The Perfect Knight and the Illusionist (BL)
Chapter 23: Taste of Home

Chapter 23: Taste of Home

MARIUS

Under the attentive eyes of Dr. Branson and the nurse with a mask covering the entire bottom half of her face, Skylark seemed to be falling asleep peacefully out of sheer exhaustion.

"You guys may return to your class now," the doctor said.

Something felt a little off the last time I left the boy behind, alone in the infirmary—a feeling of wrongness that I couldn’t quite describe in words, but that my body had come to read as ’danger.’

But Skylark was in good hands now.

Why did I feel this way?

Dimitri tapped me on the shoulder and gestured for me to leave the infirmary with him, so although I didn’t quite feel comfortable with it, I left the resting boy alone—or rather, with Dr. Branson and the nurse—and left the room.

"Do you think he will be okay?" I asked Dimitri, stupidly, as it wasn’t like he would know any better.

"I see a pattern here, I think," Dimitri said, surprising me with an unusually sharp twinkle in his eyes, as if he had managed to solve a puzzle.

"What is it?" I asked him eagerly.

"I think he needs a taste of home," he said, his voice smug with pride.

"What do you mean?"

"I’m not originally from here. My family comes from the Far North. I moved to the capital when I was six."

I did suspect it from his accent and physique, but this was the first time he had actually mentioned it.

"And there was this one time I got really sick. I was otherwise a healthy boy and didn’t usually fall ill. Nobody knew what was wrong with me, and consequently, we couldn’t find a cure."

"Then what happened?"

"We tried everything. The capital is supposed to have the best of everything, right? We tried all sorts of herbs, acupuncture, and whatever that horrible liquid was that they made me drink three times a day."

"Obviously, you recovered very well."

"But it wasn’t any medicine that cured me."

"What was it then?"

"It was snow-rabbit soup cooked with my nan’s recipe that finally got me back on my feet, hah!"

"Snow-rabbit soup?"

"Yeah, that’s the traditional remedy for a cold where I’m from. Funny, eh? All the best doctors in the capital couldn’t cure me, but it was a taste of home that did."

I thought about it.

Dimitri was probably exaggerating a little, but there was some truth in it. People of different regions could have different constitutions, be it from their bloodline, the climate they were raised in, or the food they grew up eating. It was plausible that one’s body was conditioned to respond better to certain combinations of food.

"Do you think... something like that could help Skylark?"

"That’s my guess. Maybe potatoes? He always talks about the potatoes from his village."

"I see."

Then a thought flashed through my head.

How stupid could I be?

Skylark had specifically asked me whether I could get ’berries from the South’ just the night before!

One of the servants from the mansion was supposed to come over tonight to pick up my excess luggage, for it had become apparent that I had too many unnecessary items to fit in the small room I shared with Dorian and Thomas. I could tell the Chef at the mansion to procure and prepare some dishes made with Southern ingredients, including berries from the South in particular—and the potatoes from Erdville, of course. I was sure that the Chef, with his infinite knowledge of the Empire’s culinary traditions, could make something that would satisfy Skylark.

That was it. I could bring Skylark back home on Sunday, when we were allowed to leave the campus and dormitory, and let him enjoy all the ’taste of home’ he could stomach. But—

How would I even bring this up?

Then, as we walked down the hallway, I saw the familiar-looking gentleman from before—the one who had come and whispered to Skylark, the one who came to visit my father at times.

"Excuse me, Sir," I said to him first as we passed.

"Good afternoon, young man. How may I help you?"

His voice was pleasant, each consonant articulate and each vowel perfectly formed.

"Please forgive my abruptness, but haven’t we met before?"

"Of course, Marius," he said with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sir. I don’t think I have had the chance to properly greet you yet."

"The pleasure is mine. I am sure your father is proud of your enrolment at the Royal Knights Academy."

"I aim to do my best for the Empire."

"Keep up the good work."

I was expecting him to introduce himself, but those encouraging words from the mysterious gentleman had such a tone of finality to them that I almost felt afraid to say anything further. We only exchanged polite bows, and he continued to walk past us.

"Do you know that guy?" Dimitri asked me.

"Not really, but I think he’s my father’s friend."

"Tsk, no friend of my father would let me pass without a hug or a handshake."

A handshake.

A hug.

Wait, just earlier, I—

I touched the fabric of my shirt where Skylark had earlier buried his face and cried. It was now fully dry, but the sensation of wet warmth remained. I realized it was the first time I had ever held someone who was crying. It’s not that I felt contempt for men’s tears—far from it. It was proof of genuine patriotism to weep for the nation’s misfortune. But to cry because...

And what nonsense did I tell the poor boy instead of words of firm encouragement?

I almost felt nauseous.

It seemed Skylark wasn’t the only one whose fitness could improve with a taste of home. Something had been ’off’ with me ever since I joined the Academy too.

Yes, going back to the mansion this weekend would be the right thing to do. I would allow Skylark to come along. But how was I supposed to—

Wait.

"Dimitri."

"Yes?"

"Would you and the others be interested in a small gathering of classmates back at my place this weekend?"

"Oh, sweet! Are we drinking beer?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"We will have potatoes and berries."

"Eh?"