Chapter 120
Cecile dragged the orc to a quiet balcony, out of sight from the other guests.
She didn’t realize it herself, but in this place, such behavior carried a very deep meaning.
The northern demons who knew that well whispered with amused smiles.
“Ah, youth is a wonderful thing.”
“Looks like a new couple has already formed over there.”
“Young blood… so impulsive, so bold! I envy them.”
The music stopped.
Schwartz let go of Ariella’s hand with a graceful bow.
Ariella also returned the courtesy as she had been taught.
When she lifted her head again, not a trace of her tangled emotions showed on her face.
No one could guess what turmoil she was hiding inside.
“…That was quite a long dance.”
Before Ariella could return to Ludwig’s side, Ludwig himself came straight toward her.
“It was only one song,” she replied, masking the unsettling words she’d just heard.
Then—
Swoosh!
Ludwig wordlessly extended his hand.
The movement was just a little too hurried.
“What is it?” Ariella asked.
In his usual blunt, slightly gruff tone, Ludwig said:
“I understand the first dance has to be with the lord of this place.”
“And?”
“But there’s no reason I should have to give up the second dance as well.”
“Huh?”
Ariella let out a small laugh.
His plain, honest reaction actually eased her tension a little.
“You’ve found a very elegant way to ask me to dance again, haven’t you?”
Her voice teased lightly, but Ludwig, as always, paid no mind to nuance.
“Well? You don’t want to dance? Should I forget it?”
He too had practiced that morning.
Though Ariella had learned with stunning speed, Ludwig had kept up.
As she knew from experience, anything that required the body, Ludwig excelled at.
“That’s not it.”
At last, Ariella gave in and reached out her hand.
Just as their palms were about to meet—
“Excuse me.”
A stranger’s voice cut in.
Both of them turned at once.
Who’s this?
If this were the human world, Ariella would have memorized every guest list, background, and face in advance.
But this was the Demon Realm.
And not just that—another demon lord’s territory. Such preparation was impossible.
That lack of information was a serious weakness in the battlefield of social gatherings. But here, there had been no way to prepare.
“An honor to meet you, Demon Lord Ludwig, and his contractor.”
The man’s lips and eyes crinkled faintly with age.
“My name is Belzerion.”
“Ah, pleased to meet you,” Ariella replied smoothly.
Until now, no one had dared approach Ludwig and Ariella.
Etiquette demanded that only the host greet them first.
Only after Schwartz had welcomed them and shared the first dance did those beneath him gain the chance to step forward.
So he must be just under Schwartz in rank, Ariella judged, schooling her expression carefully.
Poke.
“Likewise,” Ludwig said at once, speaking up as if by reflex when nudged.
“I’ve been hoping for a chance to speak with you,” Belzerion said, raising his glass slightly.
“I come from a long line of grape growers and winemakers in the north.”
“Ah, I see,” Ariella replied with a bright smile, trying to read his intent.
“I rarely get the chance to taste southern liquor, or even hear of its flavor. It’s a pleasure to experience it today.”
The words began pleasantly, but the fact that he was a vintner set off alarms in Ariella’s mind.
When people approach like this, it’s rarely for a good reason.
With formal politeness, Belzerion continued:
“My trade makes me curious, and I could not hold it back. Might I ask a few questions?”
Other demons nearby were already pricking their ears.
Ariella could not afford to stay silent.
This was a stage meant to promote their product.
“Of course. What would you like to know?”
“I hear your Drunken Dragon is distilled from wine?”
“That’s right.”
“And which grape did you use?”
The question carried clear intent.
Ariella drew in a quick breath.
So this was his goal.
Predictably sly.
She could have dodged, but the truth was already no secret in the south.
It was only a matter of time before it spread.
So she answered honestly.
“The Marvez variety.”
At once, a murmur rippled through the demons.
“Marvez?”
“That cheap grape?”
“I thought it’d be something finer, but really…?”
In the north, wines made from Marvez were poorly regarded.
They were seen as commoners’ drinks, rarely chosen by nobles.
Too sour, too rough in flavor to grace a noble table.
That judgment was reflected in the price—barely one-fifth of the noble vintages Belzerion’s family used.
“Oh? Is that so?” Belzerion feigned surprise, swirling his glass.
“Then let me ask another question. For wine made from Marvez…”
His tone stayed smooth, but he deliberately stressed the grape’s name.
“How many years did you age it before distilling?”
Ariella clenched her teeth.
His intent was plain.
She answered as calmly as she could.
“Since the goal was distillation, there was no need for long aging.”
Again, the murmurs grew louder.
Ludwig frowned.
The way the crowd’s mood shifted with each of Ariella’s words told him instinctively this was dangerous.
Belzerion raised his glass to his lips and pressed on.
“Still, surely you aged it at least one year?”
“…”
The brief pause was enough for the onlookers to interpret.
“Not even a year of aging?”
“That’s the sort of cheap swill only poor demons would drink!”
Seizing the moment, Belzerion smiled slyly.
“Putting the pieces together…”
He looked between Ariella and Ludwig.
“This brandy is distilled from wine fit for commoners outside the castle, an affordable drink for washing away daily fatigue.”
And his next words carried through the hall.
“Distilled like that… the wholesale price must be, what, ten cels a bottle?”
Ten cels—the same as cheap rotgut.
Having slapped such a price tag on the brandy, Belzerion went on:
“That’s fortunate. Our people will be delighted—cheap liquor, easy to buy, quick to get drunk on.”
His final line sealed the blow.
“Meanwhile, grapes grown in old vineyards with rich soil will always be expensive. That’s why our wines are for special customers, generation after generation.”
Ariella’s gaze went cold.
This snake.
Her brandy had been aimed at the luxury market.
But Belzerion was openly smearing her plan.
I can’t let it be branded as cheap!
No matter the taste, once the perception stuck, it would be trouble.
Belzerion’s own wines must sell at high prices. His customers are nobles. Of course he wants to crush brandy before it can compete.
If brandy got labeled a commoner’s drink, Belzerion would keep his share of the luxury market untouched.
And if that perception spreads, it will ruin negotiations over price.
Ariella drew a deep breath.
Thoughts flashed like lightning.
“Lord Belzerion, was it?”
“Yes,” he said, eyes gleaming with confidence, already certain of victory.
“Do you know how much wine it takes to make just one glass of this brandy?”
“…?”
Belzerion faltered for the first time.
“Well, in the north we’ve never produced it seriously, so…”
“Ten times.”
His face stiffened.
“For that single glass, we burn nearly ten glasses worth of wine.”
Her voice rang clear.
“The grape itself may be inexpensive, but we pour in ten times the volume. Naturally, such uniqueness must be reflected in the final price, don’t you think?”
Ariella reached for the table nearby.
She picked up her untouched brandy glass and gave it a gentle swirl.
Rich fragrance slowly spread in the air.
“From your words, I hear great pride in the good grapes and good soil passed down through your family. I respect that—it is the essence of wine. But brandy is different.”
She gazed at the amber surface.
“With wine, owning the right vineyard is what gives you an advantage. But brandy’s quality depends on the distilling process. What matters is not what you have, but what you can do.”
Lifting the glass, Ariella spoke softly:
“Inherited wealth alone cannot create this depth.”
Now came the finish.
“To value the effort and skill poured into this less than inherited land… would that not be the very height of arrogance?”
