Winter Field Chapter 5

The area near the bedchamber had been quiet, likely out of consideration for the prospective Archduchess who was resting, for the further he walked outside, the closer the clamorous sounds grew.

“What do you mean the dyeing isn’t even finished yet?”

“Check the count of the silver tableware again!”

“We’re going to need more lime. Ask if there’s any left.”

When he arrived at the central courtyard, the bustling atmosphere of the castle on the eve of the wedding ceremony washed over him. Rensley hid behind a pillar and observed the situation.

“How long are you going to dawdle? Move these baskets to the laundry room, quickly!”

“I’m almost done!”

A boy who looked to have just turned thirteen or fourteen was cleaning up the debris left by the craftsmen when he hoisted a laundry basket onto his shoulder. The basket was nearly half the boy’s size.

Using the basket to shield his body at an oblique angle, Rensley followed a few steps and swiftly swiped the clothes from inside. One padded gray top and one pair of trousers. As a bonus, gloves too.

After hastily putting on the top first, Rensley took advantage of the moment the boy rounded a building corner to hide in the shadow of a pillar, out of easy reach of people’s gazes. Once he had pulled on the overtrousers as well, he let out a sigh that sounded like a whistle.

“I nearly froze to death.”

Adding a layer of padded clothing didn’t make the cold that stiffened his limbs disappear, but at least he had definitely escaped the danger of freezing to death.

Perhaps thanks to the castle walls enclosing every direction, or because it was daytime with the sun up, the terrifying force of the wind he had faced on the plain the night before had subsided considerably. In a somewhat more relaxed mood, Rensley looked around various parts of the castle.

Loudkhen, the northern rampart, boasted immensely high and sturdy walls, worthy of its reputation. Just the walls he had passed through on his way in numbered two. Including the outer curtain wall of the Archduke’s castle, it was an ironclad citadel with a triple wall.

At each corner of the walls stood towering watchtowers, and aside from the main keep where the Archduke resided, there were several buildings for receiving guests and for the servants and workers. Once outside the outer curtain wall of the Archduke’s castle, one entered the residential area of the townspeople.

Oldenland was the country with the largest territory on the continent, but uninhabitable forests, mountains, and frozen plains accounted for a great proportion of the land. As such, farming, herding, and beekeeping were difficult, so naturally the number of people living within the castle was overwhelmingly larger compared to other countries. Loudkhen was the name of the castle where Archduke Siebendad lived, and at the same time, the name of the capital of Oldenland.

“You there! Why are you loitering around here instead of the kitchen?”

If he had known a day like this would come, he would have studied geography more diligently.

Groping through the lessons he had half-heard in childhood like memories of a past life, he looked around the central courtyard, the back courtyard, the stables, the chicken coop, and the livestock pens.

The animals they raised were not much different from those in Cornia, but the sight of large, thick-furred dogs, as big as a fair-sized foal, teeming about was something he had never seen before. It seemed that here, they even made dogs pull loads like oxen or horses. The cart placed next to the dogs had a strange undercarriage that stretched out straight like a blade instead of round wheels. His curiosity piqued, Rensley stood stock-still, watching the scene.

“Hey, you! Yes, you!”

At first, he didn’t realize the scolding was directed at him. Absorbed in his sightseeing, Rensley only turned around after a small stone flew past and grazed his ear.

A large man wearing a fur hat and thickly padded clothes was fuming and jabbing his finger in the air.

“If you’re planning to slack off, loiter around, and just collect your wages, then go home right now!”

“I’m sorry. I came to fetch eggs and got sidetracked.”

Rensley quickly bowed and apologized to him. It seemed the original owner of the clothes he had stolen was a kitchen worker.

“Hm? I don’t recall seeing your face before. What’s your name?”

“I am called Malosen, sir.”

“Seeing your fair face, I figure you’re a loafer who’s squeezed into the wedding preparations to pocket some coin. But know that if you don’t work properly, you won’t get a single penny. Get back to your post, now!”

He was glad the man did not interrogate him thoroughly. Greatly relieved, Rensley hurriedly vacated the spot. It seemed that for the wedding preparations, many people who normally did not work at the castle had been hired and put to work.

When a large festival or feast is approaching, the number of outsiders in the castle increases. Naturally, the possibility of all sorts of elements infiltrating the castle—from dangerous spies or assassins to petty thieves—also rises.

Because of this, in the royal palace of Cornia, during such events, supervisors would identify and monitor the numbers and personal details of all workers as meticulously as possible. That meant they did not just ask the name of an unfamiliar face and boot him in the rear to send him off, as that man had just done.

‘That probably means… it’s peaceful here.’

Cold, strong winds, and barren wasteland might make life difficult for the people, but they would never seek to harm a person.

If security was not strict and they failed to properly keep track of the workers coming in from outside, he might be able to seize an opportunity to slip out of the Archduke’s castle and hide among the commoners’ village. What he would do then was the bigger problem, but still…

Deep in thought, Rensley headed to the kitchen as the man had ordered. Perhaps it was instinct that guided one’s steps to where food was, regardless of culture, but he found the kitchen without much difficulty.

As he drew closer to the kitchen, the smells of oil boiling and melting, spices, and baking bread wafted heavily through the air. Growl. His stomach, empty from having forgotten his hunger due to tension, suddenly clenched painfully. The bean porridge and few slices of smoked meat he had eaten the previous evening before leaving the inn had been Rensley’s last meal.

In one part of the kitchen, a whole young pig and chickens were roasting over a roaring fire, skewered on long metal spits. As they rotated round and round, golden, glistening drops of oil would fall from the golden-brown, crispy skin, sizzling loudly and making the flames flare up momentarily before dying down.

Sausages, likely brought out from the storehouse, hung in bunches from the ceiling beams. A cook cut off a chunk, skillfully peeled off the casing, and scooped out the filling. He stir-fried it in oil, then sprinkled in salt, pepper, and spices. A spicy aroma wafted up, likely from crushed dried chili or paprika.

He was clearly making a sauce using the sausage filling. Just that alone, wrapped in pita bread without any other cooking, would be truly delicious. It would be even better with some herbs like coriander or rosemary, or at the very least a bit of parsley on the side. If only he could drink wine or beer with it.

‘…If I am sentenced to death, I should request my last meal to be prepared exactly like that.’

In another area, they were making skewered roasts and salads, and several kinds of soup were boiling in large cauldrons. Soft-looking white loaves, freshly baked from the oven, were being stacked up by the platter. Rensley stood staring blankly, overwhelmed as if swallowed up by the scene.

“What are you standing there dazed for? Take this, quickly!”

The cook, bustling busily between the oven and the worktable, scolded him and abruptly thrust a large tray into Rensley’s arms.

When Rensley looked around with wide eyes, he saw there were already several other servants holding similar trays beside him. The cook clicked her tongue and grumbled.

“Don’t spill or drop it, and deliver it to His Grace the Archduke. Good grief, he simply won’t think to eat unless it’s carried all the way to his research room. I thought he might change a little as the wedding drew near, but nothing’s different at all. For heaven’s sake, what woman could grow attached and live with such a cantankerous man?”

“Don’t be so angry, Reyna. It’s thanks to that cantankerous man that the livelihoods of people like us have only improved, never worsened in the slightest.”

“Who said I was angry? Anyway, for royalty or nobility, eating and drinking plenty is a virtue, isn’t it? A king or a lord, traditionally, should eat heartily and grow stout, so that other countries won’t look down on him!”

No one on this continent looks down on Oldenland or its Northern ruler… Rensley answered only in his head, mumbling internally.

Even the Emperor had regarded the rulers of Oldenland with the utmost wariness for generations. On top of that, Archduke Gisel Siebendad, about whom bizarre rumors circulated like ghost stories, was naturally a person of great concern.