It didn't take long to reach the village. After walking about twenty minutes from where they'd disembarked, they arrived at a bustling entrance, alive with festival energy. It seemed everyone had poured into the streets for the final day of celebration. Felix froze at the edge of the crowd, overwhelmed by the atmosphere, and hesitated as if unsure whether he should go in.
Before that hesitation could drag on, Lowell gave him a firm push on the back.
"You're not seriously thinking of turning back after coming all this way, are you?"
Felix's doubts vanished the moment he saw Lowell's radiant smile. As if nothing had happened, he stepped confidently into the village. Lowell hurried to keep up, but their physical differences made it difficult. The distance between them gradually grew, and Lowell alternated between speed-walking and a light jog whenever Felix's balck-clad figure got too far ahead. After a few such sprints, his fragile body was winded, his breath coming in gasps.
"Lowell?"
Felix, who had been walking straight ahead, finally noticed Lowell's labored breathing and turned around. In that short moment, Lowell had been swallowed up by the crowd and was now struggling to push his way back to him. Realization hit Felix—he hadn't adjusted his pace for Lowell at all. He'd never had anyone walk beside him before—not outside of his subordinates—so it hadn't occurred to him.
"I'm right here."
Lowell barely managed to squeeze the words out as he stumbled back to Felix's side, still panting. Walking pace wasn't something you changed unless you consciously tried. This time, he'd caught up quickly, but in such a crowded place, it was only a matter of time before they go separated again. Though hidden guards were following them, they were ultimately there for Felix, not Lowell.
"Let's hold hands."
Felix tossed the words out casually, then tacked on an explanation.
"If we get separated, it'll be a hassle. If you get lost, I might have to halt the entire festival just to find you. That'd ruin everything."
He rattled off reasons, as if to make it clear it meant nothing more. His earlobes, however, were burning red. Lowell couldn't refuse the slightly trembling hand held out to him and gently placed his own in it. Felix gripped it firmly, turned away, and began walking again—this time at a much slower pace.
"Is there anything you want to do?"
They arrived in the heart of the village, now a wonderland of stalls, street performers, puppet shows, and tents for plays and circuses. It was the kind of place where you could spend an entire day just deciding where to start. Having never experienced and like it before, Felix deferred to Lowell.
"Well, first things first—when you're at a festival, you've got to eat something delicious."
Lowell had already had his eye on something.
"Let's get that chicken dish."
This time, Lowell took the lead, pulling Felix along to a vendor. The dish—chicken roasted over a gentle magical flame—reminded him eerily of the rotisserie chicken from Eunoh's world. The smell alone made his mouth water. It was hard to believe he'd lost his appetite back at the Count's manor.
Even if I can eat almost anything, thirty years of Korean food leave an impression.
The seasonings were different, giving the scent a unique twist, but it was still the closest thing to Korean-style food he'd had so far.
"I'll pay for it."
Felix reached for his coin pouch, but Lowell stopped him.
"You only got gold coins, right?"
Felix didn't respond—because it was true.
"That's half a year's wages for a commoner. You hand that over, and things will spiral fast."
Lowell, having studied the festival's prices in advance, pulled out appropriate copper coins.
"Two chicken skewers, please. Is five coppers enough?"
"Yes! Here you go!"
While Lowell beamed with excitement, Felix realized he'd already fumbled the first step. He'd brought Lowell here to make him happy, but so far, everything from clothes to the food had needed Lowell's guidance. He began to wonder if he was doing anything right at all.
"Here."
But seeing Lowell's bright, sunflower-like smile made those doubts evaporate. Felix accepted the chicken with practiced grace and took a bite without hesitation. Lowell's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected a grimace or a scolding remark—you expect me to eat this?— but instead, Felix dug in with gusto.
"Didn't expect you to eat this so easily."
"In war, you eat dirt if you have to."
The image of Felix eating dirt was almost too absurd to picture.
I thought he'd say, "I'd rather starve", like some elegant noble, but I guess in extreme situations, everyone's the same.
While thinking these useless thoughts, Lowell bit into his chicken. The savory, greasy flavor filled his mouth. Though the taste leaned more toward oven-roasted chicken than the rotisserie he remembered, it was still satisfyingly familiar.
Guess I'm not having morning sickness after all.
Lowell devoured his portion with near-fanatical delight, bones and all. He wondered if he'd eaten too fast—but didn't regret it. It was the most satisfying meal he'd had in ages.