As a sudden wave of colds swept through the hunting squad, Leonardo, sensing that something was off, rushed over without hesitation.
Having tossed aside his outer coat while chopping firewood, his entire body radiated warmth like a walking furnace, sending waves of heat through the chilly air.
"What's going on?"
And just like that, the knights' coughing miraculously stopped.
Now, instead of hacking up their lungs, they were whistling nonchalantly or awkwardly shuffling their feet, discreetly nudging their gazes toward a particular direction.
Leonardo, clearly misunderstanding the situation, hurried over.
"Coughing could make your wound worse. If dust gets in, it might get infected—"
"Mmph."
A lukewarm, damp cloth suddenly pressed against my face, scrubbing away at my skin. Having my chin grabbed and forcibly washed like this was… a rather strange experience.
Isn't this how you wash a helpless infant who can't even hold up their own head? This is beyond embarrassing.
"Hmm."
Duke Marchez, wearing an ambiguous expression like he was witnessing something peculiar, finally added,
"Perhaps we can continue our discussion after you've had some rest. The young lord seems quite worried."
That's what I'm saying—this is humiliating…
After that, I was put through a whole routine—getting the dust scrubbed off, having ointment applied, and spending a solid two hours being manhandled without a shred of personal urgency.
The excessive layers of bandages wrapped around my neck felt foreign and uncomfortable, so I absentmindedly reached up to touch them. The moment I did, Leonardo instantly tensed up, looking so distressed that I hurriedly dropped my hand.
He had always been a worrier, but not to this extent. Then—
[Sub-writer 1: You really turned a mangy stray into a proper guard dog. Quite the talent you have.]
…This is all your fault.
During the process of taking down Godric in El Dante, I must have inadvertently heightened Leonardo's anxiety by putting my life on the line.
As I scowled irritably and stared into the empty air, the lines of text in the message window wavered and rippled—almost as if muffling laughter.
'Must be nice.'
Here we were, covered in dust and struggling just to survive, while that guy was comfortably seated in a central outpost, just watching.
Muttering complaints under my breath, I made my way toward the clearing, only for someone to approach the moment I arrived.
"You've returned."
It was Duke Marchez, drenched in blood and gripping a long, cleaver-like blade. In his other hand, he held a writhing, greenish organ. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a B-grade slasher film.
Startled, I instinctively raised a hand to shield Leonardo's eyes. His eyelashes brushed against my palm with every blink. I had imagined them to feel stiff, but the barely-there sensation was unexpectedly soft and ticklish.
"Ah. My apologies."
With his usual politeness, Duke Marchez took a step back.
"I just finished the dissection and came across an organ I've never seen before. It piqued my interest."
He raised the wriggling mass slightly.
"I was wondering if your book might contain any references to it."
Luckily, this was something I could answer. With the
"I think I read that these birds visit the mountain range's mines to consume minerals, which helps them maintain their metallic wings."
However, if they ingest hazardous heavy metals in the process, their bodies have a special organ to break down toxins and prevent accumulation.
"Fascinating."
Duke Marchez seemed to believe this information would aid in his research on the Dragonbone Blade. He picked up a needle and thread, preparing to do something I didn't care to witness. Best to leave before Sub-writer 1 got an eyeful of this scene.
"He looks busy, so let's leave him to it. We should talk about our plans."
"What is it?"
"I was thinking about taking a night walk."
Wandering through the mountains at night was undoubtedly foolish. But with the right reasoning, it became a different story.
For one, one of the sub-quest's additional objectives was Exploring the Dragon's Tail, a map-related requirement. The more ground I covered, the more the map would fill in—useful in the long run.
Earlier today, my brief scouting had already raised the exploration rate by about 5%. That meant it was manageable to search alone. And besides, now was the perfect time. Given that Godric's gaze was constantly following me—
'Vernis Mountain Range is Sub-writer 1's stage as well, and they'll go to great lengths to keep me from dying…'
Of course, there was a condition attached to this.
Alone.
If Leonardo accompanied me, Sub-writer 1's goal—killing the protagonist—would come into play. They might hold back on direct threats, but they wouldn't intervene either. To prevent that, I needed to leave Leonardo behind.
The moment I declared my solo expedition, Leonardo couldn't hide his unease. His fingers twitched, revealing his obvious reluctance.
"A night walk… alone?"
"Yeah. I've got a reliable safety net, so don't worry."
[Sub-writer 1: Should I be grateful for your trust?]
Shut up and stay out of this.
I brushed aside the annoying text that kept blocking my view and looked at Leonardo. He flinched, then hesitantly clasped the tips of my fingers. Slowly, he pulled my hand toward his lips and whispered—
「If anything happens to you…」
A faint touch on the back of my hand, followed by a lingering warmth. I watched as his downcast lashes fluttered gently, tracing an uncertain path. Then, Leonardo slowly lifted his gaze.
「Call for me. Anytime.」
There was something contradictory about the way he looked at me—like someone desperate to offer help, yet pleading at the same time. Shouldn't I be the one begging instead?
'I don't really want to wake you up, though.'
Reaching out, I tucked his stray hair behind his ear. He was bent forward, making it easy. But instead of moving away, he let his cheek rest against my hand. Cold from the night air, his skin felt more like a marble sculpture than warm flesh.
「It's fine. Do whatever you want, whenever you want.」
…Wait. That doesn't mean he plans on staying up all night, does it?
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, studying his face, but his serene expression gave nothing away. If anything, he looked faintly content, as if my touch alone was enough. That gentle smile—pleased yet unreadable—made it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
So this is what people mean when they say simple-minded folks are the hardest to read.
Swallowing a sigh, I made up my mind.
'I'll make sure to prepare a warm, hearty meal so he won't be able to help but fall asleep.'
According to the Monster Encyclopedia, surprisingly, the creatures were actually edible.
"Hunting them is difficult, and improper cooking methods can be dangerous, but…"
Duke Marchez, presumed to be the encyclopedia's author, prowled around with gleaming eyes. Stiff, steel-like feathers were plucked, and after a proper butchering process, large cuts of meat were laid on the chopping board.
While the knights from noble families seemed slightly uneasy about the origin of the ingredients, Vittorio and Leonardo, both raised on the streets, showed no particular aversion. As for the Duke Marchez, there was no need to even mention it—he was clearly excited.
"Since it primarily feeds on minerals… and only attacks humans when they trespass into its territory rather than for food, it should be fine, right?"
It probably had plenty of iron content. Not bad.
So, while reassuring the knights, I began cooking.
I placed the prepared meat and bones into a pot, filled it with water, and—with Leonardo's help—chopped onions, garlic, and other vegetables to toss in. Honestly, I didn't do much of the work myself. Most of the menial tasks were handled by Leonardo or the knights.
I even diced up some turnips grown in El Dante and added them. As they simmered in the broth, they softened, taking on a texture more like potatoes than turnips.
As the broth simmered until it turned a milky white, a thin layer of oil floated to the surface, enriching the stock. I seasoned it with salt, then removed the boiled chicken—no, the giant bird meat—let it cool slightly, shredded it into bite-sized pieces, and mixed it back into the soup.
"This is the first time I've seen this dish. Is it a type of stew?"
To Westerners, dakgomtang1 might be a bit unfamiliar. Vittorio helped me ladle generous portions of broth and meat into bowls and distribute them to the hunting party. If we had glutinous rice or ginseng, this would have been more like samgyetang2.
Leonardo, holding a bowl nearly the size of his face, sat down beside me and asked,
"Is this a dish from your homeland?"
"Mm, I guess? I'm not sure if it'll suit your taste."
"I like it."
Just as he blew on the steaming, fragrant broth, another message appeared.
[Sub-writer 1: Is this Yànwo jītāng3 (燕窩雞湯)? No, I suppose without yànwo, it's just Bái jītāng4.]
…What the hell are they saying?
I blinked blankly at the message, only to see the text ripple again—Godric was smiling.
[Sub-writer 1: Shall I take you somewhere you can find swallow's nests? Yànwo jītāng was a royal tonic for the imperial court. I never expected to see it here again—it's quite a pleasant surprise.]
A simple remark, as if he were reminiscing. But this was the first time Godric had directly mentioned the imperial court.
'How unusual.'
It was a sentiment I'd never felt toward the others—Butier, Orlie, or any of the other sub-writers. To me, they were just beings inhabiting borrowed corpses, existing solely to construct the narrative. They never felt like entities with origins of their own.
Godric, however, was different. He felt like someone with a past.
And not just any past—one that had little to do with the medieval and early modern European setting of this world. He seemed to belong to a culture entirely different from it. Even the scenario notes that appeared to be his work hinted at this.
Take the chapter title like
'Foreign substance.'
Come to think of it, the main author always referred to Sub-writer 1 that way.
Perhaps Godric is…
'Someone similar to me.'