or gently bouncing. Something buoyant cradled her back. Even dancing with the most famous dancers didn’t feel this magical. It felt like riding an amusement park attraction—sometimes like a merry-go-round, sometimes like a gentle hover coaster.
“Just relax. Follow me.”
Perseta’s soothing baritone tickled her ear. She surrendered to his lead. Her steps, random though they were, still became part of the dance, cushioned by the swirling wind. She let the current carry her, and Perseta always caught her in a soft landing.
The mild breeze carried her and made even ordinary walking feel like dancing. It was as if the world became soft and sweet.
“Is this… magic?”
Perseta nodded.
“Yes, a simple wind spell. No connection to mystical realms required.”
“But it’s still magic—can you cast it while dancing?”
“My master is Bardente, after all.”
“Ah…”
Time slipped away like a dream.
They moved all around the hall without once bumping into another couple. The music seemed warmer, the chandeliers’ lights glimmered like fairies dancing around the two of them. Eventually, everyone else stopped dancing to watch them. The party hall belonged to them alone.
Then the music ended.
“You danced beautifully.”
Startled, the lady gazed at Perseta, then turned red and fled.
Immediately:
“Sir Perseta, me! Dance with me!”
“Sir Perseta, please—may I have a dance?”
“Perseta!”
The other ladies converged on him.
Perseta could only scratch his cheek, thoroughly embarrassed.
Across the hall, Baroness Roorua observed her son, thronged by admirers, and let out a wry laugh:
“I worried over nothing…”
Her son, it turned out, was quite the “natural.”
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