My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 75

Chapter : 149

One of Faria’s remaining guards, the healer, a small, bird-like woman who looked as if she might faint from sheer accumulated stress, finally managed a choked sound. "My Lady Faria," she whispered, her voice trembling, "the flower! You still have it!" She gestured towards the Dark Vein bloom, which Faria was still clutching, its cold, dark beauty a stark, almost profane contrast to the smoldering devastation around them. "We… we should leave! Now! Before… before anything else in this cursed, blighted forest decides to investigate the… the sudden loud noises! And the… the distinct lack of giant snake!"

That seemed to snap Faria back to the immediate, pressing reality of their situation. She looked down at the flower in her hands as if seeing it for the first time, then her gaze flew back to Lloyd, her eyes wide, a complex emotion swirling in their amethyst depths. "Ferrum," she said, her voice stronger now, though still laced with a tremor of shock and something else… something that might have been genuine, almost overwhelming gratitude. "You… you gave this to me. After everything. After retrieving it with that… that impossible wire trick. After your… your butler…" She shook her head, clearly still struggling to process the full, insane scope of what had just happened. "Why? You said your business with it was concluded. But why risk so much for it in the first place, only to hand it over?"

"Professional courtesy, Lady Faria, as I said," Lloyd replied, leaning back against the boulder again, suddenly feeling the bone-deep exhaustion hit him with the force of a physical blow. Fang, sensing his master’s weariness, nudged his hand with a wet nose, offering silent, depleted comfort. "Let's just say I had a… a vested interest in ensuring that particular bloom was successfully removed from its original location, for reasons that are, frankly, far too complicated and probably involve several levels of interdimensional bureaucracy that would bore you to tears." He waved a dismissive hand. "You needed it for your mother. Your cause seemed… noble. And frankly, after everything we've just been through together – near-death by Mire Monster, near-incineration by giant snake, near-cardiac-arrest by super-powered butler – it seemed like the polite thing to do. Besides," a genuine, weary smile touched his lips, "after all that, I think we can agree, the universe probably owes you a win."

Faria continued to stare at him, the gratitude in her eyes deepening, warring now with a profound, almost reluctant respect. "If it wasn't for you, Ferrum," she said softly, her voice losing all traces of its usual haughtiness, filled instead with a quiet, almost astonished sincerity, "if you hadn't… been here… if you hadn't called for that… that force of nature you call a butler… we would all be dead. Or worse." She shuddered, the memory of the Mire Monster’s charnel breath, the serpent’s cold, golden eyes, still terrifyingly vivid. "You saved our lives. Despite the chaos, despite the terror… you saved us."

Lloyd just shrugged again, pushing himself tiredly to his feet. "Team effort, Lady Faria. Mostly Ken's effort, if we're being honest. I just provided the desperate screaming and the occasional, largely ineffective, distraction." He looked around the scorched, devastated glade, then towards the oppressive, shadow-choked depths of Galla Forest that still surrounded them. "Now, if no one objects, I believe the primary agenda item should be 'strategic relocation to somewhere significantly less likely to contain mythological creatures with anger management issues and/or overpowered household staff'. Preferably somewhere with strong walls, a distinct lack of cursed flora, and perhaps a very, very large mug of ale. My treat. Assuming, of course," he added with a wry glance at the smoking patch of ex-serpent, "Ken didn't accidentally vaporize all the local taverns along with our reptilian friend." The thought of returning to his own duchy, to the relative sanity of his soap-making plans, suddenly felt like the most appealing prospect in the entire, multi-layered universe.

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Chapter : 150

The journey back from the blighted, monster-infested, now significantly-less-serpent-occupied clearing in Galla Forest was a blur of bone-deep exhaustion, lingering adrenaline jitters, and a profound, almost spiritual craving for a very long, very hot bath. Preferably one not located in a cursed forest. Lloyd, Faria, and her battered but miraculously intact entourage had stumbled out of Galla’s oppressive shadows just as the last, bruised fingers of twilight were relinquishing their hold to a star-dusted, indifferent night. They had parted ways at the forest edge with a minimum of formality, Faria clutching the Dark Vein flower like a sacred relic, her usual icy composure still thoroughly thawed by gratitude and sheer, overwhelming shock. Her parting words to Lloyd had been surprisingly devoid of their usual acerbic edge, consisting mostly of a slightly dazed, "Ferrum… thank you. Truly." Which, Lloyd privately conceded, was probably the closest he’d ever get to a heartfelt declaration of friendship from the formidable Marquess’s daughter. He’d just nodded, too tired for witty rejoinders, and watched them disappear towards the south, presumably to find the nearest alchemist capable of handling a flower that looked like it ate souls for breakfast.

Ken Park, who had materialized silently from the shadows the moment they were clear of Galla’s immediate influence, had arranged for discreet, if somewhat bumpy, transport back to the Ferrum Estate. Lloyd had slept most of the way, slumped against the carriage wall, Fang a warm, equally exhausted weight at his feet, dreaming of giant snakes, exploding butlers, and forty System Coins doing a cheerful, jiggly dance.

He’d stumbled back into his shared suite sometime in the small, desolate hours of the morning, bypassing the eternally lumpy sofa without a second thought and collapsing face-first onto the plush, unforgiving rug, too tired to even attempt the pretense of social distancing from the bed. He was asleep before his head even fully registered the impact with the expensive floor covering.

When consciousness, reluctant and groggy, finally clawed its way back, the room was filled with the soft, grey light of a new day. Sunlight, blessedly normal and serpent-free, streamed through the tall windows. Lloyd pushed himself up, his body protesting with a symphony of creaks, groans, and the distinct feeling that he’d been used as a practice dummy by a particularly enthusiastic, if somewhat clumsy, troll. Every muscle ached. His tunic was ripped, stained, and smelled faintly of ozone, vaporized reptile, and existential dread. He probably looked like he’d wrestled a badger in a mud pit and lost. Badly.

And then, he smelled it.

Cutting through the usual cloying lavender-citrus miasma of the room, sharp, clean, invigorating: rosemary.

He froze, sniffing the air like a bloodhound, his tired brain struggling to place the sudden, incongruous scent. It wasn't just a faint trace; it was a distinct, almost personal aroma. He looked around the opulent room, his gaze sweeping past the untouched sofa (thank the ancestors), the heavy velvet drapes, the ornate dressing table… and landing, with a jolt of pure, unadulterated surprise, on the figure seated not in her usual armchair, but at the small, elegant writing desk near the window.

Rosa.

She was dressed in a simple but impeccably tailored morning gown of pale blue silk, her dark hair partially swept up, revealing the elegant line of her neck. Sunlight caught the subtle sheen of it, and for a moment, she looked less like an Ice Queen and more like… well, like a surprisingly beautiful young woman enjoying a moment of quiet contemplation. But it wasn't her unexpected location or the uncharacteristic softness of her appearance that made Lloyd stare.

It was the scent. The clean, sharp, unmistakable fragrance of rosemary emanated directly from her. From her skin, from her hair. It was the scent of his soap. The soft soap, the one they had infused with rosemary oil in the dusty smokehouse.

She… she actually used it? Lloyd’s mind, still foggy with sleep and the lingering trauma of yesterday’s Galla Forest death-match, struggled to comprehend. Rosa Siddik? The Ice Princess who probably considered smiling a sign of profound moral weakness? She had voluntarily applied a product he had made, a product gifted to her in a bizarre, dung-fueled demonstration, to her own aristocratic person? The thought was so unexpected, so utterly out of character based on his previous interactions with her, that it bordered on the surreal. He almost wondered if he was still dreaming, perhaps a particularly weird stress-induced hallucination involving rosemary-scented wives and significantly less giant snake.