They rode almost nonstop, switching out horses and catching only a few moments of sleep at prearranged waypoints. Still, they arrived at their destination two days earlier than expected.
In the meantime, Banteon’s body had been relentlessly rattled around like gravel in a cart—it was no surprise he wasn’t in good shape.
Delroz repeatedly asked if he was alright, even offering to carry him or sleep under the stars instead. But Banteon, out of sheer stubbornness, refused. He hated the idea of being carried, and the thought of sleeping in someone’s arms like a baby bird was even worse. He clung to the idea that as long as they arrived early, he could finally rest.
Now, he was paying dearly for that stubbornness.
“You look terrible.”
“Ugh…”
The final day’s ride had been brutal. They pushed hard, racing to reach the village before sundown. That had been Banteon’s idea too. Now he regretted not just slowing down and sleeping in the forest instead.
Delroz reached out to steady him, helping him walk. Banteon leaned weakly against his body.
“I told you we should take breaks.”
“Getting there early is better.”
“Stubborn as ever…”
He looked at Delroz’s face—calm and composed, completely unaffected, as if he hadn’t spent the entire day driving the cart. There wasn’t a trace of fatigue on him.
Damn Esper. That irritating disparity in stamina only made Banteon resent him more.
The village they’d aimed for was larger than Banteon had anticipated. Among the streets were luxurious, well-kept carriages and even the occasional steam engine from the capital.
The inn they arrived at was on a completely different level from the shabby roadside ones they’d stayed in before. As they approached, a polite staff member opened the door for them, revealing a front desk bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers.
This was a commercial hub along the kingdom’s trade routes, and true to its status, the lounge was dotted with nouveau riche customers sitting around, flaunting their wealth.
As soon as the two entered, eyes turned toward them, recognizing the uniforms of the Royal Esper Center.
“One room.”
“Two.”
Delroz casually tried to request one room, but Banteon cut him off. In the past, he’d silently complied when Delroz insisted it was safer to share a room. But in a village this secure, there was no reason to.
The conflicting requests made the receptionist visibly nervous, their eyes darting anxiously between the two.
Banteon pulled out a card from deep within his belt and held it out. When the black card appeared, the staffer’s eyes widened like saucers.
Gleaming gold lettering marked the insignia of Esrante on the black surface. The receptionist squinted, inspecting the crest for authenticity, sweat trickling down their forehead.
“P-please wait just a moment.”
The staffer rushed off, and soon after, a man with a well-groomed mustache, likely the manager, hurried over in a fluster. He scanned Banteon’s card, then greeted him with a beaming smile.
“Welcome, Master Esrante.”
“Two rooms. Can we make them suites?”
“Of course. We’ll guide you to our finest rooms. Would you like meals prepared as well?”
“Send them to each room. No meat on mine.”
“Yes, of course. Anything else you’d like us to prepare?”
After several days of eating cheap, low-quality meat, Banteon was craving something different—real food. Something like seafood, which was hard to get in the mountains, or a rich stew loaded with aromatic spices.
He gave precise instructions, listing his preferences like a seasoned gourmand. Even the champagne selection was specified before the order was finally done.
As soon as Banteon finished, the manager turned to Delroz.
“And how can we assist you, sir?”
“……”
“Sir?”
Delroz’s brow furrowed at the repeated question. The slight shift in expression made the manager’s tone grow more hurried, clearly unsettled.
“If you have any special requests, our executive chef—trained at the three-star Mashulin restaurant in the royal capital—can prepare signature dishes like the Olita Veph cream shellfish—”
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Banteon could tell from Delroz’s face that he looked… a little flustered.
“I’ll order for him.”
He called the manager over before Delroz had to say anything. No matter how hard the man tried to explain, that guy probably wasn’t understanding half of it anyway.
“Focus the main dish around meat. Stronger flavors are fine—actually, the more spices the better. And as for the drink…”
He glanced at Delroz, who was giving him an odd look.
“Let’s go with double-cask whiskey. Delroz. You prefer it strong, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“Perfect. Make it like that.”
“Understood. I’ll relay the order immediately.”
The manager jotted down all of Banteon’s instructions and offered to guide them to their rooms. Delroz followed a step behind.
When Banteon glanced back, he noticed Delroz’s eyes on him. That gaze didn’t seem pleased.
What was the problem? Good rooms, good food. A rare chance to actually relax. Shouldn’t that be enough to be satisfied?
“You know my tastes now?”
“We’ve eaten together for days now.”
“And that’s all it took?”
All it took, he says.
They’d had dinner together every night, so naturally, Banteon had already figured out Delroz’s preferences. It was a habit ingrained in him over the years. Delroz might not care about what others did, but Banteon considered this basic etiquette.
Understanding what someone liked, how they reacted—not just their taste in food, but even their scent preferences—was a norm among nobles. It was how they judged each other. Even people met in passing at a banquet were worth remembering.
Of course, Banteon had never been in a position where he had to observe and cater to others. In fact, as a child, he was often told he was slow to notice people’s moods or respond to their kindness.
This habit wasn’t about courtesy. It was a survival skill—a means of securing goodwill and a good reputation. The higher one’s status, the more powerful a small gesture could be.
“There’s a Royal Esper Center branch in this town. We can contact them early tomorrow morning.”
“So the motion sickness is gone, huh.”
Delroz was right. The nausea that had shaken him to his core had vanished. Now, under the glow of elegant lighting and surrounded by refined scents, Banteon’s body felt miraculously restored—even he was amazed.
“Guess it was all stress.”
“Seems like it. This is the liveliest I’ve seen you yet.”
Delroz’s tone carried a subtle edge. What, was he annoyed that Banteon looked like he was in a good mood now? He really had a talent for spoiling someone’s vibe.
Still, Banteon brushed off what would normally irritate him. For once, his mood was genuinely light. He was already fantasizing about slipping into a foaming bathtub and enjoying a glass of champagne.
The manager soon stopped in front of the finest rooms in the hotel. There were only two suites on the entire floor, and he handed them their card keys, gesturing toward the doors.
Even as Delroz accepted his key and approached his room, he shot Banteon another dissatisfied look.
“Well, thanks for all the trouble. Looks like tomorrow will be the last day we travel together.”
“……”
Even when Banteon tried to offer a proper farewell, Delroz just kept glaring at his room door with a scowl. That guy’s inexplicable behavior was nothing new.
“If you feel like ordering room service, go ahead and get whatever you want. Don’t worry about the cost—I owe you, anyway.”
Banteon ignored the deepening scowl and opened his door with the card key.
Even as the door closed, Delroz remained in the hallway, unmoving.
With that tiresome presence finally out of sight, Banteon leisurely strolled through the suite. It was the first time in ages he felt truly free.
Through the glass window, he could see bright fireworks lighting up the sky. The village had felt unusually lively when they arrived—was there a festival?
Peering out, he saw crowds bustling about the streets.
Even so, it was probably just a quaint local celebration. Unbothered, Banteon stepped into the bathroom.
The sleek marble tub was already filled with fragrant, bubbling foam.
He unwrapped the bandage from his ankle and slid into the water. The tight knots in his muscles began to unwind. Submerging halfway, he gently flexed his ankle, which had finally begun to deflate.
It still hurt a little when he moved it, but considering he hadn’t stepped on it for days, and as long as he didn’t overdo it, it felt nearly back to normal.
For a fall from that height, the injury was shockingly minor.
Though he’d been snappish at first, it was undeniable that Delroz had protected him. Anyone could see that. Even afterward, Delroz had fussed more over Banteon’s ankle than Banteon himself had.
Even if he didn’t like the guy, Banteon couldn’t deny he was grateful.
He sank deeper, letting the foam tickle beneath his chin.
If Delroz hadn’t been there, Banteon probably wouldn’t have made it out of that cave in one piece. Even if he had survived, reaching this village would’ve been near impossible.
Maybe it was okay to think better of him now.
He was still rough. Still a savage, through and through. But maybe—not a bad person.
Delroz was a type of man Banteon had never encountered before.
The kind of ruffian he usually couldn’t stand to even be near.
But considering Delroz’s upbringing, maybe Banteon could afford to be a little more generous.
If things got a little more comfortable between them, if misunderstandings cleared up—maybe even after finding out that he was that guide—Delroz might just wave him off with a clean break.
