With the sound of a whistle signaling the procession, the magnificent carriages lined up and departed from the castle. Curtis watched them pass through the inner castle and clear the outer gate before he withdrew his gaze and turned back toward the interior. Greg followed him in a hurry.
"What on earth do you intend to do?"
"About what?"
"You've never participated in a jousting tournament. You only reclaimed this place after winning back your title two years ago."
Driven by anxiety, Greg spoke rapidly.
"This is practically a death sentence. It’s revenge for Viscount Otis. They can't purge you openly, so they’re luring you into this trap. You must claim you’re severely injured and decline. Say you hurt your leg, at least."
"My leg? I hate being in pain. I’d rather die in one stroke."
"Curtis! This is no time for jokes."
"I will participate. If I don't, the entire country will mock me."
"Pride? Honor? Have you ever cared about such things?"
"Greg."
Curtis stopped and cast a warning look with his eyes. It meant not to cross the line any further. Greg, who had stopped behind him, shut his mouth. As a childhood friend and his oldest retainer, they were like brothers. He was the only one permitted to act without formality. Yet, there was always a line. He was his lord. A heavy silence hung in the air, and Greg, clenching his fists, offered a countermeasure.
"I’ll go in your stead. It’s not uncommon for a knight to participate on behalf of the lord he serves. Let me do that."
"I refuse."
Even his last resort was rejected. Greg followed Curtis, who had resumed walking, with growing impatience.
"Are you taking revenge on me now? Because I told Roxana the truth—that you knew about the Mother Superior’s death... Ugh!"
Before he could finish his sentence, Greg staggered from the pain of a blow to his solar plexus. In an instant, Curtis had snatched the sword from the scabbard at Greg’s side, pushed him against the wall, and pressed the blade against his throat.
"I’m warning you, Greg. Keep your delusions inside your head. Don't you dare spout them in front of me."
Sharp gazes clashed in the air. A heavy silence passed between the two, and Curtis, his eyes bloodshot, sheathed the sword and turned his back. Greg gritted his teeth at the retreating figure.
"It’s not because of honor. It’s because of that woman. You’re afraid that if you refuse, the King will inevitably seek revenge for what happened to Derek Otis. Since you can't touch him right now and can't track Melanie’s whereabouts, you’d probably try to harm his mistress out of spite."
She was a witch, through and through. Even facing death, the fact that she had tried to negotiate with such audacity was far from ordinary. Curtis had clearly been bewitched by that arrogance back then.
"If you die because of that... I will never let that woman have her way. Curtis."
Roxana Dalton is the witch who will lead Curtis Russell to his ruin. *Bang!* Greg slammed his hand against the stone wall, vowing through gritted teeth.
* * *
After the King departed, the castle returned to its usual state. Roxana let out a sigh of relief at the peace, devoid of both tension and commotion. Once the cleanup was mostly finished, the first thing she did was head to the storage room to gather supplies.
"You want to... grind soybeans?"
"Yes."
Alice’s jaw dropped in shock at the sudden proposal.
"Roxana, the environment here isn't suitable for soybeans to grow. Even the Lord only occasionally adds expensive lentils or fava beans to his meals."
"Look at this."
Roxana placed the bag she had brought onto the counter. Alice checked the contents and shook her head.
"These are... white soybeans. They’re cheap and common, but they’re just beans used for animal feed. What are you going to do by grinding them?"
"I’m going to use them to replace meat."
"What... does that mean?"
"Soybeans contain nutrients similar to those found in meat. If we’re short on meat, we can cook and eat soybeans. Even if they’re low-quality beans, they surely contain nutrients."
"It would be nice if there were even some nutrient-rich greens like meat."
Robert’s words had been the catalyst. Because the convent forbade the taking of life, she had never eaten meat. Yet, the nuns were healthy. When she had asked the Mother Superior about it once, the answer she received was "soybeans." The problem was prejudice. While they ate them without hesitation at the convent, here, soybeans were not only unfamiliar, but white soybeans were particularly looked down upon.
"Who would want to eat beans meant for animals? There will be a strong backlash."
"Whether it’s a person or an animal, the need for nutritious food is the same. And that’s why I’m grinding them—to reduce the resistance. So there’s no aversion."
"Grinding them so there’s no aversion..."
Alice, who had been tilting her head in confusion at the increasingly incomprehensible words, began to understand Roxana’s point bit by bit.
"I see!"
"Will you help me?"
"Of course. Let’s tell the chef, too. He’ll think it’s a great idea."
The chef, who had initially shaken his head at the absurd idea, eventually gave in after Roxana’s persistent persuasion. Alice, Roxana, and the chef each prepared the white soybeans in their own way to make them easier to eat and to remove any aversion.
Roxana soaked the white soybeans in water, added more water, and ground them by hand. It was grueling labor that made her arms cramp, but she didn't stop. After grinding them until they were unrecognizable, she put them in a cloth and squeezed out the juice. Then, she poured the soy milk into a pot, boiled it over the fire, and turned off the heat once the foam had overflowed for a while.
Kesi, who had been watching the process, had eyes that sparkled.
"It’s become like oatmeal porridge! It looks edible at this point, doesn't it?"
"Not yet. It lacks the texture of meat. It should be as much like real meat as possible."
Roxana shook her head and added a coagulant to the pot, stirring it gently. After a while, the soy milk began to clump together. The other two were captivated by the curious sight. Once it reached a certain consistency, Roxana lined a sieve with a cloth and poured the boiled soy curd into it.
"We need to drain the water. Is there anything heavy?"
"Just a moment!"
Alice nodded and brought something suitable. Thirty minutes later, a firm bean dish with a texture like meat was complete.
"It’s bland... and a bit plain, but the taste is fine. It’s not quite meat, but I think it’s enough to eat."
"If we fry it or cook it in various ways in this state, it should be sufficient."
The reviews were entirely positive. Roxana let out a sigh of relief.
* * *
People’s reactions to the bean dish meant to replace meat were mixed. Some said it was tasteless and bland, so they didn't like it, while others suggested it would be fine if paired with strongly flavored foods. Meanwhile, some, upon hearing the ingredients, gagged repeatedly.
"This is an insult! Even if she is the woman the Lord cherishes, we cannot feed this to the commoners."
"Isn't the effort commendable? It seems like a sufficient solution to replace the meat that became scarce after His Highness’s visit recently."
"You eat your fill of it, then! I would rather starve to death than eat such lowly, strange things."
"Well, I suppose that’s fine. It won't be you, but the peasants below who will starve to death."
"What did you just say!"
The knights, who had each been granted small manors, poured out their arguments from both sides. Curtis watched the petty squabble, which had stemmed from Roxana’s bizarre food, with half-observant eyes while resting his chin on his hand at the round table. The arrow turned toward him just as they were reaching for their sword hilts in the heat of the argument.
"My Lord! Please make a decision!"
As several pairs of eyes turned to him at once, Curtis let out a long yawn.
"It’s finally over. I was about to offer to set up a ring in the training grounds so you could fight until one of you died if you kept arguing a little longer."
It was a remark tossed out like a joke, but given the Lord’s personality, he was more than capable of it. The knights, who had been arguing at the top of their lungs, shut their mouths as if they had planned it. In the awkward silence, Curtis suddenly asked the butler standing behind him.
"Robert, what do you think?"
"Well..."
Robert cleared his throat at the arrow that had been slyly passed to him.
"I believe... it is worth a try."
"I see."
Curtis, who had nodded at the expected answer, was about to open his mouth when—
"Wait a moment! My Lord!"
A knight who hadted in urgently pointed his eyes toward Greg, who was sitting to Curtis’s right.
"The Commander hasn't said anything yet."
"Ah."
As if he had only just remembered, Curtis cast his gaze toward Greg. They were in a state where the cold air was palpable, as they hadn't exchanged words for days unless absolutely necessary.
"Tell me what you think we should do."
"I share the same opinion as the butler."
"Commander!"
It was an unexpected answer. Almost at the same time as Curtis raised an eyebrow, several knights who had trusted him jumped to their feet. Unfazed, Greg continued.
"Spring is still a long way off, and this winter is colder than any other. It is a fact that many manors are in trouble because the livestock meant for food and the stockpiled provisions were requisitioned to entertain His Highness. In such a situation, we cannot afford to worry about pride or anything of the sort."
The faces of the knights who were in favor and Robert brightened. Greg, who had scanned them briefly, suddenly opened his mouth again.
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