The Man-Made Magical Sword—Blade of the Dark Lord’s Minion

Yesterday, Volf’s servant had once again arrived at Dahlia’s home. She had expected to simply be handed an envelope like last time, but the cheerful servant lingered.

“If you please, ma’am, my master hoped you would read his letter and allow me to return with your reply.”

Dahlia quickly unsealed the envelope and scanned the note inside.

I have returned from my mission and have two days off starting tomorrow, it read. If it is convenient, I would very much like to visit you one morning. I am happy to call upon you some other time if you are busy.

The servant was content to take her reply either verbally or written. Since he’d brought stationery with him, Dahlia decided to pen a brief letter. Leaning on the wooden writing board, she wrote:

I am very pleased to hear you have returned safely. I will be free tomorrow.

She couldn’t help thinking how scruffy her handwriting looked upon the expensive paper. The servant thanked her politely as he took the letter and left.

The very next day, Volf arrived by carriage at the Green Tower. As she came out to greet him, Dahlia could only stare in astonishment as crate after crate was unloaded from the carriage. One was filled with meat and fish, another with fruit and vegetables, and yet a third contained a variety of cheeses and wine. It was far more than two people, let alone one, could possibly hope to eat.

“Er... Volf, what is all this?”

“I ate you out of house and home last time I came. This is to repay you. There are ice crystals in the boxes, so it’ll keep for a few days.”

“Well, that’s extremely kind of you. Thank you. But please, you don’t need to bring anything next time.”

Evidently, he’d been feeling guilty about indulging in so much fondue the last time he’d visited. The crates were too heavy for her to haul up the stairs, so Volf carried them up to the tower’s second floor for her.

He took off his enchanted glasses as soon as he stepped over the tower’s threshold and placed them ever so delicately into a black leather case. Dahlia could barely keep from grinning as she watched him. She’d made those glasses especially for him; it warmed her heart to see them treasured like that.

“Is this a fridge?”

“Yes. Still in development, though. The upper compartment is a freezer.”

“A fridge and freezer in one? Wow!”

Volf’s eyes shone with wonder as he peered at her in-progress creation. It had taken nearly two days, but the ice inside it had finally melted, making it usable again. She now intended to test it in her kitchen for a while, though she’d need to call on Marcello to have it carried there.

“Do you already have a buyer for it?”

“Oh, no, I want to test it out for myself first, in the kitchen. I’d never get it up the stairs on my own, but luckily I have a friend in the Couriers’ Guild who’ll manage it.”

“I could do that for you. You could use it to store all that food I brought.”

“Are you sure? It’s awfully heavy.”

Volf was currently carrying three large wooden crates of food in his arms with ease, so her concern was perhaps unwarranted, but the fridge had to be considerably heavier. It was pretty much solid metal, after all. When the casing had been delivered, it had taken two men to carry it into her workshop.

“Pardon me.”

Volf put down the crates, rolled up his sleeves, and grasped the refrigerator. He tilted it a couple of times, searching for its center of gravity and where best to grip it, before turning it on its side and lifting it without any obvious strain at all.

“Huh, lighter than I expected. It’s bulky, though, so I’ll need to watch out not to bump into things.”

“Whoa.”

Dahlia couldn’t conceal her astonishment as Volf carried the refrigerator as easily as if it were cardboard. He’d be welcome at the Couriers’ Guild anytime.

“It’s...really not too heavy?”

“Not at all. A red bear’s way heavier.”

“You’ve carried a red bear?”

For one moment, she pictured the young knight carrying a gigantic red bear in his arms, bridal style. She quickly shook her head.

“No, no. It came charging toward me, but my sword got stuck in its scabbard, so I grabbed it and threw it away. I was enhanced by a strengthening spell at the time, but my wrists still hurt for a good while after that.”

The image that floated into Dahlia’s mind this time was of Volf grappling with the bear in a sumo ring. Once again, she quickly dismissed her wild imaginings.

Dahlia had been concerned that the refrigerator might not fit through the stairway or doors, but as it turned out, her fears were unfounded. Once he’d set it gently down where she wanted it, Volf went back down to the first floor and brought up all of the wooden crates. It still amazed her how light on his feet he was under all that weight.

After that, Dahlia began storing the food away inside the refrigerator—getting it all to fit was like solving a 3D jigsaw puzzle. In the box that had contained the wine and cheeses, Dahlia discovered four prettily decorated silver boxes.

“Those are the wine glasses I promised you. There are two each for red wine and white wine.”

“Volf, may I ask why every single one is in a magically sealed box?”

“Er, well, I suppose it looks nice and, um...keeps them from breaking...”

There was something decidedly fishy about his reply. These little boxes were clearly meant for magical tools. She noticed their surfaces were engraved with images of a beautiful goddess—perhaps they’d been purchased at the Goddess’s Right Eye. She opened one of the boxes and gently lifted out the clear glass inside. As she held it up and looked through it, she noticed that it gave an occasional prismatic glimmer when the light hit it just right. Just as she was admiring how comfortably it rested in her hand, she detected the subtle tremor of magic.

“Volf, when most people talk about wine glasses, they mean ones made of glass. This is fine crystal, isn’t it? Enchanted, at that. Can you tell me how much you paid for these?”

“They weren’t all that expensive. Anyway, they’re very pretty, and I thought the hardening enchantment would come in handy.”

“So? How much?”

As she inquired a second time, Volf dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Four gold.”

“I’ll pay half.”

What had he been thinking? Certainly, it was good to know that they wouldn’t easily shatter, but she could hardly use such valuable glasses on a daily basis. Each glass was worth around a hundred thousand yen, bringing the set to a total of four hundred thousand. That sort of money was way outside of her comfort zone.

“No, there’s no need for that. I just bought them ’cause I wanted them.”

There was a proper place for such extravagant glasses, but that place was not in her tower. She knew if she got a single scratch on one of these glasses, she’d be depressed about it for days.

“Look, Volf, I understand that we come from rather different worlds, and our perception of money isn’t always going to agree. However, I still don’t see how I can accept such expensive glasses.”

“But Dahlia, you did give me a pair of enchanted glasses made with fairy glass for free the other day just because they were a prototype.”

She couldn’t deny that, but that fairy glass had been something just lying around in the workshop that she hadn’t had a use for. That was quite different from Volf going out and buying these wine glasses.

“I needed you to test those for me so I could make improvements.”

“Well, I have tested them, and there aren’t any improvements needed. They’re a finished product.”

“All right; you win. But I’m only bringing out these glasses when you come to visit.”

“I’d be happier if you’d use them every day. Besides, if one breaks, I can just get you a new one. I can afford it, so don’t worry,” Volf said with a nonchalant smile.

That was when Dahlia understood something—giving was simply in Volf’s nature. He wasn’t trying to put her in his debt or butter her up for some future gains. However, he seemed unaware of the effect this behavior might have on their future relationship. They were supposed to be friends, but friendship couldn’t be built on one-sided giving. At least, that wasn’t what Dahlia wanted.

“I appreciate the thought, honestly. But I don’t want to be in a position where I’m just taking from you all the time, you see. Um... Imagine you had a friend who was much wealthier than you, and they were always buying you expensive things. Eventually, you’d start feeling uncomfortable and inferior, don’t you think?”

She tried to choose the right words so as not to hurt the knight’s feelings. His golden eyes widened slightly, then he slowly cast them down.

“I’m sorry, Dahlia. I see what you mean now.”

“Please don’t feel bad. I know you were only trying to do the right thing, and I’m grateful. To you, these wine glasses probably don’t seem all that special. I’ll do what you said and consider that prototype I gave you a finished article. That’ll cover half the cost of the wine glasses. That leaves us all square, since you’ve given me the funds for the next pair of glasses already.”

“Make sure you include technical fees too. I want to buy those at the same price anyone else would.”

“Understood. I’ll do that.”

The pair nodded in agreement and then returned to the task of storing away the food. Once they had finished, Dahlia looked out the window to see the sun blazing down from high in the sky.

“What shall we do for lunch? With all this food here, I feel I ought to make something, but...well, I can’t claim to be a great cook. You may not like it.”

“I loved that cheese fondue you made last time. I’m sure whatever you make will be great. I can help too if it’s just cooking up some meat or something.”

“Oh? You cook too?”

She couldn’t help feeling his confidence in her abilities was a little misplaced if he was basing it on her fondue, but more than that, she was taken aback to hear that a young noble like him could cook. Then again, he had washed the dishes for her last time. It seemed what he’d said about everyone in the Order of Beast Hunters being equals had been true.

“I can prepare and cook meat; that’s about it. We’re allowed to eat any wild game or monsters we hunt while we’re out on missions, so I learned the basics from the cooks. Even when it’s perfectly fresh, it’s not exactly pleasant eating meat that’s burned or not properly prepared. You really feel it in your stomach afterward.”

Dahlia could scarcely think of anything more miserable than setting out on a life-or-death mission and having to eat gristly, blackened meat. It was needless for the knights to go making themselves ill like that.

“Why don’t we cook on the magical stove?” she suggested.

“Good idea. It shouldn’t burn on that.”

“Perfect; that’s lunch decided, then. We’ll try cooking some of the meat.”

“Great!”

Internally, Dahlia breathed a little sigh of relief. That wouldn’t test her culinary skills too much. They stood side by side in the kitchen, Volf slicing up the meat, Dahlia chopping vegetables to make a simple salad.

“We’ve got beef, pork, salted kraken... I’ll slice up a bit of everything,” said Volf.

The meat looked extraordinarily lustrous and succulent, almost unnaturally so. Perhaps it was just her imagination. She had difficulty seeing the salted kraken as anything other than octopus, but she was sure it would cook very nicely. She’d never seen a whole kraken, but smaller cuts of it were a common sight around town. It was good salted and grilled or stewed, and it made a tasty addition to soups and stir-fries.

People enjoyed kraken in a wide variety of ways. Dried kraken wasn’t particularly popular, but her father had often lightly grilled it on the stove and enjoyed it as a snack with his drinks. It could be a bit of a nuisance when he’d stand around drinking in the kitchen. If only he were here now, he could grill it at the table on the magical stove...

While her thoughts turned to her father as she washed the vegetables, Dahlia caught sight of Volf from the corner of her eye. He was slicing the meat into pieces over two centimeters thick.

“I think that might be a little thick, Volf.”

“Oh, right. I guess it’s not the same as cooking over a campfire.”

“I think about a quarter of that thickness would be fine.”

“Really? You’re sure that’s not too thin?”

They ended with a mixture of thick, medium, and thinly sliced meat. Dahlia went out and picked two kinds of greens, washing them before plating them up along with some bread and cheese. It was a very simple arrangement, but all the food Volf had brought with him seemed to be of very fine quality and would be delicious even without any special preparation. In the living room, Dahlia placed two small magical stoves upon the table. In place of hotplates, she put a shallow pot on one and a frying pan on the other. It didn’t make for an ideal presentation, but it was the best she could manage on the spot.

With the enchanting of the shortsword planned for the afternoon, the pair decided to avoid alcohol and drink just fruit juice with their lunch. Dahlia added a little oil to the pot and began cooking the meat. Volf followed suit, glancing over often to observe what she was doing.

“We’ve got salt, pepper, and lemon for seasoning. I’ve also whipped up a sauce with fish sauce, garlic, sesame and such, with some grated apple. Try a little drizzle once your meat’s cooked.”

The beef was done first. Dahlia seasoned hers with a simple sprinkle of salt before popping it in her mouth. It was so different from the meat she usually ate. It melted on her tongue, and the fat had a delightful sweetness to it. As she slowly chewed and swallowed, she was filled with a renewed appreciation for fine quality meat.

Once the pork was thoroughly cooked, she seasoned it with some salt and pepper. It was a little firmer in texture than the beef, and the fat, while also deliciously sweet, had a gentler taste. She imagined it would go very well in a stew.

On the other side of the table, Volf seemed lost in sheer rapture, chewing every little bite for far longer than necessary. He smiled blissfully, and his eyes were closed.

“This is unbelievably good...and you can cook it just how you like and eat it while it’s hot.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Even once he came back to earth, Volf’s passionate gaze remained fixed on the sizzling meat. “These stoves are a sin.”

“A what?!”

“If only we’d had these on all our missions until now, we’d have lost a lot less of our comrades.”

All of a sudden, the conversation had turned unexpectedly dark. Dahlia hadn’t made these stoves with the intention of saving anyone’s life. She couldn’t fathom Volf’s meaning at all. Surely the knights hadn’t burnt their meat so badly that it had actually killed someone.

“Um, was there some sort of incident, or...?”

“No, that’s not it. The fact is, a lot of men left the Order of Beast Hunters because they couldn’t stand the food. Some of them even got sick from it and quit. I was just thinking that, if only we’d had some of these little stoves, a lot of them might’ve stayed.”

Food was a fundamental need, after all. People would only put up with poor meals for so long. Dahlia wondered if the order had room in their budget for a few stoves to take on expeditions. She wouldn’t even mind offering them at a discount. In a bid to clear the rather heavy air, Dahlia began frying some of the salted kraken. It squeaked and hissed in the hot pan, shrinking quickly.

“It’s half the size it was. Seems so sad somehow.”

She wished Volf wouldn’t stare into the pot with such melancholy while she tried to cook. That was a look that ought to be reserved for roses and love letters, not slices of salted kraken.

“Octopus and squid do the same thing when you cook them. We’ll cut it a bit bigger next time.”

The kraken turned out to be a tad salty for Dahlia’s liking, but quite tasty all the same. It would go well with a bowl of rice. Most rice sold in the capital was the long-grain variety. Perhaps she would try cooking some to pair with the kraken next time.

In the midst of her reverie, she suddenly noticed that Volf hadn’t so much as touched his vegetables. “Aren’t you having any green peppers, Volf?”

“Peppers don’t seem to like me very much...” he mumbled, glancing away.

She’d once heard exactly the same excuse from a relative’s child in her past life.

“I’d tell you that you won’t grow up big and strong if you don’t eat your vegetables, but I’m not sure you need to get any bigger.”

“I know a couple of knights even taller than me, and they’re always complaining about bumping their heads on doorways. If those things’ll make me grow taller, I’d rather avoid them.”

“Fair point. It’s funny how lots of children hate green peppers.”

She realized too late that “people” might have been a more tactful choice of words. Volf’s face darkened. He stared at the peppers for a few moments before silently beginning to place them into the pot.

“Look, Volf, I know how that sounded, but I understand everyone has preferences! You don’t have to force yourself if you don’t like them.”

“No, I have to overcome this. I need to defeat my demons!”

Volf was glaring into the pot with frightening intensity, like he was staring down a monster instead of a few sliced peppers. For the sake of her heart, she wished he’d stop.

“Make sure to cook them thoroughly. Try eating them with the meat and a bit of sauce,” Dahlia said, feeling oddly tense as she offered her advice.

Volf raised a well-cooked piece of pepper and a morsel of meat to his mouth, closing his eyes before putting the whole forkful inside. For a moment, he chewed silently.

“Mm? That’s...not bad.”

“Your taste buds change a lot when you become an adult. Sometimes, you find you enjoy things you hated when you were little.”

“It’s really good. I guess I’ve been missing out.”

She had a feeling Volf would love pepper steak and made a mental note to cook it for him sometime. They followed the peppers with some extra meat before finally finishing up their lunch. Despite the windows being open, the unique aroma of cooking meat lingered in the room.

“I’d love to take this stove with me on missions, but there’d be a riot if I were the only one who had one.”

“There’s nothing like the smell of meat cooking to gather people around, huh?”

“Dahlia, what would you say to coming to the castle and showing everyone how to use one of these stoves?”

“I think that’s a great idea. If it’ll get you all some better meals while you’re out in the wilds, I’m happy to help.”

Dahlia couldn’t help having a little chuckle to herself. Only a select few traders were permitted within the castle. Without a letter of recommendation and a guarantor, the guards wouldn’t give you the time of day. The castle and its grounds were no place for ordinary citizens. It seemed Dahlia, as a commoner, had a stronger sense of that boundary than Volf did.

“Right then, let’s tidy up so we can have a look at this sword.”

“Got it. Leave this to me.”

Dahlia managed to stop Volf before he tried to gather the stoves, the plates, and everything else into his arms in one precarious pile. Working together, they soon had it all cleared away. With that done, they descended the stairs to the workshop and began preparations to enchant the shortsword.

“Okay, shall we start?”

“I’ve waited so long for this...”

He spoke as though they were on the brink of some life-changing event. Dahlia hoped he realized that with her magic, any enchantments she produced would only be weak. If she managed to successfully endow the sword with multiple enchantments, she intended to give Volf instructions on the method that he could take to a more powerful mage or alchemist. She handed Volf some dark blue overalls.

“You’d better put these on—your clothes may get dirty.”

“Were these your father’s?”

“No. If they’d been his, the sleeves would be too short on you.”

“I’ll pay you for them later.”

“You can pay me by lending me your strength, like you did with the refrigerator earlier.”

“Y’know, it feels like I’m the one who’s taking from you all the time.”

“Don’t be silly. Once you’ve put that on, I’d like you to disassemble this for me, please.”

Volf looked a little dissatisfied at being brushed off, but his expression softened when she handed him the shortsword. He had it in pieces within moments, leaving her with the blade, the guard, the handle, and the scabbard.

“Would you rather have the blade reinforced or be self-sharpening like those kitchen knives I told you about?”

“Well, it looks fairly sturdy, so I think self-sharpening would probably be best.”

As she listened, Dahlia placed her fingers on the blade and began to apply the self-sharpening enchantment. The sensation was very similar to enchanting a kitchen knife, but Dahlia found she needed to pour in a little more power than usual. This was likely due to the blade’s thickness and the difference in its composition.

“Now, I was thinking of using a water crystal to put a cleaning enchantment on the guard, an air crystal to enchant the handle with haste, and a weight-reducing enchantment on the scabbard. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

“Okay, let’s see what I can do.”

Dahlia remolded the guard so she could set it with a small water crystal specially made for toolmaking. Then, she made a cut in the bottom of the sword’s red handle and inserted a small air crystal. After that, she had only to let her magic flow into the objects and ensure the enchantments were fixed. The process went fairly smoothly with these first three parts of the sword, but she was tripped up when she came to the scabbard. She had never been especially good at weight-reducing spells, which was probably part of the reason. Her magic seemed to simply bounce off the scabbard’s surface.

“This is a bit trickier.”

“You could leave the scabbard as it is. You’ve already enchanted the other parts.”

“I could, but I’d like to keep at it a little longer.”

She turned the scabbard around and tried directing the magic into the inner surface, where the blade would be sheathed. This time, despite her pouring in a steady stream of magic, it felt as though her power were being swallowed into a bottomless pit.

“It looks like you’re putting a whole lot more magic into there than you did for the other parts,” Volf commented.

“That’s because I’m extracting all the power from the air crystal for this enchantment. I don’t want to set the crystal into the scabbard; it’ll just get in the way. Unfortunately, the magic becomes a little weaker this way, and it takes a while to get it in. Also...weight-reducing spells aren’t my specialty.”

Her father had been much more proficient than her at weight-reducing enchantments. He used to turn the objects around and around in his hands while scintillating rainbow-colored magic glowed at his fingertips.

“Oh. Hold on a minute.”

She began to copy her father’s motions, turning the scabbard over repeatedly while spreading her magic over its surface. The magic snaked around it like a ribbon, glowing as it enveloped the dark-brown scabbard.

“Looks like I needed to wrap it rather than try to pour the magic in.”

“This is fascinating to watch, but aren’t you getting tired?” Volf asked, looking a little concerned.

“I’m fine. I’ll need your strength to put it all back together, though.”

She carefully readjusted the flow of her magic as she continued enchanting the scabbard, and soon the process was complete.

“The crystals in the guard and handle will make them a little heavier. I’m afraid I didn’t manage to lighten the scabbard very much.”

“You’ve done more than enough. The blade feels fine; I wouldn’t mind it even heavier,” Volf said as he made to push the blade into the handle.

He cocked his head in puzzlement.

“Enchanting doesn’t change the size of anything, does it?”

“It shouldn’t, no.”

“Right, just need to put my back into it then.”

As he tried to push it in harder, the blade suddenly leaped from his hands, skidding across the table and clattering loudly onto the workshop floor.

“Volf, are you all right?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t expect it to be quite so lively.”

He picked the blade up and tried once again, but both parts stubbornly repelled each other, refusing to fit together. Volf even tried putting a strengthening spell on himself, but a worrying creaking sound from the handle as it was forced toward the blade stopped him.

“I never imagined it wouldn’t go back together again,” Dahlia said.

“I guess there’s a good reason no one’s made one before. If it were that simple, they’d have done it a long time ago.”

Volf looked disappointed, but when it came to magical toolmaking, failures like this were par for the course. Sometimes, it took hundreds of attempts before you finally hit upon the right design.

“It’s just like crafting any other magical tool. The enchantments might be incompatible, or the problem might lie with my magic or the materials. There are lots of possibilities. All we can do is be patient and keep experimenting.”

“Whether it’s tools or swords, this crafting thing’s not straightforward, huh? We’ve just taken the first step on a long journey...”

He made it sound like some epic tale, but he wasn’t far off the mark.

“There are plenty of swords out there with enchantments on them, so the item itself’s probably not the problem,” he continued. “If the magic is incompatible, though... Ah, I wonder if it’s magical interference. I remember the vice-captain telling me it was difficult to use water magic and strengthening spells at the same time.”

“Magical interference, you say?”

If that was the case, then she only had to insert some material between the parts that would act as a barrier to the magic, preventing them from affecting each other.

“Volf, didn’t you mention that black slimes are very tough and resistant to fire, water, and air magic?”

“I...suppose I did.”

“Well, it’s possible that it’ll act as a barrier to magic! We should try coating the inside of the scabbard with black slime powder.”

“Dahlia, no, it’s too dangerous!” said Volf, leaping up from his chair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I wear proper protective gloves this time. Besides, you’ll be with me.”

“All right. If anything happens, I’ll get you to the temple right away.”

Why was he assuming they’d need to go to the temple? She’d just told him she’d wear gloves. He worried far too much, she decided.

After putting on a pair of enchanting gloves, Dahlia began mixing some black slime powder into a liquid with a glass stirrer. It was slightly disconcerting having Volf watching her every move like a hawk, but she ignored him and concentrated on the task. She transferred the black mixture into a silver bucket and dipped in the blade, guard, handle, and scabbard in turn. After that, she applied a strong fixing spell to each part.

“Right, the slime’s adhered. Try putting it together again. If it still resists, then stop.”

She handed Volf her father’s work gloves and watched as he picked up the parts again.

“This feels more promising.”

This time, the shortsword came together without issue. The blade was black, the scabbard was black, the guard was black, and the handle had come out a dark red. Its appearance certainly befitted a magical sword.

“Well, it certainly looks magical...though I’m not sure if it’s in a good way,” Dahlia observed.

“I think it looks cool! It’s almost like, er, something the minion of a powerful demon might wield.”

Was it really proper for a royal knight to call such a sword “cool”? Besides, it wasn’t some demon’s minion who would be wielding it, but Volf. Dahlia’s vivid imagination kicked into gear; she saw Volf clad in black armor, the black sword in hand, laughing villainously as he stood at the side of a legendary demon. He fit into the scene disconcertingly well.

“The blade looks keen enough, and the water crystal rinses it. You can definitely feel the extra speed when you swing it. Scabbard’s nice and light too! All of the enchantments are working.”

As Dahlia watched him skillfully handle the small sword, something caught her eye. A tiny wisp of smoke was rising from his hand.

“Volf, could you put it down on this silver plate, please? And show me your glove.”

“Hm? It looks a bit furry.”

“The material’s corroding. One false step and that could’ve eaten right through to your hand. Hold on, let me get a bit of that leftover meat.”

Dahlia fetched a thin, two-centimeter long piece of meat from the fridge and placed it on top of the black blade. Almost instantly, it began to fizzle and slowly melt away. Dahlia and Volf stood for a full two minutes, silently watching it. In the end, all that was left of the piece of raw meat was a little puddle of sticky, blackish liquid. They’d created something truly demonic.

Friends for Dinner

Just as the sun’s red glow was beginning to fade from the evening sky, Dahlia’s friends Irma and Marcello arrived at the Green Tower. At long last, their schedules had aligned, so Dahlia had invited them over to enjoy a few drinks together.

“Oh, Dahlia, look at you! You’re looking gorgeous!” As soon as she stepped through the door, Irma threw her arms around her childhood friend. She herself was pulling off a chic red dress with style.

Once again, Dahlia found herself in quiet awe of the power of makeup. It was extraordinary how much a little color dabbed in the right places could enhance one’s appearance.

“Thanks, Irma. It’s just because I’m made up, though. You look lovely too! That dress is great on you.”

“Hee hee, thanks. Marcello bought it for me. Didn’t you, darling?”

The man standing behind Irma was silent, however, his reddish-brown eyes glued on Dahlia.

“Well don’t just stand there, silly! Say something!” Irma demanded.

“Oh, sorry... I was just a little shocked. It’s scary what makeup can do. I mean, you’re cute as a button even without it, but that’s a stunning look you’ve got goin’ on.”

His deadly serious expression left Dahlia at a loss for words. Of course, this praise was all the effect of her makeup, and he’d only spoken after Irma had prodded him. Not knowing what to say, Dahlia turned to Irma for aid.

“Stop him, Irma. He’s going overboard!”

“Marcello, I promise I shan’t get jealous, so you make sure to tell Dahlia exactly how gorgeous she is.”

“Will do! Ah, I’m a lucky man, getting to drink with such beauties!”

With Irma’s intervention, the air was cleared, and the three of them laughed as they climbed the tower’s stairs.

“Marcello, Irma, I can’t thank you enough for all your help with my engagement, the new trading company, and everything.”

Once they’d all sat down around the table, Dahlia bowed her head deeply. Though a great deal had happened since she’d broken off her engagement with Tobias, in truth, not very much time had passed. Irma had listened to her troubles; Marcello had helped her move and even signed up as a guarantor for her trading company. Dahlia was indebted to them both.

“Don’t be silly, Dahlia; I didn’t do anything!”

“Right! People were falling over themselves to be your guarantors; you don’t need to thank me.”

“I’m truly grateful, though. I couldn’t have managed without you. I want you both to eat and drink as much as you like tonight—no holding back, all right?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

Dahlia poured a dark ale for Marcello and pale ales for Irma and herself. The three raised their glasses for the first toast of the evening, with Marcello taking the lead.

“Here’s to the founding of the Rossetti Trading Company, the success of Irma’s salon, and a blessed tomorrow for the three of us. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Irma and Dahlia both followed.

With that, Marcello drained his glass in one gulp, with Irma half-emptying hers. They both enjoyed a drink as much as Dahlia did. The chilled ale was a balm to her throat; it had been a hot afternoon.

“Ah, that’s good stuff... Nothing better than an ice-cold one, huh?”

“Right,” Irma agreed. “It’s at times like these I can’t help longing for a bigger fridge.”

The two of them wore the same wistful expression. Large refrigerators were still much too expensive for most commoners to dream of owning. Even mid-sized models only really had room for a few perishables like meat and fish. Finding a spare corner to squeeze some bottles into wasn’t always easy. Most people either cooled their drinks in water or in a crate with some ice crystals. For now, Dahlia could only hope that the cost of refrigerators and ice crystals would fall someday soon. With such thoughts lingering in her mind, Dahlia stood up from her chair.

“Okay then, let’s eat!”

From the kitchen, Dahlia brought in two magical stoves, two pots, and several large plates.

“Ah, these must be your compact magical stoves, right?”

“We’re gonna cook right here at the table?”

“Yep, I thought some freshly fried skewers would be just the thing. We’ll fry the vegetables in this pot and everything else in this one. I’ve got salt, lemon, pepper, and mayonnaise, so season them however you like.”

Having mulled over what to cook for tonight, Dahlia had settled on something she knew would go perfectly with ale—deep-fried skewers. She’d prepared diced beef and pork, shrimp, scallops, kraken, small fish, green peppers, and shiitake mushrooms, along with some partially cooked small onions, carrot, and taro. With magical stoves, there was no need to worry about gas canisters or the like, as had been the case in Dahlia’s previous world. However, disposing of the cooking oil and cleaning up was still quite a task. Some things never changed.

“Be sure to keep your glass away from the pot. The oil will spit if any water drips into it,” Dahlia cautioned.

“Got it. All right, let’s get cooking!”

“Irma, you mustn’t put in too much at once; it’ll bring down the temperature of the oil.”

“Oh, of course. It’s not like making fried chicken, is it? You eat it right away.”

Irma nodded and submerged some skewered shrimp and scallops into the oil. There were few sounds that roused Dahlia’s appetite like the sizzle of bubbling oil. Beside Irma, Marcello very cautiously dipped a skewer of green peppers into the pot and sat there holding onto it tightly.

“It’s okay to let it go, Marcello.”

“Doesn’t it make you a little nervous cooking like this?”

“I suppose it’s not every day you get to cook at the table. It’s too dangerous if you’ve got small children, so you either have to do it with just adults or keep a close eye on the kids... Ah, I need to add that to the instructions.”

“Oh, Dahlia, just make a note and then forget about it. Mustn’t keep the skewers waiting,” Irma said quickly, already placing her second skewer into the pot.

“Will do.”

Dahlia pulled her notebook from her pocket and quickly jotted down a note before putting it away and turning her attention to the skewers.

“Ta-da!” Irma cried happily as her shrimp skewer finished cooking.

She sprinkled the crisply fried shrimp with salt and suddenly took an enthusiastic bite.

“Hot...!”

“Irma, are you okay?!”

“Fine! I’m fine; just gotta wash it down with ale!”

Was she really all right? Dahlia was a little concerned, but Irma drank up with a cheerful smile, so she decided to leave her be. Beside her, Marcello was tucking into the vegetables. She knew that he preferred meat and fish—perhaps he thought that there wasn’t enough to go around.

“There’s plenty more meat and fish, Marcello, so don’t feel like you need to hold back.”

“Oh, I’m not, don’t you worry. I’m just makin’ sure I don’t miss out on a single thing.”

He sounded quite serious, so she didn’t pursue the matter any further. When Dahlia looked down at the ingredients on the table, she herself wasn’t sure where to start. The scallops were closest to her, so she decided to start with them, frying them on a skewer and lightly seasoning them with salt when they were done. They were surprisingly succulent for their small size. Next, she fried some shrimp until it was crisp and crunchy. These would make a great snack, she thought.

The beef turned out very tasty as well, but what surprised Dahlia most were the little onions. She had never imagined they would be so sweet. She added no seasoning at all to her second skewer, relishing the natural flavor. As she ate some taro, seasoned with salt and pepper, she found herself reminded of the first time she and Volf had gone for a drink together. The salt and pepper fries she’d eaten then had been a bit tastier. Perhaps next time, she’d slowly fry some potato chunks instead.

“Dahlia...these are dangerous.”

Hearing Marcello’s low murmur, Dahlia immediately looked up. He held his dark ale in one hand and a skewer of fried shiitake mushrooms in the other, his brow furrowed in a frown.

“You haven’t burned yourself, have you?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just...you take a bite of this, right, then you need some ale, then you want another bite, and that makes the ale taste even better. There’s no end to it.”

“Have as much as you want. There’s plenty to fry, and I’ve got a dozen bottles of dark ale.”

“Good to know. Just tell me if I overdo it, all right? I’ll pay you back with some sweet red wine next time.”

For two people who enjoyed a tipple, it was indeed a favorable exchange.

“Marcello’s right, y’know, this is dangerous. Especially down here,” said Irma, clutching her stomach.

It was looking slightly rounder than when she’d arrived, just slightly. Or was it? No, it was surely Dahlia’s imagination.

“Never mind that, Irma. There’s good ale and fresh skewers to be enjoyed; let’s not worry about such silly things.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll just work a little bit harder tomorrow.”

Despite what she’d said to Irma, Dahlia couldn’t help becoming a little more conscious of her own waistline.

Once the meal was over, the three of them moved to the living room sofas to relax.

“That was almost as good as what you’d get in a restaurant! I never knew how tasty those skewers could be freshly fried.”

“Same here. They make you drink too much ale, though; that’s the only trouble.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them. Actually, I’ve got two magical stoves to give you to thank you for becoming a guarantor, so you can try making them at home. I’ve included some recipes—there’s a sort of cheese hot pot in there that I definitely recommend.”

Dahlia had decided to send a gift of a magical stove to everyone who had put their name down as a guarantor for her company.

“Thanks, Dahlia. That’d be wonderful,” Irma replied happily. “I’ll be sure to recommend them to my customers.”

“Much appreciated. The profits will come back to the guarantors, after all, so it’s a win-win.”

“Yeah, can’t wait to see where we’re at two years from now,” Marcello added.

As they chatted away, Dahlia prepared their after-dinner drinks. Looking to keep things simple, she placed a bottle of rum, soda water, a pot of sugar, and a bowl containing several limes on the table.

“Marcello!” Irma called. “It’s your time to shine!”

“Yep, I see those limes.”

Marcello smiled wryly at his wife and left briefly to wash his hands.

“Come on, show us those muscles!”

“Uh-huh, I know.” He picked up a lime, pulling it apart a little before he squeezed the whole fruit, peel and all, between his hands. Juice trickled and dripped into the waiting glass; it was barely any less than what you’d get from a purpose-made magical squeezer.

“It amazes me every time,” said Dahlia.

“This is nothin’. Most of the boys at the Couriers’ Guild can manage a strengthening spell of this level.”

As he spoke, he added rum and a generous amount of sugar to the glass before giving it a thorough stir with a stick. Ideally, it should have been shaken, but stirring was perfectly satisfactory. Marcello had made this cocktail for them before. It reminded Dahlia of a daiquiri. He squeezed the lime into another glass and added rum and soda water. This was his preferred combination.

“All right, our second toast. Your turn, Irma.”

“Me? Oh, er, right... May we work hard and be blessed with good health and good fortune. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

After a merry clink of glasses, they all took a sip. The sweet sugar and tart lime flavors, perfectly balanced, were followed by a warm kick of alcohol. Nothing could be better for washing down all that fried food.

“I always say we’ve got a different stomach for drinks,” Irma sighed.

“It gets fat just the same, though.”

“Marcello! A little tact wouldn’t go amiss!”

“Heh, sorry.”

Dahlia couldn’t help but smile at the couple’s lively conversation. Their happy relationship had remained the same after marriage as it had before. It was heartwarming just to watch them. If I’d married Tobias, would I be laughing like that now? The intrusive thought turned her drink a little bitter.

“Just to put it out there, Dahlia...if or when you do feel like dating again, give me a shout. There’s a couple of fine young lads at the Couriers’ Guild I’d be happy to introduce you to.”

He seemed to have read her mind. She offered him a small smile.

“I appreciate the thought, Marcello. I’ve thought about it, though, and I’m not sure romance and marriage and all that are really for me.”

“In that case, maybe it’d be good just to make some new male friends,” Irma suggested.

“Actually...I have made one.”

Dahlia had been unsure whether to mention him, but with his recent visits to the Merchants’ Guild and his having become her guarantor, word of her and Volf’s acquaintance was sure to get around. She would rather Irma and Marcello heard about it from her first.

“That’s great news. What sort of guy is he?”

“He’s a knight. One of the Beast Hunters.”

“Oh, wow. A knight?”

“Did he come to the Merchants’ Guild lookin’ for equipment or somethin’?”

“No, we just ran into each other by coincidence a couple of times. We got talking, and it turned out we had some shared interests, so we became friends.”

“Er...Dahlia, I’m sure you have the right intentions, but...”

Glass in hand, Irma slightly narrowed her brown eyes. They were colored with a mixture of suspicion and worry.

“I know how it looks. I’m well aware some people will think he’s toying with me, or I’m toying with him. I know there’ll be gossip, and it won’t all be nice. But I promise you, we’re friends and nothing more. He’s even invested in my company.”

“Invested? Don’t tell me he’s a noble.”

“He is.”

Dahlia became aware that the more she said, the more there was to be misunderstood. She fell silent for a moment as she grasped for a way to properly explain herself.

“What kind of a man is he, Dahlia? What’s he like?”

“Well, I suppose he’s...someone who really loves magical swords.”

Dahlia could find no better words to sum up the young knight.

“Magical swords, eh? Ah, they’re not so different from magical tools, I guess.”

“Now I get it. He’s one of those people who’d bite like a hungry fish if you dangled a rare sword in front of him, right? No wonder you hit it off; he sounds just like you.”

What sort of comparison was that? Dahlia wasn’t sure how to feel about her friend’s reasoning. That said, Irma had a point. If you wished to catch that young knight, a rare magical sword would make the perfect bait. She had exactly the same weakness for unusual magical tools.

“I’d happily have a drink with any friend of yours, but I don’t know how he’d feel about it, being a noble and all.”

“I’ll ask next time I see him.”

Dahlia was never strongly aware of Volf’s noble status when they spent time together. Still, even she couldn’t be sure how he would feel about being introduced to her friends, especially with one of them being a woman.

“He’s probably comfortable around you because your father was a baron,” said Irma. “The etiquette and everything must come naturally to you, but we don’t know much about all that. Are you sure it won’t be awkward?”

“I think it’ll be all right. I expect word will get around soon anyway, so I’ll tell you who he is. He’s one of the Scalfarottos; the earl’s youngest son.”

“Scalfarotto...? You mean the ones who do the water?”

“Yes, the very same.”

Irma’s instant recognition of the name reminded Dahlia what a preeminent family the Scalfarottos were. Perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise—that family alone controlled the supply of water crystals for the entire capital.

“Dahlia, I really think—I’m not sayin’ I don’t trust you or anythin’, but...”

“I understand. I think that’s a perfectly normal reaction, under the circumstances.”

She found herself wanting to defend Volf’s character, but she understood Irma’s and Marcello’s feelings. She too would have been worried in their position. Volf was a nobleman and she a commoner, after all—what were people supposed to think? It was only natural to assume his interest in her was only casual, or that he was her patron, her lover or some such. However, Dahlia was prepared to face these misconceptions. She had been since the day she’d decided to become Volf’s friend.

“If it’s possible, I’d like to meet him and talk to him,” Irma said. “You’re one false step away from getting involved with another good-for-nothing man.”

“Hey, cut her some slack, Irma.”

“I mean, look at how you put up with Tobias. You should never have put yourself through that.”

“I wasn’t the one for him. I see that now.”

Dahlia had barely finished her sentence before Irma cut in. “That wasn’t it! You should never have changed yourself for him... You listened to his every stupid little demand! You were suffering all that time, yet every time I asked you, you just told me you were fine and not to worry! We’re supposed to be friends, Dahlia.”

“Irma, that’s enough,” Marcello said, giving his wife a firm pat on the head. He gently pulled her back toward him, sitting forward to place himself between Dahlia and his sullen wife. “Sorry, Dahlia. She’s had a little too much to drink.”

“It’s all right. I’m sorry, both of you.”

“You’ve nothin’ to apologize for.”

“No, I do. I should have faced up to reality sooner; that much is certainly true. You said the same things too. You told me I should never hold back on Tobias’s account...that a married couple should be able to tell each other what they think.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I did.”

There was no getting around it; she was the one who had refused to listen to her friends’ advice. She’d gotten so wrapped up in trying to fit into her image of the ideal wife that she’d ignored everything else.

“I know now that I was in the wrong back then. So from now on, just like always, I want you to tell me plainly if you think I’m making a mistake. I promise I’ll speak my mind as well.”

“You got it. Right, Irma?”

Irma, hugging close against his shoulder, composed herself. Her eyes were a little reddened.

“Sure, but I won’t hold back, you hear? No sugarcoating.”

“Yeah. That’s what I want, Irma.”

“I reckon this calls for another toast.”

With the little that was left in their glasses, the three friends raised the third toast of the night. After that, Marcello stood and began juicing the remaining limes.

“Sorry to bring it up again, but d’you mind if we talk about that friend of yours a little more?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

“You...mentioned he’s a Beast Hunter, right?”

“That’s right. You wouldn’t know it from just talking to him, though. He’s quite normal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, that’s pretty dangerous work, y’know?”

Having said that, Marcello fell silent. The Beast Hunters risked life and limb with every mission—that was what he must have been getting at, but he stopped short of saying it aloud.

“His name’s Volfred. He’s one of the Scarlet Armors.”

Though she deliberately injected a cheerful note into her voice, Dahlia felt a slight pang in her chest as she spoke. Perhaps her image of Volf was still entwined with that of her father.

“He’s been doing it for years, though, and he says he’s never been badly injured.”

“That so? Must be a heck of a tough one.”

“Yes, I’m sure he is.”

Dahlia had never seen Volf fight with her own eyes before. However, he could hardly have spent years at the vanguard of the Beast Hunters without being a formidable warrior. She had to have faith in his strength.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Irma, would you try this out for me? I’d like to get your opinion on it.”

Dahlia fetched a small bundle from the shelf and brought it to the woman who’d been sitting there drinking in silence.

“What is it?”

“It’s a foaming soap dispenser. It turns liquid soap into foam.”

Since creating her first prototypes, Dahlia had made further improvements to the dispenser; the pump was now easier to push down, and the mechanism was simpler. The bundle she gave to Irma contained two of them. She had about another ten in the workshop; she’d take some samples along to the Merchants’ Guild someday soon.

“Oh, that sounds interesting. Should make shampooing easier. I’ll start using it right away; I can put one by the washstand.”

“Let me know if it’s difficult to use in any way.”

“Will do. Okay if I just jot down some notes like usual?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Irma had been testing Dahlia’s prototypes since they were students. Back when she’d been developing her waterproof cloth, Irma had given her plenty of frank feedback: “This type smells bad when it gets wet.” “The color’s off-putting.” “Too much slime. Clings to your hands and feels gross.” She had been extremely helpful. Dahlia had compensated her for her trouble with magical tools, crystals and such—whatever Irma had happened to want at the time. Perhaps she’d ask her to test out the new refrigerator next.

“Sounds handy for washing your face in the morning,” Marcello commented.

“Good point,” Irma agreed. “You’re always half-asleep, so you never do it properly.”

“I’m pretty sleepy first thing too...”

Dahlia had a bad habit of getting absorbed in her work and staying up late into the night. The day after was always a struggle.

“Both of you have too many late nights and too much to drink. You should cut down on the drinks, for starters!”

Even as he listened to his wife’s admonition, Marcello picked up a fresh lime and squeezed it into his glass. He followed that up with a generous measure of rum and a good-humored grin.

“Remind me of that tomorrow, eh? Tonight’s a lost cause.”

The Black Reaper and the Monster Husks

Within the royal Order of Beast Hunters, there were a special few who were known as “sorcerers.” They were warriors with such terrific power that even monsters knew to fear them, or so the rest of the knights and soldiers often joked over a mug of ale. The most famous of all was the “Sorcerer of Ash.” This was the name given to Grato Bartolone, captain of the Beast Hunters. Wielding Ash-Hand, a magical sword passed down through the Bartolone family for generations, this imposing man with red eyes and dark-gray hair slew even gargantuan monsters with ease. After Grato, the next most renowned warrior in the order was the “Sorcerer of Water,” Vice-Captain Griswald Lanza. Blue-eyed and blue-haired, Griswald was built like a bear and fought with a lance and water magic. He was a celebrated mystic knight. The sight of him valiantly battling swarms of monsters with his lance and magic never failed to inspire.

The third-place spot was always contested and had changed hands a number of times over the years. Occasionally, the top three became the top four or five. In recent years, the name spoken most often after that of the captain and vice-captain belonged to one of the Scarlet Armors, Volfred Scalfarotto. However, this young knight was no sorcerer. He had earned a more unique title—the “Black Reaper.” He possessed no magical ability whatsoever besides spells to strengthen his body. He did not wield a magical weapon passed down from his ancestors. He simply put on that blood-red armor and led the battle charge with a standard-issue sword in hand, doing whatever was needed to draw the foe’s attention from his comrades. Killing, sprinting, leaping, evading, striking, activating his strengthening magic—these motions seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing. In his first year, he had requested to join the Scarlet Armors. Six months later, his wish was granted.

“Kid must have a death wish,” some had whispered behind his back.

In his second and third years, they all thought his behavior reckless and foolhardy.

“He won’t last much longer,” they said.

But the next year, and the year after that, Volf was still alive. What’s more, he hadn’t even sustained any serious injuries. He was now deadlier than ever before, having developed a knack for striking with pinpoint precision at monsters’ weak points, and he had established himself as a cornerstone of the Beast Hunters’ vanguard.

One by one, the voices around him had changed their tunes. He was not reckless, but supremely talented—his golden eyes saw the specter of death itself, they said. Volf, with his raven hair, soon found himself nicknamed the “Black Reaper.” Certainly, from the perspective of the monsters he slew, it was a fitting moniker. However, according to the female knights, soldiers, and maids of the royal castle, the unflattering name of “reaper” only reflected the other men’s sense of inferiority.

With his tall, lean figure, hair as black and lustrous as polished obsidian, and a countenance whose likeness could grace the walls of the temple, he was surely more fallen angel than reaper. His eyes gleamed more brilliantly than a newly minted coin; many women who’d met that golden gaze said it had almost stopped their hearts. Despite turning heads everywhere he went, he ignored all love letters, rebuffed all attempts at seduction, and refused all invitations for marriage interviews, no matter how favorable the match. As far as the world at large knew, Volf’s sole romantic liaison was with a certain dowager duchess, but no one could be certain how true this rumor was. That ambiguity only seemed to stoke the gossip further.

“What the heck have you got there, Volf?”

“These? They’re called toe socks.”

At that moment, the young man known as the “Black Reaper” and “fallen angel” was deep in a forest in the middle of the marshlands. The knights had stopped for a break, and he was taking the opportunity to change his socks. For the past five kilometers, they had been traveling through a patchwork landscape of marshes and dense forest. Their boots, made from waterproof cloth and leather, were sturdy and kept the water out well. Unfortunately, this came at the cost of any breathability. This was why many knights took the time to change their socks and insoles at the final stop before they reached the battlefield.

“Toe socks? They look like some kind of husk shed by a monster.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Dorino...”

Dorino Barti, a fellow knight and friend of Volf’s, was peering dubiously at the socks in Volf’s hand.

With a slightly sheepish smile, Volf began to explain. “Look, they’re just like normal socks, except all the toes are separate. These here are insoles that help keep your feet dry. I was telling a friend of mine what trouble we have with the damp out here, and she gave me these. I’m testing them out for her.”

“I guess the insoles look all right, but those socks give me the creeps. They look like a real hassle to get on too.”

“They took me by surprise when I first saw them too, and yeah, they do take a little more time to put on, but they’re doing a good job so far. I’ve worn them all the way here, and my feet and boots are both still dry.”

He reached down and touched the foot he hadn’t yet changed. It wasn’t damp in the slightest. Normally, his toes would have been clinging together with sweat by now. His feet had rarely known such comfort.

“You’re kidding. Mine are so sweaty already that it’s like a swamp in there.”

“Why don’t you give these a try?”

“Well...it’d be a godsend if they worked, even if they do look like monster husks. All right, gimme a pair. I’ll pay you for ’em after.”

“No need. I’ll be writing a report on them for my friend, so just let me know how they work for you.”

“Sure. Hey, uh, is there some kinda technique for getting these things on?” Dorino asked, having tried and failed to tug the socks on in one go.

Volf came to his aid, instructing him to pull his toes through one at a time.

“Oh, wow! My toes aren’t sticking together anymore. They feel really nice and cool. I think I’ve even stopped sweating.”

“Glad they’re such a good fit. My friend even thinks these socks and insoles might help prevent athlete’s foot.”

“What did you say?!”

One of the senior knights, having been quietly sharpening his sword until that moment, suddenly interjected.

“Volf, tell me more! Those will really prevent athlete’s foot?”

“Y-Yes. At least, I think so. I can’t guarantee it, but they’ll probably help,” Volf answered hurriedly. The older knight was looking at Volf with the same fervor a man showed during a heated battle. “I’m not sure about athlete’s foot specifically, but these socks and insoles are made to keep your feet dry, so they should definitely make things more comfortable.”

“I see... Tell me, where did you buy these?”

“Actually, they’re only a prototype...”

“A prototype? You mean I can’t buy them?!”

The rising volume of the man’s voice was drawing glances.

“I have plenty of spares. Would you like to try them?”

“Yes! By all means, yes!”

Volf was taken aback as the other man suddenly clasped his hands tight. This older knight must have had a serious hatred of sweaty feet. Perhaps it had been a problem for him during battle. Firm footing was especially important for knights who wielded heavy weapons like greatswords, as this man did. The ground here in the marshlands was treacherous enough without boots full of sweat making it worse. Convinced by this reasoning, Volf handed over a pair of toe socks and insoles.

“Please let me know what you think of them later on.”

“Gods bless you! I shall! I’ll report to you with all my might.”

Leaving Volf pondering the meaning of that promise, the knight sat down and began solemnly pulling on the new socks.

“Now you’ve got me curious,” came a familiar voice from behind them. “I’ll buy a pair too.”

Volf made to jump to his feet but was quickly pushed down by a firm hand on his shoulder. It belonged to Captain Grato. He must have quietly approached while Volf was watching the other man. Beside Grato was another knight of around the same age. Volf couldn’t help noticing a steely glint in that man’s eye.

“If they’re effective against athlete’s foot, I’ll gladly try them.”

“Me too. I’ll pay the full price.”

“Oh, no, sir. They’re only prototypes, and I can’t guarantee they’ll really help with athlete’s foot. I’ve never suffered from it myself. Is that really that serious a condition?”

“The itching can be a dangerous distraction. In more serious cases, it can even affect your footing.”

“I see. Not so different from heat rash, then.”

The explanation made good sense. The socks and insoles were likely to have a positive effect on those distracting symptoms. Volf was in no position to turn his commanding officer down, so he meekly handed over a pair of each item.

“You know, Volf...that’s not all. If you go home with athlete’s foot, your wife and kids don’t treat you the same. They practically run the other way.”

“Can’t you have it cured at the temple?”

“Sure, but it just comes back again after a while. When it does, it’s even harder to treat,” the older knight beside Grato said gravely as Volf passed him a pair of socks and insoles too.

“I never knew it was such a serious problem.”

“Ah, Volfred! You can say that now with that young, fresh skin of yours!” the captain exclaimed. “Just wait till you turn thirty-five—that’s when it comes for you!”

“That can’t be right, Captain! We young men sweat more; I thought that was the cause!”

“No, no. Your skin rejuvenates more slowly as you get older and takes longer and longer to heal. Believe me, boy, we’ve got it worse!”

All Volf knew was that the atmosphere in the camp had suddenly become decidedly tense. Unable to properly empathize with either side, he simply smiled bemusedly as he looked on. He glanced over at Dorino only to see that the man had made a swift escape. Volf could see him a little distance away, pretending not to know what was going on, obviously trying not to draw any more attention to his friend. Volf swore he would thank Dorino for his consideration with a strong drink filled to the brim the next time they drank together.

“Volf.”

The young knight heard his name and turned to see another of his friends approaching. His name was Randolph Goodwin. He was the son of a noble known as the “Earl of the Frontier.” He had reddish-copper hair and was around the same age as Volf. Perhaps he meant to mediate the heated discussion, unlike Dorino.

Once he stood right beside Volf, he leaned over and whispered with a solemn expression, “If you have any left, might I have a pair of those socks as well?”

Volf silently handed them over along with a pair of insoles.

The Unicorn Pendant

It was a sweltering day. Dahlia had had her cooling fan running in the workshop since morning. Earlier, she’d finally gathered up all the finished raincoat fabric and had it loaded onto a wagon bound for Lucia’s workshop. The now-empty workshop felt as though it had doubled in size. While she cleaned up, Dahlia thought back on yesterday’s events.

Just as she’d been about to leave the Merchants’ Guild, Ivano had come to her. “I want to join the Rossetti Trading Company,” he’d declared. Although it was indeed a company on paper, it heretofore consisted of Dahlia alone, someone with no experience in trade. She’d been daunted by the thought of everything that she had to learn, so Ivano’s request to join her was extremely welcome. Volf supported the idea, and she could tell how firm Ivano was in his resolve, so she accepted on the spot.

Nonetheless, she’d felt the need to ask him at least three times whether he was really okay with quitting the guild—whether he was sure he wouldn’t regret it. She told him she couldn’t be sure when she’d be able to pay him, but he assured her firmly that the toe socks and insoles would generate more than enough profit to cover his wages. If she was worried, he said, then he wouldn’t mind if she waited until the money started coming in. Of course, she wouldn’t accept that. She promised him the same wage he had received at the guild and that they could discuss bonuses when profits were good. They agreed that once Ivano had officially quit the guild, he would relinquish his guarantorship at the Rossetti Trade Company to become a staff member instead.

As much as Dahlia was thankful for Ivano’s decision, there were things about it that bothered her. Firstly, she was worried about what a nuisance his departure might be for the Merchants’ Guild—and Gabriella in particular. She was also puzzled by how friendly Volf and Ivano seemed to have become all of a sudden. They must have just clicked, she supposed, if they felt comfortable sharing those sorts of jokes with each other. Why, though, did men feel the need to put themselves in teams based on whether they liked women’s breasts, behinds, or legs? On second thought, that was a question she didn’t care to have answered.

She happened to pass by the mirror in the workshop, and just for a moment, her gaze flitted down to her rear. It looked utterly ordinary to her. There was certainly nothing fascinating about it. She recalled that in her previous world, some people did so-called “butt-boosting” exercises. She wondered if bookshops in this world carried beauty guides with those sorts of routines.

“Why am I thinking about this nonsense?”

The fatigue from all of yesterday’s meetings must have caught up to her. She shook her head and got back to her cleaning.

While tidying up the shelves, she happened across the box containing the unicorn horn Ireneo had given her. The horn was on the slender side but fairly long. It might be a good idea to cut a small piece off to ascertain its quality, she thought. As soon as she opened the lid of the magically sealed box, she felt the unicorn’s unique magic radiating from within. The horn was pure white with a faint golden sheen. As she looked closely, she noticed that it had grown in a gentle spiral. She remembered Volf’s description of the unicorns he had seen—their horns, too, had glimmered with gold. That must have been the standard coloration. All that was written in her bestiary was “generally white,” so she hadn’t been sure. Perhaps it was a sign that this horn had been cut relatively recently.

The horn was so brimming with power that simply holding it in her hands brought some magic languidly trickling out, warming and tickling her fingertips. In terms of texture, it felt very similar to the ivory she’d touched in her previous world but somewhat heavier and denser. At the base, it had a diameter of about two and a half centimeters. Holding it still with a piece of cloth, she carefully cut off a slice about eight millimeters thick. Her usual saw proved ineffective, so she used her enchanted fretsaw instead, though even that struggled.

As far as she’d been informed, this horn’s properties included detoxification, water purification, and pain relief. How powerful would the effects from a piece this size be? Testing it would not be easy, but it promised to be fascinating.

At a glance, the slice of horn she’d cut off merely looked white, but as she turned it over in her hand, she saw its surface give a golden sparkle here and there. Perhaps it would fit nicely into a little accessory. Feeling the gentle tingle of magic as she held the sliver of horn, Dahlia tidied up its edges and carefully polished its surface. This material had such a beautiful shimmer, it would have been a waste not to show it off, and so she decided to delicately carve it with a rose motif.

She was pleased with how well it turned out, completely losing track of time as she carefully deepened the relief of her carving, refined the details, and prepared it to be used as a pendant. Only when she was distracted by a dryness in her throat did she finally look up. It was already high noon, the hot sun shining straight from above.

To finish off the pendant, Dahlia sent her magic flowing into her fingertips and tried to apply a hardening enchantment to improve its durability, only to find that the magic bounced clean off of the surface. She remembered what had happened with the sword and tried manipulating the stream of magic so it enveloped the small object instead of hitting against it. However, this time the magic simply scattered and dissipated into the air. Wondering if that particular enchantment was incompatible, she attempted a weight-reducing one, but this too failed to stick.

“Hmm...”

Dahlia tilted her head pensively as the remainder of her repelled magic lingered in her fingertips. Two possibilities came to mind. First, that the unicorn’s magic was simply too strong for her enchantments to compete with. Second, that it possessed a certain degree of magic resistance, making it repel any kind of enchantment. Testing the first theory would be straightforward; she would simply have to call on the services of a more powerful mage. As for the second possibility, she had managed to cut the horn with a magical tool, her enchanted fretsaw, so it was logical to conclude that it didn’t repel all magic. It was possible that it only rejected being enchanted. The only way she could test that out would be to dismantle one of the shortswords, see if she could use the horn as an enchanting material, and discover whether that enchantment produced a magic-resistant effect. However, it wouldn’t be fair to Volf to conduct that experiment while he wasn’t here, so she decided to give up on it for now.

Dahlia put the unicorn horn pendant down on the table and had a long stretch. Her shoulders felt terribly stiff, perhaps due to her sitting in the same position for so long. She remembered then that the horns of unicorn mares were supposed to have a pain-relieving effect—one that ought to work on stiff shoulders. That was the reason Ireneo had searched it out for her.

She took a leather cord and strung the pendant onto it, hanging it around her neck so the back of it would be in direct contact with her chest. She had her doubts as to whether it would really work, but very soon, she found her shoulders feeling much lighter. The pain and stiffness didn’t completely vanish, perhaps due to the piece’s small size or the quality of the horn. However, there was a marked improvement. She could see herself managing long stints of work with far less discomfort as long as she wore this.

How much magic would be needed to enchant a sword with this unicorn’s power? As she considered this, Dahlia’s mind was drawn back to the most exhausting enchantment she had ever performed, her brows drawing together in a frown.

That material she used that day...was a sköll’s fang. Much like the unicorn’s horn, it had gleamed snow-white with a subtle golden shimmer. The sköll was a lupine beast with jet-black fur and gold or silver eyes. It ran as swiftly as the wind and was said to prey upon other monsters such as cockatrices, unicorns, and pegasi. Her father had received the fang from a customer who’d placed an order for some large hot water dispensers. Finding himself with a little left over, he’d given two small fragments to his daughter.

“It’s a very difficult material, that one,” he’d warned her. “I don’t want you to use it right away. Give it five or ten years, then you’ll be up to it.”

However, Dahlia had still been a student at the time, brimming with insatiable curiosity. In the dead of night, holed up in her room, she decided to try using one of the fang pieces in secret. Unable to pull away from it, she’d had her magic wrenched out of her until she almost fainted, and she was violently sick afterward. The sköll fang’s ability to drain magic was truly unnerving. Once she’d begun the enchantment, it wouldn’t allow her to stop, greedily wresting her magical energy as though to devour it. It was a completely different sensation than she’d felt with fairy glass, stirring an instinctive terror in Dahlia’s soul. She didn’t say anything to her father about what had happened, but he seemed to realize. He didn’t scold her, but he insisted she rest in bed for two days and fed her lots of sweetened bread in milk.

Carlo himself had had no trouble using the fang to enchant his large hot water dispensers. He employed the fang’s air magic to prevent overheating. Four years had passed since then—Dahlia was still shy of the five years he had advised, but her reserves of magical power would certainly have deepened by now, along with her skill as a magical toolmaker. Of course, she still had a long way to go before she matched her father’s level in enchanting and magical circuit crafting.

“I’m sure I put it away in that drawer in my room...”

Not wanting her father to know what she’d done, Dahlia had hidden away the fragment of fang she’d tried to use in the back of a drawer. It had been there ever since. It should still have a little magic left in it. What if she added some of her own and tried enchanting her sturdiest bangle with it? There was a chance that her first failure had rendered it useless as a material, but she had to try one more time. If it ended in failure again, then she would admit defeat.

There was no one besides Dahlia in the tower now. If she collapsed, no one would be there to help her. However, looking at it from another angle, it meant she wouldn’t be worrying anyone if she did happen to collapse. Even if she were drained completely dry of magic, the worst that would happen is that she’d vomit or pass out. There was nothing to worry about. Well, not nothing exactly, but she didn’t feel she was in any real danger. In her previous world, the saying had gone, “No time like the present.” In this one, however, people said, “When inspiration strikes, mark the shadows.” In other words, when you think you have a good idea, stop, look around you, and think carefully before you act. Dahlia wasn’t a big fan of the latter.

“Should be fine if I give it a try right before bedtime...”

Only the materials scattered about the workshop heard the intrepid toolmaker’s murmur.

His Brother and His Nightmares

For the first time in a long while, Volf had returned to the Scalfarotto villa. The trees visible from his bedroom window seemed to have shot up in the time he’d been away. By all rights, this house belonged to Volf, but an entire season had passed since he had last been here. The servants were bustling about with an air of unease. It’s so much quieter at the Green Tower... The moment the thought crossed his mind, his temples began to throb painfully, and he pressed his fingers against them.

During yesterday’s informal chat with Ivano, he’d let slip his preference in women. He’d never dreamed that Dahlia would overhear them, and he’d felt thoroughly ashamed of himself since. She must have been disgusted. However, since they’d taken separate carriages home, he’d returned to the barracks without getting a chance to apologize to her. He’d sat down to pen a letter of apology as soon as he got back, only to be called to the captain’s office. After he’d given a full report of the negotiations that had taken place over the toe socks and drying insoles, the captain had thanked him heartily and immediately taken him out for a meal. By the time they’d returned, it was midnight.

This morning, he had left for the villa. He was here for a meeting with the last person in the world whom he wanted to see. To buoy himself up, he had once again put on his black dress uniform. In all honesty, he would have felt more at ease facing a monster. All that said, he was the one who had requested this meeting with his father. Yesterday, while Dahlia had been engaged in a meeting with the man from the small goods workshop, Volf had spoken with Dominic, the scrivener. Well aware of Volf’s inexperience in the business world, Dominic had offered him some advice. He considered it important that Volf inform his family of his guarantorship with the Rossetti Trading Company and its involvement with the knights as soon as possible.

Volf had been torn. His desire to avoid such a meeting far outweighed his interest in having it. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d had a meaningful conversation with his father on any subject. Volf couldn’t imagine how his father would react to his youngest son abruptly showing up to offer an account of his activities. Whether he’d agree to the meeting at all wasn’t certain. However, if it would benefit Dahlia and her company in even the smallest way, he knew he had to try. He’d sent a messenger to his father, and soon he received a curt reply.

Tomorrow at the villa. Morning teatime.

With some time to spare before his father’s arrival, Volf entered the room containing his mother’s effects. When he had moved here from the main house, all of her things had come with him. They included books, clothes, and ornaments—very little, actually, for a noblewoman, but enough to fill this room. Her several suits of armor and swords were kept elsewhere. He very rarely came in here, but it seemed the servants had kindly kept it clean and tidy nonetheless.

Volf perused the bookshelves until he found his mother’s guide to noble conversation and collection of notes, which he put away in his black leather bag. He hoped to have Dahlia study them as soon as possible.

Yesterday’s faux pas had been preying on his mind—“You have my trust, Mr. Fortunato. I leave everything to you.” Directed at the wrong person, that could have been taken as, “I consider you my knight.” When he’d first heard those words, he’d stiffened in panic. He knew that Dahlia had meant nothing untoward by it, but the possibility that the other man might misunderstand had been extremely worrying. He wasn’t in any position to tell Dahlia what to do and how, but he was determined to exercise whatever caution was needed to ensure his friend’s safety.

As soon as Volf left the room, he was met by one of the male servants.

“Pardon me, Sir Volfred. Lord Guido has arrived.”

“I’ll be right there.”

For a moment, he’d doubted his ears. It seemed that it was not his father, Renato, who had come, but his elder brother. Volf went straight to the drawing room, where he found Guido, the eldest of Earl Scalfarotto’s sons, waiting for him.

“Been a while, Volfred.”

“It has. It’s good to see you.”

With his blue-tinged silver hair and deep, sapphire eyes, Guido was the spitting image of their father. He was eight years Volf’s senior. Dressed in a dark-blue three-piece suit, he sat waiting at the drawing room table. Volf seated himself opposite. Once a maid had served them tea, Guido dismissed all of the staff, leaving the two brothers alone in the large room.

“Father was summoned to the palace first thing this morning. I think he was disappointed not to be able to see you. I hope you don’t mind speaking to me instead.”

Volf sympathized with his brother as he spoke somewhat awkwardly. As far as he could guess, his father had never had any intention of meeting him and had sent Guido in his place. It had been at least a season since he had laid eyes on his elder brother, and their last meeting had consisted of little more than a greeting.

“No, of course not. I have become a guarantor for a trading company that has recently secured a deal with the Order of Beast Hunters. I believe it will have further dealings with the castle and other parties in the future, so I thought it best to inform you of the situation. Here is a summary.”

He had worried that he might stray from the crucial points if he wrote the summary himself, so he had entrusted the task to Dominic and Ivano. Guido took the two sheets of parchment and quickly cast his eyes over their contents. Then, apparently to examine them more carefully, he laid both sheets flat upon the table.

“You appear to have made some very good connections.”

“Yes, I’m very thankful.”

Volf couldn’t quite pin down his brother’s meaning, offering only a brief, innocuous response.

“As far as Father is concerned, this villa and all its staff are yours to do with what you like, Volfred. This Rossetti Trading Company has no properties yet, correct? I think this house would serve far better than the Merchants’ Guild for any meetings with nobility they need to conduct. And be sure to send word to me if they’re in need of any water or ice crystals. I’ll be more than happy to supply them.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Don’t hesitate to let me know if you run into any problems at all. I’ll do everything in my power to aid you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Volf replied sincerely, bowing his head.

As far as he knew, Dahlia had no plans of meeting any nobles anytime soon, but access to a good supply of magic crystals, as well as sage advice, would be more than welcome.

“Now, Volfred, is it not time you considered marriage? If you’ll tell me your preferences, I’ll do my best to find a suitable young lady for you.”

“There’s no need. I’m not considering it.”

“I see. It’s just that you’re about the right age now...”

Despite having been the one to bring up the subject all of a sudden, Guido was being rather equivocal. Feeling ill at ease, Volf looked up to find his brother’s deep-blue eyes gazing at him steadily.

“You’re still seeing Lady Gastoni, are you?”

“Yes. We have a very agreeable relationship.”

Volf understood Guido’s concerns. As far as the Scalfarottos were concerned, the talk of him being Altea’s young lover was an embarrassment. Their message, no doubt, was for him to stop wasting his time with her and find himself a respectable wife.

“You know...I heard this was the first time you’ve contacted Father of your own accord.”

“Was it? I’ve never needed or wanted anything, so I suppose there’s been no reason to,” he answered noncommittally, putting on a thoughtful expression.

But what was he supposed to want with his father, anyway? The man had left him to his own devices, barely ever reaching out. If nothing else, he had at least ensured that Volf did not want for the necessities of life. He was thankful for that.

“Are you thinking of quitting the family?”

“I...would like to be independent one day.”

Volf was slightly discomfited by this sudden inquiry. He tried to veil his intentions by calling it independence, but he suspected that something in his voice gave him away.

“I thought this business with the trading company was something you’d started to prepare for leaving us.”

“No, it has nothing to do with that.”

“Right. Tell me, is there anything you need at the moment? Anything you want that I can get for you?”

“There’s nothing at the moment. I’m well provided for by the knights and our estate.”

“You don’t think you’ll transfer from the Beast Hunters to another division?”

“Not particularly.”

“And you don’t intend to step down as a Scarlet Armor?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

Guido’s persistent questions were starting to grate on him. When he’d graduated from college and joined the knights, he’d received a congratulatory gift from his brother, but they had never once discussed his future. They simply didn’t share that sort of relationship. It felt as though Guido was trying a bit too hard to play the role of big brother all of a sudden, and Volf couldn’t help wondering why.

“Is something the matter, Guido?”

Volf’s gaze, which had been hovering at his brother’s lips, rose to meet his eyes. He saw those blue eyes—so very like their father’s—shimmer for a moment and then close. When Guido opened them again, they were downcast and forlorn.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve been doing your best to avoid me. I’ve been running away as well, always making the excuse that we never have the time to talk. But I...I’ve always wanted to apologize to you.” He stood up and sank into a low bow. “Volf, I am truly, deeply sorry. If you and Lady Vanessa had not protected my mother and me that day, we would both be dead now. I know that nothing I can say will change the fact that I couldn’t help Lady Vanessa—couldn’t stop her from being stolen from you—but allow me to offer my deepest apologies.”

“Please stand up. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Memories Volf had no wish to revisit began welling up, as sharp and vivid as though they were from yesterday. He saw once again the glaring afternoon sun, the verdure flanking the highway, the burning carriage, men lying prone on the ground, and his mother’s body, torn in two at the waist. Finally, he saw his own blood-soaked hands.

“If I had fought, Lady Vanessa might not have had to die. It was my duty as a man and as your older brother to fight and protect you both. It should have been me who died that day, not her.”

“Guido, take that back at once, please.”

Volf had rarely heard such a cold, hard edge in his own voice. Bound by her honor as a knight, Vanessa had put her life on the line to protect Guido and his mother. Volf, her son, was the one who had failed to save her. The responsibility was not Guido’s.

“My mother fought that day because she chose to.”

“But with my magic, if I had gotten out first, I could have—”

“My mother—no, the knight, Vanessa Scalfarotto—gave her life to save ours. You do not honor her sacrifice by saying you wish you had died instead. Please take it back.”

Volf was vaguely aware of the cold fury burning in his eyes. He knew he had no right to turn such a look upon his elder brother, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I am sorry. Forget what I said.”

“Thank you. Excuse my behavior.”

After seating himself on the sofa again, Guido let out a short sigh. Volf looked away from his brother, gazing out of the window instead. The window was wide open, and outside he could see the villa’s lush green lawns and flower beds filled with white blooms.

“I fully understand why you must resent me, and why you’ve wished to avoid me too.”

“I do not resent you, brother, nor have I been particularly avoiding you. It’s just that...I’ve been living here at this house and at the castle barracks for a long time. I can’t exactly say that I feel close with the rest of the family.”

“Forgive me, Volfred. I should have apologized to you and had this conversation much sooner.”

“No, it’s...all right.”

It was already too late. There was nothing Volf had to say to any of his relations. The trilling of a bird outside felt unpleasantly shrill in his ears. Powerless to stop it, he sat and waited for his brother to speak again.

“That day, while you fought, I was frozen with fear. My mother threw herself around me, trying to shield me from harm. She wouldn’t let me go. By the time we left the carriage, everything...everything was red. Even now, I still see them in my dreams—Lady Vanessa and the other knights, lying there on the ground...”

His brother’s strained words left Volf speechless. All he could do was watch Guido in silence. The other man’s hands slightly trembled as he held them tightly clasped upon the table, his nails pressing little red crescents into the backs of them. It was an eerily familiar sight. He had sat just this way countless times after waking from his own nightmares.

“I’m afraid I’m a poor excuse for an older brother.”

“No, I have those dreams too,” Volf confessed.

Guido’s head snapped up and he gazed at Volf in astonishment. A moment of bewilderment, surprise, and understanding passed between them, until they both nodded, their faces equally etched with bitterness.

“If only there were a way to rid yourself of the dreams you don’t want.”

“For that, Volfred, again, I urge you to marry. I can’t promise the nightmares will never visit again, but they should lessen.”

“Not exactly a simple method, but I’ll remember it,” Volf replied with an empty smile.

Guido smiled more warmly in response.

“I’ve not been a good older brother to you. If it isn’t too late, do you think I could begin to make amends? If there’s anything I can help you with, either with this trading company or at the castle, I’d like you to tell me.”

“That’s very kind of you. I don’t know anything about business, so I’d be grateful for any advice you could offer. Oh, and...if you’re sure you don’t mind indulging me, there is a certain material for magical toolmaking that I’d like to get a hold of.”

“Certainly. I’ll be happy to acquire it for you if I can. What is this material?”

“It’s called fairy glass.”

“Fairy glass? That’s a rare thing. Very well, I shall have some sent to you as soon as I find it.”

“Thank you so much.”

Encouraged by his brother’s words, Volf plucked up the courage to make the request. Dahlia had said that fairy glass would not be easy for her to find. Perhaps it would come easier to a Scalfarotto, with all their extensive connections.

“Why don’t you have a talk with Father one of these days?”

“Well, if the opportunity comes up...”

Their father had obviously made a point of avoiding Volf again today—perhaps Guido had noticed and was offering to act as a go-between. Volf couldn’t be sure. Seeing Volf’s hesitation, Guido continued.

“Though I’m ashamed to say it, I’m afraid I only make it to Lady Vanessa’s grave a few times a year. I believe Father, however, visits every month.”

“Does he?”

Perhaps his father’s affection for his mother ran deeper than he’d realized. He was content just to know that. He didn’t mind if that affection didn’t extend to him—he was a grown man now, after all.

The conversation wound up, and the time came for the brothers to part once again. Guido turned to his younger brother with a gentle smile.

“I’ll pray that dreams of that day trouble your sleep no longer, Volfred.”

As Volf watched him go, he happened to think back over the past few weeks, realizing that, in fact, he hadn’t had those dreams for a while now. Sifting through his memories to find when exactly this period of peace had begun, he suddenly broke into a broad grin. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since the day he met Dahlia.

The Sköll Bracelet

Yesterday evening, a messenger had arrived at the tower with a letter from Volf. The first page consisted of a long, meandering apology for the way he’d spoken with Ivano at the guild. On the second, he wrote, “If it would not displease you, I would very much like to visit you tomorrow afternoon.” The messenger politely requested Dahlia’s reply, and she asked them to convey her acceptance.

Now, minutes before Volf’s arrival, Dahlia was wondering if she should see him at all—and if so, how in the world she would explain herself. She peered timidly at her reflection in the mirror. An angry red graze cut across her right cheek, all the way up to the side of her eye. At the back of her head, on the right-hand side, was a painful bump. She had awoken with a sore neck and shoulders. Her clothes concealed a nasty bruise on her right shoulder as well. It was only thanks to the unicorn pendant that the pain wasn’t too severe. Her injuries weren’t serious enough for her to want to use a potion, so she’d been using a wet towel as a makeshift cold compress instead.

Last night, in her bedroom, she had found the fragments of sköll fang. She tried infusing a little magic into the smaller piece to see if it was usable, and to her delight, it didn’t repel her. She climbed onto her bed—a soft landing, in case she should pass out—and prepared to enchant a bracelet using the fang piece as the material. She even readied a sick bucket, just as a precaution.

Dahlia was to receive a potent reminder of the terrifying power sköll fangs had to absorb magic. The results of enchanting with them could be just as frightful. Her experiment left her in no doubt of that whatsoever.

When she first began the enchantment, her magic streamed in at quite a normal pace. It seemed to be pouring in with ever-increasing ease when the sensation quickly changed, transforming into that primal hunger that clawed the power out from within her to consume it. Although Dahlia had been prepared for it this time, it was still hard to bear. She endured wave upon wave of a sickening, lurching sensation in her stomach, much like one feels going down a slope on a roller coaster. However, she still had the presence of mind to be glad she had skipped dinner.

The piece of sköll fang eventually shattered and vanished, leaving Dahlia with a bracelet powerfully imbued with air magic. She was overjoyed at her success. She tried the accessory on right away, pleased by its pale, silvery gleam. Then she let her guard down. Before properly gauging its strength or finding the correct action to use it with, Dahlia let just a tiny amount of her magic flow into the bracelet. In a split second, her body was hurled into the wall. The impact must have knocked her unconscious because, the next thing she knew, it was near noon the next day.

Hurrying to get ready for Volf’s arrival, she quickly poured a bath and stepped in, only to let out a yelp as the hot water smarted on her injuries. She’d been struck dumb as she stood in front of the mirror, staring at the cuts and grazes all over her face. Beside Dahlia’s bed, a red, floral-patterned tapestry hung over the stone wall. Thanks to that slight cushioning, she’d gotten away with mere scrapes. She didn’t care to imagine what a state she’d be in if she’d gone straight into the stonework.

At the end of all this, Dahlia was left with her completed sköll fang bracelet, enchanted with the strongest air magic she had ever managed. Sitting on the worktop with a cloth enchanted with magic-sealing silver spread beneath it, it gleamed coldly but beautifully in the light. It was a highly durable men’s accessory made from the hardest metal she’d had on hand. She’d enchanted it successfully, and its magic was powerful. However, what possible use could it have if the tiniest drop of the wearer’s magic would send them flying?

“Better just seal it up in a box,” Dahlia muttered dismally.

Then she heard the bell at her gates. Volf was a worrier. Rather than trying to hide, she figured she’d better just see him and be truthful about what had happened. Her mind made up, she stepped out into the sun.

“Please forgive me for the other day. I realize that my words upset you.”

“Oh, no, I haven’t dwelled on it.”

Dahlia was taken aback by Volf’s sudden apology, not knowing what to say at first. Any talk of breasts, behinds, and whatnot had completely gone out of her mind.

“I brought you my mother’s conversation guide and the notes she made. I’d be happy if you’d take a look at them when you have time.”

“S-Sure. Um, come on in.”

Thinking it better to explain herself once he was inside, she beckoned him into the tower.

“You’re favoring your right leg. Did you hurt it?” Volf asked her as they began to climb the stairs.

“Huh? My leg?”

She hadn’t even noticed until now, but he was right—her right knee did have a sort of heaviness to it, though it was nothing serious. As she turned around to say as much to him, Volf’s expression suddenly turned frighteningly dark.

“Dahlia, your face... Who hit you?”

She wasn’t used to hearing that low, husky tone in the young knight’s voice. He dropped his black leather bag where he stood and approached her. Dahlia found herself rooted to the spot by his unblinking golden gaze.

“Oh, no, it’s not like that. It was my own fault.”

“Let me see.”

Dahlia had let her hair down to hide the grazes on her face as best she could. Volf reached out and ever so gently brushed it aside, silently inspecting her wounds. As he lightly touched the back of her head, Dahlia involuntarily let out a groan.

“U-Um, Volf, as I said, I did this to myself. Besides, it’s nothing serious.”

“So you say, but these wounds didn’t come from a fall. Not with the angle of these cuts and that blow on the back of your head. I can see your shoulders and leg are hurting too. Tell me the truth. Who did this to you?”

Volf looked positively frightening. It wasn’t difficult to detect the anger underneath the thin veneer of calm. Dahlia scrambled to explain.

“I promise you, no one else had any part in it! It was the sköll enchantment—it blew me off my feet!”

“Uh-huh.”

The black pupils dotting the centers of Volf’s golden eyes swiftly dilated.

“An enchantment, was it? Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?” he suggested.

He had a divinely beautiful smile on his face that wasn’t a smile at all. If anything, he looked twice as chilling as before.

“W-Well, you see... I had the idea to enchant a bracelet using a sköll fang...”

Dahlia decided to come clean and tell Volf the whole story. They sat in the living room on the second floor, where Volf listened to her calmly and patiently, chiming in only to confirm the details. Once she had finished, he let out a long sigh.

“You have two options now, Dahlia. You can drink a potion, or I can take you straight to the temple.”

Those surely weren’t the only options, Dahlia was about to say, but his intense stare silenced the thought before it left her lips.

“It really isn’t that serious.”

“Oh? Then would you be happy to go out with me looking like that?”

“That...probably wouldn’t be the best idea.”

The marks on her face were sure to attract some glances. In the worst-case scenario, people might even think that Volf had done this to her. She couldn’t possibly allow that to happen.

“All right. I’ll take a potion.”

Regretting her decision not to have simply taken it before Volf got here, Dahlia opened a potion and drank it down. The subtle sweetness and the hint of mint reminded Dahlia of a kind of soda she’d drunk in her past life—once it had gone flat. It left a green, grassy sort of aftertaste in her throat when she’d finished, and she quickly washed it down with some water. It wasn’t very pleasant, in all honesty, but then the flavor wasn’t the point.

“It still feels like a waste. Especially when I think of how many bottles of wine I could buy for the price of one of these.”

One potion cost five gilt silver—equivalent to about fifty thousand yen. Dahlia could buy several dozen bottles of her usual wine for that amount. She hadn’t reckoned for this expense.

“I can bring you another one next time, then.”

“Certainly not! I’ve got no one to blame but myself here.”

Volf still seemed somewhat on edge. Dahlia bowed her head to him meekly.

“Look, um, I’m sorry, Volf. I worried you, didn’t I?”

“It’s all right. I’m sorry for touching you without asking.”

“No, that’s okay. I know you were just looking out for me.”

It felt terribly awkward as they exchanged apologies, each avoiding the other’s eyes. In an attempt to clear the air a little, Dahlia pointed to the bracelet she’d made.

“Erm, that’s it there—the sköll bracelet.”

“It’s a beautiful color.”

“It is. The only trouble is that if the wearer expresses any magic, it sends them flying.”

“May I touch it? I only have my strengthening magic, nothing that expresses externally, so I should be fine.”

“Well, um, try just touching it with your fingertips to start with. Please don’t put it on.”

“Sure... Yeah, seems like I’m safe.” After giving it a light, cautious touch, he confidently picked the bracelet up. “I couldn’t put any magic into it even if I wanted to, you see. It won’t come out.”

“So, when you use magical tools that require magic expression, do you need to make a blood bond instead?”

“That’s right. Unfortunately, that then means I’m the only one who can use them, so it’s not a perfect solution.”

There were plenty of people in this world who couldn’t express magic or could only do so very weakly. Many magical tools, like magical lamps and her compact stoves, were operated with switches, which meant anyone could use them without issue. Those made for combat, however, such as self-defense bangles and enchanted weapons, were generally activated by the magical energy of the user. When people who couldn’t express their magic externally—or could only do so very weakly—wanted to use these tools, they often used a method known as “blood bonding.” As the name implied, blood bonding required the user’s blood—only a drop or two—for them to be registered as the magical tool’s owner. Once this simple process was complete, they only had to touch the tool directly and it would activate—except in a few special cases. The downside to blood bonding was that only the registered owner would be able to use the tool, meaning it couldn’t be sold, given away, or shared.

“Do you think that if I blood bonded with it, it’d make me fly?”

“Well, since all you’d be able to do is activate it...perhaps it would make you fly a little bit. It would be like a support item.”

“I can’t add any magic of my own, so in theory, it shouldn’t blow me away like it did to you.”

“Not in theory, no, but it’s still dangerous. Even just as a support item, it’ll still be very powerful.”

“My strengthening spell would help me stay in control, wouldn’t it? If I just went straight up, for instance.”

“Straight up?”

“Yeah, just up and back down again. I’d recast my spell during the fall, so I wouldn’t be hurt. I mean, I did survive a crash landing with a wyvern once.”

“But that was because the trees broke your fall, wasn’t it?”

“I could easily jump off the top of this tower without doing myself any real damage.”

That strengthening spell was beginning to sound even more incredible than regular magic. Since Volf couldn’t actually release any of his magic, it was quite possible that he could use the bracelet as a support item that made him leap higher. Besides, sköll fangs were such a rare material that it seemed like a total waste not to take this chance to test its capabilities.

Hold your horses, Dahlia. It suddenly occurred to her that she should not be using Volf as her crash test dummy.

“Volf, I couldn’t let you take part in such a dangerous experiment.”

“Aren’t you curious about its effect? You’ve got more of this sköll fang, right?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Besides, it’s hardly that dangerous when I can easily do this already.”

Volf bent his legs just slightly as he spoke, then sprang upward. He had no trouble touching the ceiling with his elbows before he came back down to earth. It was an impressive jump, made possible by the power of his strengthening spell. Considering Volf’s agility, he would most likely be fine even if he did accidentally send himself sailing off to the left or right, so long as there were no obstacles in the way.

“See? I won’t get hurt, even if I do get a little airborne. Won’t you let me make a blood bond with it? I’ll pay you for it, of course.”

“Oh, no. I don’t need any money. If you’re really sure you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to test the action and power of this bracelet.”

Dahlia had Volf prick a finger on his left hand and collected two drops of his blood upon a glass spoon. She carefully poured the tiny droplets onto the bracelet’s surface and then drew her magic into her fingertips, using it to spread the blood over the metal. It gradually formed an even film that grew ever thinner until it finally became invisible, as though it had been absorbed into the bracelet.

“And now it’s yours.”

The bracelet, originally pale silver, now shone with a subtle and beautiful golden glow. There was something quite mysterious about the way the color shifted in the light.

“Could I try it on now?”

“It might be dangerous in here, so let’s go out to the yard first. It’s around the back, so we’ll be safe from prying eyes.”

Once they had stepped outside, Volf slid the bracelet onto his left wrist. He handled it as casually as any ordinary accessory and, thankfully, didn’t immediately go flying off anywhere.

“Could you step back a bit, Dahlia? Just in case.”

Volf tucked in his chin and bent his legs. Sensing its master’s will and the tremor of magic inside him, the sköll bracelet responded.

“Wha—?”

With unbelievable ease, Volf suddenly leaped to the height of the tower’s third floor. The jump had a slight angle, but he landed nimbly on his feet with no difficulty whatsoever.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that,” he commented.

“Um, you are using your strengthening magic right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I feel so much lighter than usual; kind of like I was propelled upward. I’m just going to try it again.”

Dahlia had never seen a man fly into the sky like that before. For a few seconds, it was as if gravity itself forgot about him. When Volf at last alighted, he stood holding his hand over his mouth.

“Volf, please stop right away if you feel sick!”

“It’s not that... This is so much fun!”

He leaped again, easily reaching the fourth floor and eventually the height of the tower’s roof. Dahlia couldn’t be sure how much power was coming from his strengthening spell and how much from the bracelet, but at any rate, these jumps were leagues beyond what any human could achieve unaided. She remembered her bestiary saying skölls were “as swift as the wind.” It appeared Volf had a natural affinity for their powers.

“Volf, I can see you’re having fun, but please don’t go any higher than that! There’ll be trouble if someone sees you.”

Until Dahlia’s plea stopped him, Volf had been rocketing into the air with the biggest, most joyful smile one could imagine.

The two of them retreated inside the tower shortly afterward.

“I’m serious, Dahlia. Please let me buy this from you!”

As Dahlia looked at Volf, whose eyes still sparkled with excitement, her mind was once again drawn to the dog she’d had in her past life. A particular memory surfaced—the day she’d first played Frisbee with her beloved pet. That’s odd...

“Instead, how about you take it as a thank-you present for becoming one of my company’s guarantors? That’ll be in addition to my time working on the magical sword, of course.”

“But you’d be left at a loss, then.”

“All right... Let’s compromise. Could I ask you to bring me two potions?”

“Thanks, Dahlia. I’ll bring them next time I visit.”

His eyes creasing as he smiled broadly, he traced around the bracelet with his fingers. The pale silver accessory, glinting gold where the light hit it, suited Volf to a T.

“It won’t be easy for me to make another one of these, though. The other fang piece I have is bigger than the one I used to enchant that bracelet. It’ll take more magical power than I possess to use it. I haven’t a clue where to procure sköll materials either.”

“It’s an amazing little thing, but I can’t think of many people in the knights who’d be able to use it. There’s hardly anyone besides me in the Beast Hunters who can’t express any magic.”

Unwittingly, she’d made an accessory that was quite bespoke to Volf, and now that it was blood bonded to him, no one else would be able to use it. Even if someone else picked it up and did happen to release some of their magic, they wouldn’t be blasted off their feet anymore. In that sense, it had been rendered much safer.

“I can definitely see myself using this on hunts. I’ve only used it to jump upward so far, but once I get used to it, I’ll probably learn to shoot around in different directions.”

“Are you sure that won’t make your job more dangerous?”

“No, it should definitely help with evasion. Should help me work with the guys who use air magic too.”

“Wait, those knights... Can they fly?”

“Not fly, exactly, but they can leap as high as I did outside—even higher sometimes.”

If the knights of the Order of Beast Hunters were to star in the Hollywood movies Dahlia had known in her past life, she imagined the special effects department would be out of a job.

“I’d really like to show this off to everyone, but would it be better if I tried to keep it secret instead?”

“Yes, please do. Even if I wanted to, I could never mass-produce these like socks or soap bottles. If you explain the enchantment to a more powerful magical toolmaker or a mage you trust, you could probably have them make you another one.”

The first person who came to mind when Volf thought of a powerful mage was his older brother, Guido, whom he’d met just yesterday. Guido was a water mage almost as powerful as their father. His abilities were on par with any of the first-class mages in the royal army.

“There is someone who comes to mind, but it might take me a while to get in touch with him...”

He still didn’t feel entirely comfortable asking his brother for such favors. He might bring it up if the right opportunity presented itself, but it would not be easy.

“Ah, speaking of powerful magic, I’ve found another material we might be able to use for the sword—unicorn horn. It may have the magic-resistant properties we need.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Well, I tried enchanting the horn when I made this pendant, but it wouldn’t work. That’s either because my magic is too weak or because the horn itself has magic-resistant properties. I was thinking it’d be worth disassembling a shortsword and using the unicorn horn as a material to enchant it.”

Volf’s eyes sparkled with childlike fascination at first, but after a few moments, his gaze fell.

“Unicorn horns... They must be a pretty rare material.”

“Yes, I believe so. I hear the pelts are a rare commodity at the Adventurers’ Guild too.”

“Maybe we could lure some out and hunt them for ourselves.”

“Er, Volf, I think that’s a little ambitious, for you or for me.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Volf had made a career out of slaying beasts, after all. A unicorn would surely turn tail and run at the mere sight of him. Dahlia, meanwhile, was far more likely to be trampled than to emerge victorious from that battle. Volf fell silent, apparently considering alternative hunting methods. Dahlia decided to change the subject.

“It’s a good thing I chose a bracelet to enchant with that fang. If it’d been a sword, I might have nailed myself to the wall.”

“I’m...very glad you chose that too.”

Perhaps she could have chosen her words more carefully; that slightly frightening gleam had returned to Volf’s eyes.

“I’d be much happier if you’d leave experiments with new materials until I’m here,” he said. “Or perhaps you could get an assistant. You’re here on your own, after all; it could be seriously dangerous if you hurt yourself or collapsed.”

“I’ll be careful. Oh, come to think of it, there’s only one other person who can open my gates at the moment.”

Dahlia looked at the control panel as she thought. Her father had passed away, and she had removed Tobias’s name—that left Irma as the only one who could open the tower’s gates if anything should happen to Dahlia.

“That won’t do, will it? If I need help, I can’t have people locked outside the gates... I’ll get a few more people on the register. Better safe than sorry.”

Her father’s death at the Merchants’ Guild had been very sudden. There was no guarantee that something wouldn’t happen to her with just as little warning.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you include me in that? Ideally, I’d like you to avoid doing anything dangerous like last night, but if anything did happen and you couldn’t leave the tower, I’d at least be able to talk to you from the door.”

“I really appreciate your concern. All right, just to be safe, then. This way.”

Dahlia led Volf to the back of the workshop, where the control panel resided. It measured thirty centimeters on each edge and, at a glance, appeared to be nothing more than a slab of black stone.

“Ah, you don’t register at the gate itself with this type?”

“That’s right. You do it here at the control panel.”

Dahlia brought her magic down into her fingertips and activated the control panel. The smooth surface turned from black to light gray.

“Could you lay your hand flat in the center?”

“Do you think it’ll still work even though I can’t express my magic?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I have a friend who can hardly cast any magic at all, but she registered just fine.”

Volf pressed his left palm onto the control panel. It flashed white twice in quick succession. After checking the handprint left on the panel’s surface, Dahlia concentrated her magic in her index finger and wrote Volf’s name in the bottom right.

“All done. Let’s go and try it, shall we?”

They walked down the tower’s front path and through the copper-colored gates, which gently swung closed behind them. While Dahlia watched, the young knight gently touched the gates. Without any delay, they obligingly opened as though to welcome him in.

“That’s great. Do you mind if I try it one more time?”

“Of course. Go ahead. The day that friend of mine registered, she opened and closed it about thirty times.”

Something about being able to open the gates with merely a touch seemed to delight people.

“Before I met you, I always imagined that a wizard lived here. These gates certainly fit the image.”

“I think a real wizard’s tower would have stairs that took you up and down automatically.”

Every day, as she worked and did her chores, Dahlia was constantly climbing up and down those stairs. Living in a tower demanded a certain amount of stamina.

“I don’t like to ask this of you, but...if you ever arrive and I don’t answer the door or respond to any other contact, and you suspect something’s amiss, please call the guards.”

“I pray that I’ll never need to.”

“So do I. I’ll take care to do things safely, but...things can happen to people, you know? Completely out of the blue.”

“Out of the blue...? Yeah, you’re right. There’s only so much you can plan for,” Volf replied as he stooped to pick up the leather bag he’d left lying on the floor.

Late in the afternoon, a little after teatime, Volf and Dahlia were on the second floor, finally taking a moment to relax with cups of iced tea.

“We’d better leave shopping for those estervino glasses until everything’s calmed down a bit, I guess.”

“Yes, I think so. I have more paperwork at the guild to deal with tomorrow. I need to sort some things out with Ivano as well.”

“The Beast Hunters have joint training exercises tomorrow. Shouldn’t be too bad, so long as they don’t send us out on an expedition. By the way, I hope you didn’t mind me recommending Ivano the other day.”

“Not at all. I’m very grateful, truly. I do feel awful for making him quit the guild, though.”

“It was what he wanted. You shouldn’t feel guilty. I think he’s going to be much happier as a merchant in his own right, rather than guild staff.”

There was one part of his conversation with Ivano that Volf chose not to relay—the part where Ivano had called her “a goddess robed in gold.”

“Oh, right, here’s my mother’s guide to conversation and her notes. Feel free to take a look.”

Volf retrieved a book from inside his leather bag. A bundle of notes was sandwiched between its pages.

“Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me borrow them.”

On its own, the book wasn’t particularly hefty, but the notes added significantly to its thickness.

“My mother’s handwriting is a little peculiar; let me know if you have trouble reading any of the notes. You’ll find examples of phrases to avoid, like that one about the gloves, in this section here.”

“Gosh. There are a lot, aren’t there?” Dahlia sighed as she opened the bookmarked page.

The whole two-page spread was completely crammed with examples. How could anyone possibly remember all these? She began to read some aloud.

“Will you take off your gloves for me?” That sounded like an invitation to literally throw down the gauntlet and declare a duel.

“Let me look after your coat.” Why would she want to do that? To clean it?

“I am so tired from dancing, I cannot move.” Then go home right this minute! she immediately thought.

“Shall we go to the west window and gaze at the stars?” Dahlia could summon no other interpretation of this than literal stargazing. And why the west?

“May I offer you a brandy before bed?” A strong drink like brandy would help you sleep—that much made sense. With a bit of thought, she supposed she could see how this one could acquire an alternative meaning, but she would never have taken it as anything other than an offer of a drink.

“I don’t get these at all...”

As Dahlia turned these bafflingly cryptic phrases over in her mind, she suddenly noticed how strangely quiet Volf had become. She looked up at the young knight sitting across from her. He was sitting completely still, elbows on the table and hands folded, shielding his closed eyes.

“Volf? Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Dahlia, but do you think you could read silently?”

“Oh! Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry.”

She’d thought nothing of reading these phrases aloud, but it seemed that from Volf’s point of view, they were so mortifying to hear that he couldn’t even look her in the eye. Dahlia wanted to flee from the room. She was desperately trying to think of something she could say to clear the air when an extremely welcome sound broke the silence. It was the clang of the bell at the gates.

“Must be a customer. I’ll be back in a minute!”

Once Dahlia had dashed from the room, Volf’s head slowly sank. He didn’t open his eyes. Volf had, of course, heard the kinds of phrases she’d just read aloud dozens of times. He’d received many even more brazen proposals too. Yet he had never before been so disarmed or so robbed of his composure before. Of course, Dahlia had read out those phrases in complete innocence—and besides, he didn’t look at her that way! This time, it was Volf’s turn to slump facedown on the table.

“Hi, Dahlia! Here—somethin’ to repay you for the other night.”

Marcello stood before the tower’s gates with a case of six red wines and a wooden bucket in hand.

“Oh, thanks, Marcello! You really didn’t need to.”

“Nah, I drank more than my fair share, and you gave us a real feast. These’re from Irma. They’ve been purged, so they’re ready to go.”

The bucket Marcello held up was filled with water. At the bottom nestled a large heap of shellfish.

“Ah, clams! They look great!”

“It’s just the time of year for ’em. Say, want me to carry these up the stairs for you? They’re heavy.”

“Oh, well, I have a guest at the moment, actually...”

Volf was waiting up there. It would be an awkward introduction if they suddenly met like this.

“Say no more. I won’t keep you. All right if I just stick this inside the workshop, then?”

“That’d be perfect. Thanks.”

Marcello did just that, leaving the case of wine and the bucket beside the workshop door. He turned to Dahlia with a grin.

“Now, don’t go drinkin’ too much when you have those clams, huh? See you around, Dahlia.”

“Yeah, see you soon!”

After their brief conversation, Marcello hurried back to the carriage he had parked outside. Dahlia gazed down into the bucket of crystal-clear water. The clams’ siphons were protruding just slightly, like two little horns. These clams were just somewhat larger than the ones Dahlia had known in her past life. Their shells were also more vividly colored, and they glittered in the light as though speckled with mica. Judging from the color of the siphons poking out from within the shells, the meat inside would be delicious.

The clams sold in the capital were one of Dahlia’s most beloved foods—especially when they were in season. Leaving the wine for later, she happily carried the bucket of clams up to the second floor.

“Was that a friend of yours?” Volf asked.

It seemed their voices had carried up through the open window. Dahlia gently set the bucket down on the table as she replied.

“That’s right. His name’s Marcello. He’s married to one of my oldest friends. He works at the Couriers’ Guild, and he’s also one of my company’s guarantors.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Actually, um, the two of them have invited me over for drinks sometime soon, and I was wondering, if you felt up to it...whether you’d like to come with me.”

“Well, I’d love to, of course, but...what sort of person is his wife?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you might be worried about that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Volf’s daily struggle to avoid trouble with women had completely slipped Dahlia’s mind. Now she understood the reason for his hesitance.

“You don’t need to worry about Irma. If it would make you feel more comfortable, though, you could always wear your glasses.”

“Is she a lot like you? The type of person who’s not too swayed by people’s looks, I mean.”

“It’s not that so much as she only has eyes for Marcello, so...hmm. It’s a little difficult to explain.”

Dahlia couldn’t imagine how any person, no matter how determined, could come between those two lovebirds. Even an Adonis like Volf wouldn’t turn Irma’s head, nor would any voluptuous beauty tempt Marcello.

“If you’re sure, then yes. I’ll be more than happy to meet your friends once the chance comes along.”

“That’s wonderful. Now, would you happen to like clams? Marcello just brought these along.”

“Yeah, I love them.”

Both of them peered into the bucket. There were quite a lot, but they would do nicely split between the two of them.

“They’re in season right now. Care to share them with me?”

“That’d be great. Sorry for making you do this every time. I brought this with me today, but I’m not so sure it’d be good with clams...”

From his bag, Volf produced a bottle of amber liquid. It was on the small side and exceedingly simple; it had no label or any other sort of adornment. Nothing distracted from the beautiful amber glimmer of its contents.

“Is that whiskey?”

“Apple brandy. Slightly aged, I believe. The duchess—Lady Altea—gave it to me. She said to enjoy it with a friend.”

The brandy had a fine, rich color. It would be best enjoyed with some simple snacks, rather than a meal.

“Clams probably aren’t the best match for it, you’re right. Shall we try some afterward?”

“Sure. I’ll leave it right here.” He placed it down on the table in front of the sofa before turning back to her. “So, is there anything I can help with?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you set the table for me? And pour us each a glass of white wine too.”

“You wouldn’t prefer red?”

“Not with clams. White’s better.”

They went to the kitchen together, where Dahlia prepared to cook and Volf readied their glasses.

“I’m thinking clams steamed in white wine with a side of garlic bread. Does that suit you?”

“Absolutely. That’s one of my favorites.”

While the clams got a quick rinse, Dahlia heated olive oil and chopped garlic in a shallow pan. Beside her, Volf—following her instructions—thinly sliced a baguette and spread the pieces evenly with garlic butter.

“Do you often have clams steamed in wine?” Dahlia asked him.

“I do. Doesn’t matter whether I’m at a fancy restaurant or a regular bar; it’s a go-to for me.”

“They’ll all come served on a plate, then. Even in bars, they don’t bring you the pan so you can take them right out, do they?”

“No. Some places serve them already shelled for you, though.”

Hearing that, Dahlia hesitated slightly, but she decided to suggest how she thought they were best enjoyed.

“My father was very particular about this dish. He liked to enjoy the clams right away, while they were still piping hot. We used to cook them over a gentle heat, then bring the pan to the table. We each had a plate and just picked the clams straight from the pan. If it’s all right with you, shall we try doing it that way?”

“Sure. Rossetti style sounds good to me.”

Rossetti style, hm? Dahlia smiled at that as she tipped the shellfish into the pan. Listening to them hiss and squeak, she poured in the white wine and then put the lid on. Next to the pan of clams, the garlic bread was toasting on a sheet of mesh. She kept a close eye on it, watching as it slightly browned and the delicious aroma of butter and garlic wafted into the air.

“Volf, could you take this to the table and go open the wine for us, please? I’ll bring the clams as soon as they’re done.”

“No problem. I’ll make sure everything’s ready,” he replied cheerfully, taking the wine and warm garlic bread through.

Dahlia followed a minute or so later, carrying the pan of now-opened clams to the table.

“Let’s have a quick toast first,” she said as she sat down.

Volf obliged. “Here’s to prosperity for the Rossetti Trading Company and a blessed tomorrow. Cheers!”

“May tomorrow bring peace to our hearts... Cheers.”

The two of them exchanged wry smiles at Dahlia’s painfully honest wish, bringing their glasses together with a bright clink. All of a sudden, Dahlia’s throat felt awfully dry. The chilled white wine was a balm to it.

“Just take your clams from the pan and pop them on your plate. If there’s some meat stuck in the shell or you want to eat the adductor muscle, use one of these little knives. Erm, don’t be too shy to use your hands either... I’m afraid it’s not the most elegant method, but anyway, let’s eat up while they’re hot.”

Dahlia lifted the pan’s lid, releasing a puff of mouthwateringly fragrant steam. The aroma of the clams mingled with that of the olive oil and garlic, instantly rousing their appetites.

“I recommend dipping your bread into the liquid left in the pan; it’s delicious. As for the clams, add some black pepper if you fancy, but they’re good without too.”

“Got it. Let’s dig in, then.”

They began helping themselves to the steaming clams, using forks to separate the meat from the shells. Each mouthful of clam meat, almost hot enough to burn their tongues, was bursting with rich, savory juiciness. The clams were completely clean of grit, and the pleasingly springy meat released more of its delicious, salty flavor with each bite. A sip of white wine to follow smoothly washed away the saltiness and cooled the tongue, rendering it ready for the next piping hot clam. So began a delightful series of alternations between hot and salty, cold and clean.

Once you could bring yourself to break the chain, the crisp, crunchy texture of the garlic bread offered some welcome variety. Perhaps thanks to the clams’ freshness, even the juice soaked up from the bottom of the pan held no unpleasant fishy odor—it was scrumptious to the last drop. The garlic bread also paired very nicely with the wine, and their glasses emptied fast. On the other side of the table, Dahlia saw Volf chewing silently and slowly and decided not to interrupt his reverie. The silence lasted, in fact, until every last clam had been polished off.

Finally finished, Volf regarded the veritable mountain of shells perplexedly. “Where do these clams come from? Are they some special variety? They’re the tastiest I’ve ever had.”

“I think they’re just the regular clams you can buy anywhere. They are especially fresh, though.”

“Do you suppose they lose their flavor if you take them out of the shells beforehand, or if they cool down even a little? Maybe it’s important to keep the lid on until the last moment too. Could it be that straight from the pan is the only way to eat them...?”

Dahlia couldn’t help a giggle as Volf pondered the best way to enjoy clams with grave seriousness.

“Just make sure you consider the place and company, won’t you? Eating straight from the pan isn’t very good manners, after all.”

“So, your clams steamed in wine are a Green Tower exclusive, then?”

“Not just wine. I can make them with other drinks too.”

“Really? You could steam them in, say, estervino as well?”

“Absolutely. Estervino is perfect for steaming; it’s delicious.”

“Would you mind if I bring a bottle and some clams next time?”

Volf’s expression was intense. She was glad that he’d enjoyed the meal, but she hadn’t quite expected this level of enthusiasm.

“It takes quite a while to purge the clams of sand and grit. If you let me know in advance when you’ll be coming, I can prepare some the day before.”

“Right. In that case, I’ll bring along the best estervino I can find.”

“Oh, no, that would be such a waste! For steaming, a cheap one will work just fine.”

“But surely, whether it’s wine or estervino, a top-quality one would make the dish even more delicious.”

“I don’t think it works like that...”

Dahlia cautioned Volf thoroughly against buying a fine estervino merely for the sake of some clams.

Drinking together after a good meal was fast becoming a habit for the two of them. They relaxed on the sofa with a platter of cheese, crackers, and dried fruits on the coffee table in front of them. Volf opened the apple brandy, and once he had poured them each a small glass, they raised a second toast. Dahlia thought hard about whom and what to dedicate this one to.

“To the good health of Lady Altea, who kindly gifted us this brandy, and to a prosperous tomorrow.”

“To a prosperous tomorrow.”

Dahlia, having been steeling herself for a strong alcoholic punch, was pleasantly surprised by the brandy’s sweetness. She’d never had the good fortune to smell apple blossom before, so the brandy’s thick, heavily sweet fragrance instead brought to mind roses. The flavor had a distinctly fruity note. It certainly warmed the throat on the way down, as was typical of brandy, but it was a soft, gentle burn. Dahlia had poured herself a glass of water as a palate cleanser, but she was left with no desire to sip it anytime soon.

“What a wonderful brandy. The fragrance and flavor are just beautiful.”

“It’s made at the Gastoni estate. I hear even the queen’s a fan.”

Dahlia was happily basking in the warm, sweet afterglow of the delightful spirit, but the mention of one of the kingdom’s most exalted personages soon pulled her from her reverie.

“Did you say the queen?”

“Yeah. Apparently, the Gastonis present her with a batch of it every year. The queen is the younger sister of Lady Altea’s late husband, you see. Although they weren’t related by blood.”

“Um, are you sure it’s okay for me to hear this?”

“It’s not a secret or anything. The queen’s birth family didn’t have sufficient rank to allow her to marry into royalty, so she was adopted by the Gastonis and married after that. Adoptions like that, to fix a mismatch in rank, are pretty common among the nobility.”

Whenever Dahlia heard about these noble customs, she felt as though she were peering into a mysterious, unknown world, completely separate from her own. However, the takeaway was that this brandy glimmering in her glass was something truly special. She couldn’t be sure how many times she’d get to enjoy it in her life. She raised her glass with reverence, taking only tiny sips. As she nibbled at a dried red date, she felt herself being watched. She looked up to see Volf’s shoulders shaking as he fought to stifle his laughter.

“Is something wrong?”

“You suddenly started eating and drinking like a little squirrel... It just looked so funny!”

“Squirrel? I’m just trying to appreciate the flavor!”

“If you like it that much, I’ll buy you some for next time.”

“I appreciate it, but no thank you. If you drink the good stuff all the time, it stops being special.”

It was nice to indulge in an expensive tipple from time to time, but making a habit out of something she couldn’t easily afford for herself wouldn’t feel right. Besides, regardless of what it was or how much it cost, she couldn’t mooch drinks off of Volf all the time.

“You’re right, though. That fragrance is lovely,” Volf said, his golden eyes gazing into the deep amber brandy. The contrast of those rich, warm colors was beautiful to behold. “Perhaps we ought to buy some brandy glasses too.”

“I was just wondering if I should get a bigger drink cabinet.”

Once you began turning into a drink connoisseur, the expenses could rack up quickly. She’d just have to work that little bit harder during the day, Dahlia thought to herself.

“You’re going to be busy from now on, huh?”

“I’m sorry. I just handed you those socks in the hope that they might be useful. I never imagined what it would lead to.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me. I’m the one who went handing them out to my friends and the captain. I thought they felt great, sure, but I didn’t see this coming either.”

They slowly sipped at their glasses as they chatted, looking back on how all this craziness had started. The conversation seemed to flow even more smoothly thanks to the sweetly fragrant brandy.

“As a magical toolmaker, you should be so proud of yourself. It’s truly amazing to have created something that so many people want.”

“Well, it’s very nice of you to say that, but I feel like I’m causing so much trouble for everyone around me... Are there really so many people in the Beast Hunters who worry about having sweaty boots?”

“Not just the Beast Hunters; I think there are a lot among the knights in general. People can’t avoid sweating, after all, whether they’re training or just standing guard, and leather boots really exacerbate the problem. That said, it’s not as if we could wear sandals or cloth shoes or something while on missions. I heard those insoles alone made a big difference, you know.”

Volf had a point. Sandals would neither be good for the knights’ performance in battle nor their image. For those like the Beast Hunters, especially, who battled dangerous monsters out in the wilds, strong, sturdy footwear that kept the water out was essential.

“Do you wash your leather boots and shoes, or perhaps cast purifying spells on them?”

“No, we don’t wash them much—it damages the leather. I’ve never heard of anyone using purification magic. If we’ve been tramping through the swamps or something, we’ll wash them, of course, but then they take ages to dry out. When there’re long spells of rain, the mages sometimes use air magic to dry them a bit, but that only goes so far. The toes are always still damp. They start to smell too.”

Given the lack of cleaning and the boots’ poor breathability, it was inevitable that they’d be prone to molding, which could easily lead to the wearer developing athlete’s foot. The slow drying would surely hasten the deterioration of the leather itself too.

“Do you never use dryers on them when they’re damp?”

“The heat’s not good for the leather. I tried using a dryer once, but it really parched the surface. If only you could lower the temperature somehow, it might work.”

“If that’s all that’s needed, I can quickly alter one of my dryers. I’ll just pop down to the workshop for a minute.”

“Ah, I’ll come with you, then. I like to watch you work.”

Once they had both emptied their glasses, Dahlia and Volf descended the stairs to the workshop.

“What sort of temperature would be best for drying boots, do you think?” Dahlia asked as she fetched a spare dryer from a box upon one of her shelves.

“Just warm enough so it feels comfortable on your skin. That shouldn’t affect the leather too much.”

“In that case, I’ll increase the power a bit while lowering the temperature.”

“Cold air would be handy too. Sometimes if your boots are a bit musty, you just want to blow some fresh, cool air in there to clear them out.”

Guided by Volf’s suggestions, Dahlia adjusted the fire crystal’s magic circuits in order to lower the minimum temperature. She also altered the part housing the air crystal, adding the option of a stronger blast of air. She added three temperature settings: cold, lukewarm, and a third one just slightly warmer than the last. She set the temperatures low so that even with heavy use, there was no risk of anything catching fire. An automatic shutoff if the maximum temperature was exceeded also sounded like a good idea.

Keeping safety foremost in her mind, Dahlia took a new crystal plate and began pouring magic through her index finger, carefully drawing out the magic circuits. First, she made the setting for the slightly warmer air with the excuse that it might be useful for drying the likes of slippers and shoes made of cloth. Truthfully, she just wanted to make life easier by keeping the three-level temperature setting intact; reducing it to two would mean altering the structure. Simply adjusting the temperature and power settings was straightforward; she had it done, with all of Volf’s requests fulfilled, in about fifteen minutes.

“I think this temperature’ll be perfect. Is there a way you can make sure the air reaches right to the boot’s toe?”

“An extending tube should solve that problem. We do the same thing with the water dispensers. I’ll punch some extra holes in it to make sure the air reaches everywhere it should,” Dahlia replied, thinking aloud.

The extending tubes had originally been made for her father’s hot water dispensers. She added some extra holes along the middle and end sections to let the air blow through. This too took only a few minutes.

“That’s great,” Volf said appreciatively. “It bends and it’s long enough to reach down a long boot. Should get the toes nice and dry in no time.”

“I’ll go get us a boot so we can test it.”

Dahlia went to the entrance hall and opened the shoe cabinet that sat just inside the door, taking out a black pair of men’s boots. They had been her father’s best pair, so she’d held on to them. She’d taken them out and polished them a couple of times since his passing, so they had a good shine to them. Just as she was pushing the tube of the new shoe-drying device down into one of the boots, Dahlia suddenly frowned.

“Oh, Father! Honestly!”

Father, we do not scrunch up our socks and leave them in the toes of our boots! Finding these socks, hidden away in the darkness for over a year, felt almost like excavating some historical artifact. And he’d stuffed them both in there too; one in each boot. Unbelievable. Dahlia gingerly extracted the socks, her shoulders trembling. Volf spoke up, his voice soft and tinged with concern.

“Er, Dahlia... Do you want to keep those to remember him by?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation. “I’m burning them.”

Dahlia threw the socks straight into the trash can and once again inserted the tube into one of the boots. After letting the warm air blow for a little while, she touched the boot’s toe and found it distinctly warm.

“What do you think, Volf?”

“Perfect. It’ll work on all shapes and sizes.”

Volf seemed pleased with the temperature as well, happily examining the dryer’s tube.

“Why don’t you take it back to the barracks with you to test out? If you could write me a report on it afterward, that’d be very helpful.”

“Thanks, but...I get the feeling we had this conversation before.”

“Huh? Is something wrong?”

Volf’s smile had suddenly vanished, a frown creasing his features.

“Well, just like last time, I gave you this list of things I wanted, and you whipped it up in no time... I can’t help thinking that if I take this back and use it at the barracks, we might end up in the same situation we had with the toe socks and insoles.”

“Surely not. It’s an ordinary dryer; all I did was tinker around a little. I’m sure the magical toolmakers at the castle could make one of these in minutes.”

“It’s not so easy for ordinary knights to go asking the toolmakers for favors. Besides, you and I had no idea the toe socks and insoles would be so popular, right?”

“Well, I suppose not. Even so...”

“Just to be on the safe side, I think you should write up a specification document and take it to Ivano at the guild before we do anything else.”

“Okay. I really don’t think this is anything special, but I’ll talk to him anyway.”

Although tomorrow Ivano would see his workload double, for the moment, both he and Dahlia remained blissfully unaware of the fact.

“Even with just one, we could all take turns using it,” Volf commented happily.

“Um, there shouldn’t be a problem if the boots have just been thoroughly washed, but otherwise, I’d avoid sharing with anyone who’s suffering from athlete’s foot. You could get infected too, so please be careful.”

“Wait, you mean it can pass from person to person?”

Volf clearly had no idea. He must have thought it came solely from damp boots.

“It can, sometimes. How do they treat it in the Beast Hunters?”

“If it’s a mild case, a mage takes care of it with restorative magic at the castle. Bad cases are seen at the temple. I’ve heard it often comes back, though. I never realized it was infectious.”

Seeing Volf’s shock prompted her to scour her memories of her past life for any helpful advice.

“When you bathe, it’s important to wash your feet thoroughly with soap, right up to the toes. People with athlete’s foot should make sure to dry their feet thoroughly after bathing and then apply ointment. They should keep their feet dry as much as possible. Oh, and please make sure never to share your boots or shoes. With leather shoes or boots, make sure to wear your toe socks when possible. When you’re on your own, it might be a good idea to wear something breathable like sandals. And make sure to take your socks off when you go to bed too.”

“Hold on, let me write this down! I have friends with athlete’s foot—they need to know all this.”

Volf grabbed a piece of paper and began to jot each point down. Dahlia repeated them all for him and added a few more. She hoped the advice would help his friends make a full recovery and keep Volf from contracting the condition himself.

“You sure know a lot about athlete’s foot, Dahlia.”

“Er, yes. My father had it,” she answered shortly.

It wasn’t a lie, but it had been her father in her past life who’d suffered from it. As she offered up a silent apology to Carlo, she was reminded of something he’d said to her on the way home from Tobias’s father’s funeral.

“Even after I’m gone, Dahlia, if you ever think you can use my name to get yourself out of trouble, then do it.”

Her father, grieving his friend, had gotten very drunk that day while the rain sheeted down outside. He’d seemed to struggle just to get those words out. She’d brushed it off at the time, chiding him not to say such gloomy things, and quickly put it out of her mind. He’d worn these boots on that rainy day. Just now, she’d used his name just as he’d told her, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was really the right situation. After all, even if it was in the context of her work, having a case of athlete’s foot wrongly attributed to him was surely not what he’d envisioned. Dahlia decided she’d bring him a bottle of something a little more expensive next time she paid a visit to his grave. If she had invoked his ire, that ought to quell it. She prayed for forgiveness while she put his boots away in the cabinet again.

Once Volf had completed his list of athlete’s foot care tips and Dahlia had completed her list of alterations needed to make the shoe-drying device, the pair returned to the second floor. Volf was firm that he wouldn’t take the drying device into the castle until they had Ivano’s permission. It seemed rather a shame.

“So, Dahlia, would you mind if I wore the bracelet during the joint training exercises I’ll be having tomorrow? I’ll wear gloves over the top.”

The pale metal of the sköll bracelet glinted on the young man’s left wrist.

“I don’t mind, but you’ll be found out pretty soon if you jump too high, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful not to go overboard. Sorry about earlier. I know it might sound silly, but...I’ve hardly ever been able to use magic like that before. It was so much fun.”

Dahlia understood at last why he’d been bouncing around her garden like an overexcited child. The sköll bracelet’s effect was akin to casting powerful air magic. Volf had used other enchanted bracelets before—ones that prevented the likes of poisoning and anemia, as well as magical devices like the anti-eavesdropper—but the sköll bracelet was a different thing entirely. She also remembered hearing from Marcello once that the strengthening spell didn’t really feel like casting magic. That spell was the only kind Volf had ever been able to use. Being able to borrow the sköll’s powerful air magic to leap into the sky must have been such a fresh, exhilarating experience for him. He’d have been like a child just discovering their magical power for the first time. No one could fail to be excited at that truly magical moment. She’d like to let him leap as high as his heart desired, but if he went soaring over the tower’s roof, someone was sure to call the guards. He’d be better off enjoying himself somewhere safely within the castle grounds, although even that left her with some concerns.

“You don’t find the bracelet difficult to control?”

“Not really. Going straight up is easy enough. I think I’ve got a good enough handle on how to control it, and I’ll only activate it when I need to anyway.”

To anyone who expressed even the tiniest drop of magic, that bracelet would be nigh uncontrollable, but Volf, it seemed, had gotten the hang of it with relative ease.

“When you do your training, are there mages with healing magic or priests standing by?”

“Yeah, there’re always a few on hand during joint training. They mostly keep out of the way unless they’re needed, though. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re still not used to the bracelet. You could get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. Fractures and the like are easy to fix.”

“Volf...a fracture is a serious injury,” Dahlia said hesitantly.

The knight smiled at her somewhat awkwardly.

“I appreciate the concern, don’t get me wrong. It might sound a little scary to you, but these sorts of injuries are a daily occurrence for us knights. I guess I’m so used to it, it’s hard to see from your point of view. It’s not unusual for the mages or priests to regrow whole limbs for us when we get attacked by beasts during missions.”

Volf may have been able to speak about it quite casually, but that wasn’t “a little scary.” It was horrifying. One would think he was talking about replacing the arms and legs of dolls.

“You mean they do it there on the spot? They don’t take you to the temple?”

“Generally speaking, yeah, though it also depends on the ability of the mage and the nature of the injury.”

“And they can regrow whole limbs in that short of a time?”

Volf straightened himself up, his expression deadly serious as he asked her, “Do you want me to explain this in detail?”

“Yes, please do,” Dahlia responded in kind, listening carefully.

“Let’s say someone’s been injured by a beast; maybe it’s hit them or bitten them. They’re left writhing in pain on the ground. What usually happens is that a few other knights will come hold them still while someone applies healing magic. Now, the healing starts from the bone. First, you see the white bone slowly grow out from the joint, stretching out until it’s regrown right to the tip. Then the white tendons and red muscles gradually appear and cover the bones. Last of all, a shiny new layer of skin spreads out over the top, and it’s done. An arm takes about five minutes to regrow. If it’s a messy injury, then the best thing we can do is find a good place to make a cut, chop the limb off cleanly with a sword, then get it regrown right away.”

“That hurts just to listen to!” Dahlia cried, cringing at Volf’s gruesome, rapid-fire explanation.

“Well, that’s why I asked if you really wanted me to explain. I thought it might scare you.”

Don’t say it with such a big grin! Dahlia shook her head to chase away the unpleasantly graphic images forming in her head. She was sure Volf knew exactly what he was doing when he gave her all those gory details—it was patently obvious from his smile. It left her a little bit peeved with him.

“Do you have any frightening stories or memories? Aside from when you melted your hands with black slime, of course.”

“Um...that time when I was drying all the slimes here, I suppose.”

She’d racked her brains, but every incident that came to mind had some connection to magical toolmaking. What’s more, the amount involving slimes was abnormally high.

“You and those slimes seem to be tied by fate.”

“Much as I’d like to deny it...you’re right.”

“Couldn’t you have gotten your supplier to dry the slimes for you?”

“I was still a student at the time. These days, they’re often sold ready-powdered, but that wasn’t so common back then. It would’ve been expensive to have someone else do it, so I decided to deal with them myself. I had all different kinds of slimes—blue, red, green... I dried them on the roof, in the windows, even out in the yard. They were all over the place.”

This had been the period when she was developing her waterproof cloth. She’d gathered all the varieties of slimes she could lay her hands on. Tobias and her father had looked on with bemused smiles, while Irma, coming over to visit one day, had let out a shriek as soon as she’d stepped through the door.

“Must’ve been a riot of color. But hold on, didn’t any of them try to get away? Unless they’re completely dead, slimes usually divide themselves to escape from danger.”

“When they hunt them, they make sure to destroy the slimes’ cores. Then they seal up any puncture wounds with kraken tape. That way, they hold their shape and can be brought back in one piece. All you need to do then is flatten them out, put them in a spot with plenty of sunlight and good airflow, and they’ll soon dry. Unfortunately, they rot pretty quickly in the rain.”

“I never knew.”

Volf had slain countless slimes over the last few years, but he’d never come across this harvesting method before. He made a mental note to bring along some kraken tape on the next hunt.

“Birds are another problem. They often went for the slimes I had hanging out to dry.”

“You mean birds eat slimes?”

“Uh-huh. They like some species more than others, but as long as the slimes haven’t melted, the birds’ll have a peck at them. As I remember, green slimes were the most popular choice.”

“Maybe it reminds them of leaves.”

Volf pictured some green slime sitting upon a platter with a side of meat. It wasn’t an appetizing image.

“They certainly seem to find the color appealing. They ruined quite a few of my green slimes by pecking them to bits. I went up to the roof thinking I’d try hanging up some nets to keep the birds off when I found that the black slime I had drying up there was still alive.”

“Black slime...so you rear your ugly head again.”

Volf’s expression darkened as though he’d heard the name of his archnemesis. Dahlia couldn’t help a little smile.

“Yes. I only had one of them. It seemed that its core had survived intact, and it had caught a bird that had come to feed on it. It had half dissolved the little thing already. I ran crying to Father, and by the time we both went back up to the roof, it had finished the bird and started eating the green slimes I was drying too. It was a pretty chilling sight.”

“Black slimes are a class-one mark. What did you do? Call the guards?”

“Father burned it with a dryer and finished it off.”

Volf’s glass stopped just as it reached his lips. Without drinking, he placed it back on the table with a hard thunk.

“Hold on. Black slimes are very resistant to fire.”

“Only up to a certain temperature. Once you pass that, they’ll burn all right. They’ll burn very nicely. Very cleanly. Leaving nothing but dust,” Dahlia answered quietly, averting her eyes.

Her mistakes had given rise to the first dryer-cum-flamethrower, but the new version that her father had used to defeat that black slime had been his work. All she’d done was ask him one day, “Father, would it be possible to make a dryer with even more firepower than the one I made?” Her intentions had been entirely pure; it was sheer curiosity. Never once had she said, “Make it for me!” or anything of the sort. Therefore, it wasn’t her responsibility. She wouldn’t hear otherwise.

Carlo had been cool as ice as he’d turned on the flames. Faced with a blast of fire more powerful than that of any flamethrower from Dahlia’s past life, the slime was reduced to dust before it could ooze any closer. Dahlia had scooped up that dust and kept it as a material in a magically sealed box. The day she tried to use it was the day she melted her hands and was rushed to the temple. Perhaps that slime got its revenge in the end.

“Um, when you say ‘dryer,’ are you talking about the kind I know, or is this some new weapon that’s been developed?”

“Just a regular dryer. It was a one-off version with its output turned up to the maximum—probably about as powerful as an intermediate mage’s fire spell. It’s only thanks to this tower being built of stone that we could safely exterminate the slime like that.”

“You can’t call that a dryer! That’s even scarier than the slime!”

Dahlia burst into laughter at Volf’s shocked response. The boot’s on the other foot now, huh? How does it feel? Grinning to herself, she drained her glass of brandy. After that, Volf peppered her with questions about the safety of the modified dryer. Dahlia, forced to tell the story of how these dryers had come to be, was soon humbled after her moment of smugness.

Extra Story: A Father and Daughter’s Magical Tool Invention Diaries—Waterproof Cloth

“Dahlia... Wait, you asleep?”

Carlo’s daughter often chided him for nodding off in the workshop. Today, however, that same daughter sat slumped over the workbench, dead to the world. There was a large white cloth spread out over the bench alongside a collection of bottles filled with blue and green powder—the powdered remains of blue and green slimes. Noticing one of the bottles was open, Carlo grew concerned that Dahlia might breathe the stuff in, and quietly closed the lid.

For the last few weeks, Dahlia had been working tirelessly in an attempt to make a kind of water-repellent fabric, using slimes as her enchanting material. However, the project didn’t appear to be progressing well. Likely due to their relatively weak magical power, slimes were seldom used for enchanting. Dahlia had had little success finding reference materials on them in either the college library or the city’s bookshops.

She’d been met with odd looks when she went to order slimes from the Adventurers’ Guild. The first batch that had arrived had been muddy, far from fresh, and smelly. They were also lacking in variety and few in number. That was only the beginning of her troubles. One of the blue slimes, only half-killed, escaped from its bottle. Birds carried off the green slimes drying on the roof. Others rotted in a persistent spell of rain. Barely a day had gone by without something going wrong.

It was a hazardous endeavor as well. When Dahlia had developed a persistent cough while powdering some slimes, Carlo had insisted that she drink a potion. As far as he could tell, she’d burned her throat by breathing in some red slime. Her vocal cords could have been in danger. Dahlia, however, wasn’t pleased. It was a waste, she said, to use an expensive potion over something so minor. When a black slime resurrected itself one day and began to creep menacingly toward them, Carlo managed to hold on to his fatherly dignity and exterminate the creature with apparent ease. In truth, however, the sight had chilled him to the bone.

But even in the face of all these setbacks, his daughter persisted with her research and experiments. The idea of leaving her project unrealized seemed unthinkable. When it came to dealing with other people, Dahlia could be somewhat shy and reserved at times, but as a craftswoman, she displayed extraordinary innovation and always welcomed a challenge. To put it another way, she could be recklessly, dangerously adventurous. Of course, Carlo knew better than anyone where she got that from. He was in no position to criticize. What was a father to do?

“Dahlia. Dahlia...” Carlo called softly, giving his daughter’s shoulder a gentle shake, but to no avail. She was obviously sleeping more deeply than he’d thought.

Until ten or so years ago, Carlo would often carry his sleeping daughter up to bed and tuck her in. But as the gray hairs had crept in, the strength and will to carry his now-college-aged daughter had slipped away from him.

Thankfully, the nights were warm at this time of year. He gave up trying to wake her and draped his coat over her shoulders. At that moment, he felt a twinge in his right wrist. He’d been working too hard lately; his arthritis was flaring up. The heart palpitations had been coming on a little more frequently too. He had age and excessive drinking to thank for that, no doubt.

Once, he’d been able to wrap his little Dahlia up completely in a jacket of this size. How she’d grown.

She had begun her magical toolmaking studies at age five. She’d loved to play with magic crystals and read her illustrated crystal guide. Before long, she was attempting to craft her first tools—with a little help from her father, she even achieved some successes.

While she was in elementary school, the maid had begun teaching her to cook. In the early days, her style had been...individual, to say the least. Carlo always praised her and ate up whatever she produced, though he found himself losing weight for a while. Her skills rapidly progressed, and now Carlo eagerly anticipated each and every meal.

When she’d turned sixteen, this kingdom’s age of majority, Dahlia had tried her first glass of wine. Carlo could still remember what a grimace she’d made upon that first sip. He’d thought that perhaps, unlike him, she might not take to liquor, but these days they often shared a drink or two over dinner. She seemed to enjoy it a great deal too.

How many more years would they have together in this tower? Surely not as many as he might like. Carlo loved living with Dahlia, but recently, he’d begun to worry that his existence might be robbing her of the encounters a young woman ought to be having. He could scarcely imagine any man wanting to come live in a tower with his bride and father-in-law. No, when the time came for Dahlia to be married, he would have to let her go. Considering her age, he couldn’t put off thinking about this much longer.

However, Dahlia had never shown any particular interest in romance. In all their conversations, she’d never made a single mention of the subject. For a time, he’d thought that perhaps she simply kept those feelings private from him, but a visit from Irma—her childhood friend—the other day had dispelled that thought. “Slimes, slimes, slimes, every single day! Are you going to marry a slime, Dahlia?!” Irma had cried in exasperation. His daughter’s total lack of appetite for love remained a mystery.

Carlo put on a pair of reading glasses and sat down beside Dahlia to look over an order form. On one end of the workbench, he noticed a little blue slime powder that had been spilled. As he gazed at it, an idea occurred to him, and he brought down several bottles of the liquid chemicals they used for crafting their tools. So far, Dahlia had been using only one type of liquid to mix with the slime powders, but as far as Carlo could surmise, combining two or more would be much more likely to produce the effect she was striving for. However, he knew that if he did it himself, he’d be getting in the way of her research.

Suppressing his urge to experiment, Carlo selected four liquids that were likely to combine usefully and placed them in a row upon the workbench. He made doubly sure that they were far enough out of Dahlia’s reach that she wouldn’t accidentally knock one over when she awoke. He still worried about these little things. She’d long since grown into a young woman, but he was as doting and overprotective of her as he was when she was five years old.

As Carlo looked at one of the bottles of blue slime on the workbench, a memory surfaced. He recalled the first time Dahlia had come to him and begged to be carried. He had bent down and lifted his darling little girl up toward the clear blue sky above. She was so small and so light, yet her smile shone with all the radiance of the sun. Carlo knew then that he would do anything—he would become the most pious saint or the blackest villain—as long as he could protect that smile. It was as simple as that.

Whenever Dahlia stumbled and fell, he could never keep himself from rushing to her side.

“Mr. Carlo, you mustn’t coddle her so! Children must learn to stand up on their own!” the maid always scolded him sourly.

It became such a regular occurrence that eventually, after taking a tumble one day, Dahlia told him, “No, Father! You’ll get in trouble!” and got up by herself. He felt like a pitiful excuse for a father.

He may have been a half-decent toolmaker, he’d thought, but as a father, he was third-rate or worse. While he could teach her his craft and help her with her school studies, there was almost nothing he could tell her about being a woman and making her way in the world. And so, in the hope that others might do so in his place, Carlo began secretly asking favors of his friends and acquaintances. He called them debts to be repaid, but in truth, they were pleas. In return for some small kindness, he asked people to look out for his daughter once he was gone—to lend her their aid should she ever need help.

Most of them laughed. They’d probably never met a man who doted on his daughter the way Carlo did. He expected most of his pleas would go unanswered, but that was all right. If Dahlia found out about them one day, would she be thankful? Or would she just laugh too? Of course, ideally, she would never need to know a thing about what he’d done.

Someday soon, once Dahlia had found someone she could happily spend her life with, Carlo could pass all his knowledge and skills on to his apprentice and at last rest easy, without regrets... His train of thought petered out there, and he smiled wryly. Not a chance.

No matter how many years went by, his attachment to Dahlia would never wane. He would forever be fretting about his precious daughter. Once she married, he’d start longing for grandchildren. Once they were born, he’d fret over them too. If his ex-wife—Dahlia’s mother—were still by his side, could he have watched his daughter fly the nest with a smile and not spend the rest of his days fretting about her? He very much doubted it.

“Live a life unshackled by regret”—so went a teaching from the gods. But what kind of life would you have to lead to achieve that? “Live righteously,” the temple priests regularly proclaimed. “Live with love for your brothers and sisters. Live without regrets.” Was it his age that made those words sting his ears? Or was it the thoughts of those he’d been unable to protect?

Carlo had been an incorrigible child. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and he vexed his parents terribly. As a student, he’d loved to amuse himself with experiments and frequently caused trouble for his friends and teachers. When his mother and father died of illness in quick succession, he was inconsolable, filled with regret at not having been a better son to them.

At times, his path to becoming a magical toolmaker had felt like running into one brick wall after another, leaving him helpless but to grit his teeth against the pain of failure. After a fiery whirlwind romance, he was soon married only for his wife to desert him, leaving his daughter Dahlia bereft of a mother.

He often thought about what he could have done differently at one time or another. His was a life littered with regrets. These last few years, he’d found himself at the funerals of friends and acquaintances increasingly often. He guessed that his own turn wasn’t far off.

Perhaps before his time came, he ought to find someone who could protect his daughter once he was gone, he’d thought. It had been suggested to him a few times that Dahlia could be presented for marriage interviews as the daughter of a baron, but he couldn’t see the formality of noble life suiting her in the slightest. Dahlia had genuine talent as a magical toolmaker. However, her extraordinary inventiveness and headlong approach to experimentation could easily put her in danger. She would benefit from someone with a cool head who would rein her in when necessary.

As Carlo pushed up his reading glasses, his eye was caught by a glint of light. It was reflecting off a silver sheet that sat propped against one wall of the workshop. Its surface had been very evenly enchanted with a hardening spell—an impressive feat for a first-timer.

It was the work of Tobias, his apprentice and the son of a good friend. Despite there being no history of mages or magical toolmaking in Tobias’s family, he’d worked long and hard to enter college and pursue his dream of becoming a toolmaker. This young man was diligent, level-headed, and, much like Dahlia, he appeared to be a stranger to romance. Though he kept it well hidden, he too was always looking out for Dahlia, his junior apprentice. It comforted Carlo to see him care for her like an elder brother. He hoped that they would go on supporting each other as fellow apprentices for many years to come.

Carlo’s friend—Tobias’s father—had recently floated the idea of his son marrying Dahlia. It wouldn’t be a bad arrangement for either of them. But try as he might, Carlo simply couldn’t picture Tobias and Dahlia as a happily married couple. Thus, he’d been holding off on giving his friend an answer.

Frankly, he didn’t care if he was called overprotective or arrogant. If he could have his way, he’d see her wed to someone he knew would protect her no matter what and who would carve her a peaceful path through life that spared her every unhappiness. He didn’t want her to marry a man like himself, who’d been unable to take care of even his own wife. He hoped she would find a man who would protect her until the end of her days. He wanted that man to be like the waterproof cloth Dahlia would one day finish, wrapping around her to shield her from every cold drop of rain and gust of wind. He wanted a man who would stand between her and any danger, not letting a single hair on her head come to harm. It didn’t matter where this man came from or what position he held in society. It didn’t matter if the life he and Dahlia led was ordinary and uneventful. All Carlo wanted was for Dahlia to be blessed with happiness for as long as she lived. That was all he could ask for as her father—a simple yet grandiose wish. Naturally, he had no way of knowing whether it would be granted.

“Are you awake, Dahlia? No, still sleeping...”

She’d shifted her posture a little as she slept; that was all. The coat he’d laid over her slipped off onto the floor. She must have been having a good dream; there was a smile upon her lips. It looked so childlike, somehow. Carlo picked up his coat and laid it over her once again, smiling ruefully at himself.

She couldn’t forever stay that little girl he’d held in his arms. “No, Father!” she used to say. “You’ll get in trouble!” How would she scold him for his pampering now, he wondered. Having grown up as remarkably strong as she had, she might just laugh and tell him, “You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

If, one day, she strayed from the quiet path he’d carved for her onto one of her own choosing, that was fine. If she was determined to go her own way as a craftswoman—as her own person—then far be it from him to discourage her. Even if that road were steep and entangled with thorns, he would congratulate her for braving it. After that, all that was left for him was to pray for her—pray that whatever road she took, it would lead her to happiness.

Bonus Translator’s Notes

Hello! Thank you for reading to the end of Volume 2. I hope you enjoyed this second installment of Dahlia’s adventures in Ordine. I’m Niki, your translator, back again to offer a glimpse into what it takes to turn “MaDari” into Dahlia (“MaDari” is the nickname of the Dahlia in Bloom series in Japan—a shortening of “Madougushi Dariya wa Utsumukanai”). Now, I apologize if you’ve had enough talk of food for one volume. Today’s notes will continue the theme.

The Fridge

You often find yourself down odd, unexpected rabbit holes as a translator. I’d barely dipped my toe into this volume before the prototype fridge-freezer Dahlia creates in the first chapter sent me tumbling down one. It soon became apparent that the anatomy of the fridge Dahlia had in mind was somewhat different from what I was accustomed to. To be honest, I’ve never paid very much attention to where I put what in my fridge, despite a vague awareness that certain sections are intended for particular categories of food. I’d heard of a chiller and a crisper drawer but wasn’t sure exactly what they were. Research was called for. After a solid half an hour’s searching, I had the good fortune to come across a 2017 Japan Times article that explained all. I couldn’t help wondering what had prompted such an article to be written in the first place, though. Slow news day?

The descriptions of objects and spaces are among the most challenging passages to translate in Dahlia (and in general), I find. I recall Dahlia’s foaming soap dispenser being especially tricky—I had no helpful articles to aid me there. Seeing through the author’s eyes can be difficult even in one’s native language. A hundred readers will have a hundred slightly—or perhaps very—different mental images of the same places, people, and objects described in a book. This visualization becomes doubly difficult when you and the author don’t share a native language and cultural background, as demonstrated by the example of the fridge.

Swish Swish

If you’re a fan of Japanese cuisine, you may have heard of “shabu-shabu.” You may even be familiar with the origins of the name—“shabu-shabu” is an onomatopoeic word that expresses the swishing of thinly sliced meat in boiling water. Dahlia serves this dish to Volf at the Green Tower in “The Titan Frog Hunt and Volf’s Report.” I found it interesting that Dahlia calls it “buta shabu” (pork shabu-shabu) and that Volf doesn’t question the name. The latter can be put down to Volf’s unfamiliarity with commoner cuisine, but Dahlia’s use of the Japanese name is slightly puzzling, as one would think it might invite questions that she isn’t prepared to answer. It’s been mentioned before that Ordine’s food culture is unlike Japan’s—more Mediterranean than anything else, as demonstrated by the existence of porchetta and crespelles, so one would imagine that “shabu-shabu” would sound conspicuously foreign in this context. This isn’t the only instance of Dahlia serving her friends Japanese cuisine, of course—we also see “yakiniku” (grilled meat) and “kushi-age” (fried skewers), but these names lack the same foreign flavor. The lack of reaction to Dahlia’s “shabu-shabu” in either the narration or dialogue reveals something in itself—namely, that it isn’t worthy of comment. This told me that my translation of the dish should also sound unremarkable—even if that meant deviating from convention.

“Shabu-shabu” is generally left untranslated in English. However, this approach didn’t mesh with my goal—to name the dish in such a way that it wouldn’t arouse curiosity. Thus, I settled on the simple, self-explanatory “quick-boiled pork.” Why not the more literal “swish-swish pork”? For the same reason I’ll argue against translating “oyakodon” as “parent and child bowl”—it sounds silly and leaves the reader no closer to understanding what the dish is. I find the vast array of Japanese onomatopoeia for every sound, texture, and feeling to be extremely charming. However, the sad fact is that attempts to render them too directly into English produce what sounds to our ears like baby talk. It’s perfectly valid to describe a dark, stormy night in Japanese by saying, “the rain went zaaa-zaaa and the wind went whooo,” but unless your target audience were elementary schoolers, this wouldn’t work well in English.

If you’re thinking this sounds like an exercise in overanalysis, you’re probably right. But this is how translators’ brains have to work. We rarely regret second-guessing and third-guessing our choices; we do regret it when we make careless assumptions.

Green Eggs and Chicken

Too much time spent in your second language can make you a little blind to what sounds natural in your first. The first materials I ever worked on as a professional translator were restaurant and café menus, so some things like “chicken ham” and “choux cream” don’t sound as unnatural to me as they might to most native English speakers. This is one of many reasons why a meticulous editor is essential. Mine pointed out to me that “chicken ham” is relatively unknown outside of Japan and might not be understood without a brief explanation, which we duly added. The decision to add such explanations or not is very much dependent on your target audience. Judgments need to be made depending on how much knowledge of particular subject areas you expect readers to have. Too many unfamiliar terms can be alienating, while too much explanation bogs down the text—and it’s boring! As with all things, finding balance and knowing your audience are the keys.

Manila Clamming Up

The clams that Dahlia receives from Marcello in “The Sköll Bracelet” are called “asari” in Japanese and “Manila clams” in English. Perhaps you’ve spotted the problem already. To my knowledge, the city of Manila does not exist in Dahlia’s world. Even if it did, who’s to say it would bear any resemblance to the one she knew in her past life? These little bivalves do have other names—Japanese littleneck clam, Japanese cockle, and Japanese carpet shell, but these clearly share the same problem. The only sensible solution was to accept a loss in specificity and simply say “clams.” The relationship between “Manila clams” and “clams” is that of hyponym and hypernym. The former is specific, the latter more general. These terms simply denote a category and a word that fits within that category. “Chihuahua” and “dog” are another example.

Translation very frequently involves movement in one direction or the other, for various reasons. Sometimes, character limits create a need for brevity. Often, it’s simply about what sounds natural—both excessive detail and too little can both leave readers scratching their heads. On balance, I would say that Japanese tends towards detail and specificity, although this is not always the case. Take “nezumi” for example—mouse or rat? Or “hachi”—wasp or bee? Both are possible, and the translator can only pray for enough context to be able to figure out which was intended. More frequently, though, I find myself swimming in adjectives. Most of the time, by breaking the sentence up or switching up the order of words, every detail can be comfortably included, but not always. Not all loss in the translation process should be viewed negatively, though. Sometimes, less is more. The feel for where and when the excisions are necessary is simply another skill a translator needs to develop.

Well, that’s all from me in this second delve into the translation of Dahlia in Bloom. I hope you’ve enjoyed it—or at least that I haven’t put you to sleep!—and you’ll be back for Volume 3. See you there!