I Have a Task Log

"It’s baked silverleaf snail. They’re delicious," Ale said, pulling the cloak from her head.

’Wait, so she didn’t have to cover her head? Then why was she doing it?’

As he grumbled internally, Colin glanced over and saw several pieces of freshly sliced shipworm and some sauce on Ale’s own plate. It looked like she planned to eat them raw.

’Shipworms and now snails.’

’The Elves in this world are a little different than I imagined,’ Colin thought with a silent grumble.

’Then again, both of them are wood-boring pests, so eating a few might actually be a good thing.’

He’d heard of people cooking with snails in his past life, anyway, and he’d seen river snails at late-night food stalls. Colin picked up the fork from his plate, dug the meat from the opening of the shell, and popped it into his mouth.

The rich aroma of butter immediately filled his mouth.

What seemed to be seasoned breadcrumbs and crushed nuts covered the opening of the shell, carrying the distinct taste of rosemary and pepper. The snail meat beneath them was firm and springy to the bite, like a large piece of abalone.

’It’s actually pretty good,’ Colin thought.

While they were busy eating, an old man leaning on a cane entered the restaurant.

The Guards following him were identical to the ones with Albert, right down to the crest on their armor... Colin glanced at Albert’s expression and quickly deduced the answer.

’This must be the current Family Head of the Weston Clan.’

Before Colin could decide how to greet him, the old man grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dragged it over, and said to Colin, who was sitting next to Albert, "Pardon me."

"It’s nothing."

Colin understood his intention and shifted his chair to the side.

"Waiter! Bring me the same as them. And right, don’t bring me any of that damned cider. I want a real, ice-cold rye beer—one of ours, not this local swill."

The old man raised his hand and bellowed at a passing Elf waiter, his mannerisms no different from a drunk ordering food in a tavern.

A shout like that, suddenly erupting in such an elegant Elven restaurant, made all the surrounding patrons turn to stare.

The old man paid the stares no mind, declaring in a loud, deep voice, "You’re Colin, right? I am Godfrey-Weston, the Border Count."

"Yes, I’m Colin. It’s a pleasure to meet you," Colin said with a slight nod.

As the old man spoke, Colin could faintly smell alcohol on his breath. He’d likely had a fair bit to drink before coming here.

"Alright, Colin. Let me see your hands."

"Uh, Father..."

"Shut up." Albert, who had been about to say something, was immediately cut off by his father.

Seeing how things were, Colin said nothing and silently held out his hands.

"Hmph. Judging by these thick calluses, you’re no soft-belly, eh?" Godfrey said. "Say you’re in the wild and run into a Wild Wolf. By the time you spot it, the beast is already pouncing. What do you do?"

Colin answered instantly. "Jam your left forearm into the wolf’s mouth, draw your Dagger with your right, and stab it in the gut."

"That’s the way! You’d have that beast gutted!"

Godfrey cracked a grin. Colin thought his expression was nearly as savage as Kase’s smile.

Just then, the waiter brought over the food Godfrey had ordered.

He grabbed the mug, drained more than half of it in one go, and then slammed it down on the table with a THUD.

"I recall you lot only became active about half a year ago, right? Back then in Dragon’s Fang Castle, your gear was all Orc-made. Fast progress." Godfrey squinted at Kase. "You’re all capable fighters, but the weapons and equipment you make are pretty damn shoddy."

"Can’t argue with that," Kase said, grumbling under his breath. For once, the Half-Orc didn’t defend his kinsmen.

Colin covertly studied Godfrey’s expression.

This old nobleman, who had spent years fighting off Orc raids, was praising them with genuine sincerity, completely devoid of prejudice. In fact, his expression was... sincere. So sincere it seemed he was incapable of hiding anything.

Godfrey drained the other half of his beer.

He slammed the mug back on the table and roared, "Tiberium is a fool! If I were him, I’d abolish the decree that lets people buy titles with Gold. Making men like you nobles would be far better than ennobling those idiotic merchants."

The old noble held forth at the dinner table, speaking his mind without restraint.

Aside from Dorn and Kase, who were still eating and drinking with gusto, the rest of the group was somewhat on edge.

"I don’t think I’d be very good at managing a territory," Colin said.

"A territory doesn’t need ’managing.’ As a noble, all you need to do is collect taxes, train soldiers, and kill the monsters when they come for you. That’s it."

Godfrey continued, "That’s a noble’s duty. In other words, those merchants who make money just by flapping their gums can’t fulfill that duty. Not long ago, the only people who got by on talk were street clowns and Wandering Poets in taverns! And philanderers warming women’s beds! People like that can’t shoulder any real responsibility!"

Colin silently took a sip of the fruit wine at his elbow.

’By that logic, more than half the nobles in Thousand Masts City would be stripped of their titles, and the entire Five-Stringed organization would have to be dismantled.’

As Godfrey spoke, Colin’s eyes drifted to the cane leaning against the table and then to the old man’s legs.

’No bandages or splints... that means his leg is probably...’

After finishing his long, rambling monologue, Godfrey rapped his fingers on the table.

Immediately, the Guard behind him stepped forward and placed a bag of Gold Coins on the table.

"Alright, I have to go. What’s that damn-fool saying again? Ah, yes. Enjoy your meal."

Colin gave a slight nod. "Thank you."

"Hahaha..."

Godfrey let out a booming laugh and clapped Colin on the shoulder. "Don’t give me that polite bullshit. I have a great deal of respect for Adventurers like you. Don’t lose that respect."

For a moment, Colin didn’t know how to respond and could only nod in silence.

"Good. Looks like you’re listening."

With that, Godfrey gripped his cane, preparing to stand. The Guards and Albert moved forward to support him.

The old nobleman viciously knocked their arms away with his elbow, grabbed his cane, and struggled to his feet. Without another word, he walked toward the exit.

"My apologies. My father, he’s..." Albert’s smile was strained with embarrassment.

"It’s fine. He’s a very amicable man," Colin said quickly, smoothing things over.

"A man who’s supposed to be dead, but isn’t," Kase said, his eyes on the doorway.