HPV 50

“What is it?”

“Liquor.”

Paronai immediately looked disappointed.

Even as he openly showed his disappointment, Penzey remained firm.

“Listen. Magic can do anything. That’s why it’s sometimes called the power given by demons. It has the ability to either speed up or slow down the flow of time for something.”

“What are you talking about? You mean dark magic or something? Like time-reversal spells—?”

“You idiot. That’s an extreme example. I’m talking about slightly stretching or shrinking time for a single object or space. Think about it carefully. Teleportation skips the distance you’d normally walk. Acceleration magic speeds up the time in your legs. Rapid growth magic—well, that one’s obvious.”

Paronai listened with his eyes half-lidded, not fully open.

At the beginning of the journey, he used to listen with sparkling eyes like a bumpkin whenever magic was mentioned, but now that he had gotten used to it, he was more practical.

For example, he instantly realized that whatever Penzey said, it still didn’t explain why winning alcohol as a prize at the swordsmanship tournament was a good thing.

“But even among all these magics, there’s no magic that can rapidly age liquor! You have no idea how precious a hundred-year-aged fruit wine is! Even if I activated all my sixth-circle spells, I couldn’t create something like that!”

Honestly, Penzey should have been a brewmaster, not a mage.

The mage who worshipped liquor gave a passionate speech unlike anything seen before, but the only audience was rather unimpressed.

“I prefer cheap liquor that everyone can drink together, rather than expensive liquor that’s only a tiny amount.”

“Ha… Pao, you’re still too young.”

It was a pointless debate, but amusing enough that I kept listening while gulping down juice mixed with fruit syrup.

The prize for winning the swordsmanship tournament in the neighboring village was also liquor.

It was fortunate, in a way, that things matched the original story, but it felt a bit off precisely because it was too similar.

Penzey could obtain almost anything, except the ability to brew his own liquor. So he tried to persuade Paronai to get it for him. And, thanks to Paronai’s soft heart, he would eventually agree.

It was supposed to take some time, so I figured I’d just enjoy some snacks and watch the show.

But—

The persuasion ended in a flash.

“They say if you drink that liquor, even a seriously ill person will spring up as if reborn. Even someone who’s had weak legs all their life will find their energy restored.”

Paronai’s gaze slowly shifted toward me.

I flinched.

His eyes looked so different, so serious, it was honestly chilling.

The hero stared at me intently for a long while before finally turning his head away.

His eyes were deadly serious.

“Will the tournament be tough? Could I win if I enter?”

“You can totally do it. Real knights wouldn’t want to embarrass themselves by showing up at some village playground. Honestly, it looks like the tournament was made for you.”

“Wait a second.”

Realizing where this was going,

I waved my hand to stop the conversation.

At that moment, the cool ice pillow I was hugging slipped and fell.

But it didn’t matter anymore—my fever had already broken.

Likewise, I didn’t need that precious liquor either.

Paronai getting all fired up about winning it for me wasn’t in the original plan.

“I’m not sick anymore. The body aches are gone too.”

“You still need to drink it. Maybe your body will get even better. You’ve always been weak, haven’t you?”

Paronai said it without a trace of malice, but I hugged the pillow tightly and grew serious.

“Do you really think drinking one bottle will make me suddenly start flying around?”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“I’m saying… my body’s bad enough that no amount of liquor can fix it. There’s no point wasting more time on a burden who might not even get better.”

There was a brief silence.

Instead of speaking himself, Penzey lazily stroked his chin while observing the flustered Paronai.

Finally, Paronai opened his mouth.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“It’s a fact. Because of me, we’ve delayed the journey more than once.”

“That’s… true, but… um…You’re right, so I don’t really know how to argue back…”

While Paronai was at a loss for words,

Penzey nonchalantly stretched out his left foot and kicked him off the bed.

Just like that, with a single foot, he easily knocked down the hero destined to slay the Black Dragon.

Then Penzey winked mischievously at me.

“Thanks, Ria. By becoming such a ‘burden,’ you gave me a solid excuse to go get that liquor.”

Before I could even respond, Penzey grabbed Paronai by the collar—like he was carrying a weasel by the scruff of the neck—and dragged him out.

—

Yurichen, who would normally say, ‘Liquor is nothing but a sin upon humanity!’, was too busy to be here today.

Paronai, in order to win the swordsmanship tournament’s prize—a Dwarven liquor called Sedery—even overcame the trauma of having beheaded a man just the day before.

Armed with only a wooden sword,he stepped into the arena with genuine resolve.

It was a rare, strong liquor from the Duke’s cellar.

Everyone knew that when it came to Dwarven goods, liquor was just as famous as their weapons. That was why the heat of the swordsmanship tournament was intense.

Wooaaaahh!

A loud cheer erupted.

Paronai, who had spiritedly knocked his opponent out of the arena, smiled with a face so pure and innocent.

Just then, Penzey, who had somehow managed to claim the best seat atop a tree and was lazily swaying, waved his hand.

‘See, Pao! That’s how you’re supposed to provoke them!’

He signaled him to whistle and rile up the next opponent. But Paronai didn’t know how to whistle.

So instead, he hummed a tune, going “hmm hmm…”

As a result, he simply ended up looking like some fool humming in the middle of the match.

The opponent, holding a wooden sword, just stood there, staring at him with a look that said, What kind of idiot is this?

Still, in the end, it turned out to be a pretty good tactic.

The opponent, baffled by the humming, charged at him recklessly and got knocked out within a few moves.

From then on, people started interpreting the humming as mockery, and opponents kept losing their tempers.

By the time Paronai made it to the final match, they were even praising him, thinking the humming was some kind of battle chant or magic incantation.

“The winner is—this man right here!”

Paronai happily waved his hand on the podium. (They didn’t reveal his name.)

Penzey was dumbfounded. Who was the guy whining just a few hours ago about not wanting to do this?

After enjoying his moment of triumph, it was time for the grand prize ceremony.

A man from the Duke’s household came, pushing a tray carrying the prize.

“Now, feast your eyes on this! This is—!”

As soon as he lifted the small drape covering the prize, revealing what was inside, a wave of gasps ran through the crowd.

At first, it sounded like impressed admiration. But it quickly turned into uneasy murmuring.

The confused host finally peered inside the drape himself.

It was empty.

“This can’t be! It’s gone! Someone stole it right in the middle of the tournament grounds!”

The host shouted.

Penzey, listening from a distance, immediately soured.

But the best reaction by far was Paronai’s—the freshly crowned champion, who had been bubbling with excitement just moments ago.

—

“Did you win?”

As soon as the two of them rushed back into the room, Riarun tilted his head and asked, still drowsy from just waking up.

His hair was tousled and his voice was groggy.

“Let me borrow Bzhan.”

Paronai said without any preamble.

The prize he desperately wanted had been lost. Most likely, it was a theft.

Since the knights’ search wasn’t getting anywhere, the winner himself decided to step up.

Elves were originally masters of tracking, stealth, and assassination.

If it was Bzhan, he could surely find clues about the thief who had snuck into the tournament.

The only issue was that Bzhan would never simply follow Paronai’s orders.

Paronai would have to somehow convince an invisible presence to cooperate.

“It’s liquor for right. You don’t like it either when he’s sick, right? Please help.”

At that moment, Riarun’s mind snapped fully awake.

In the original story, there had also been a liquor theft incident, and Bzhan had helped then too.

In that case, to avoid breaking the flow of the story—“Bzhan, could you go with them and help out?”

He had no choice but to speak up himself.

After dragging it out for a while, and right when Paronai was about to get down on his knees, Bzhan reluctantly left the house, looking far from enthusiastic.

And so, Riarun and the red-eyed man were left alone in the house.

“…….”

Riarun decided to take this rare opportunity to bring up the matter he hadn’t been able to talk about yesterday or today.

“In the alley yesterday…When I came to my senses, you were kissing me.”

The man’s body gave the slightest, almost imperceptible flinch.

It was subtle enough that Riarun couldn’t notice it with the naked eye.

Until now, he had quietly gotten away with the kiss that involved transferring the demon without the others noticing.

But recently, an unexpected problem had arisen—Bzhan.

Bzhan had started opening up to Riarun, sometimes hanging around him and even sleeping nearby.

Because of that, even though it was an important matter, the chance to talk had only come now.

“That kiss—you were supposed to be taking the demon from me, weren’t you? Then why is the demon still inside me?”

The man, for a moment, was overwhelmed by a swirl of emotions, struck speechless.

Exactly.

It was the same question he wanted to ask himself. The kiss was meant to extract the demon. So why had it failed yesterday?

“Because we were outside… I couldn’t take enough time. That’s why I failed.”

He said it while sincerely convincing himself it was true.

Fortunately, Riarun accepted it without suspicion.

“Then do it again now.”