Antidote Chapter 13.1 - Eastern Karlac

Soderick’s family had served the Duke of Karlac for three generations.

His grandfather had attended to the current Duke of Karlac from the moment of his birth, and after his grandfather retired due to old age, his father took over the role. Five years ago, when Karlac was overturned by a rebellion, his father died protecting their master.

Soderick survived, but his family fell into ruin, and he, once a first-class servant, was banished to the labor camp outside the city walls. The only reason he was spared was not due to luck but because he was deemed a servant not even worth killing.

Even when his master returned and was restored to power, Soderick had no expectations. His lineage was neither slave nor noble, nor could he become an administrator of Karlac. He was merely one of countless servants in Karlac Castle, and now, with his body broken from the labor camp, he could no longer properly perform even those servant duties.

He only remembered how kindly the Duke of Karlac, when he was still a young lord, had looked after him and his father, and so he celebrated his master’s return alone, shedding tears.

But when something he dared not even dream of happened—when the Duke of Karlac sought him out, honored his father’s death, and restored him to the position of first-class servant—Soderick swore, as his father had, that he would dedicate his life to the Duke of Karlac.

Soderick revered Slan from the depths of his heart, a feeling intertwined with something akin to paternal affection that had blossomed while watching over Slan since childhood, tending to him with the care of a mother bird watching over her fledgling.

This was no different on this morning.

Upon hearing the bell signaling that Slan had awakened, Soderick looked into a bronze mirror, straightening his sleeves and collar. Then, he carried a silver tray bearing warm water, a clean towel, perfume, soap, and a comb, all prepared in advance, and entered the bedroom.

Slan was still in bed but had sat up.

His nightclothes had slipped slightly, revealing a pale, elegant neck, and with each blink, his long eyelashes cast shadows on his beautiful cheeks.

The young grand lord’s eyes showed traces of fatigue, still not fully awake. Seeing this, Soderick felt a pang in his heart.

It had only been a short time since Slan returned from the Black Continent. His delicate frame had not yet recovered from the harsh voyage across the North Sea or the exhaustion of his long personal campaign, yet everyone in Karlac Castle sought him out as if he were made of iron and copper.

All Soderick could do was diligently tend to Slan’s well-being.

He knew his place. Advising Slan to rest or delay his schedule was not something he could do. In truth, only one person in all of Karlac could say such things, and that person was not here now.

Hiding his emotions, Soderick bowed deeply before Slan and approached him.

“Ah, Soderick.”

Slan mumbled in a voice still groggy with sleep.

“I had a dream last night…”

The familiar tone was the same one he used to call Soderick’s father when he was still the young lord of Karlac. Soderick swallowed the tears welling up once again.

“I promised to give something to Sir Jiyod…”

“To Duke Ipsen?”

“Yes.”

While Slan mumbled, Soderick skillfully washed him, applied perfume to his ears and the tops of his feet, and helped him change clothes.

He offered a tall crystal glass filled with sweet, cold lemon juice to Slan, who was gradually waking up. After two sips, Slan was fully awake.

“I can’t quite remember what it was.”

“You can ask when Duke Ipsen arrives.”

“Hmm…”

Slan trailed off, finishing the lemon juice.

Soderick stepped back from Slan and opened the windows leading to the balcony. The dim morning sunlight illuminated the somewhat disheveled bedroom. Slan turned to look out the window. The sky was blue. Early summer. Karlac’s finest season.

“The weather is fine, Lord Slan.”

“Thanks to that, your back pain might improve, Soderick. You suffered all winter.”

“Oh, no, my lord. Thanks to your care, I’m perfectly fine. I can serve you for another thirty years.”

Soderick, overcome with emotion, stammered and shook his head. Slan rose from bed, fully prepared.

“How would you like to take your meal?”

“Have it set on the balcony. Heinz will be here soon, so bring him to the balcony when he arrives. And…”

Slan hesitated for a moment before continuing.

“About what I mentioned earlier. Don’t mention it to Sir Jiyod. He’ll just tease me.”

“Would Duke Ipsen dare tease you, Lord Slan?”

Soderick hesitated before responding, not quite believing his own words. Slan shook his head with a wry smile, but a hint of amusement lingered in the corners of his eyes.

“Even if Sir Jiyod pries into my affairs, don’t tell him anything. Understood?”

“Even if Duke Ipsen kicks me in the back, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Tell me if he does. Don’t stay silent. I’ll reprimand Sir Jiyod for daring to kick my most cherished first-class servant.”

As Soderick swallowed tears of gratitude once more, Slan quietly closed his mouth, lost in thought about what promise he might have made to Jiyod.

*

“Argh, damn it!”

Ismion screamed, spewing curses and profanities in every language he could recall. “My eyes!” He didn’t forget to squeeze his eyes shut tightly.

This was far from the peaceful return he had anticipated.

He had been immersed in his research, as usual. His specialty was creation magic, specifically chimeras (though that didn’t mean he lacked talent in other magical disciplines), but recently, he had been most engrossed in pharmacology-based regeneration techniques. A completely new approach to regeneration, unseen in the capital. Karlac’s magic was shrouded in mystery, and Ismion was likely the first mage from the capital to come closest to unraveling it. That is, if he still were a mage of the capital.

In any case, he had spent three days in his private laboratory, and his research had shown tangible progress.

Feeling rather satisfied, Ismion left the laboratory behind. Now it was time for a hot bath, a rich and splendid meal, and finally, restful sleep.

But when he returned to his quarters, what greeted him was not his familiar, peacefully chaotic den.

If he were to rank his acquaintances by how much he welcomed them, this scoundrel would undoubtedly be dead last.

Duke Ipsen was there.

Half-naked.

Ismion genuinely did not want to see that. Duke Ipsen’s half-naked form, standing in front of a full-length mirror, gazing at himself like a fool in love with his own reflection. It was a horrifying sight Ismion couldn’t have imagined even in his worst nightmares.

Spewing vile curses in every language he knew, he turned to flee the scene immediately. A quick judgment told him his exhausted mind might have mistaken the way. But the moment he saw the wooden double doors carved with grapevines and a woman playing a harp, along with the golden frame, he was certain this was indeed his residence.

Ismion stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned his head.

A faded brown carpet. Bronze lamps hanging on the walls. A towering stack of books on one side of the table and parchment scrolls rolling across the floor. It was the parlor he remembered.

Ismion slowly raised his gaze, desperately hoping what he’d seen was a terrible nightmare or a fleeting hallucination.

But it wasn’t.

It was indeed Jiyod occupying his parlor. And he wasn’t alone. Five paces behind Jiyod stood a young squire with an unfamiliar face, holding an armful of velvet and silk. That wasn’t all. The large door to the bathroom was wide open, with heat and steam pouring out, and the scent of perfume filled the parlor. At a glance, over thirty cloaks and tunics of various colors and materials hung on a long rack, and at least five types of shoes were scattered across the floor. On the table sat a large jewelry box, filled with gaudy scabbard ornaments, cloak brooches, and sapphire boot spurs—items no sensible knight would ever wear, tangled in a chaotic mess.

This was no longer Ismion’s peaceful residence. It was hell. Or perhaps a demon’s dressing room.

Ismion squeezed his eyes shut, covered his brow with one hand, and let out a long sigh, naturally laced with curses.

“What… why are you here?”

The fact that he managed to ask that question without immediately strangling Jiyod was a testament to the exhaustion of both his patience and strength.

Ismion dragged his trembling, fatigued legs to the nearest chair and collapsed into it.

The young squire glanced at the mage with a worried expression but couldn’t move rashly, burdened by the pile of velvet cloaks and silk tunics in his arms.

“When did you even get to Karlac?!”

Indeed.

The man before Ismion’s eyes was someone who shouldn’t be in Karlac right now. Of course, if he truly wanted to, he could race from the northern Tavros Mountains to eastern Karlac in the blink of an eye (an act not at all recommended from a magical perspective)…

Ismion glanced at the clueless squire and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Did you come because of… that issue? By my calculations, there’s still time… though, admittedly, it’s hard to be certain. There’s no precedent for how the aftereffects from the Black Continent might manifest, and applying chimera research to your body… Anyway, wait. You did come here by horse, right? Or a carriage, or some normal means of transport. Please tell me you did. Don’t tell me you did something as foolish as those countless idiots who shave years off their lives, though it wouldn’t surprise me if you did. Like you did in the Black Continent.”

“Hmm…”

Only then did the man staring into the mirror speak.

His gaze remained fixed on his reflection.

“I did some calculations recently…”

“Do you even know what calculations are?”

Jiyod ignored him and continued.

“It’s been a while since I saw Slan, hasn’t it? Oh, don’t tell Slan. I want to surprise him.”

Ismion stared at Jiyod’s nonchalant face for a second, realizing he was telling the truth. What followed was a colorful string of curses.

“Ha, really…”

Moments later, having calmed himself, Ismion buried his face in his hands. Thanks to the impeccable timing, he was spared from watching Jiyod change the parting of his hair for the twelfth time.

“There’s no way you have other business with me. Why come here instead of your perfectly fine residence?”

Too drained to say more, Ismion simply asked.

Jiyod stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, then returned his hair to its original parting before answering.

“If I went to my residence, word would reach Slan immediately, wouldn’t it?”

Only then did he turn from the mirror, tilting his body to look at Ismion.

The man’s face seemed to glow. His eyes were clear, and his golden hair, washed with perfume and soap and combed dozens of times, sparkled like jewels. Water droplets he hadn’t fully dried traced the perfect curves of his smooth skin and muscles.

A body perfect in both form and function. Of course, Ismion, having long lost his objectivity, was utterly unmoved. Instead, he turned his head and made a gagging motion.

Jiyod, unperturbed, shrugged.

“Compared to that, this place… well, no need to say more.”

Since the establishment of the new Karlac Magical Society, or more precisely, since Ismion took its helm and settled in this eastern building, sinister rumors had spread. Tales of a wicked southern mage turning poor servants into slugs or practicing dark magic with the blood of boys and girls. Naturally, no one dared come near, which Ismion welcomed with open arms… but he hadn’t anticipated the unintended consequence of this scoundrel using those rumors to slip in unnoticed.

“I’m speechless, truly…”

Whether Ismion muttered in exasperation or lament, Jiyod paid no mind and beckoned to the squire with a flick of his hand. The squire hurriedly approached, carrying the clothes.

“Oh, by the way, I used your bathtub.”

Jiyod said casually.

Ismion decided he’d have to throw that bathtub out.

Jiyod’s outrageous behavior continued. In front of Ismion, he changed outfits six times. He put on a navy tunic, then a white one with gold embroidery, then a blue one, then a red one, then a long-sleeved gown that made him look more like a court minstrel than a knight, then back to the second outfit, then took it off again… Then he changed cloak brooches eight times, attached and removed a diamond-encrusted scabbard ornament… A large sapphire rolled across the floor, and a brooch studded with about a hundred tiny emeralds fell under the table.

Finally, Jiyod applied perfume to his ears and the insides of his sleeves.

‘He’s really something else…’

As Ismion cursed inwardly, Jiyod spoke as if boasting.

“This spice was taken from York merchants… You’d be shocked if you knew what a fuss they made to keep it. They wouldn’t trade it for its weight in gold, they said, but they didn’t even get a pebble for it.”

The demon then cackled.

Ismion couldn’t laugh. Poor merchants…

In any case, Ismion decided that rather than enduring the horrific spectacle of Jiyod preening like a peacock, he’d do something more productive.

“Well, it’s not exactly ideal, but since it’s come to this, I’ll say it. About the meeting with the capital. My opinion is this… In short, I’m against it. Lord Slan seems quite resolute, but whether it’s truly the best course is still debatable. Of course, I’ve shared my opinion with Lord Slan, but… it would be good if you could speak to him as well. Tell him clearly that the meeting is, absolutely, not a good idea…”

“Enough.”

Jiyod calmly interrupted Ismion.

“I didn’t ride all night to get here just to hear that. I have to head back to Ipsen at dawn tomorrow…”

“What?”

Ismion couldn’t believe his ears. Karlac and Ipsen were not distances one could casually travel back and forth in a day.

In the meantime, Jiyod changed back into one of the earlier outfits, donned a new cloak, switched belts, and adjusted the position of a jeweled clip securing his sleeves multiple times.

“Talk about it later. Or discuss it with Slan.”

Jiyod added in a cheerful tone.

“Of course, Slan’s going to be busy today.”

With that, the peacock-like man left the parlor with light steps, not sparing Ismion a glance. The young squire scurried after him, not forgetting to offer an awkward smile on behalf of his master to the dumbfounded mage.

*

Jiyod moved with light steps.

He sent the young squire off with a few coins.

Leaving the excited child scampering away, he headed toward a discreet path. A narrow alley where the outer and inner castle walls drew close. He knew this path well. The air was fresh, the breeze gentle. The scent of ripening oranges wafted here and there, and the clouds drifting over the castle towers moved lazily like idle cats.

He knew about three secret passages to enter Slan’s quarters unnoticed. Slan probably knew four. Maybe five… but surely no more than six.

In any case, Jiyod’s favorite was the path through the greenhouse.

Of course, after Slan’s restoration, that path had been blocked by Jiyod’s own hand, but fortunately, he had a key.

Jiyod stood before a small, ancient-looking iron door half-hidden by vines and hydrangeas, though it was actually new. Like the key he now pulled from his pocket. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The intricate key, designed to be nearly impossible to duplicate, worked in tandem with the equally sophisticated lock. He turned it half a circle at a precise speed, then slightly adjusted, feeling the catch at his fingertips, pulled it out shallowly, and turned it two more times. Click.

Suddenly, he thought he should have installed this door sooner.

Earlier… at least five years ago. Before that foolish moment when they thought this place was safe…

Silently, he bent down and passed through the narrow door.

The fresh scent of grass, early summer earth, flowers, and unripe fruit flooded in.

It was the greenhouse, its glass ceiling fully opened to welcome early summer. Well-tended flowers bloomed everywhere. The narrow path, paved with green marble tiles, felt like a trail from a fairy tale, flanked by lavender in full bloom, exuding a rich fragrance.

Jiyod plucked a sprig of lavender. Its sweet scent and deep color would look perfect in Slan’s hair.

The slanting afternoon sunlight poured dazzlingly through the open glass ceiling.

The timing was slightly off.

Jiyod’s original plan was to arrive in Karlac by noon and have lunch with Slan. But his schedule had been delayed. The number of merchant ships passing through Ipsen’s harbor had increased, as had his responsibilities. Moreover, since the North Sea route connecting northern Karlac to the Black Continent opened, pirates had grown bolder, seizing routes or raiding merchant vessels.

That wasn’t the only reason Jiyod disliked the sea.

Though half his lineage was Ipsenite, and the Ipsenites’ roots traced back to marauding pirates who plundered Karlac’s coastal cities with swift ships, Jiyod could never warm to the sea.

He had been the most reluctant about Slan’s Black Continent conquest and North Sea route development policies.

Though, admittedly, he found the Black Continent rather intriguing…

In any case, after shaking off the desperate hands of harbor officials and naval commanders, he had left Ipsen at night.

But thanks to that, he entered Karlac without being noticed. The gatekeeper at the Red Gate pretended not to see him, and the only unexpected encounter was with that mage at this hour. Of course, if that mage ran to Slan and blabbed, ruining Jiyod’s little fun, he was ready to rip out his tongue. The mage had survived a corruption trial, so he’d surely be accustomed to such torture.

Slan was currently inspecting the outer wall repairs. He’d return soon. A bit of waiting would only add to the enjoyment.

Jiyod mentally listed his plans.

Prepare hot water in the marble tub, select perfumes and soaps in advance. Sweet snacks and fine white wine were a must. When Slan returned, he’d attend to his clothing piece by piece, put him in the tub, wash his hair, massage him with rose oil, wash his feet, trim his nails, and comb his hair for a long time.

But when Jiyod climbed the balcony stairs to Slan’s inner chamber, what he encountered was a scene entirely different from his imagination.

The double doors to the bathroom attached to the inner chamber were wide open. Three servants bustled about their tasks. Jiyod quickly scanned their faces.

First, there was Soderick. He was inside the bathroom, checking the water temperature in a golden-footed tub, his jaw dropping so wide upon seeing Jiyod that it seemed it might fall off. Pass.

Second, a young servant with a youthful face, polishing the tiled floor connecting the bathroom and inner chamber to a shine. A familiar face. Pass.

And the last one. Jiyod knew this face too. But it wasn’t a servant. Nor was it someone who should be here.

The Chancellor’s son—Jiyod still didn’t know his name—was there, carrying expensive perfumes on a golden tray as if he were a servant.

Everyone froze at Jiyod’s sudden appearance on the balcony, their expressions on the verge of screaming, except for the Chancellor’s son, who looked blankly at him. But Jiyod noticed his fingers twitching toward his right hip, as if reaching for a sword.

Right… that guy was a knight. Jiyod recalled anew. When that young upstart, under the Chancellor’s orders, had come alone to the army marching toward Karlac… Slan had said he’d been granted a title by the previous Duke of Karlac.

Jiyod had seen him once more after Karlac’s restoration but had since completely erased him from memory.

“Sir… Sir Jiyod!”

Soderick, finally recognizing him, called out in a breathless voice, struggling to keep it low.

“When did you get to Karlac…”

Jiyod had no intention of answering such questions. Instead, he pondered why the Chancellor’s son was here, phrasing his question more diplomatically.

“Why is that guy here?”

As he said this, Jiyod tilted his chin toward the chancellor’s son, allowing everyone to immediately realize who he meant by ‘that guy.’

“I was preparing to greet Duke of Karlac, as we received word that he would arrive soon.”

Soderik, who had regained some composure, responded, but it wasn’t a truthful answer to Jiyod’s question.

What did the chancellor’s son—a knight who had received a title (and not even from Slan, nor was he one of Slan’s personal guards)—have to do with Slan’s imminent arrival?

Jiyod’s gaze briefly shifted to the chancellor’s son, who stood there blankly, then moved to the golden tray the boy was holding. On the tray were fine spices, soap, chilled grape juice with ice, jellies, candied walnuts, and roses that looked as if they had just been picked from a greenhouse.

Moreover, the boy’s attire was far from that of a typical knight. He didn’t even carry a sword, and instead of the narrow-sleeved shirt and short tunic commonly worn by knights, he was dressed in a long robe.

Jiyod’s suspicions deepened.

He began openly observing the boy.

He was barely twenty, wasn’t he? The boy was so young he seemed almost fresh. He was likely at least ten years younger than Jiyod. As far as Jiyod knew, the boy was the chancellor’s youngest son, born of a different mother than his older siblings. The chancellor had married three times but, cunning as a fox, had only borne children with her first husband to prevent the family’s power from being divided. This boy was the only one of a different lineage from the chancellor’s other children. As a result, he resembled neither his older siblings nor the chancellor. That pretty face must be thanks to his father. The physique that made him the only one in the chancellor’s family capable of earning a knighthood was likely the same.

Now Jiyod’s thoughts veered in a different direction.

Come to think of it, the chancellor had been desperate to attach this boy to Slan for a long time. The years spent waiting for Slan to grant him a knighthood were nothing short of obsessive. Well, he was ultimately rejected… but the chancellor’s persistence didn’t end there. Even if sending the boy to Slan just before the Karlac reclamation was a desperate measure to avoid a purge, the fact that this boy was now freely coming and going in the heart of Slan’s private chambers was proof that the chancellor’s persistence had borne some fruit, wasn’t it?

What Slan was thinking in allowing this wasn’t even important anymore.

Moreover, the boy didn’t resemble the chancellor at all and had a polished, handsome face. For now, he still had a slightly immature air, but in a few years, he would likely mature into a refined, masculine figure.

Among all the chancellor’s remaining relatives, if anyone had an appearance worth leveraging, it was this boy. And the chancellor couldn’t possibly be unaware of that.

“Hmm…”

Jiyod leaned his shoulder against the marble pillar of the balcony doorway and crossed his arms.

Naturally, he had no intention of simply overlooking the chancellor’s schemes.

‘What should I do with him?’

And he was very experienced in such matters—quietly disposing of the flies buzzing around Slan behind his back…

‘He’s the chancellor’s son, so I can’t deal with him carelessly within Karlac… Is there somewhere I could send him? The York conflict zone… No, that won’t do. Slan has been focusing on building ties with York lately, and with Heinz’s return as well. The Salinen port would be better. Slipping and drowning in the sea at night would be too mundane to even become gossip. Or perhaps sending him to suppress pirates on the northern route…’

There were plenty of options.

Jiyod gave a sly smile.

“What are you doing? Keep going.”

He issued the cheerful command to the attendants, pretending not to notice them awkwardly glancing at each other.

Slan arrived shortly after.

The sound of hushed voices came first.

“The construction is progressing slower than planned. Who am I supposed to hold accountable for this? Who’s going to take responsibility and offer their neck? There’s no immediate threat of civil war, but the situation is still unstable, and the triple walls are practically a symbol of Karlac. We need to finish them quickly to show both inside and out that Karlac is secure…”

Slan’s voice, slightly angry and faster than usual, was followed by the sound of slow footsteps.

Jiyod detached himself from the marble pillar and leisurely walked toward the door.

“Can’t we pull more budget from northern Karlac? I’ll need to look over the ledger Yofius sent, but—no! That’s not the issue right now! The northern Karlac forces are a separate matter. If it comes to it, we can shorten the repayment period for the bonds issued to York…”

Slan’s voice grew closer, and Jiyod waited calmly. The moment Slan stepped through the door, Jiyod grabbed him in a tight embrace.

“…Extending York’s repayment terms is a bad habit of our Karlac—argh!”

Slan let out a yelp, but Jiyod ignored it and immediately leaned down to shower his face with kisses.

At the same time, a sharp, murderous intent accompanied by blades shot out from both sides behind Slan. Jiyod paid it no mind.

“…Jiyod!”

Slan gasped, calling his name like a scream.

“What the… When…”

“A while ago.”

“A while ago? What does that even mean…”

Slan, overwhelmed with confusion, kept stammering. In the meantime, Jiyod ignored the blade tips nearing his throat and pressed his lips to Slan’s cheek with a loud smack.

After a moment, Slan let out a long exhale. His heart pounded so hard that his chest rose and fell like a bird’s with every beat.

Slan looked up at Jiyod.

The man’s face seemed to glow. His naturally swept-back hair shimmered with luster, and his gray eyes were sweet and soft. A strangely intoxicating fragrance wafted from his chest.

Noticing Slan’s nose twitch slightly as he caught the scent, Jiyod grinned playfully.

“How’s that? Smells nice, doesn’t it? You can keep sniffing if you want.”

“Did you change your perfume?”

“Yes. I know you like musk, but this is something I got from a York merchant recently. It’s pretty good, don’t you think? Do you like it? It’s different, right? Did you scream earlier because you thought I was someone else?”

Even his teasing lips glistened with charm.

Slan stared at Jiyod, entranced, before finally noticing the sharp blades hovering dangerously close to Jiyod’s throat.

He pushed Jiyod’s cheek with one hand while urgently waving the other to signal.

“It’s fine. You can sheathe your swords.”

Only then did the blades, precariously close to Jiyod’s throat, slide downward. Jiyod narrowed his eyes and followed the swords’ movement. Slan’s two new guards were still glaring at him sharply as they sheathed their weapons. Hmm… Jiyod didn’t like these new guards either. Too young. Their perfectly intact faces were also irritating. Fine, he could tolerate their eyes, but did guards really need noses or lower lips? He pressed his lips firmly to Slan’s forehead and whispered.

“So you’ve decided to keep them around? Instead of me?”

“Ha, you’re busy, aren’t you?”

Slan squirmed slightly to escape Jiyod’s embrace, but Jiyod only held him tighter. The overly tight grip made Slan let out a flattened groan.

“Can’t you make it so I’m not busy?”

Jiyod asked again, kissing the corner of Slan’s eye. Another loud smack echoed, and the guards’ eyebrows twitched. Heinz, the treasurer standing nearby, had long since averted his gaze, shaking his head.

“How exactly?”

Slan, exasperated, pushed Jiyod’s face again, but his cheeks were already flushed a rosy pink. Jiyod kissed both cheeks alternately. His eyes gleamed with honey-like sweetness. The kisses didn’t stop there, landing every time Slan tried to speak.

“Stop it!”

Slan finally surrendered.

He hurriedly gestured for everyone to leave.

Heinz was the first to scamper away. The attendants, guards, and the chancellor’s son followed.

Jiyod kept one eye half-open, watching the chancellor’s son bow slightly and exit the chamber until the very last moment.

Once everyone was gone, silence finally settled.

“How the hell did you get to Karlac? No, when did you get here?”

Slan asked again. Instead of answering, Jiyod lifted him off the ground. Another yelp escaped, only to be muffled by a kiss.

“Mmm…”

After a long kiss, Slan’s eyes were hazy. His cheeks were flushed, and his slightly parted lips glistened with moisture.

Jiyod traced those lips with his fingertips and whispered.

“I rode through the night because I missed you.”

“What… huh?”

Slan mumbled, his speech slightly slurred. Jiyod chuckled and pressed another quick kiss to those trembling lips.

“I have to leave Karlac again before dawn. The idiots clinging to my sleeve, crying their eyes out, are waiting for me to return. Ha… what can I do when Ipsen can’t function a single day without me? But for today, I’ll do nothing but stay faithfully by your side, so don’t make that disappointed face.”

He tucked a lavender sprig he had picked earlier behind Slan’s ear. As expected, the purple bloom looked stunning against Slan’s golden hair. Jiyod admired both the flower and his lover, pleading in a sweet voice.

“So for just today, grant this poor knight the precious time of Duke of Karlac. Please?”

Naturally, his plea worked perfectly.

Slan averted his gaze, absently touching the lavender behind his ear with one hand.

He owned countless crowns adorned with jewels, yet he caressed this single lavender sprig as if it were a golden coronet.

Jiyod gazed at Slan silently for a moment. His tender affection and love for his partner, in that instant, suppressed his darker, heavier emotions. He gently caressed Slan’s cheek, guiding his gaze back to him.

“You haven’t been working the whole time I was gone, have you?”

“There’s been a lot of work.”

“Yes, it looks like it. You even hired new guards.”

“That again? Didn’t you agree their skills are solid?”

“Does it look like I’m nitpicking their skills? I’m jealous.”

At the bold nonsense, Slan gave an incredulous look.

Jiyod laughed aloud, lifting Slan lightly and heading toward the bathroom.

“The attendants prepared a bath. How about I attend to your bath for a change?”

Jiyod expected Slan to blush furiously and grumble that he could do it himself. But instead, Slan averted his gaze and grabbed the hem of Jiyod’s clothes.

“Don’t do that… just join me.”

Jiyod bit his lip hard. The overwhelming affection and tenderness surging within him threatened to burst through his ribs. He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, then showered Slan’s face with kisses.

“What naughty thoughts are you having, turning this red…”

His teasing voice was playful, but his breathing quickened with excitement. His chest heaved, and his pupils flickered, narrowing and dilating. Mental excitement quickly turned physical.

Jiyod took a deep breath. His chest swelled and slowly deflated. He set Slan down in the short corridor leading to the bathroom. Slan looked up at him, puzzled. The soft eyelashes beneath his blue irises fluttered, catching the light reflected through stained glass like a golden aurora. Jiyod gazed at him tenderly and whispered.

“Hmm… I don’t think I can hold back. Can I suck you off first?”

Matching the sweetness of his voice with the crudeness of his words was no easy feat. Of course, Jiyod didn’t wait for Slan to fully process the outrageous question.

He dropped to his knees in one swift motion. As Slan, startled, grabbed his shoulders to pull him up, Jiyod reached out and gripped Slan’s hips tightly, pulling him closer.

“What are you…!”

A shocked cry rang out. Jiyod ignored it, slowly pressing his nose between Slan’s legs. He felt Slan’s knees tremble. It was early summer, and Slan’s clothes were thin. Jiyod nudged the fabric aside with his nose and bit the string tying Slan’s pants with his front teeth, pulling it loose. At the same time, he looked up at Slan. Slan’s expression was dazed, his lips slightly parted. ‘I need to touch the inside of those lips,’ Jiyod thought. ‘But later…’

He pulled Slan’s pants and underwear down in one motion with his teeth. The fabric slid to mid-thigh, revealing clean skin. The area between Slan’s legs was faintly pink, and the insides of his thighs were as pale as white marble. His softly flushed penis rested quietly between his legs. ‘Hello. I missed you,’ Jiyod greeted silently. It had been months since he’d seen Slan’s groin. And now, he planned to savor their reunion thoroughly.

Without hesitation, he took it into his mouth.

“Ugh…!”

A suppressed moan came from above Jiyod’s head.

As he sucked the tip, the hands gripping his shoulders tightened suddenly. What had been soft began to harden in Jiyod’s mouth. The sensation sent a wave of desire so intense it blackened his vision. His scalp burned, his heart pumped hot blood, and his breathing grew rough, the sound of it impossible to hide. Simply sucking Slan’s groin had already brought his own penis to a painfully hard erection.

“Ha.”

Jiyod slowly released Slan’s penis. Now fully erect, its tip pointed upward, darker in color but still beautifully clean. The head glistened with moisture, and the smooth shaft and scrotum below were bare of hair, fully exposed. Slan’s thighs trembled, muscles sleekly defined as he struggled to keep his knees together.

“You haven’t been doing this alone, have you? Hmm?”

“Ugh…”

Slan’s cheeks flushed as if they might burst. Only ragged breathing answered, but Jiyod hadn’t really expected a reply. The way Slan tilted his head to avoid eye contact was answer enough.

‘He did.’

Jiyod kept the thought to himself. He hid his longing as well. Instead, he deliberately met Slan’s gaze and slowly took the penis back into his mouth. Starting from the tip, he sucked gently, as if kissing, tilting his face to press his cheek against the heated skin. Slan’s lower abdomen quivered with rapid breaths. Unable to hold back, Slan squeezed his eyes shut, and Jiyod savored the sight, taking his time to deeply, slowly engulf the penis.

“Ah, ah… ah…”

Slan couldn’t hold back his moans. His hips twitched as if trying to pull away. Jiyod gripped the small hips tightly with both hands, pulling them closer while sucking the penis so deeply it hit the back of his throat.

“Ugh…!”

The shocking pleasure of his entire penis being engulfed made Slan let out a high-pitched cry.

Fluids began to flow, as if he might climax any moment. Jiyod sucked greedily, the wet sounds echoing loudly.

“Ah, no, stop… ah…!”

Slan’s knees buckled. His upper body lurched forward, and his hands, gripping Jiyod’s shoulders, kept slipping. The backs of his hands showed faint veins from the strain.

His desperate attempt to stay upright on his toes was both pitiful and arousing. But Jiyod didn’t want to see Slan collapse on the corridor floor. At least not until they reached the bathroom, or better yet, the tub…

Jiyod released Slan’s penis and glanced up. Slan’s face was dazed, his mouth slack, his eyes hazy beneath long lashes.

Jiyod bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a curse. He stood abruptly, lifting Slan into his arms again.

The bathroom was filled with steam. The air was warm, humid, and heavy with the scent of spices and bath oils. Jiyod set Slan on the edge of the tub. Slan wobbled, barely steadying himself by gripping the railing with one hand. Jiyod’s eyes crinkled with a smile. While Slan was momentarily distracted by the smile, Jiyod slid one knee between Slan’s legs, spreading them apart. The pink, flushed skin was exposed, but Slan didn’t seem to notice. His erect penis was taut, fluids dripping steadily, soaking the shadowed area between the shaft and scrotum.

Jiyod licked his upper lip, savoring the sight.

Of course, he didn’t plan to enjoy it alone.

He reached for his collar. The intricate gold-threaded knots fastening the shirt up to his chin were bothersome but luxurious—not his usual style, but for Slan, he could tolerate the inconvenience.

One by one, he undid the knots with a soft pop. The shirt parted, revealing his chest.

His body, covered in scars and cuts, was still smooth and toned, filled with perfectly defined muscles. Steam condensed on his skin, trailing down the contours of his muscles as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

He left the open shirt as it was and unbuckled his belt, sword sheath and all. It clattered to the floor.

As he untied his pants, Jiyod spoke again.

“Ever since York merchant ships started docking at Ipsen, even that backwater has gotten some interesting places. As you know, those bald pigs… they’ve got a knack for this sort of thing, don’t they?”

“This sort of thing?”

Slan asked, his face dazed. His eyes darted to the side, then to Jiyod’s face, then to the open shirt, floundering helplessly. His cheeks flushed so deeply it seemed he might collapse.

Jiyod, in high spirits, parted the front of his pants. His penis was already painfully erect, straining against his underwear.

Despite his state below, his voice remained almost jovially upbeat.

“Last time, a York merchant ship brought a troupe of dancers. Those guys… their skills were something else.”

In that instant, Slan’s eyes shot upward. It was only a moment.

“A troupe of dancers?”

“Yes.”

Jiyod wondered if Slan could even imagine such a risqué performance. Of course, he had no intention of telling him—or letting him find out later.

“The Ipsen bumpkins had never seen anything like it. Those idiots’ eyes were practically popping out… Anyway, I learned something interesting. What do you think? Like it?”

Jiyod propped one knee on the tub’s edge. He lightly kissed Slan’s ear and shed his shirt completely. The motion was too slow to be mere undressing. His body, slightly damp from the steam, gleamed smoothly. The heat radiating from his well-built frame warmed Slan’s body.

Now Jiyod was completely bare.

His broad, muscular shoulders tapered into a sleek waist, leading to two sturdy thighs like a bronze statue. His skin glowed with a golden sheen. His erect penis pressed against his navel, standing prominently above his defined abdomen.

“Ugh…”

Slan hurriedly looked away.

“Why? Look closer.”

Jiyod whispered against Slan’s ear, his voice dripping with honey. He slid his lips downward, grazing the flushed pink neck and gently biting the collar. He was as skilled as if he’d been doing this for decades. His tongue and lips deftly undid buttons while his hands steadied Slan’s back. With practiced ease, he stripped Slan’s clothes off without him even noticing.

Now both were bare. Jiyod looked down at Slan. A lascivious smile, evoking debauchery, played on his parted lips. His gray eyes seemed to burn or glisten with moisture. The knight’s body, inflamed with desire, shone like a polished statue, radiating heat. His chest rose and fell slowly with each breath.

He was too aroused. Jiyod thought, with a cool corner of his mind amidst the heat, that hurting Slan was the last thing he wanted.

“Hoo, let’s take it out once first, hoo.”

Jiyod exhaled deeply, gripping his penis with one hand. It twitched like a snake’s head. As he moved his hand up and down the veined shaft, the head thrashed wildly. Before him, Slan, flushed pink, couldn’t look away or close his eyes, trembling in agitation. Jiyod stared at Slan’s face without blinking, continuing to masturbate. Fluids overflowed from the tip, making loud, wet sounds with each stroke. His shoulders heaved, his breathing quickened. The pleasure came not from his sex but from his sight. He devoured Slan’s trembling form with his gaze.