The Reincarnated Princess Spends Another Day Skipping Story Routes: Volume 8 [Parts 1 to 8] by Bisu

Author:Bisu
Language: eng
Format: epub

A Certain Spy’s Melancholy

My resting place for the day was a room in an old inn. I lay down on my bed, and the out-of-tune song echoing from the tavern downstairs made me furrow my brows.

“So damn noisy,” I complained.

“Oh well. Can’t be helped for today,” said Bear, my roommate, though he seemed to be in an awfully good mood rather than a begrudging one. He placed a bottle of alcohol and some cups on top of the shabby table near his bed. His expression was gentler than I’d ever seen it, and I didn’t need to wonder about his cheery attitude; he was happy for the same reason as the folks downstairs who were drinking enough booze to bathe in.

The citizens were going wild over the engagement between the Kingdom of Nevel’s acclaimed hero and the goddess.

Nevel’s knight captain, Leonhart von Orsein (also known as the Black Lion General), was a brave soldier, renowned not only within our borders but in all the surrounding nations too. Not only was he the eldest son to a County of venerable lineage and talented to boot, but he also had an excellent reputation. On top of all that, his handsome appearance was enough of a reason for women to never give him peace. A man with such assets had been a bachelor for so long, but now his partner had finally been decided.

His fiancée was Nevel’s first princess, Rosemary von Velfalt. Though her beauty was radiant like the sunlight and she had boundless knowledge, she was a humble and compassionate princess. She boasted overwhelming popularity among the citizens of Nevel, as well as those in the neighboring nation of Vint, and at some point, people had begun to call her “goddess.”

Denizens throughout Nevel were bubbling with excitement—their nation’s two greatest treasures were to be wed. Our current location was normally a desolate place located near the edge of the royal capital, but the atmosphere here was no exception to the festive mood—the people had been celebrating the whole day. Numerous drunks had hassled me during my short walk from the inn’s entrance to the top of the stairs. I’d needlessly wasted much energy on tearing off rowdy partiers who were clamoring about celebratory booze or urging me to drink on their tab.

“Crow, want to join me for a drink?” Bear offered me a cup.

His question gave me pause. I eventually got up, accepting his offer. He uncorked the bottle and poured wine up to the cup’s brim. The dark-red liquid was like crystal, and the light of the lantern reflected off it, casting illusory ripples on its surface.

Without bothering to propose a toast, I took a gulp and choked on the strong, bitter taste. I didn’t have the time to relish the intense flavor as the alcohol burned down my throat. After a beat, the distinct smoky aroma of the barrel-aged wine wafted up my nose.

Unlike the cheap booze that the folks in the tavern were guzzling down like water, this drink had no unpleasant aftertaste.

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