Watching my lovely wife sleep soundly in my arms had beco my secret hobby. Hilda was always a dignified and confident woman, but her unguarded sleeping face was just too cute.
I’d been away for a while carrying out the Grand Duke’s orders, and I hadn’t realized how big a bed felt when sleeping alone. I had no idea how I’d ever managed on my own before marriage. Feeling each other’s warmth really was the best.
My wife’s skin was wonderful. To be honest, I’d assud there was no such thing as skincare in this era, but I was surprised to find that natural moisturizers and creams existed as a matter of course.
While she had little interest in jewelry or dresses, she put considerable effort into her skin because her hobby was outdoor activities. That was probably why she maintained such firm, elastic skin.
She used a cream made by mixing starch and fat, applied extracted cedar sap as a moisturizer, and there was even lipstick made from yellow clay and sheep fat. There were even nail polishes made from rose extracts.
Even the Church, which frowned upon wearing makeup, had thrown up its hands in defeat. Won’s desire to be beautiful was so powerful that the developnt of costics was inevitable.
Apparently these were beauty techniques passed down since the Roman Empire, and for won, they held nearly the sa status as the Bible. I heard the art of costics had been perfected in Egypt. Cleopatra’s beauty thods, was it?
When I asked if she also used lead-based whitening agents, she said those were only for formal occasions and that she normally applied only moisturizer and sunscreen, which put at ease.
Whatever else they used, I’d banned all lead-containing costics for the won of my household, and fortunately they rarely used face powder, so they accepted the rule without complaint. They seed to take it as simply a personal preference of mine.
As a result, this spread throughout all of Feuzen and turned into a rumor that our lord didn’t like won with white faces.
Huh? I liked fair skin, so why did this rumor start?
As it turned out, what the won considered "white skin" was completely different from what I had in mind. I liked naturally fair skin, not skin made porcelain-white with bleaching agents.
So I didn’t bother denying the rumor.
Quite a few won trying to catch the lord’s eye apparently stayed away from whitening agents because of it, and I figured if even a baseless rumor like that could protect their health, it was fine to leave it be.
Even if I told them that costics containing lead powder were harmful, getting dieval people who couldn’t even grasp the concept of disinfection to abandon centuries-old beauty practices was extrely difficult. Even the Church had given up, they said.
Anyway, I loved touching and kissing my wife’s soft, smooth skin. Because of that, Hilda had been putting even more effort into skincare than in her maiden days and was making an effort to avoid direct sunlight.
"Were you touching my face again?"
My wife smiling even in her sleep was just too cute.
I brushed aside her wine-colored hair and leaned in close to gaze into her blue eyes. They were mysterious and radiant, like jewels shimring on the surface of a lake.
Now I understood why those Italian fellows, upon seeing a beauty’s tears, would sweet-talk her by saying not to let such beautiful jewels fall on the road. It really was the perfect line. I tried using it on Hilda once, and she just burst out giggling.
Germans being blunt and humorless was the sa then as it was now. But she said I was lovably un-German in that I wasn’t stiff at all and seed to be imitating an Italian, and she found that entertaining and endearing.
Was that an insult or a complint?
Technically, I’d never been a proper German in the first place.
"Are you going out to train? Leaving your wife all alone like this?"
I loved the way my wife wrapped her arms around my neck and held on tight so I couldn’t escape. Ah, I wanted to bury myself in her embrace and bask in her scent and warmth all day long. She grinned like a little mischief-maker and demanded a kiss.
Then Hilda’s arms slowly loosened. She’d fallen back asleep.
Lately she’d been sleeping much more and finding it hard to wake up early in the morning.
I kissed her cheek and lips lightly.
I couldn’t lounge around all day, so I had to get up. Leaving my reluctance behind, I rose carefully so as not to wake Hilda. When the warmth we’d been sharing disappeared, her restless tossing pained , but it couldn’t be helped.
A knight-lord’s morning was busy.
The mont I slacked off on training, a fall from my current level was inevitable. That was why I had to constantly push myself, and no matter how busy I got, I never skipped physical conditioning.
This was a world where, in a fight for your life, if your stamina gave out and your legs lost their strength, death ca in an instant. Especially for a lord like —the type of knight who fought on the front lines—there was no room for complacency.
During my days as a duchy knight, I had nothing to lose, so pushing myself to the limit didn’t matter. But now I had far too much to lose. And I was an extrely greedy man who wasn’t satisfied with just this much.
There were ranks among lords, and since I’d co this far, shouldn’t I aim for the top? Just like Marquis Offenburg, who held three territories and beca Beren’s most untouchable figure.
These goals and this drive to improve were what kept going.
"Hans, ready?"
"Yes! Everyone’s assembled!"
"Good. Let’s run."
Running was one of the most effective thods of physical conditioning that cost absolutely nothing. All ten standing army soldiers, along with Fiel, Viktor, and about fifty Gale Knights—we all ran every morning.
The rest of the personnel were resting at the order’s headquarters.
It was a rotation system. When it was your ti to rest, you rested.
And this spectacle had now beco a local attraction in the village.
A crowd of strapping n bellowing in unison as they ran together was hard to miss.
"We call out! The charging wolves!"
"War brings suffering! Love brings joy!~"
"Oh! The wind blowing from the north! We are the charging wolves!~"
"A maiden fair as a flower awaits! Run onward to the distant north!~"
"Oh! The wind blowing from the north! We are the charging wolves!~"
"The noble wolf’s love! Brings joy!~"
"Oh! The wind blowing from the north! We are the charging wolves!~"
I’d slightly reworked the tribute song the musicians had composed for to fit a marching cadence, and the rhythm matched perfectly, so we’d been putting it to good use. After that, we wrapped up with calisthenics to finish the morning training.
Nothing beat bodyweight exercises, after all.
They cost absolutely nothing.
"That was quite a sight first thing in the morning. Do you train like that every day?"
"It’s a common occurrence in Feuzen."
The Crown Prince seed impressed by the sight of n running in formation while singing a marching song.
No other army trained like this, after all. I’d actually wanted to run shirtless, but that would’ve been too much of a culture shock, so I held back. I didn’t want to get tangled up in unsavory rumors about certain preferences.
"By the way, this is the first ti I’ve seen Your Highness eat breakfast."
"I don’t usually eat breakfast, but this is your land, so I should follow your ways."
The Church regarded breakfast as sinful, claiming it was an impious act of breaking the overnight fast. Two als a day were sufficient, they argued, and anything beyond that was overindulgence—the sin of gluttony.
Naturally, I’d been cheerfully ignoring that since my days as a duchy knight, having always considered breakfast important. It wasn’t enforced as a ban, and breakfast was even becoming fashionable in France.
Hilda had also been reluctant about breakfast at first, but now she ate well, following my lead. The sa went for the retainers. In truth, the nobility’s aversion to breakfast wasn’t solely for religious reasons.
Serfs and farrs, who had to rise early and work, needed breakfast out of necessity. So the logic went that nobles couldn’t possibly eat a al ant for lowly commoners.
"This cheese is Feuzen’s specialty?"
"It’s a cheese you can only properly enjoy in Feuzen."
During the war with Épinay, the Crown Prince had spent one night in Feuzen but had never tasted Feuzen cheese, so he showed curiosity about the specialty I served him. His expression beca hard to read.
"...It’s good."
"It is treated as a budget cheese, after all."
Naturally, it might not suit the Crown Prince’s refined palate. Still, given my reputation, the Crown Prince diligently ate every bit of the food and cheese I’d prepared. Good kid. Here, have mine too.
"Every ti I see cheese, I always think of that crazy artisan."
"A crazy artisan? Sounds like quite a character."
"Father once invested in building Beren’s cheese industry. The man was supposedly a cheese artisan who’d co over from Switzerland, but instead of making Swiss cheese, he just churned out outrageous, nonsensical cheeses."
The Crown Prince said he still couldn’t forget that ferntation-obsessed cheese artisan and shook his head. I was curious what kind of person could have left such a lasting impression on the Crown Prince.
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