The Artisans’ Tête-à-Tête

In a corner of the city’s artisan quarter, Dahlia stepped down from a carriage into the blazing sun. Even in her dark-blue summer dress and airy linen jacket, she was on the verge of sweating. Before her stood a green-roofed building with an engraved silver plaque beside the entrance. “Gandolfi Workshop,” it read. Satisfied that she’d come to the right place, Dahlia rang the doorbell.

“Good day, Mr. Gandolfi.”

“Ah, Chairwoman Rossetti. Welcome.”

With an alacrity that suggested he had been awaiting her arrival, Fermo—the head of the workshop and a specialist craftsman of small goods—appeared to greet her. Though age had added a sprinkling of white to his head of brown hair, his posture was still ramrod straight. He was wearing a dark-gray smock—probably his usual work attire.

Dahlia had first met Fermo at the Merchants’ Guild a few days ago. They’d arranged for him to create some samples of her foaming soap dispensers that would be suitable for mass production. Both of them had been rather busy since that day with one thing or another, but today, at last, their schedules had aligned.

“It’s a little cramped, I’m afraid, but come on in.”

The workshop was a single-story wooden building with a high ceiling. Fermo had called it cramped, but it was no less spacious than Dahlia’s workshop in the tower. One wall was lined with shelving, where a multitude of bolts, springs, tubes, spray bottle parts, and much more were neatly stored. Fermo invited Dahlia to sit at the table in the middle of the workshop before fetching three soap dispensers that he placed in front of her. He pointed one of them out.

“This is the one for mass production. If you see anything you’re not happy with, let me know right away.”

Dahlia picked it up and inspected it, turning it over in her hands. Then she disassembled it. All the sections of the lid, the pump, and the vessel were more cleanly and uniformly crafted than in her initial prototypes. One of the bottles had been filled with soap, ready for use. She tried it and was delighted by the thick, fluffy mound of white foam that squirted onto the prepared plate.

“These are beautifully made. So much lighter than my prototypes. The lid pushes down far more easily and smoothly too.”

“Yeah, I hollowed out the inside of part of the pump a little. It ought to be just as durable, and now the downward pressure on it’ll be spread out more evenly. Each pump’s been pressed a thousand times, and we didn’t find any problems in each of these three bottles. If you’re satisfied with them, then I’ll go ahead and have them pressed five thousand times.”

“Who does your testing for you?”

“Some students at a local elementary school took the job on. It’s a good bit of pocket money for them.”

Every child in this kingdom, regardless of whether they were of noble or common birth, was permitted to go to school as long as they passed the requisite exams. The kingdom bore the cost of tuition, but students had to pay for their school supplies and any extracurricular activities on their own. These expenses soon added up, so many children from commoner families worked part-time jobs.

“Well, I’m more than happy with the quality of these, Mr. Gandolfi. We can proceed to the next stage whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get those tests done soon as I can and then turn in the specifications to the guild. Call me Fermo, by the way. Everyone in this workshop’s called Gandolfi, so it’ll get confusing real fast if you come calling for me.”

“Understood. In that case, you must call me Dahlia. I simply can’t get used to being called Chairwoman...”

“Miss Dahlia it is, then. I know how you feel—I still think of my old man every time someone calls me the workshop head.” Fermo chuckled as he lifted a large basket onto the table. “Now, these are some different models. I just made them as the ideas came to me. I’d appreciate an honest opinion of them.”

Taking them one by one from the basket, Fermo lined up a total of ten soap dispensers, each one a different shape from the last.

“There are so many!”

“Yeah, well, y’know how it is sometimes. You get started and then don’t know where to stop...”

The expression in the man’s eyes as he sheepishly glanced away was all too familiar. Both Dahlia and her father had been just the same when crafting prototypes—they’d get a little momentum behind them, and before they knew it, they’d have half a dozen new versions with all sorts of extra features and functions. Most of them were useless, but searching out new possibilities was where the joy of experimentation lay. There was nothing a craftsperson delighted in more.

“This one’s for shaving,” Fermo explained, pointing to the first bottle in the row. “I’ve made the vessel bigger; firstly, so it’ll fit better in men’s hands, and secondly, so it’ll hold a lot more soap. A lot of men find it a real hassle refilling these things.”

“Oh, I see.”

She hadn’t considered that. Refilling soap bottles was indeed rather time-consuming.

“These next two have larger vessels as well. I’ve made them wider and square-shaped and weighted the bottom so that they’re much harder to tip over. I figured this type would be handy in a busy kitchen or the like, where you’ll have a lot of people using it.”

“I agree. I think big families would appreciate having these in their bathrooms too.”

“Now, this one’s got a catch on the bottom so it can be fixed in place. Just needs a corresponding part set into the surface it’s going to sit on. Once it’s locked, no one’ll be able to remove it without knowing the exact mechanism. Might be good for people who’re sick or elderly and have shaky hands, or for kids, since there’s no chance of them knocking it over. The other thing it’d solve, though I know it’s not so pleasant to think about, is people harassing business owners by stealing them. Drunks in bars and eateries sometimes think it’s funny to take them home too.”

“Right. That would definitely make them safer.”

Dahlia herself had thought of designing a version that was easier and safer for children and elderly people to use, but the idea of people stealing the dispensers from businesses hadn’t occurred to her. While the crime rates in the royal capital were very low, it saw its fair share of troublesome drunks, and there were certain places where employing anti-theft measures would be wise. It made sense for a small goods specialist to be aware of these sorts of issues, Dahlia reasoned.

“The next four are all luxury versions for the noble market,” Fermo continued. “The vessels are decorated with colored glass and some simple glasswork techniques. We could probably add some metalwork decoration too, though I’d guess most higher-ranked nobles would want them custom-made.”

The transparent bottles featured delicate floral patterns with accents of translucent blue, scarlet, and opaque milk-white. Each one was eye-catching and beautiful in its own way.

“The glasswork and colors are absolutely lovely,” Dahlia said with admiration. “They’re pretty enough to be given as gifts. Perhaps we could use the same vessel and offer a range of glass and metalwork covers to go over the outside.”

“Ah, I see what you mean. That’d save us from making each one individually. Customers could choose whichever combinations of colored glass and covers they liked. Semi-custom, I guess they call that.”

“And they’d be replaceable if they got broken or if the customer just felt like a change.”

The craftsman nodded and began to jot down notes on a piece of paper he had near at hand. Dahlia took out her notebook and followed suit. She wrote down the various colors of glass they might use and potential designs for the outer covers. The covers could depict all sorts of subjects, not necessarily just flowers. There was plenty of scope for exploration, and Dahlia couldn’t help but be excited.

“The last two I’ve got here are meant to be portable. They could be useful anytime you’re out and about and want to wash your hands, but...to be honest with you, I just made them to see how small they could go.”

“I understand completely! I’m always curious about how big or small I can make my products.”

“You too, huh? It’s something I always think about when I’m crafting something new. Can’t help wanting to know what’s possible!”

Oh, he’s a craftsman all right. A true craftsman! Dahlia rejoiced. Fermo’s zeal reminded her of talking about magical tools with her father, and it was infectious. Dahlia could hardly keep a lid on her bubbling enthusiasm.

“Tell me, Mr. Fermo, are you the type to test the limits of a product until it breaks?”

“But of course! You want to know exactly what experience the customer’s going to have, and it gives you points to improve on too. I’m going to have these pumps pressed ten thousand times and then keep upping it until they break, to test their durability. You do the same kind of thing with magical tools?”

“Well, I certainly like to be that thorough in my testing. Not all toolmakers go so far, though.”

Fermo nodded, accepting this without question. However, the state of affairs Dahlia described didn’t quite give an accurate picture. Generally speaking, magical tools were considerably more durable than the kinds of small goods Fermo handled in his workshop. Thus, toolmakers who insisted on testing their creations to the point of breakage were considered rather eccentric by their fellow craftspeople. Dahlia was one such eccentric; she conducted thorough durability tests on almost all of her inventions. Even her waterproof cloth had been put through its paces. She had washed the finished articles around a hundred times and even employed the services of an ice mage to freeze them. Her father had been supportive of her efforts—“It’s necessary work, so keep at it until you’re satisfied.” However, as she’d repeated the tests incessantly, he’d had a slight change of heart. “I’m starting to feel sorry for that blue slime stuck on there,” he’d sometimes joked.

Nonetheless, Dahlia had grown up watching her father thoroughly test the durability of all his inventions. It was he who’d taught her the importance of it.

“So, I thought we could submit whichever of these prototypes you approve of to the guild,” Fermo said.

“I approve of them all. If you could draw up the specification documents for each of them, I’d be much obliged. I have a man called Ivano on my staff—I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it all out for us.”

“There’re a lot of them. You’re sure we can leave it all to him? Wouldn’t want to overwork the fella.”

“Well, he did give me free rein to create everything I wanted...but if it’s too much, I’m sure he’ll tell me.”

For the moment, the red-haired woman’s carefree smile assuaged Fermo’s concerns. This man she called Ivano was obviously a master of his profession.

If only Ivano had had a seat at that table, he’d have just about turned to stone by now.

“One thing I would say for all of them is that they’re prone to leakage where the upper parts join the vessel. All it needs is some kraken tape. Want me to send them over to a magical toolmaker’s for that?”

“Yes, please. I actually brought some kraken tape with me, so I’ll try applying it right now.”

Kraken tape had the appearance of a thick white bandage. However, once magic was applied to it, it quickly turned translucent, took on a pliant, rubbery texture, and became sticky. It was frequently used as a sealant and for preventing slippage.

“I’d do it myself if I could, but my magic’s only grade two, you see,” Fermo told her.

“You can use kraken tape at grade two.”

In this world, people’s magical power was generally measured on a fifteen-grade scale, with grade one being the weakest and fifteen the highest. Most commoners possessed a grade of one to five. Power was measured by a special magical crystal that detected a person’s magical potency when touched. These assessments were conducted at school entrance exams and other such events. However, this method didn’t work for people like Volf, who couldn’t express any magic externally at all. Their power could only be measured by dropping a small amount of their blood onto a different type of crystal. There were also some, such as those of royal lineage or the most high-ranking nobles, whose power was too great and would actually damage the measuring crystal.

The last time Dahlia had had her power measured, it had been grade eight. Her father’s had been grade twelve. Dahlia’s power was ample for a magical toolmaker, but not quite sufficient for a mage. She was simultaneously in awe of and completely unsurprised by her father’s result.

“Hm? I thought you had to be grade five to handle magical toolmaking materials,” Fermo replied dubiously.

“That’s just what they tell you when you want to study it in school. You can definitely handle kraken tape at grade two. In fact, I’ve heard that people at grade fifteen or close to it find it trickier to work with than people at lower grades. It tends to cling all over their hands once they apply their magic to it. I remember seeing the more powerful students struggling to use it in my magical toolmaking classes.”

“Huh. You don’t say.”

Taking the high school magical toolmaking exam required power of grade five or above. That must have been why Fermo had always believed he couldn’t use magical materials. The reason the bar was set at five was because that was the level of power needed to use the equipment in the magical toolmaking classes. However, for a simple material like kraken tape, grade two was perfectly adequate. It would be a little time-consuming, but their pace wouldn’t be far behind that of someone more powerful working carefully.

“Would you like to try it, Mr. Fermo?” Dahlia inquired, though the fire in the man’s eyes had already answered her question.

“You betcha!”

Fermo sat down beside her at the table and picked up the lid parts of the soap dispenser’s pump.

“Um, are you familiar with the enchanting technique?”

“Yeah, more or less. You use your index finger on your dominant hand, right? Like when you use a magical tool for the first time?”

“That’s it. You want to focus on letting the warmth in your fingertip flow into the tape. Hover your finger just over the surface. You’ll see the color gradually change from white to translucent. Then you can start slowly wrapping it round.”

“Whoa, it’s turning into putty!”

The softened kraken tape beneath the man’s fingertip was twisting and curling like dried squid on the grill. He was obviously expressing his magical power too erratically. It took practice to make it flow in a steady, constant stream.

“Don’t try to force it. Take steady breaths as you go. If it starts curling like that, just pull back slightly, like this, and move to a different spot.”

“Oh, now it’s going straight... Hm? Hold on. It’s not setting.”

“Your magic’s weakening. Bring your finger closer and concentrate.”

“Right, concentrating...concentrating...” Fermo mumbled to himself as he focused intently, slowly drawing the kraken tape around in a circle. “All right! It stuck!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he picked up a second piece of tape. He was getting the hang of it far faster than Dahlia had anticipated. Pleasantly surprised, she watched over his subsequent attempts, offering advice where necessary.

“I did it. I actually used kraken tape. Shame about all those lumps and bumps, though.”

“This is fantastic work after only handling four pieces. You should be proud.”

On his fourth attempt, Fermo had managed to wrap the kraken tape completely around the soap bottle’s lid without letting his magic falter or letting the tape ball up. The result was well beyond what one would expect from someone performing their first enchantment. No doubt his long years of experience crafting small, delicate objects had played a part.

“How long do you reckon before I can stick it without any lumps or wrinkles?”

“At this rate, I’d say you’ll be producing salable results after another hundred or so tries.”

“I’m a tad short of breath... Is this magic exhaustion? I’ve only used four pieces.”

“If you do four pieces every day, then it’ll only take you twenty-five days to be able to use it properly. You can also gradually boost your magical power by draining it on a daily basis. You’ll be able to handle enchanting the prototypes in no time,” Dahlia said cheerfully.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Fermo let out a shallow sigh.

“It’s exciting having this range of prototypes to play with, but this is going to be tough. Wish I’d started this when I was a little younger, y’know?”

His gaze was somewhat wistful as he sat still clutching a piece of kraken tape in his hand.

“But you will do it, won’t you, Mr. Fermo?” Dahlia asked earnestly.

The man’s green eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded with a smile.

“Course I will. I’m a craftsman, aren’t I?”

“Oh, that reminds me. I apologize for not getting this to you earlier. Here—please consider this a greeting from the Rossetti Trading Company.”

Dahlia placed a bundle on the table, opening it to reveal one of her compact magical stoves. When trading companies first struck a deal with a new supplier, it was traditional to present the supplier with a gift of one of the company’s products—so Dahlia had heard from Ivano. Thus, she’d brought along a stove. She’d gotten so engrossed in talking to Fermo and teaching him how to use the kraken tape that she’d almost forgotten all about the gift.

“This is magical, I take it?”

“Indeed. It’s a compact version of the magical stove. Simply place a pot on top, and you can enjoy cooking at the dining table or outdoors. I’ve included several recipes for dishes like grilled meat and a kind of cheese stew. I’d be delighted if you’d give it a try.”

“I’ll be glad to. Thank you. Is this one of your creations too?”

“Yes, but I can’t claim too much credit. I didn’t invent the magical stove per se; I only made it smaller.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, now. Getting a stove this small can’t have been a walk in the park.”

“As a matter of fact, I’d like to make a version even smaller and lighter than this one, but it’s proving rather tricky.”

Fermo inspected the stove from every angle, even turning it upside-down. He gave the body a light tap with the back of his finger before removing the compartment housing the magic crystal.

“It seems plenty small to me. What kind of reduction are we talking about?”

“Ideally, I’d like to make it about a third smaller and no heavier than a wineskin.”

“I don’t know whether they’ll apply to magical tools, but I’ve got books on weight-reduction techniques for small goods. Reckon they’d help?”

“I’d imagine so. Do you think I might be able to borrow them?”

“You can have them. I’ve got extra copies.”

Fermo got up and went over to the shelves, retrieving two books from the lowest one. They were guides to reducing the weight of objects made of metal and glass. Once he’d handed them to Dahlia, he once again picked up the stove and peered at the underside.

“Even with magic, I guess you can’t just shrink things as you please.”

“Indeed. It makes crafting parts easier, but no, there’s no magic that can make things shrink or expand, and every piece has to be created individually.”

Although magic abounded in this world she’d been reborn into, the lack of spells that could make objects greater or smaller in size, or replicate them, left Dahlia feeling ever so slightly cheated. She imagined every artisan had dreamed of such magic at least once in their life.

“Where did you learn to design housings, Miss Dahlia?”

“I learned in high school and from my father.”

“Your father... He was the man who invented the hot water dispensers, er...”

“Carlo Rossetti, yes. He passed away a year ago, sadly.”

“Oh, I see.” Fermo carefully set the stove down on the table before turning his deep-green eyes on Dahlia. “His daughter founded her own company and supports herself through her own hard work. I’m sure he’s resting easy.”

“I’ve still got a long way to go. If Father were to watch me at work, he’d still be fussing over my every move.”

“That’s just how it goes. The more you expect from an apprentice, the more you end up nagging them.”

Fermo’s smile was tinged with bitterness, as though he were reflecting on personal experience. Just as that smile faded, there was a knock from the door at the back of the room.

“Pardon me,” called the voice behind the door. “Forgive my husband’s manners, not even offering you a cup of tea...”

“Barbara, you should be in bed. I’ll take care of that, so you go take it easy.”

Bearing a tray laden with cups of tea, a woman with mauve hair entered the room. She was dressed in dark-gray work clothes like Fermo, but her movements were noticeably stiff and awkward. Her eyebrows drew together with every change in her posture, but she was trying her best to conceal her discomfort with a smile. It was difficult to watch. It seemed almost as though she was bearing a wound.

“Oh, sorry, Miss Dahlia. This is my wife. We run this workshop together.”

“I am Barbara Gandolfi. We are honored by your visit today, Chairwoman Rossetti.”

“I am Dahlia Rossetti. I’m very grateful for your cooperation. I believe we’ll be working together closely from now on, so please, call me Dahlia.”

“Very well. In that case, you must call me Barbara.”

Dahlia was already on a first-name basis with Fermo, after all, and both he and his wife would be involved in their future work, so it was best that they all be on an equal footing. To Dahlia, it only seemed like common sense, but she couldn’t help noticing how pleased Barbara looked.

“Here you are.”

The woman held the cup of tea carefully in both hands as she took it from the tray, but the moment she set it down on the table in front of Dahlia, her face contorted in pain.

“M-Mrs. Barbara, are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s nothing. I had a case of redneedle last year, you see. I was treated at the temple, but a little pain still lingers.”

Redneedle was a disease characterized by red spots and small blisters that formed in bands around the body. As far as Dahlia could tell, it was this world’s equivalent of shingles, which her mother in her previous life had suffered with. It wasn’t uncommon in this world; one of her father’s friends had had it too.

Dahlia had an inkling as to the cause of Barbara’s lingering pain. It was almost certainly what her mother had also suffered with—postherpetic neuralgia. This condition occurred as a result of nerve damage caused by a shingles infection. There were limits to the powers of the curative magic in this world. As a general rule, illnesses had to be treated at the temple within seven days of their appearance, otherwise they would become too firmly rooted and magic would be ineffective. Barbara, Dahlia could only assume, had not made it to the temple for treatment within that seven-day window.

“Don’t overdo it, now,” Fermo said. “Go and rest.”

“I’m all right. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Barbara’s forced smile did nothing to mask her suffering. It was clear that she’d become used to simply enduring it.

Dahlia found herself painfully reminded of her mother. Shortly before Dahlia had died in her past life, she’d received a letter from her mother saying, “Don’t forget to come visit us sometimes.” “I’ll come home for Obon,” she’d replied in an email. She’d been so swamped with overtime that she never even called. It had never occurred to her that she might leave that world before her parents. She was never able to properly thank them for raising her. After she’d found a job, the best she’d managed were some paltry gifts—something to drink on Father’s Day and some sweets on Mother’s Day. Then she’d passed away. Few could boast at having failed in their duty to their parents quite so spectacularly.

What Dahlia was about to do didn’t come from a place of pure kindness. It was nothing more than an effort to soothe her aching conscience, she told herself, as she unclasped the unicorn pendant around her neck.

“Um, Mrs. Barbara, would you hold this for a moment? If you don’t mind that I’ve been wearing it, that is.”

Dahlia held out the pendant to the other woman. She had crafted this pendant of pure-white unicorn horn, its surface delicately carved into the form of a rose, only a few days ago. The properties of unicorn horn included pain relief.

“It won’t stop it completely, but it may help a little to relieve your pain.”

“But this looks so valuable...”

Seeing Barbara’s hesitance, Dahlia took a step closer to her and pressed the pendant into her hand. She felt the gentle, wavering warmth of flowing magic, though whether it was Barbara’s or her own, she couldn’t be sure. The pendant glittered brightly as it responded.

“My goodness... It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Relieved, Dahlia released the astounded woman’s hand.

“Hang it around your neck so it’s in direct contact with your skin. I believe the pain will return quickly otherwise. You might want to tie it around your hand instead. It won’t be affected by water or sweat. If it gets dirty, you need only wipe it with a soft cloth.”

“But—”

“If it’s all right with you, Miss Dahlia, we’d be real grateful if we could borrow it for a little while,” Fermo cut in. “But wait, are you sure you don’t need it yourself? Are you in pain anywhere?”

“No, not in the slightest. This pendant is only a prototype; I’m not sure how long its effects will last. I’m more than happy to give it to you; all I ask is that you test it for me.”

“What did you make this from?” he asked.

“It’s...unicorn horn.”

“Gods above... You’re too kind, Miss Dahlia—much too kind. I can’t pay you back right away, but I will, in installments. You have my word.”

Fermo bowed deeply. He was obviously aware of how rare and precious a material unicorn horn was.

“No, honestly, I don’t need any payment. Um, what I’m really interested in is how long its effects last. Please let me know if it stops working.”

Her magical toolmaking books had made no mention of how long unicorn horn would remain effective for pain relief. If that property did dwindle after a certain amount of time, she would need to craft replacements.

“That’s hardly a fair trade. Unicorn horn doesn’t come cheap.”

“Erm, well then... Perhaps I could ask you to teach me about product design. I’d be very grateful for your guidance when I’m developing new inventions. Lots of elements in magical tools require detailed designs, after all.”

“Sure thing. I’ll teach you everything I know. And what I don’t know, I’ll find out for you. Let me know if you need to subcontract out any jobs that someone with weak magic like me can handle. Physical work and odd jobs are fine too.”

“That’s very kind of you. I promise to get in touch if anything comes up.”

She knew that Fermo wouldn’t be satisfied if she tried to refuse his offer. That was why she’d made it a promise. Barbara had been silent all the while—perhaps in awe of the pendant’s effect—but at last, she spoke.

“Miss Dahlia, I cannot thank you enough for your thoughtfulness. But you know, women get a lot of aches and pains as they grow older. Your mother might need this one day. I really think you ought to keep it.”

“There’s no need to worry. I don’t have a mother.”

“Oh, please forgive me. How sad for her to have passed so young. You must miss her.”

“No, I can’t say I... I never knew my mother, so, um...”

Her memories of her mother from her past life, and her feelings toward the mother she’d never known in this one, clashed within Dahlia’s head, leaving her at a loss. Her only recollection of her mother from her past life was a hazy, indistinct face and the sound of her voice. The memories were so dim and distant now that Dahlia couldn’t truly say she missed her. But, of course, she couldn’t explain this to the couple in front of her. She couldn’t even think of a way to evade the topic. Noticing her distress, Barbara’s expression became apologetic.

“I’m awfully sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. But this pendant must be worth a great deal of money. I’m just not sure the likes of me ought to have such a thing.”

“Mrs. Barbara, nothing makes me happier than seeing my magical tools go to people who truly need them. Please accept it. I insist.”

There wasn’t one iota of falsehood in those words. Right now, Barbara needed that pendant far more than she did. Besides, it made Dahlia happy to see the people she worked with smiling cheerfully. From here on out, she’d be relying on the Gandolfi Workshop to manufacture her products. One pendant was a small price to pay for a boost in morale and efficiency, the benefits of which would come back to her anyway.

“A-Anyway, this is all self-interest on my part! I want Mr. Fermo to do his very best work for me, so I thought I’d just fire him up a bit with this.”

“Yeah, I’m fired up all right. To say it plain, it feels like you’ve put a fire crystal in my chest.”

“M-Mr. Fermo?!” Dahlia exclaimed shrilly.

In this kingdom, the phrase “You’ve put a fire crystal in my chest” couldn’t always be taken at face value. In fact, it was frequently used as an expression of ardent desire. The words had barely left Fermo’s lips when a noise like a cracking whip split the air.

It was the sound of Barbara’s palm striking the side of her husband’s head with considerable force.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Miss Dahlia. He just opens his mouth without engaging his brain...”

While Barbara smiled sweetly, Fermo groaned as he pressed a hand to his head. Dahlia’s carriage couldn’t arrive soon enough.

The conversation soon returned to the topic of work, carrying on as though nothing untoward had happened. Not long after, a carriage arrived outside the workshop to collect Dahlia. Watching it draw away, Fermo patted the ache beneath his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Still smarts... You haven’t smacked me like that in a while.”

“You shouldn’t say such foolish things to that poor girl.” While her words were harsh, Barbara’s lips were curved into a pleasant smile.

“Ah, y’know, it just slipped out. I wish I’d met her when I was younger.”

“You still haven’t learned? Am I to take this as a declaration of war?”

“Hey, hey! Put that hand down. I didn’t mean it like that. I just can’t help thinking that if I’d had a craftswoman like her working alongside me when I was young, I could’ve gone much further.”

“What are you talking about? You’re still young. And now that I can move again, we’re free to pursue whatever goals we choose,” Barbara said blithely, placing the empty teacups on the tray.

Looking at her brisk gestures, one would never even know she’d been sick. Fermo grinned as he watched her.

“Well, you’ve sure perked up.”

“Of course I have. I can move. Oh, how I wish we’d had a sweet little daughter like Dahlia. Those boys of ours are such rascals. Now, you must tell me—how much would this unicorn pendant cost? I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Well, I saw a piece of horn like that at another workshop once, attached to a bracelet. That was three gold. This one’s been magically carved with that flower design, so it’d probably be a little more than that.”

“We’ll have to buckle down and repay her as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, we’ve got to—with interest. Can’t tarnish the family’s good name.”

As Fermo thought back to the day his father had handed the workshop down to him, his finger traced a scratch in the old workbench’s surface. Just next to it was a fresh one made by one of his apprentices. The surface, bright and pale when it was new, had now turned caramel-colored with age, but it would still be good for years to come. Tonight, upon this very workbench, Fermo would draft the specification documents and blueprints for each model of the foaming soap dispenser. He was determined to finish them all, even if it took all night.

“My magic’s grade two. Do you suppose I could use the kraken tape as well?”

Barbara was staring at the kraken tape with just the same fire Fermo had earlier.

“Let’s give it a shot. I’ll show you how it’s done. Once the young’uns get back from their delivery, we’ll teach them too. Pretty sure they’re at grades three and four, so they should manage more than I can.”

Nothing gave a craftsperson more joy than discovering a new way to use their hands. Fermo couldn’t wait to tell the apprentices about the kraken tape—as well as about Barbara’s recovery and Dahlia’s visit. Smiling in anticipation of their return, he handed the kraken tape to his wife.

The Harpy Hunt

Thirty knights from the Order of Beast Hunters and five mages set out from the royal capital, heading northeast toward the mountains. They traveled one full day by carriage and a second on horseback and hiking the mountain roads. Word had arrived of a flock of harpies building their nests in a cave on a thickly wooded mountainside.

That in itself wouldn’t have been cause for alarm, but at the foot of this mountain, there lay a village. The inhabitants’ livelihoods were dependent on sheep farming. First, a stray lamb had been taken, then an adult sheep. The harpies had apparently developed a taste for mutton, for after that, their attacks had become a daily occurrence. Feeling desperate, the villagers had petitioned the kingdom for aid in exterminating the harpies, and the Beast Hunters had been dispatched.

“Do you see the harpies?”

“Yes, sir. It appears to be a small flock of approximately thirteen individuals.”

A mage dressed in a black robe observed the beasts through a large glass panel with a red magic circle drawn upon its surface. It was a kind of magical tool that greatly magnified the user’s field of vision. Unlike a telephoto lens, it produced little distortion. The drawback was that only the person holding it could see the magnified image. Even someone standing right beside them would be unable to share the view.

“They seem to be the regular species—no mutants.”

The harpies, beating their wings as they circled above their nest, had vivid green hair and ivory-white skin. To a layman, their bare chests might have been somewhat salacious, but they brought no pleasure to the knights. Their aerial agility and savage fangs and talons made them devilishly tricky to fight.

“Mutants or not, they’ve still got wings. Don’t let your guards down for a second. I wish we could’ve had a dragoon with us, in case things turn sour.”

“It’s hard to imagine the palace allowing that as long as they’re so few. I hear the neighboring kingdom has more.”

The word was that that kingdom, well-known for its animal and monster husbandry, had domesticated several dozen small wyverns for use in its army. In Ordine, however, knights who could ride wyverns were still extremely scarce, and all of them were in the Household Troops. This meant they could only really be called upon in the gravest emergencies. Unless the Beast Hunters were to find themselves completely overwhelmed, they were highly unlikely to have a dragoon joining them. That said, these knights did cooperate with the Beast Hunters in certain cases, such as when one of their members went missing, which was greatly appreciated.

“We need to destroy the nests as well as eliminate the harpies. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

“If I may, Vice-Captain?”

Griswald nodded at the dark-haired man who raised his hand. Volf proceeded to explain his proposal.

“How about we begin with a unified attack by all of the mages and archers? The rest of us can dispatch the fallen harpies and then proceed to destroy the nests. I would also suggest that those who can use earth magic should block up the cave’s entrance with soil, so as to discourage any more harpies from nesting there.”

“Very good. Then that’s what we shall do.”

Volf had formulated this plan during the carriage journey based on all of the information they’d been given thus far. He was relieved to hear Griswald accept it so readily. He hadn’t volunteered this plan out of a desire for recognition—all he wanted was to see the mission finished as quickly as possible so that they could return home. In total, the hunt would take a minimum of five days. They were far from the capital, and Volf had no way of sending a letter to the Green Tower. Until last month, it had never bothered him how far they sometimes traveled from the city, but now, it felt unbearably distant.

Once they had made all of the necessary preparations, the knights slipped stealthily into the trees to lie in wait. After about half an hour, a number of harpies returned—more than half the flock. Perhaps thanks to their daily diet of mutton, all of them looked well-fed, their hair and bright green feathers healthy and lustrous. Hanging in their talons was incontrovertible proof of their guilt—sheep. No matter how the villagers tried to protect their stock, there were too many to keep an eye on at all times, and they couldn’t afford to keep them indoors all year round. The sheep had to be free to graze.

“I guess a harpy’s still a harpy at the end of the day,” Dorino said with a sigh.

“Well, what else would it be?”

Harpies’ faces resembled those of humans, but there was something uncanny about them—something not quite right in their expression, perhaps. Their mouths opened far wider than a human’s and were bright red inside, with long, white fangs.

“It’d just be nice if they were a little, you know, cuter.”

“Dorino, last I checked, we were here to slay these monsters, not date them.”

“Not long now,” another knight interjected.

Barely daring to whisper, mouthing their words to each other, the men waited for the signal from one of the senior knights.

“Attack!”

The unmistakable roar of air magic ripped through the trees, quickly followed by blasts of ice, water, and earth magic as the mages attacked in unison. It was an impressive display of techniques; the air magic, slicing skyward like invisible blades, was accompanied by piercing ice needles, water lances, and stone arrows. While these were fairly potent spells, harpies possessed a degree of magic resistance, as well as air magic of their own that they could use to evade attacks and fly high out of the knights’ reach. That was where the bow knights came in. All at once, they loosed their arrows, bringing the harpies tumbling down to earth.

“Kreee!”

Around five or six of those that fell were still alive, but they’d been thrown off balance by their wounds and could no longer fly. The knights waiting below sprinted toward the falling harpies, but there was one dark-haired man among them who suddenly leaped high above their heads. Soaring upward as though on wings, the lone knight brandished his longsword. Before they could even open their mouths to screech, he cut not one, but two harpies cleanly in half. Sailing through a spray of blood, the man landed with an expression of complete nonchalance.

“Hey, I never saw you jump like that in training!”

“If you wouldn’t mind, oh Dark Lord, leave some for us!”

A few grumbles rose up from the men who’d been beaten to the chase. In just a few minutes, they dispatched every last one of the harpies. The next order of business was to destroy the nests in the cave. They set alight the dried grass and vegetation that had been spread over the cave floor. Harpies detested the smell of burning vegetation, so this would ensure they wouldn’t return. All that remained was for the mages to fill in the entrance using their earth magic, and the job would be finished. However, through the white smoke that drifted through the air, one of the knights suddenly caught sight of a shadow on the ground.

“Look out!”

A single harpy, having apparently separated itself from the flock, was flying toward the nest site. However, it wasn’t the harpy itself that turned the men’s faces pale—rather than clutching a sheep in its talons, it carried a small child. His limbs dangled limply; whether he was dead or merely unconscious, it was impossible to tell.

“Someone, take it down with magic!”

“We can’t! It’ll hit the child!”

“What about bows?!”

“Not when it’s moving like that!”

The harpy surveyed the group of knights that had invaded its nest and quickly changed course, obviously intent on fleeing. At that same moment, the little boy regained his senses. He suddenly cried out and began to thrash in the harpy’s grip, causing the beast to falter in midair. The child slipped from one of its talons, swinging precariously. The height was too great—if he fell, there would be no saving him. Volf didn’t waste a moment.

“Randolph, ready your shield!” he shouted.

“Right!” Randolph dropped to one knee, both hands gripping his broad shield tightly as he held it at an angle. “Go, Volf!”

Volf sprinted toward him, bounding off the shield as though it were a springboard and leaping high into the air.

“Damn fool! He’ll never make it!” someone yelled in exasperation.

Volf had made use of Randolph’s shield like this many times before. It was helpful for attacking or jumping atop larger monsters. During their recent training, he’d even done it with a little boost from the sköll bracelet. However, he’d never attempted to reach this high before. He put everything into the jump, but he still found himself several meters away from the boy.

“Come on!”

As though the wind itself answered his call, just for a moment, an invisible foothold seemed to appear in midair, allowing him to propel himself forward and close the distance. He just had time to kick the harpy with all his might and snatch the child away from it before gravity finally got the better of him. The harpy, the knight, and the boy fell into the trees in a flailing tangle of limbs.

“Hey, Volf! Are you all right?!”

“Fine, sir! Could someone dispatch the harpy, please?”

One of the knights who’d been keeping watch among the trees ran his sword through the motionless harpy. The creature made no sound, presumably unconscious or already dead.

“Are you hurt, Volf?!”

“No, all good. I got caught in the trees and the harpy cushioned the landing. It’s this child who needs help; he’s got wounds from the harpy’s claws. Better fetch someone with healing magic.”

“I’ll go get them—wait, actually, it’d be faster if I just take him. Just to be safe, you get your armor off and make sure you’re not hurt anywhere.”

Dorino gathered the young boy into his arms and hurried away. Even after the battle had finished, lingering adrenaline often kept people from immediately noticing their wounds. The fall had been a long one. Helpful as the sköll bracelet was, Volf would have to make sure to use it carefully.

As Volf began to remove his armor, a dark-haired mage approached him. The man was about ten years Volf’s senior.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Volfred?”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Have you perchance learned to use air magic?”

“I haven’t. I can’t express any magic externally.”

“Then could what I saw just now have been late-blooming magic?”

“No. I don’t mind being tested again to confirm it.”

“Late-blooming magic” was a phenomenon in which adults would experience a sudden surge in their magical power or become capable of expressing magic when they previously couldn’t. However, this was extremely rare. Volf, hoping he might just be one of those rare cases, had had his magic tested and retested many times over the years. However, the result had always been the same.

“I see. It was such an incredible leap that I thought your magic might have finally manifested.”

This man was a fellow magical tool enthusiast and the leader of the group of mages who had accompanied the knights on this mission. Volf realized it might make things rather awkward if he tried to hide his secret only to be found out later. Thankfully, he’d already gained permission to bring the sköll bracelet into the castle grounds. He explained himself to the mage while deliberately obfuscating some details.

“I have permission to use a certain magical accessory that augments my movements. For my family’s convenience, though, I would prefer its existence to be kept quiet.”

“Ah, I understand. Just for reference, might I take a look at it?”

“Of course. Pardon me for not removing it.”

Volf pulled off his glove and pushed his sleeve back to reveal the bracelet. After studying it for about ten seconds, the older man smiled faintly.

“I can’t discern precisely how it works, but I can see nothing’s wasted in the design. It’s a fine item, crafted by a very skilled artisan, I should say.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

To look at Volf’s smile, one would think he was the one being praised. Suddenly, another knight came rushing up behind the two of them.

“Hey, we need a healer, quick! It’s Randolph!”

“Randolph?” Volf spun round upon hearing his friend’s name.

“It looks like he’s broken both his wrists. They’re bent at a weird angle, and he can’t let go of his shield!”

“Oh gods, this is my fault! Excuse me, I need to go and apologize!”

The downforce when he’d leaped off Randolph’s shield must have put considerable strain on the man’s wrists. Volf dashed off to see his friend.

“No matter how finely crafted it is, mastering a magical tool with no magic of your own...” the mage murmured as he watched the tall knight go. “That’s no simple task.”

The Man-Made Magical Sword: Second Attempt—The Creeping Blade

“It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been here.”

“I feel that too. I suppose we’ve both been busy.”

In the Green Tower’s workshop, Volf and Dahlia were both putting on their work gear. On the workbench in front of them lay a screw-fitted shortsword and a variety of enchanting materials. Volf had sent a messenger to Dahlia as soon as he returned from his expedition, and they had agreed to meet at the tower the following afternoon. Although it had only been about a week since they’d seen each other, it felt like far longer. It was strange, considering they’d been complete strangers only a month ago.

“What was your mission like?”

“We had to bring down a flock of harpies. They’d been stealing sheep from a nearby village. They even snatched a child during the hunt, but we got him back safe and sound.”

“Was he all right?”

“Yeah. He had some cuts where the harpy had grabbed him, but we got him healed up with magic in no time. Feisty little guy. He’d gotten bored of being stuck indoors all the time, so he’d sneaked outside to play. His mother was livid.”

“I’m glad he didn’t come to any harm. And that you didn’t either, of course.”

“Er, about that... I actually got Randolph hurt.”

“Huh?”

Volf hesitated and glanced at the sköll bracelet on his left wrist. “At one point, that harpy looked like it was about to drop the boy, so I used Randolph’s shield as a springboard so I could leap up and catch him. I managed to save him, but I fractured Randolph’s wrists. The mage healed them soon enough, but I obviously need to work on controlling this bracelet properly.”

“Well, it was an emergency.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you. The commander of the mages who came to support us saw me jump and asked if it was late-blooming magic. I told him I had a magical accessory that augments my movements and showed him the bracelet, though I didn’t let him touch it.”

“I don’t blame you for that. There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”

They would have found no evidence of magical power if they had asked Volf to use the measuring crystal. It was inevitable that he would have been asked about the bracelet sooner or later. In fact, being upfront about it was probably the safest approach.

“I was careless. I’m sorry. He didn’t ask me where I got it, but if anyone does, I’ll say it came from my family. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you don’t get mixed up in it.”

“Please, don’t worry about it. Even if someone does find out that I made it, if I explain how I did it and that only people who can’t express magic can use it, I expect that’ll be the end of it. At my level of magic, I don’t even know if I’d manage to make another one. Besides, there’s nothing special about the technique; anyone with enough power and the right materials could do it.”

“I suppose it doesn’t seem that attractive when so few people can use it. You’d have to search pretty hard to find another knight in my situation. Even so, I’ll be careful. I seem to have a habit of getting you into trouble,” Volf said, smiling wryly as he began to dismantle the sword.

His familiarity with such weapons was clear in the easy movements of his hands. One by one, he laid the parts out neatly on the workbench.

“I wouldn’t say you’ve ever gotten me into trouble. If anything, isn’t it the other way around? You became a guarantor for my company and even promoted my inventions to the Beast Hunters.”

“Oh, I’ll do that sort of stuff anytime; it’s fun. Right, there we go. One shortsword, dismantled.”

Within moments, Volf had taken the small weapon completely apart and was rolling the screws around playfully. In total, there were five separate parts: the blade, the guard, the handle, the sheath, and the screws.

“Now that I think of it, your dryers use both fire crystals and air crystals—two different kinds of magic, but they don’t interfere with each other. Why is it a problem in a magical sword?”

“The dryers aren’t enchanted, you see. Their power derives from the crystals via magical circuits. It’s the same with the cooling fan and the chilling fan. We draw the circuits with as little overlap as possible so we can adjust the magic from each kind of crystal separately. But with this sword we’re trying to make, each part is enchanted—the guard uses water magic for cleaning itself, the blade has some other passive ability; they’re all separate. Um...put simply, it’s the same reason why you can’t put a hardening enchantment on a completed dryer.”

“I’m starting to see how impossible of a request this was...”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not impossible. We just need to find the right materials and methods, and I’ll probably have to draw some more complex circuits. Those are the sorts of things we need to work out. Magical tools with multiple enchantments do exist, after all.”

Dahlia was sure that her knowledge, magical power, and technical skill were all insufficient for this task. If only Father were here, he could teach me... Dahlia quickly waved that thought away.

“Now then, it’s taken a bit longer than intended, but let’s get started on our second attempt.”

“What are we going to do this time?”

“Well, last time, thanks to the black slime, we ended up with a sword that you can’t even touch with bare hands. This time, I want to try using yellow slime, which possesses earth magic. I know of a technique for coating metals with earth magic using a similar material, and I thought it would be worth trying on our sword.”

“Coating them with earth magic... But yellow slimes will corrode metal over time.”

“Yes, but unlike black slime, its corrosive properties disappear once it’s been powdered. I tested this when I was in college,” Dahlia explained as she retrieved a box containing yellow slime powder from a shelf. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to put a mask on. The powder is very fine, and it’ll choke you if you breathe it in. Here, gloves too.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

Once they were both properly masked and gloved, Dahlia carefully opened the box. She scooped out about half a cupful of the floury, light-yellow powder and tipped it into a silver bucket along with some liquid.

“Sorry, Volf, could you slowly stir this for me? While you do that, I’ll start enchanting the sword. I was going to keep the enchantments similar to last time—self-sharpening on the blade, self-cleaning on the guard, haste on the handle, weight-reduction on the sheath, and hardening on the screws. Would you like to change any of those?”

“No, that sounds perfect. It’ll be easier to compare the effects to our last attempt too.”

“Good point. I’ll go with those, then.”

Dahlia picked up the parts one at a time and applied the various enchantments. Since she’d already done this once and gotten the feel for it, it didn’t take her long. The weight-reduction enchantment on the sheath was the most time-consuming one, but even that took half the time it had before. The only problem she encountered was with the screws; perhaps due to their small size, she had trouble ascertaining whether her enchantment had actually worked on them.

Across from her, Volf’s golden eyes were staring fixedly into the bucket as he stirred its contents with a glass rod. The liquid had turned light gray with a yellowish tinge and was becoming thick and viscous. Dahlia immersed each of the shortsword’s parts into the mixture and then applied a fixing spell. So far, the process was virtually the same as it had been last time.

“Shall I try putting it back together?” Volf asked.

“Yes, please.”

Once she was sure that the fixing spell had settled on every part, Dahlia handed them over to Volf. As he fitted the blade into the handle, Volf nodded.

“This is good. I don’t feel any resistance, so it should all go together just fine.”

Dahlia was relieved. Yellow slime obviously shared the magic-sealing properties of black slime, preventing the parts from repelling each other. It appeared they’d found another viable material to use as a coating. The assembled sword was pale gray with a faint golden sheen. Depending on the angle, it almost looked as though gold dust had been mixed into the coating. The previous sword they’d tried to enchant, with its pitch-black blade and dark-red handle, had come out looking undeniably bewitched. This one was fairly unremarkable by comparison—it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a regular weapon shop’s shelf.

Volf groaned as he examined the sword. “Ah, that’s a shame...”

“Is something wrong?”

“There’s no water coming from the guard. The sheath doesn’t feel any lighter either. It’s like the magic’s completely sealed in.”

“I think you’re right; the coating’s completely smothered it. That’s another dud.”

Evidently, the coating of yellow slime had rendered the magic on each part inert. Attempting further enchantments would be meaningless.

“So black slime will melt your hand and yellow slime smothers the magic... I guess there’s nothing we can do except try a different material.”

“It looks like unicorn horn might be the best bet after all. I’ll powder a little for next time. If I’m not powerful enough to use it, we’ll find a mage who is. I’ll also do some more research on monster materials with magic-resistant properties.”

The enchanting techniques employed by mages, alchemists, and blacksmiths were often closely guarded secrets. What Dahlia could research were monster materials, mainly through books and her father’s notes. But it wasn’t only her knowledge of enchanting techniques that fell short—she also lacked familiarity with the metals used in swordsmithing, having had few opportunities to work with them. Continual trial and error was her only recourse. This project was shaping up to be a long journey.

“It almost feels like our first attempt, the Blade of the Dark Lord’s Minion, went a bit too well. We were able to assemble it, and all the enchantments worked,” Volf said as he finally put down the sword, glancing over at the shelves.

Upon one of those shelves sat a magically sealed box that housed the first enchanted sword Volf and Dahlia had created together. The slightest touch would leave one with burned fingers, so it had lain there ever since. If only they had been able to touch that sword, the experiment would have been a resounding success.

“So, I was just thinking...” Dahlia mused. “If we were to find some way of making that sword from last time touchable, that would mean the process we used to make it wasn’t wrong after all. Do you see?”

“The process might not be wrong, but I think I’d still call it a failure from a safety perspective.”

However, she wasn’t suggesting anybody should touch the sword with bare hands in its current state.

“Earth magic is effective against black slimes, right? If we dipped that sword into the yellow slime mixture, what do you suppose would happen? Would it fail to stick? Would it melt the metal underneath? Or would it actually form a protective coating over the top of the black slime, allowing the sword to be safely held?”

It was fun to consider the possibilities, but her hypothesis was nothing more than that. They couldn’t know the result without first conducting the experiment.

“It’s certainly true that earth magic works well against black slimes, but...have people done experiments like this with yellow slime before?”

“I’ve heard of it being used to enchant stones and bricks for the likes of walls and flooring before. It makes them a little sturdier. It’s simpler and cheaper to just employ a mage to perform a hardening enchantment, though.”

Mages blessed with earth magic often had the ability to perform hardening enchantments over large areas. Dahlia couldn’t help envying that sort of power. Apparently, elite mages wielded the same type of magic with awesome effects. Only they could create the so-called “adamant walls” that even the largest monsters would struggle to break down.

“Stones and bricks... Hold on, have you tried it here in the tower already?”

“Well deduced, Volf. My father enchanted the roof with some yellow slime right after he burned the black one that revived itself up there. He was worried that it might have weakened the stonework.”

“I swear this tower must be partly made of slime by now...”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Probably.”

Now that she thought of it, in the period leading up to her perfecting her waterproof cloth, she’d dried all sorts of slimes in every spare corner she could find. There were some that had shriveled up and gotten stuck in the nooks and crannies of the stones. Perhaps Volf wasn’t entirely wrong. Dahlia noticed her eyes starting to wander over the workshop floor, looking for the telltale stains, and quickly told herself to forget the matter.

“Anyway, why don’t we give this yellow slime mixture a try?”

“You love a challenge, don’t you, Dahlia?”

“Yes, I can’t deny that. Not that I’ve had the chance to take on very many. My father and my, er, ex-fiancé were always stopping me.”

“Well, now I’m wondering if I should stop you, for safety’s sake.”

“Volf, be honest. Do you really want to stop me when this magical sword could be within our grasp?”

“I don’t. In fact, I want to cheer you on. But I also want to keep you out of danger.”

Seeing Volf gripped in a dilemma, Dahlia began to make her case. She explained that yellow slimes’ corrosive properties were much weaker than those of other slimes. Even on bare skin, it wouldn’t cause burns immediately. It was nothing like the terrifyingly caustic black slime. In any case, she would wear gloves, prepare a piece of meat to check the sword’s safety, and have a potion on a shelf near at hand. Persuaded by her thorough safety procedures, Volf finally relented.

The Blade of the Dark Lord’s Minion was unchanged since they’d put it away in its magically sealed box. Thankfully, it appeared that the black slime powder was not eating away at the metal. After donning some heavy-duty gloves, Dahlia submersed the sword in the yellow slime mixture. She saw no unusual reaction or any sign of the liquid being repelled; it coated the surface evenly. However, when it came to applying her fixing spell, she saw the color of the yellow slime mixture all but disappear before her eyes. The once-pitch-black sword was now a very dark gray, giving it a rather used, weathered look.

“I guess the black slime won,” Volf commented.

Dahlia smiled grimly. All she’d done was add a second coating of liquid; it wasn’t as though the slimes were actually fighting, but in a way, he might have been right. After all, the properties of black slime were far more potent than those of yellow.

“I’ll just test it with a piece of meat.”

Just like last time, Dahlia placed a small scrap of raw meat on top of the sword. On that occasion, the meat had quickly melted into sludge and burned away. This time, however, even after three minutes of waiting, the meat was unchanged. Dahlia tried placing it in different spots, but still there was no reaction.

“It seems to be all right.”

“Right, then I’ll try holding it. Don’t even try to argue because I won’t hear of it.”

Before she had a chance to reply, Volf reached out and grasped the sword in an ungloved hand.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, completely. And look—the scabbard’s light, and the water comes out. You’ve done it!”

“Well, we’re not finished yet, but it looks like this method works!”

Volf placed the shortsword down in the middle of the workbench and raised his hands in triumph. “We’ve just taken a huge step forward. What do you say we go for a drink to celebrate?”

“Great idea!”

“Anywhere in particular you’d like to go? Anything you’re hungry for?”

They began to discuss their favorite restaurants and drinks. A minute or two later, Dahlia happened to glance down at the sword again and unwittingly took a step back.

“Volf, unless my eyes are playing tricks on me...I think that thing’s moving.”

“I just noticed it too. It’s very slight, but it is moving. Almost like it’s alive.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely not that. I’m sure it’s just magical antagonism!”

At a pace slightly slower than a snail’s, the sword was creeping forward across the surface of the workbench. The magical properties of the black and yellow slime were repelling each other, causing all the magic to flow in a single direction. That was undoubtedly the cause for the sword’s movement.

“But just look at the way it crawls... It really looks as though there’s something living in it. Um...I’m sorry for the weird question, but when you’re crafting magical tools, is it possible that something like a soul or spirit can get sucked inside them?”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that, although spirits, holy energy, and warriors’ souls do dwell inside some weapons and armors, don’t they?”

“Yeah, so they say.”

“And we spoke about dullahan before too. What in the world is inside them?”

“Ghosts, maybe? Wait, so does this mean a magical tool really could have a soul inside it?”

The moment he said that, Dahlia felt a shiver go down her spine. Could it really be that ghosts could enter her magical tools while she crafted them? The mere thought was horrifying.

“But you don’t think the same thing that’s inside a dullahan is in this sword...do you?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t say so. I mean, we’re in your tower. The only ghosts that would be here would be your fam— I mean, er, never mind.”

“I’m sure Father and my ancestors wouldn’t haunt my tools!”

While she’d prefer her father’s ghost to some mysterious, unknown specter, she’d be happiest not being haunted at all. Dahlia frantically shooed those befuddling thoughts from her head and turned her attention to the problem of the restless sword.

“The yellow slime will peel off if I freeze it. Once we’ve thoroughly observed the sword, I’ll shut it in a box with some ice crystals and then remove the slime.”

Although the experience promised to be slightly unnerving, it was important that she made observations of this new creation and recorded them in a report. It wouldn’t take long, and Volf would be there beside her. She could have a nice drink before bedtime and leave her magical lantern on while she slept. She’d made countless magical tools before now, and not one of them had ever been haunted. She’d never heard of such a thing from her father either. Anyway, there were no ghosts here. None. Nada. Zip.

“I won’t just bring a sword for enchanting next time. I’ll bring one for protection too. Would you mind keeping it here?”

“Not at all; that’s fine. I’m not sure that any protection will be necessary, but...I’ll keep two bangles on just in case.”

An unsettling thought occurred to Dahlia then—would weapons like swords or the magic from a bangle even work on a ghost? What if they just passed right through it? Every time she tried to quash one of those scary thoughts, two more popped into her head. At times like these, the best thing was to speak them aloud and laugh them off.

“Honestly, if it turns out we’ve somehow created a haunted sword or some new species of monster, it won’t be funny.”

“New species of monster? Ha ha, it gets worse and worse. Say, since this thing likes to move around on its own, do you suppose we should call it the ‘Creeping Blade’ or something like that?”

“The Creeping Blade... I just hope it creeps toward monsters and not us.”

Both of them were smiling as they bantered, but their eyes were trained on the sword, not each other. Dahlia had hoped to laugh off her concerns, but she only found herself thinking up increasingly dire possibilities.

“In the teeny-tiny chance that we have created a new monster, we won’t just become enemies of the state, we’ll be the enemies of humankind.”

“True. We’ll have to rule over the forces of the darkness.”

“I think the title of ‘Dark Lord’ belongs to you.”

“Then you can be the ‘Dark Sorceress’ at my side.”

The pair gazed gloomily at the sword as it slowly but menacingly inched onward.

The New and Improved Compact Magical Stove

Dahlia woke early and was soon busying herself in the workshop, setting out a variety of materials and parts and making notes on them all. The magical stove on the bench before her was considerably smaller than the one she had in her kitchen, but it was still too bulky and heavy for the knights to take on their expeditions. She wanted it to be lighter than the antiseptically enchanted waterskins and wineskins they always carried. That way, they’d only have to give up a few cupfuls of wine at most in order to fit it into their luggage.

However, Dahlia had set herself an ambitious goal. In order to reach it, she’d need to reduce her stove’s weight by approximately half. She’d already miniaturized the original magical stove considerably to get it to this size, but it had become clear that the techniques she’d used then wouldn’t be sufficient for this task. Drawing on all her accumulated experience of miniaturizing magical tools, Dahlia rapidly filled the pages of her notebook.

For the magical lantern, she’d pared down the thickness of the metal base and used thinner panes of glass. In the case of the stove, this would mean altering the base and utilizing different materials. To make a more lightweight version of her book-dryer, which prevented parchment from molding, she’d made the entire unit more compact and made the nozzle expandable to suit different sizes of books. Dahlia couldn’t see that method coming in handy this time around.

“Time to push the limits!” her father had once declared as he took on the challenge of shrinking the cooling fan with zeal—a little too much zeal, unfortunately, as he ended up making it so light that it blew itself backward. They’d laughed it off and fixed the runaway fan to the wall, but it would be no laughing matter if the knights’ stoves also made a bid for freedom. Still, there was something to be said for reducing the weight of metal by modeling the stove with plenty of curves.

Dahlia wrote down everything—every improvement she could think of that could be made through alterations to the materials and design. She wrote until she’d emptied her brain of every last idea. When she finally drew a blank, she picked up the stove sitting on the desk and turned it over to tinker with the parts and materials. This gave her further inspiration, and she returned to her note making. She repeated this cycle countless times until her fingers were smudged black with ink and she’d amassed a thick bundle of notes.

Back when her father and Tobias had been in the workshop, she would always make tea midway through the morning and afternoon and remind them to take breaks when they’d been working too long. However, now that she was alone and could work uninterrupted, her sense of time—and the time itself—flew clean away. She was often glued to her workbench for hours before she reached a stopping point in her work. While this new routine had certainly been beneficial for her productivity, her body probably didn’t appreciate it as much.

She’d just finished off her notes and was having a much-needed stretch when she heard the bell ring at the tower gates. It was Volf’s servant. Volf had given her advance warning that he’d be sending them yesterday, so their arrival was not unexpected. The servant presented her with a letter and a small, light-blue box.

The letter was simply a reminder from Volf to entrust any shopping or errands to the servant. There was nothing she particularly needed, however, so the only thing left was to pen a reply to him. I’ll be at home all day, working on improving my compact magical stove, she wrote. I hope your training goes well!

Dahlia wished she could write something a little less dry, but nothing more sprang to mind. Resolving to pick up a letter-writing guide next time she visited the bookstore, Dahlia handed her message to the servant and saw them off.

The little box they’d given her was filled with colorful konpeito. They were very like the candies the old man from the drinking-vessel shop had shared with her yesterday. Volf must have remembered how much she’d liked them. She popped a white one and a pink one into her mouth, enjoying the sugary sweetness as she returned to her work.

She spread out all the notes she’d made thus far and organized them by contents. Ideas that were feasible and likely to be effective went to the top of the pile, while those that were impractical and held little promise went to the bottom. Finally, she used a paperclip to hold everything in place. Now all she had to do was work her way down from the top, trying every technique that she could.

The first step was to decide on her materials. She weighed a metal sheet she’d picked out, frowning as she saw it was heavier than she’d hoped. She could make it thinner, but only up to a certain point. It had to remain strong enough to withstand the intense heat the stove would generate. Dahlia found herself longing for aluminum or titanium, neither of which existed in this world. If she were making the stoves for someone with endless funds, she might have considered using monster shells or rare metals, but she wanted the knights to be able to take a fair number of stoves on their expeditions. They had to be affordable. In order to keep costs down, she would have to use common, everyday materials. She settled on an iron and copper alloy, slightly thinning the metal before shaping it into a stove. Once it was finished, she would enchant it with a weight-reduction spell.

Next, it was time to refine the shape. The books she’d borrowed from Fermo contained many useful tips for creating small, lightweight designs. She used them as a guide while she carefully remolded the metal sheet. Her first task was to reduce the stove’s height until it was only just tall enough to accommodate a small magic crystal. Then, she rounded off the previously square shape until it was almost circular, leaving only a few centimeters straight on each side to prevent it from rolling around. From the bottom, it looked a bit like a circle with the edges cut off. This process alone shaved off quite a bit of weight.

Dahlia began turning the stove around and around in her hands, smoothing off any sharp edges that could present a hazard if not handled with care. Here and there, she used her magic to gently curve the metal and create smooth rims. She constantly felt for sharp points and rough spots, and her fingers were soon covered with stinging scratches. This was nothing new for her, though. Once satisfied, she created a receptacle for the magic crystal at the back and a sliding lid.

She decided that this particular model of stove would have just three settings: high, low, and off. She would also install a locking mechanism on the dial’s off setting to prevent it from being accidentally activated during transit or if dropped. Unlocking it would require a forceful turn. In truth, the most effective way to ensure safety would be to remove the magic crystal while transporting the stove, but that would take up valuable time. The lock was an effective compromise.

Once Dahlia was more or less happy with her design, she applied the weight-reducing enchantment and inserted a small crystal. She checked that every function executed correctly and that the heat output was as it should be. So far, so good.

Dahlia’s heart thrummed a bit quicker in anticipation as she weighed the stove.

“Still too heavy. I knew it.”

The weight needed to come down by a further ten percent if she was to reach her goal. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t fuss over such a small discrepancy, but in this case, it was vital. She didn’t want to burden the knights with a single gram of unnecessary weight. Besides, the stoves were of no use on their own; the men would also need to carry pots to put on them. Considering the weight and bulk of those pots was rather discouraging, but without them, cooking soups and stews would be impossible, as would boiling water. There was simply no way around it.

“Even a weight-reducing enchantment would only do so much...”

Finding herself up against a brick wall, Dahlia groaned in frustration. Then she was startled by a sudden clatter and nearly jumped out of her chair. When she looked toward the source of the noise, her gaze immediately fell on the magically sealed box containing the Blade of the Dark Lord’s Minion. Looking closely, she noticed that the metal sheet on top of it was slightly out of position.

“It’s...not still moving, right?”

For one moment, she pictured the sword menacingly crawling toward her, but she quickly shook her head to dismiss the thought. In this sort of situation, the more one hesitated, the more afraid one became. Dahlia quickly stood up, reassuring herself that there was nothing to worry about, and opened the box. Inside, the shortsword lay there unchanged. Once she was satisfied that nothing untoward was going on and she’d laid her fears to rest, she shut the lid tightly and placed several metal sheets on top.

“Oh!”

The moment she closed the lid, it came to her. Until now, she’d been thinking of the magical stoves and the cooking pots as separate, but there was another way. A pot could serve as the stove’s lid. While the stove was being transported, it would sit over the top like a cover, and when it was needed for cooking, it could simply be flipped over. Stove and pot would be part of the same unit.

It also occurred to her that she needn’t necessarily include a receptacle for the crystal at the back of the stove. She might be able to set it into the top, beneath where the pot would sit. She would need to insert it in such a way as to avoid the pot coming into direct contact with the crystal, and she’d have to reinforce the stove here and there, but she could potentially save considerable weight here.

“Heh heh...I might’ve cracked this after all.”

Giving physical form to these little flashes of inspiration was one of her work’s greatest pleasures. She prepared two new metal sheets, molding one into a stove and the other into a cooking pot. She chuckled gleefully to herself as she worked, taking advantage of her solitude. At times like these, she was thankful to have the place to herself. She finished shaping the metal and was flipping through her notes when she came to a section concerning handles. It was a silly thing to have overlooked—without handles, the pot would be too hot to hold. However, they would get in the way during transport. This problem was swiftly solved—Dahlia crafted a handle that could be removed and then folded in half so as to fit inside the pot.

“Looking good...”

Buzzing with excitement, Dahlia weighed her second prototype. Once again, it was about ten percent heavier than a full wineskin. This time, however, the weight included that of the pot. The circumference of the pot was about as wide as the circle she could make with both hands, only a little bigger, and it was roughly five centimeters deep. One would find small pots of a similar size in any of the city’s stores and marketplaces.

The next step was to test the stove’s durability. Then, she would completely disassemble it and reexamine every part for any areas that could be pared down further. After that, she would perform the all-important safety checks. All that was left for her to do was to draw up the blueprints, and then she would present her idea to Volf, Ivano, and Fermo for their appraisal.

Dahlia’s train of thought was abruptly broken by a ravenous growl from her stomach.

“Huh?”

She looked out the window to see that the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the horizon. She’d forgotten all about lunch and afternoon tea. She briefly panicked as she became aware of how dry her throat was and the slight waver in her vision. Her health would soon deteriorate if she began working the way she had in her previous life, staying up all night, eating whenever she remembered to, and constantly toiling at her desk.

Everyone had busy days like that occasionally, but if they became a habit, even someone very young could end up collapsing or even dying from the strain. Dahlia was thoroughly disappointed in herself, and she resolved to keep an hourglass or a magical timer beside her from now on.

She quickly tidied up in the workshop and then climbed the stairs to the second floor. From the kitchen, she took some of her favorite walnut bread, cheese, ham, and a glass of milk, and sat down to eat. The living room felt very hushed. Compared to the raucous, colorful shopping streets that she’d visited with Volf yesterday, anywhere would, but she’d begun to think lately that the Green Tower might be a little too large for one person to live in alone. If she’d gotten married and left here as planned, she’d probably have used it as a storehouse or rented it out once she’d organized all of her belongings. She was still far too early in her career to consider taking on a live-in apprentice.

“Renting out a room wouldn’t be easy either,” she mused.

The kitchen and bathroom would be shared, and the only way in and out was through the first-floor workshop. It would be impossible to live with another person in that situation unless they were someone she trusted and got along with very well. About to break her walnut bread in two, Dahlia paused. Like a movie reel beginning to spin, her memories of all the times she’d spent in the tower with Volf began to play out in her mind. Whether they were just talking, enjoying a meal together, or experimenting in the workshop, every minute they spent in each other’s company was relaxed and happy. Perhaps Volf would be the ideal candidate for a housemate.

“It’s a long way to the castle, though.”

There were omnibuses that ran that way, but only at certain times. Relatively few people lived in this part of the West District, near the city wall. Carriages came from the city center often, but in order to catch one, you had to walk all the way to the district boundary. Volf—who lived in the barracks within the precincts of the castle—usually took a carriage here, but he almost always returned on foot. He’d assured her that he didn’t mind, but she still felt guilty about making him walk all that way, especially late at night after they’d been drinking.

“I wonder how much a horse would cost.”

The cost of a horse went beyond its purchase price; their upkeep was also very expensive, and since Dahlia didn’t know the first thing about caring for horses, she’d need to hire a groom to look after it. Ivano had mentioned that once the trading company grew larger, he planned to buy horses and carriages and hire drivers, but how long would that take? Once again, Dahlia paused and cocked her head quizzically.

That was odd. Why was she thinking as though Volf was coming to live with her? He was already happily settled at the barracks, his work was at the castle, and he was frequently called away on expeditions. There was no logical reason for him to want to move into the tower. Besides, first and foremost, Volf was a man. It was unthinkable for someone in his position to come and live with her, a single woman on her own.

“You think such silly things when you’re tired and hungry,” Dahlia said to herself. “That’s enough daydreaming. Time to eat!”

With a big bite of her walnut bread, she resumed her long-overdue meal.

Rock Oysters with Guido

Located in a quiet corner of the nobles’ quarter was a white brick building, three stories high and tastefully embellished with blue accents. In a private room on the third floor, overlooking a large, lush garden, Volf and his elder brother, Guido, sat opposite each other at a table. Beyond the garden, dots of warm light illuminated the streets below.

It occurred to Volf that he might be a little underdressed for this restaurant, and he reached up to fasten his top buttons.

“You can relax here, Volfred. That’s what this room is for.”

Guido took off his dark-blue coat and draped it over the back of his chair. Had either of the men’s servants been in the room, they would’ve been greatly perturbed by such a casual gesture, but the only ones in the room were the two brothers and a server. They were each poured a glass of white wine; Guido was the first to raise his.

“I’m so glad we can finally enjoy a drink together. Here’s to this long-awaited dinner with my brother.”

“And here’s to our good health and good fortune. Cheers.”

The clink of their glasses rang out loud and clear in the quiet room. The white wine was light and soft, perfect for soothing a dry throat.

“I was quite far off, but I saw you in your joint maneuvers earlier. One would think you were playing a game of tag.”

“It was my job to cause chaos and confusion.”

Volf smiled vaguely, not inclined to reveal that he’d been targeted because of another man’s jealousy. Guido gazed at him steadily with a similarly faint smile.

“You’ve been good at tag ever since we were little. I remember the four of us all dashing around the back garden.”

“Ah, yes, I remember. We often played in the gardens at the main house.”

“I can still see Fabio tumbling head over heels trying to chase you. Eraldo almost cried. ‘I ran away as fast as I could and Volf still caught me!’”

Volf recalled more innocent days playing tag with his older brothers—Guido, the eldest, Fabio, now long gone, and Eraldo, who worked far away at the kingdom’s border. Despite the gaps in age between them, they’d played with Volf often when he was young. He felt a pang of nostalgia as the almost forgotten memories resurfaced vividly in his mind.

“I remember once,” Guido continued, “on the morning of a relative’s wedding, we all played tag together. Our mothers gave us hell for it afterward.”

Volf, too, cast his mind back to that day. The four boys had gotten bored during the long wait before the ceremony and sneaked into the gardens to play. There, they’d lost all track of time until their mothers came searching for them.

“It was raining, as I remember,” Volf said. “We got our best clothes covered in mud.”

“That we did. Mother was livid. I never thought I’d get my bottom smacked at the age of fourteen.”

“You got smacked too?”

“Mm-hmm. We all did; Fabio and Eraldo as well. Mother even gave the others permission to hit me too. Lady Vanessa hurt most of all; left me in no doubt of her strength, that’s for sure. The number of smacks we each got was the same as our age, so I got the worst of it... It hurt to sit down all day.”

Volf still remembered his mother spanking him while he cried, but he’d never realized his brothers had suffered the same punishment. He hesitated, unsure as to whether he ought to laugh, but Guido smiled at him and poured him another glass of wine. Volf thanked him and returned the favor before he also took his coat off at last.

“I meant to say this earlier, but thank you for coming to find me today.”

“Think nothing of it. Ordinarily, I might have just stayed in the office, but I happened to overhear a little, er, chatter from the First Regiment. After that, I felt I had to come and see you.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just acted on impulse. To be frank, I was...a little pissed off.”

Volf’s wine glass stopped halfway to his lips. He’d never expected to hear his brother say such a thing. Guido had obviously been well aware of the men targeting Volf during the training exercise.

“Men like that, who would gang up on another with the aim of injuring him, do not deserve to call themselves knights. Not to mention how absurd their reasons were.”

“Well...”

Volf couldn’t recall seeing Guido look angry before. He thought he ought to say something, but no words came to mind.

“I mean, do they realize who you are—who the Scalfarottos are? And as for us growing apart, it was no fault of yours. It was my cowardice that’s to blame for that.”

“You weren’t to blame, Guido.”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t be spoiling our evening with this sort of talk. Let’s say no more about it.”

Just as they finished their first bottle of wine, the first course arrived.

“Look at the size of them,” Volf said in astonishment.

“’Tis a good year for rock oysters, it appears.”

The rock oysters served on platters before them were larger than the palm of Volf’s hand. The upper halves of the shells had been removed, revealing the lustrous, creamy-white flesh underneath. After garnishing an oyster with a generous squeeze of lemon juice, Volf cut the meat free and carefully lifted the shell, taking care not to spill any of the liquor.

With his first bite, Volf’s mouth was flooded with the rock oyster’s incomparably rich and sweet flavor. As he chewed, he savored the taste of the ocean and gradually began to appreciate how the flavors differed in each part of the large shellfish. While it didn’t have the characteristic milkiness of winter oysters, the meat was rich and intense, with pleasing elasticity. The ocean had already seasoned it with the perfect amount of salt; there was no need to sprinkle on a grain more. The oysters were extremely fresh; even sipping white wine in between bites revealed no hint of fishiness. Volf loved the sort of oysters hauled in during wintertime, but this summer’s catch was no less of a delight.

“What do you think?” asked Guido, happily preparing himself another. He was clearly fond of them too.

“They’re superb.”

“Excellent. I’ll order us some more. Now, would you rather have them cooked plain or in butter?”

“Hard to say when they’re this good raw...”

“We’ll have both, then. Along with something more to drink, I daresay.”

Guido cheerfully ordered more oysters and a beverage with a very long name. While savoring his second oyster, Volf found his thoughts wandering to Dahlia. The two of them hadn’t eaten oysters together yet. If she happened to like them, it would be well worth taking her out to sample these rock oysters too. Then, once winter drew in, they could enjoy winter oysters together and see which they liked best. Volf sipped absently at his wine while he thought to himself, and before he knew it, his glass was empty once again.

“You can certainly handle your drink, Volfred. Are you a kingsnake, by any chance?”

“My comrades call me a sea serpent.”

He hesitated to say it, given that a kingsnake was evidently his brother’s idea of a heavy drinker, but there was a positive side to being a sea serpent—namely, that one basically never got drunk.

“A sea serpent? Goodness. You must’ve gotten that tolerance from Lady Vanessa.”

“Do you think so? I don’t remember her drinking all that much.”

“At dinner, the two of you used to drink from identical glasses—grape juice in yours, red wine in your mother’s. She emptied her glass every time she took a drink, so it never stayed full for long. I felt sorry for the poor servers; they never knew when they ought to pour her another.”

“Mother!”

The truth of Lady Vanessa’s drinking habits almost made Volf sputter out his wine. Where in the world had she learned to drink like that?

“You tried to copy her by gulping down all your grape juice and choked yourself half to death... We all kept an eye on you after that to make sure you didn’t try it again.”

“I...don’t remember that,” Volf replied haltingly, his cheeks colored with embarrassment.

Guido smiled apologetically. “Do you find it difficult to talk about Lady Vanessa?”

“No, that’s not it. I love hearing stories like this. I was just surprised, that’s all. When I remember her, what I see is this proud, noble knight.”

“Ah, I see what you mean. Lady Vanessa was a paragon of a knight; no one could deny that.”

It gladdened Volf to hear Guido praise her in those terms, commenting on her character and not her beauty.

They continued their meal, savoring more delicious oysters and toasting each other’s health. When their plates were finally empty, Volf found himself presented with a new glass by Guido’s servant. This man with rusty-red hair had evidently arrived to replace the server who’d attended them at the beginning of their meal, although he had no idea when the switch had taken place. That drink with the extremely long name Guido had ordered turned out to be a red wine. Its sweet, floral aroma belied a very dry, full-bodied character with a lingering aftertaste.

“Unusual, isn’t it?” said Guido. “Deliciously dry, but the aroma deceives you.”

His brother had read him like a book.

“Very unusual. What is it called?”

“‘O Ephemeral Goddess Who Hath Stole My Heart, ’Tis You, My Dearest Wife’... Not exactly a typical name for a wine, and hardly one to order in your wife’s presence.”

“It’s memorable, I’ll give it that.”

“I’ve heard that the vintner created this wine in memory of his late wife. She must have been quite a woman.”

This wine was named either very well or very poorly, but Volf couldn’t decide which. Regardless, he was soon won over by its beautiful ruby-red hue, sweet aroma, and resonant, bold flavor.

“Now, Volfred, time is ticking, and there is something I wish to say to you. I must apologize.”

“If this is about what we discussed the other day...”

“No, something else. I’m very sorry for unsettling you and Chairwoman Rossetti yesterday evening.”

The flavor of the wine evaporated from Volf’s tongue in an instant.

“Those were your men?”

“Yes. I...asked them to see that nothing untoward happened to you while you were out in town, but it seems that all I achieved was to disturb your evening. I should have told you of my intentions beforehand.”

“Well, that explains it.”

The origin of those mysterious pursuers had been bothering Volf ever since he’d first detected them. He was relieved to hear it was Guido who’d sent them, but what he couldn’t help wondering was, why now?

“What made you do that all of a sudden?”

“I’m well aware of your strength. I have no doubt that you could defend yourself, come what may, but it’s not so easy when you need to protect someone else. I couldn’t help but worry.”

“I understand.”

Admittedly, the thought of fighting to protect Dahlia should the worst happen frightened Volf too. It had never occurred to him before to bring bodyguards, but perhaps, depending on where they were going, it would be wise to do so.

“Should you ever require an escort, don’t hesitate to let someone at the estate know,” Guido said, seeing straight through him once again.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Another thing—I’ve purchased a plot of land on the edge of the West District, quite near the Green Tower, as it happens. I intend to build a stable and keep horses and carriages there. I noticed the land was available and thought it might make a fine investment.”

Guido had begun to speak a little more rapidly than before. What’s more, his eyes were suddenly avoiding Volf’s. There was little foot traffic along that part of the West District; no carriage station situated there could hope to turn a profit.

“Guido—”

“Why, I imagine you could make good use of it, Volfred. It’s a long way from the castle to the West District, after all. I’ll see to it that both horses and carriages are available to you, so you may take them to and from the castle, to the other districts—wherever you wish. Constructing the buildings will take some time, but I daresay we can knock up something temporary for a horse or two within a week,” he continued cheerfully.

Surely, having laid his cards so clearly on the table, he couldn’t expect Volf not to have twigged by now.

“Guido, you’ve been keeping tabs on me ever since I got back from my expedition, haven’t you?”

The man hesitated for a moment before confessing. “I have.”

It would seem Volf had been tailed since the day after the harpy hunt, at the earliest, when he’d gone to visit Dahlia at her tower. It could only have been his excitement about seeing her that had kept him from noticing.

“I appreciate your consideration. I’ll make good use of the horses. However, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d be grateful if you could give Chairwoman Rossetti and me a little space while we’re together.” Volf’s tone was calm and even—almost peculiarly so.

“Of course. I’m awfully sorry.”

An uncomfortable silence fell until Guido cleared his throat.

“There was one other matter. I have something to give you.”

His servant approached with a black leather case, opening it and producing a bundle of parchment. He gently placed it down on the table in front of Volf.

“A full report of Chairwoman Rossetti’s personal history.”

“You investigated her?”

“Yes. For your safety,” Guido said curtly. His blue eyes looked very much like their father’s as he regarded his younger brother. “She was a studious young lady, devoted to her research, without so much as a hint of scandal soiling her reputation...”

“Well, of course, this is Dahlia we’re—”

“Until she broke off her engagement and soon after began appearing around town in your company.”

Volf could easily guess what kind of gossip had spread through the city, and he knew he was to blame for it. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone speak ill of her on his account.

“Dahlia is a good friend. Whatever’s being said about her is none of her fault; I’m the cause.”

As he looked Guido squarely in the eye, he was surprised to see the other man smile faintly and nod.

“She is a talented magical toolmaker, a diligent, levelheaded woman, and a cherished friend of yours. I understand that perfectly.”

“Thank you, Guido.”

“Would you like to take this report back with you?”

“I don’t need it. I’ll ask her myself if there’s anything I want to know.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Well, if you don’t want the full report, take this, at least.” Guido handed him a single folded piece of parchment. “Much of the information dates from her college days; her tastes may have changed somewhat since then. Still, you may find it useful.”

“Favorite colors: white, light blue. Favorite treats: cheesecake...”

There were notes on her favorite and least favorite foods, the meals she frequently ordered at the college dining hall, and much more. Only someone very close to Dahlia could have known all this. Volf was intensely curious to know who that someone was.

“Guido, where did you get all this?”

Once again, Guido hesitated. “I contacted the Intelligence Office.”

“You...what?”

For several seconds, Volf could only sit with his mouth agape. He could fully understand his brother, out of a desire to protect him, carrying out a background check on Dahlia to be sure she didn’t pose a threat. However, this was not—unequivocally not—the type of request for which one called upon the kingdom’s Intelligence Office. Volf’s eyes nearly watered at the thought of what it must have cost, or what Guido must have done to earn such a favor.

“What were you thinking?!”

“Oh, I have an acquaintance there, you see. They were kind enough to bend the rules a little for me. I didn’t break the bank, don’t worry.”

“Still, I’m not sure it was necessary to go that far...”

“The more you can find out about a woman, the better. Believe me, if you find out months later that she was politely smiling through a dinner she despised, or that you were sending her bouquets of flowers with a smell she couldn’t stand, you’ll want the ground to swallow you up.”

“Guido...”

“I want you to learn from my mistakes, Volfred,” he mumbled dolefully.

Volf bowed his head in thanks and pocketed the notes.

“By the way, I’ve acquired the fairy glass you asked for,” Guido said, switching tack. “I can have it sent to you tomorrow. I’ll get you some more as soon as it’s found.”

“Thank you. I’ll pay you shortly.”

“No need. Please, let me indulge you. It’s the least I can do as your big brother. Goodness knows I haven’t done anything for you these last ten years or so.”

“Well...all right. Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Volf felt he’d already been thoroughly spoiled today, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse his brother’s earnest plea. For a second time, he bowed his head in gratitude. He tried to think of something he could give Guido in return, but he drew a blank. He had no idea what sorts of things his brother liked. The most sensible thing at times like this was simply to ask.

“Is there anything you’d like, Guido? If it’s within my reach, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

“Me? Ah, yes...there is something. As long as it’s all right with you, I would like to call you Volf, as I used to when we were young.”

“Huh?”

Volf’s voice jumped nearly an octave in his surprise. It was true that Guido used to call him that when he was small, but it felt quite embarrassing to be asked, after all these years, whether he would allow it once again.

“Y-Yes... Of course you can call me that. There was no need to ask.”

“Oh, perhaps you could go back to calling me Dear Brother Guido too.”

“Spare me that. Please.”

Guido laughed out loud at his brother’s grimace. “By the way, Volf, are you serious about relinquishing your rank to become a commoner?”

“I am. Not in the immediate future, but one day.”

“This may sound somewhat harsh, but please listen to what I have to say. That transition is not as simple as you might imagine—not in your case.”

Volf stiffened at the sudden change in his brother’s tone.

“I know that you are frequently accosted as it is. If you sever your connection to the Scalfarotto family, there will be some who will try to take advantage of you.”

“But surely I won’t be of much interest without the family connection.”

“You need not be anyone or do anything of note to attract unwanted attention. Through no instigation of your own, you are approached with declarations of love from perfect strangers and subject to attacks from jealous fools. Is that not so?”

“Well, I...” Volf faltered, unable to rebut this undeniable truth.

“This state of affairs will only worsen if you become a commoner. It is entirely possible that the hostility directed toward you will also extend to your future family and loved ones. If that happens, you will need the power to protect them—power that our family can easily provide.”

“Power...” Volf sighed.

Until this moment, he’d thought that all those troubles would end once he quit the family. He’d assumed that, as long as he had those miraculous fairy-glass lenses, he could live quite peacefully as a commoner, furthering his career as a knight or finding other work to build up his savings. He hadn’t dreamed that he’d still be pursued even without his noble rank, or that he might put his loved ones in danger. Left despondent by his own naivete, Volf fell silent.

“Ideally, I would have one of our relatives adopt Chairwoman Rossetti so that you might wed her.”

“We aren’t in that kind of relationship. Dahlia is a magical toolmaker and the chairwoman of her company. She’s not in a position to change her name or her career, and I wouldn’t want her to either.”

Volf refuted his brother’s misconception quickly and firmly, but Guido did not back down.

“You are both very young. Your feelings may change. There may come a day when you realize you wish to spend your life with this woman.”

“I do want to stay by her side, as her friend—even if I end up working for her company. We both agreed that our relationship would be one of friendship.”

As he spoke, he felt a dull ache in his chest. Since the day they’d promised each other that bond of friendship, he’d grown closer and closer to Dahlia. However, there was no denying the fact that if he were to become a commoner now, he would be putting her at risk—risk that he would have no power to protect her from.

“Volf, please understand that I am not forbidding you from becoming a commoner if that’s what you desire. All I ask is that you think very carefully about this decision, particularly with regards to your safety.”

“Thank you. I can see now how naive I’ve been. I promise to keep your advice in mind.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Father or I should have said something sooner. I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to share any worries or concerns with me from now on. I’ll always be available to you.”

“I will. I’ll let you know if there’s anything I need.”

Hearing that brought a warm, brotherly smile to Guido’s lips, and he nodded.

Interlude: The Atonement of a Coward

With the hour growing late, Guido let Volf take the carriage first to be dropped off at the barracks while he remained at the restaurant. Keeping up with his brother’s pace of drinking had left him ever so slightly woozy. Still, it wasn’t a bad feeling—quite pleasant, in fact.

As his younger brother had waved him goodbye with a cheerful smile, he couldn’t help noticing how tall Volf had grown, far taller now than himself. He tried to recall just when it was that Volf had overtaken him, only to find, with a tight twinge deep in his chest, that he had no such memory.

Guido, the eldest son of Earl Scalfarotto, had three younger brothers. The closest to him in age was Fabio, the son of the earl’s second wife. After him was Eraldo, a full brother to Guido. Finally, there was Volfred, the only son of the earl’s third wife. Despite their gaps in age and different mothers, Guido had always thought they’d gotten along remarkably well. Even their mothers were always amiable. They were much closer to the four boys than to their husband, whose duties kept him largely absent throughout his sons’ childhoods.

Guido had been in elementary school when he’d heard that his father, Renato, intended to take a third wife. The news hadn’t come as a shock. Around that time, talk had first begun to circulate of the next Earl Scalfarotto—namely, Guido—being made a marquis. In his mind, it made sense for his father to establish further connections with the high-ranking nobility. However, the day he was introduced to Vanessa saw all of his expectations defied. This woman was no noble, but a commoner, the daughter of a baron conferred with a nonhereditary title. She was young, and a knight, to boot.

With her lustrous ebony hair, snow-white skin, dark and mysterious eyes, and exquisite, doll-like features, her beauty was arresting. However, socially speaking, she was no proper match for an earl. She hadn’t so much as been adopted by a noble. As he watched the care and tenderness with which his father attended to Vanessa, a suspicion came over him. Could his father, at his age, have fallen in love? It was difficult to believe. It was only after that, when he learned that Vanessa had been the personal bodyguard of Altea Gastoni and was proficient in ice magic—even able to produce an ice sword—that Guido became somewhat more convinced of her merits.

Unfortunately, his younger brother Fabio appeared not to share that conviction. Fabio harbored a wish to become a knight instead of a mage. He’d been clearly unimpressed with his father’s choice of wife.

Soon after Vanessa came to live on the estate, he said to her, “If you truly are a knight, I should like to spar with you.”

Guido had joined in, half-jokingly. “As would I. To spar with a mystic knight is a rare opportunity.”

Eraldo sensibly kept silent, but simply due to his being there, he was roped in as well. Fabio and Guido would be punished for their impudence soon after, made to spend their allowance on magic textbooks.

“I wonder which of us ought to meet you first. It may only last one round,” Fabio had sneered, to which Vanessa had offered a serene smile.

“Then you may all come at once.”

Back then, all three of them were still just young boys. Born into the Scalfarotto household and taught magic from the moment they could understand it, they were proud, precocious children. Guido, for his part, had imagined his water magic to be quite powerful. Fabio had received some training in swordsmanship and showed promise.

As they stood before Vanessa in the back garden, they were confident that with their powers combined, the three of them couldn’t possibly lose. They attacked with all guns blazing, but the battle, naturally, was over before it had begun. Vanessa didn’t pull her punches, and she blew them away swiftly and decisively. Anyone watching would have laughed themselves silly at such a spectacular defeat.

Deftly evading their water magic and swords, she produced a platform of ice and leaped from it high into the air. None of them could have foreseen her next move as she bore down on them, bringing her fists down hard upon their heads. Vanessa fought entirely bare-handed, not even bothering with a mock sword. Within no more than a couple of minutes, all three boys were cowering on the ground, clutching their aching skulls.

“Honestly, is this the best you Scalfarotto boys have to offer?” she nonchalantly chided them afterward.

Painful as the experience was, Guido was filled with admiration for her. His feelings were not so positive when, early the next morning, he and his brothers were dragged out for training. They had to build their stamina, Vanessa said as she had them run laps. She declared that no son of Earl Scalfarotto should be without basic combat training and set about teaching them that too. The boys rarely went to bed without aching muscles after that day.

Guido recalled bearing a tiny bit of resentment toward their father, who had obviously given his blessing to the whole endeavor. His and Fabio’s mothers had merely looked on in amusement. Of course, it wasn’t all hardship; Fabio, at least, had seemed delighted to receive the extra instruction in swordsmanship.

At the beginning of the boys’ training regime, knights had kept watch over them to prevent accidents, but they, too, were roped in somewhere along the way. Guido was given a renewed appreciation for Vanessa’s strength when he saw that even those knights couldn’t best her in sparring. As he came to know her better, he found that she was utterly guileless—unsophisticated, some might say. She took whatever she was told at face value, often struggling to read between the lines. However, it was thanks to that ignoble honesty that the boys felt comfortable talking to her openly.

The next year, Vanessa bore the earl a fourth son: Volfred. He was an enchanting child with the countenance of an angel. He took after his mother, sharing her ebony hair and snow-white skin, though his eyes were a rich golden hue. His brothers were slightly disappointed not to have a little sister, but they promised they would never tell him so and would always look after him. As the eldest, Guido had been rather proud of shouldering the responsibility to protect all of his younger brothers.

Even their father must have been unable to resist Volfred’s charm. In spite of his hellish schedule that kept him away from early morning until late in the evening, he never failed to pay his newborn son a visit at the end of the day.

“He never puts the light on and he creeps in so stealthily; I’m never sure whether it’s Lord Renato or a burglar!” Vanessa had complained, laughing uproariously with the earl’s other wives.

Volfred grew rapidly. His older brothers began calling him “Volf” for short. Although they were burdened with schoolwork and their lessons on noble etiquette, they played with him often. Unfortunately, it transpired that Volf didn’t possess the water magic the Scalfarotto line was known for. He had none at all, in fact, aside from common strengthening magic. Cruel whispers began to travel around the estate.

“A Scalfarotto and not a drop of water magic in him. His parents must be so disappointed.”

“I can’t fathom how they could’ve produced a child like that.”

Volf was still too young to understand what was being said about him and why, but Guido wasn’t, and he challenged the gossips whenever he could. Although he was older, he was still a child, and most simply fobbed him off with vague excuses. Guido, Fabio, and Eraldo swore that if these foolish remarks pursued Volf as he grew older, they would stand up for him and defend him at every opportunity.

Heir to the Scalfarotto estate, with a wish to become an elite mage, Guido found his days growing ever more hectic, eaten up with lessons and study. His brothers were soon absorbed in pursuits of their own. Fabio, increasingly infatuated with the sword, sparred with the household’s bodyguards almost daily. Eraldo devoted himself to books and research, hoping to gain true mastery over water and ice magic. Volf began to train under his mother as a knight, a worthy pursuit that would make the best use of his strengthening magic.

Guido was filled with admiration for every one of his younger brothers. He couldn’t say for sure when their bonds, which had once held them so close, had begun to unravel.

Around the time he entered high school, the earl’s second wife fell ill and returned to her parents’ home to convalesce. All he’d hoped was that she’d soon be well again, not giving much thought to why she was returning home so often. Looking back now, however...he couldn’t help thinking that someone should have read the signs.

One day, Guido, his mother, Volfred, and Vanessa set out in carriages on a trip across the earl’s domain. Guido was looking forward to doing some horseback riding with his younger brother. When the carriages were suddenly attacked, he was frozen with shock, which quickly turned to terror. The idea that his own small circle of relatives could be behind it never crossed his mind for a moment. Bandits were an ever-present danger—they might be killed. These terrible thoughts paralyzed the young Guido, and then he found himself pulled into his mother’s arms. She held him to her with all her might.

“It’s all right, my darling. The guards will protect us.”

She was trembling even more violently than he was, but he couldn’t fend her off. By the time everything had gone quiet and they finally dared to venture outside, it was all over. Vanessa’s body lay in two pieces on the ground. Volf crawled in a pool of blood, still desperately trying to fight. Dead knights lay scattered on the bloodstained grass.

Guido trapped the few remaining assailants with his ice magic, and the knights still alive quickly restrained them. Somehow, the party managed to return to the estate in the capital. It was then that Guido witnessed his father’s wrath for the first time in his life.

“They will pay... I will make them pay!”

As Renato roared in cold fury, blood trickled from his clenched right fist, falling to the floor as scarlet crystals of ice. The air began to shimmer with thousands upon thousands of ice crystals, and total silence fell over the room. Suddenly, the servants collapsed, and even some of the knights dropped to their knees or instinctively clutched their weapons. Guido’s teeth chattered; he couldn’t speak, overcome by the horrifying, murderous rage emanating from his father.

It was the father of the earl’s second wife who’d ordered the attack. As soon as this knowledge reached him, Renato was quick to act. He took the finest mages in his employ and stormed to the home of his second wife’s parents. What he did there, Guido had never been told. The next day, it was announced that the second wife’s father had passed away from illness and that his eldest son would inherit the estate.

Fabio disappeared that same day. He had set out on a long ride and become separated from his escort somewhere along the way, so the story went. His body was carried back to the estate late in the night. He’d died from a fall, they said. His face was whiter than candle wax, his cheeks as rigid as marble. Guido knew the symptoms of poison when he saw them. He couldn’t bring himself to ask whether it had been suicide or his father’s order that had killed his brother. To this day, he didn’t know.

On the day of Fabio’s funeral, a knight committed suicide. They had guarded the boy for years and had been one of his escorts on the day he went riding, never to return. Having already lost her father and her son, the earl’s second wife wept inconsolably over the knight’s body. Renato said not a word. Soon after, she announced that she would enter a convent and left the estate immediately. Guido had never seen her since.

He began to have nightmares of the day Vanessa was killed, forced to relive the horrible events over and over again in his sleep. He was often sick as soon as he awoke, and he struggled to eat his meals. Naturally, his mother was deeply concerned about him, but having her near at hand only exacerbated his suffering. Each time he looked at her, he was reminded of how weak he’d been as he’d huddled in her arms, safe inside the carriage, while others fought for their lives outside.

Guido’s mother, on the other hand, could no longer stand the sight of Volf. She would freeze up or even faint in his presence. He put it down to irreconcilable guilt. On their father’s orders, Volf was sent to live in a separate villa with only maids for company. Eraldo moved out the same day; he would take up residence in his school’s dormitory so as to have more time for his studies and research.

On that terribly quiet night, Guido found himself outside Fabio’s room. It still felt as though his brother were there—as though, just on the other side of the door, he was swinging his wooden sword like always, and he would come running out if only Guido called to him. But the room was empty, tidier than Guido had ever seen it. The only thing on the desk was a bestiary he had lent to Fabio just a short time ago. Looking closely, he noticed a piece of white paper slipped between the pages. It bore just a few words, written exceptionally neatly for Fabio.

Thank you, Lord Guido.

Not “Dear Brother,” not “Brother Guido,” just his name and title. It appeared that even his right to call himself Fabio’s brother had been taken away from him. The moment he realized that, both the paper and the fist that gripped it froze with a crackle. It was too late for apologies, but perhaps freezing to death, right here in this spot, would make some sort of amends. It was an absurd, senseless thought, but he couldn’t shake it from his mind, and all the while, the ice crept over him, thicker and thicker.

That moment, his friend and servant burst into the room and punched him with all his might. Guido was left sprawled on the floor, blood flowing from his mouth while he was made to drink a potion. He was given such a tongue-lashing that he cried like a baby, sobbing the whole story out to the man, who listened patiently before plying him with strong liquor until he fell asleep.

The following afternoon, despite a pounding headache, he somehow managed to drag himself out of his bed. The servant with the rusty-red hair was there to greet him.

“Good morning, Lord Guido Scalfarotto.”

The man had never before called him by his full name, only “Lord Guido.” He understood the significance at once. He was not just any Guido. He was Guido Scalfarotto, the eldest son of Earl Scalfarotto. His was the house that had allowed Vanessa to die and traumatized the young Volf; it had driven Fabio to his end and cast out the boy’s mother. And, years from now, this was the house Guido would succeed.

No matter how wretched he felt, no matter how consuming his survivor’s guilt, he couldn’t run from his duty to inherit and shape the Scalfarotto legacy. Tears and tantrums didn’t become him. He could no longer allow himself such weakness. If he could only increase his power, solidify and extend the Scalfarottos’ influence, then such terrible events need never happen again. For the time being, the best he could do was to pour all his energy into becoming a worthy, competent heir—so he believed to this day.

After a drink of ice water to sober him, Guido finally looked up and turned to the servant waiting dutifully at his side.

“I want the name of every man who tried to attack Volf during the joint maneuvers today,” he said coolly. “If they are unmarried, find out if they have a fiancée.”

“Very good, sir. I shall pass the message on.”

“In fact, I’d like a list of all the participants. I also want to know of any members of the First Regiment—no, of the Second and Third Regiments too, and the Mages’ Corps—who might have reason to bear ill will toward Volf.”

“Certainly, sir,” he replied with a nod. He stepped from Guido’s side to face him. “Pardon me, Lord Guido, but may I speak freely?”

This man had served him for many years; they’d been friends since Guido was at school. He was looking at the silver-haired man with consternation. There was even a touch of anger in his russet eyes.

“Of course, Jonas. I think I know what you’re going to say, but go ahead. Sit down; it’s just the two of us.”

“Thanks.”

He seated himself opposite Guido. His eyes, a shade darker than his rusty-red hair, were unwavering as they stared at him across the table. Guido placed a glass in front of him and filled it nearly to the brim with red wine.

“You need to stop wandering off on your own, Guido. I know you were on the castle grounds and there was no one but knights around, but your guards in the Mages’ Corps were beside themselves.”

“I lost my temper. I’ll be more careful in future.”

“This city’s been a hotbed of jealousy ever since your promotion to marquis was confirmed. For goodness’ sake, tread carefully.”

“I will. I mean it.”

“Just look at you, slinging your coat over your chair, eating oysters with your bare hands... What would your mother say?”

Jonas’s eagle eyes could be a nuisance sometimes, but he was absolutely right. Guido’s coat hung untidily over the back of his chair, and there were shallow cuts on his fingertips where he’d gripped the jagged oyster shells, betraying his inexperience.

“Keep it a secret, will you? I just wanted to put Volf at ease. Though I admit, I always wanted to try this.”

His impish smile was met with a sour look from Jonas. The man did finally deign to take a sip of wine, at least.

“What about you, Jonas? How did you find the meal?”

“The meat was decent enough. The oysters...I wasn’t so sure about.”

His answer was rather ambivalent, but he didn’t appear to be lying. He’d eaten his meal in a separate room, and by the sounds of it, he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the oysters. Perhaps he didn’t have the palate for them.

“I might take Volf out for some good steak next time. Why don’t you join us?”

“If you mean as your bodyguard, I’ll go, yes.”

“We’ll have a private room. Surely you could sit with us.”

“Guido, I’d strongly prefer you didn’t take meals alone with Sir Volfred. He’s third in line to inherit the Scalfarotto estate. If anything happened to you...”

“What, you think he wants me out of the way so he can become the marquis instead?”

“That’s hardly likely. I just wish you would think carefully about your position and your own safety.”

“For my part, I’d like to grant any wish Volf makes of me, but—”

“Guido!”

“I’m joking.” With a hollow laugh, Guido shifted his gaze to the window, staring out into the blackness. “If Volf hadn’t been there to protect me that day, I wouldn’t be alive now.”

Guido had lost count of how many times he’d been forced to relive that dreadful day in his sleep. Even if the nightmares left him in peace one day, some images would remain etched in his memory for eternity. He would never forget the sight of his little brother dragging his mutilated body through a pool of blood, his right leg and arm reduced to stumps, bones protruding from his left hand. Even in this desperate state, the boy had still gripped his sword, trying to haul himself onward. All alone, beside his mother’s motionless body, he had still been trying to fight.

When Volf was taken to the temple, Guido had watched him as he’d cried in his sleep. Guido’s cowardice had cost his little brother everything, and he was crushed by the guilt. He couldn’t bring himself to embrace Volf or offer even the smallest comfort. Unable to face his brother, he’d simply run away.

He’d run and run and run, leaving the young Volf to endure his loneliness and nightmares all alone. Guido knew better than anyone who truly deserved punishment. It wasn’t their father’s fault for taking three wives. It wasn’t his mother’s fault for trying to protect him. It wasn’t the second wife’s fault for getting caught up in her birth family’s schemes.

Who was it who’d trembled like an infant in his mother’s arms inside the best-armored carriage without even trying to lend his power to the fight? Who was it who’d spared no thought for Fabio after the attack, nor spoken to Eraldo, and had abandoned Volf out of guilt? The source of all this misery was none other than his craven self. A thousand nightmares would be far too light a punishment. Even after ten thousand pleas, he would still not be worthy of forgiveness. He’d allowed his younger brother and the many brave knights to sacrifice themselves so that he could survive the attack without so much as a scratch.

Volf should have resented him, hated him, held him in the utmost contempt—until now, that was how Guido had always assumed he’d felt. Now that he knew how wrong he’d been, however, he was determined never to let guilt or anything else separate him and his brother ever again. Even if Volf himself tried to push him away, he would stand firm. How could he do anything else, knowing what he knew now?

“He’s my little brother. I think it’s only natural that I should want to protect him this time.”

To stand guard over Volf was the only option left to him—the sole means of atonement for his cowardice.

A sidelong slash caught the other as it tried to escape, a veritable fountain of blood spraying into the air. By the time the knight lowered his sword, nothing remained of the bicorns but corpses.

“Men, search the area! There may still be others!” Griswald ordered.

The knights responded at once, scattering to comb the surroundings for any beasts that had escaped their notice, but they found none. With the coast clear, it was safe to begin harvesting materials and disposing of the bodies. The tension among the men finally dissolved, and conversation soon broke out again.

“Ugh, those illusions are the worst.”

“Tell me about it. Wish they’d invent some magical tool that could get rid of them.”

“Say, did you see Sir Volfred? He looked furious. I wonder who he saw.”

“Must’ve been that duchess. If he saw her acting like a temptress in the middle of these woods, it’s no wonder he flew off the handle.”

“Ah, you think he’s finally fallen for her? He couldn’t have made a worse choice, though.”

“It’s a shame. I know this is Volfred we’re talking about, but it’s hard to imagine the feeling’s mutual.”

“Right. You might as well fall in love with a star.”

The subject of the men’s gossip was Altea Gastoni. Women claimed that she used her influence and wealth to keep Volf under her thumb, while most men insisted that Volf was in thrall to her beauty and lofty status. Altea was not just a duchess but also sister-in-law to the queen consort. Her husband had gone to an early grave, and now she kept a young Adonis at her side. Was it any surprise that rumors abounded?

“Those monsters sure know how to give a guy a rude awakening.”

“First thing I want when we get back to the city is a stiff drink.”

“You said it. Tonight, we drink, forget our troubles, make some noise, and get a damn good night’s sleep.”

The men’s voices were low and dour. Some of them were loath to reveal who the bicorns had shown them; others sighed deeply.

“As for you, I think you ought to start by finding out the name of that maid from the castle.”

“You’ve seen how cute she is. She’s sure to have a boyfriend.”

“Hey, don’t give up so easily. Won’t know unless you ask. It’s true what they say—you miss every shot you don’t take.”

“I don’t wanna take any shots... Anyway, what about you, Dorino?”

The man who’d been egging on his friend looked away with a distant gaze and a hollow bark of laughter. “Me and Fabiola? Do you know how many noblemen she’s got doting on her already? She’d have to be out of her mind to get involved with a guy like me. Nope, it’s a bottle of liquor who’ll be my partner for this evening.”

“If that’s meant to be a joke, Dorino, nobody’s laughing.”

“Aw, give me a break, Randolph. Why don’t you tell us who you saw?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, no you don’t; I asked you a question, so answer it!”

It seemed that no drink was needed to ease the men into talk of romance today. The noisy chatter one usually heard in the bars had already begun, though they were all still stone sober. Keeping his back to the hubbub, Volf removed his armor. Clutching a water crystal in one hand, he drenched himself from head to toe, rinsing away the rank blood that caked him. As he was washing his hair a second time, a knight with blue-gray hair approached him—the man who’d joined him at the vanguard.

“None the worse for wear, Volf?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you. And you, Sir Astorga?”

“Managed to chip my sword. Must have been a tad overenthusiastic.”

With a chuckle, the other man began to wash his own hair and face with a water crystal. Volf couldn’t help but notice how the water running down his cheeks looked almost like tears.

“I’m sure there was nothing wrong with your swordsmanship, Sir Astorga, but...if I’m not prying, might I ask who the bicorns looked like to you?”

“Curious? That’s not like you. I saw my wife—my ex-wife. We separated the year before last. I was away on expeditions so often, she said, that she might as well not have a husband,” the hitherto taciturn knight quietly replied.

“Forgive me. I should not have asked.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I managed to cut through her, so that must mean I’ve gotten over it. I think I’ll give it a little while and then see about those marriage interviews my friends keep nudging at me. What about you, Volfred? Who did you see?”

Volf hesitated briefly, unsure whether he ought to tell the truth. “I saw a dear friend. Those bicorns make me sick. I make myself sick.”

“You mustn’t think too much about it. Bicorns don’t only show you people you’re in love with. It can be anyone you hold dear. Before I met my ex-wife, I used to see my younger brother, who died when we were young. It got under my skin too.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. Some of the others see their children or family members who’ve passed on. I think it might be more accurate to say that purple bicorns show you those you want—or wanted—to protect.”

Those you want to protect... Suddenly, everything made sense again. But then he considered the phrase, “those you wanted to protect.” It brought his mother, Vanessa, to mind—or rather, the image of her lying still and lifeless in the dirt. In his mind’s eye, he saw the color of her muddied jet-black hair suddenly shift, turning bright red, and he felt as though his heart froze solid. Volf was determined never to lose anyone else like that, never again to be left consumed with regret at his own weakness.

“Puts a fire under you, doesn’t it? Makes you want to get stronger so those monsters won’t be able to mess with you anymore.”

“Yes, I feel the same way,” Volf replied, finally smiling his usual smile.

Grilled Butterfish and the Seven Wonders of the Royal Capital

“What kind of fish is this?”

“It’s called butterfish. It’s related to sea bream.”

In the Green Tower’s kitchen, Dahlia was preparing a gleaming silver fish. It seemed that Volf was unfamiliar with it, staring at it curiously with his head cocked.

Dahlia had written to Volf only that morning, saying: When you have time, please come and take a look at my new camp stove prototype.

She hadn’t expected him to arrive quite so promptly. A distinct air of fatigue hung over the knight; unsurprising, considering that the previous day, he’d rushed from the capital on an urgent mission to put down a group of deadly monsters. As soon as Dahlia saw him, she encouraged him to go home and take it easy, but Volf insisted that he was fine. Perhaps he’d suffered another unpleasant experience, she thought, remembering how Volf had been singled out by that gang of knights the other day. Whatever the case, she thought it best not to pry.

Since he’d come all this way, Dahlia decided to kill two birds with one stone and make them dinner while testing out her new prototype camp stove. The main ingredient she’d chosen for the meal was butterfish.

“I’ll just be seasoning it with salt and grilling it today, but butterfish is great deep-fried or dried too.”

The almost thirty-centimeter-long fish bore a clear resemblance to a sea bream. Its shiny silver skin was flecked with black dots. It was an extremely tasty species, but for some reason, it had never enjoyed much popularity in Ordine. Perhaps those black spots put people off.

“So, why’s it called a butterfish? There’s no yellow on it at all.”

“It’s because of its high fat content. Some people say it has a buttery flavor.”

The butterfish in this world was exactly like that Dahlia had known in her previous life. It was a little larger, but that only made it a more satisfying meal. As she turned on the tap and washed the fish, a clear, slimy substance began to run off its surface.

“It looks sort of sticky, Dahlia. Are you sure it’s all right?”

Volf looked concerned about its freshness. Dahlia herself had gotten quite a shock the first time she’d prepared this fish.

“Butterfish are always covered in this sticky stuff. The fact that it’s so clear means it’s fresh—the fishmonger told me so.”

She used a spoon to scrape off the scales before rinsing the fish again. Next, she cut open the belly and gutted it. All that was left was to generously season it with salt and cook it.

“There, that’s the prep all done.”

“I’m always impressed by how you handle these things. You’re a great cook.”

“All I’ve done is cut it up a bit. The rest is up to my little camp stove.”

Volf’s frequent praise was difficult for Dahlia to accept. The success of her meals had little to do with her skills and more to do with the quality of the ingredients and the fact that she had all the right utensils. The dishes she’d made him had involved little more complicated than a bit of pan-frying or stewing. Her mother in her previous life had been a good cook and had taught her a lot, but Dahlia had died before reaching her mother’s level of skill.

In this world, she’d learned from Sofia, her childhood maid, and from reading cookbooks, but her distinctive style was largely self-taught. When she was young and just starting out, she’d made all sorts of terrible blunders. However, her father would clean his plate no matter what she concocted. This filled her with determination to improve. As she thought back to some of her early dishes, she prayed that no burnt meat or fish had played a part in her father’s untimely death.

“Now, the shape isn’t final yet, but here’s the latest version of the camp stove. And here’s the pot. Mr. Fermo treated the surface so it’s safe to use for cooking.”

“Ah, the fold-down pot. You really managed to make it. I can see the stove’s thinner than before too.”

They went through to the living room, where Dahlia placed three of her prototype stoves on the table and switched them on. She would use two of them for cooking the fish and the other for warming some vegetable soup.

“It’ll take a little while to cook, so let’s have a toast,” she said.

As the butterfish began to sizzle, Dahlia poured some finely crushed ice into a bowl. On top of this, she placed the small cups she’d bought with Volf the other day. The glass cups were simply decorated with colored lines—one in red, the other in blue. Their fresh, cool appearance was further accentuated by the bed of ice. Dahlia filled the cups with a faintly cloudy estervino, pouring it from a glass serving bowl. Today’s estervino was medium dry and came courtesy of Volf. Apparently, it had been highly recommended by the store’s manager.

They toasted each other’s good health and fortune and took a sip. Then they returned the cups to the ice to allow the liquor to chill a little more. The pair cheerfully discussed the camp stoves while they waited for the food to cook.

“That’s a fantastic smell,” Volf commented.

As the butterfish crisped up, a mouthwatering, subtly sweet aroma began to waft from the stoves. Volf seemed to have a very keen sense of smell; perhaps that was why he was growing so restless.

“Shall I turn them over now?” he asked.

“Not quite yet. It’s best to turn them only once so that they don’t fall apart.”

In Dahlia’s past life, her mother had taught her that a fish should spend sixty percent of the cooking time on the first side and the remaining forty percent on the other. In this life, Sofia had taught her that it should be forty percent, then sixty percent. When she asked Irma and her mother, however, they’d both insisted that fish should be cooked equally on both sides. Dahlia was still in the dark as to which theory was correct. She decided to go with her mother’s advice for today. The salted skin of the fish was beginning to crackle and spit from the heat.

“Just a little longer,” Dahlia said.

“Right.”

Volf’s eagerness was inconcealable. With chopsticks in hand, the two of them sat watching the fish intently as it sizzled on the metal grilles. It was quite the bizarre scene. As Dahlia was picturing how the knights might cook a dish like this out in the field, she suddenly realized something.

“Volf, it must be rather difficult for you to get hold of fresh fish during your missions, right?”

“It depends. If we’re near the sea or a river, we sometimes catch a few.”

Even if that were the case, fresh fish clearly wasn’t the easiest ingredient to obtain during the knights’ missions. It might be wise to use less perishable ingredients in future test runs.

“Hmm, dried or salted fish would last a bit longer. Fish preserved in oil might work too.”

Many options came to mind, but each ingredient had different requirements in terms of transport and cooking techniques, and some lasted longer than others. Dahlia sat there, absorbed in thought, until Volf called her name.

“Dahlia, it’s smoking!”

Even a few seconds’ inattention ran the risk of burning the fish. The pair hurriedly flipped it over, and once it was finally cooked, they wasted no time digging in with their chopsticks. The pale white flesh flaked easily from the bones. Dahlia brought a piece to her lips, but she quickly realized it was too hot. She gently blew on the steaming piece of fish to cool it before popping it inside her mouth.

Beneath the thin, crispy skin, the flesh was surprisingly soft and moist. The salty seasoning mingled with the natural savoriness and sweetness of the fish, resulting in a beautifully balanced flavor. It was also very easy to eat, containing only a few small bones. The distinctly salty flavor of grilled fish soon had Dahlia longing for the white rice she remembered from her past life.

“This is heavenly,” Volf murmured, reverently piecing the fish apart flake by flake.

Judging by his intense gaze, it was very much to his liking. Dahlia gently placed another piece of butterfish on the grill and turned the stove back on.

“Now, is this chilled yet?” she wondered aloud.

Once her palate was finally clear of the fish’s flavor, Dahlia picked up one of the cups of estervino. The glass was chilly against her fingertips, the ice-cold estervino glimmering within it. In spite of it being medium dry, Dahlia detected no harshness in the liquor’s flavor when she took a sip. It felt fresh and clean on her tongue and slipped down smoothly. It reminded Dahlia of fresh, pure spring water with the unmistakable flavor of estervino.

This was a dangerous one. If she wasn’t careful, the bottle would be gone in the blink of an eye. She set her cup down and relaxed into her chair. The warmth gradually returned to her mouth, and the aroma of the butterfish invited her back for more. The flavors of the soft, fragrant flesh and salty skin seemed even more intense and delightful than before. It was clear that chilled estervino was the perfect accompaniment to the rich fish. Dahlia sighed softly in contentment, looking over at Volf to see him do just the same thing.

“How is it?” she asked, as she turned her attention back to the stoves.

Although lighter than her previous prototypes, they were no less powerful. The pots Fermo had made for them warmed up nicely, without the heat concentrating in the folds as they’d feared might happen. It seemed to Dahlia that success would soon be within their grasp.

Volf looked almost tearful as he gazed back at her with his shimmering golden eyes.

“You know, I think maybe butterfish are born to be eaten with medium-dry estervino.”

“Volf, imagine how those poor fish would feel if they could understand you.”

The sentiment fell on deaf ears. At that moment, Volf’s head was empty but for thoughts of fish and liquor.

After the long, leisurely dinner, Dahlia sat down to write notes on the camp stove while Volf washed up. She’d offered to do the dishes herself since Volf was surely tired from yesterday’s expedition, but he refused, insisting her work was more important. Oddly, splitting the chores now felt completely natural.

“Here’s to the success of the new and improved camp stove.”

“May it produce many a tasty and hearty meal on our expeditions. Cheers!”

Having relocated from the table to the sofa, the pair raised a second toast with cups of chilled estervino. Dahlia had prepared a fresh bed of crushed ice for the cups to rest on. Finally out of work mode, she gave her muscles a good stretch, and Volf struck up conversation.

“Do you remember any of the other Seven Wonders of the Royal Capital, Dahlia? Aside from the healing white slime in the temple, I mean.”

Those “Seven Wonders” had come up the other day. Hoping the conversation wouldn’t take a turn for the macabre, Dahlia searched her memory.

“Well, I seem to remember the Guardian of the Sewers being one.”

Along with abundant water crystals, Ordine also had an extensive sewer system. Its construction had been possible largely thanks to elite earth mages who could carve out water channels with ease.

“I’ve heard that strange creatures sometimes turn up inside the septic tanks,” Volf said. “They’re connected to the sea and rivers, so the general consensus is that it’s just groups of fish-type monsters swimming up the channels.”

“I see. That makes sense.”

Some monsters resembled small fish. It was easy to see why a shoal of them might be mistaken for some kind of magical guardian.

“I was talking about the Wonders with the older knights recently, and it seems like they’ve changed a little over the years. According to one of the much older men, people used to say, ‘A vein of adamantite sleeps ’neath the city walls.’”

“Adamantite?”

Adamantite was a magical metal famed for its hardness. Some believed it could be used to create powerful enchantments. In the words of an old fairy tale, “Even steel is like butter before an adamantite sword.” However, Dahlia had never seen nor heard of these legendary weapons truly existing. Could there really be one somewhere in this city?

“Have you ever seen an adamantite weapon?” she asked.

“No, never. I’ve never even heard of raw adamantite being discovered in Ordine. There are deposits of it in other kingdoms, I’m told, but they’re very secretive about it, so it’s hard to know what’s true and what’s just rumors.”

“In that story about it being underneath the city walls, does it say which part? Like in the north or south?”

“Well, I suppose that’s the ‘wonder’ part. Nobody knows exactly where it’s supposed to be. It’s just...down there somewhere. Just imagine, though, a magical sword forged from adamantite... Wouldn’t that be incredible? Doesn’t it make you want to go digging, just a little bit?”

Upon seeing Volf’s eager smile, Dahlia was suddenly reminded of the time her dog from her past life had dug up nearly half the yard. All the dog had unearthed was the cap from a juice bottle, but he’d dropped it in her hand with such pride that she’d simply had to praise him.

“I think it’s against the law to deliberately damage the walls. That probably applies to digging under them too. Besides, who knows how long those walls go on for? Even a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to search beneath it all,” Dahlia replied with a wry smile.

Then again, she thought, Volf’s instincts were sharp, and his nose never lied. He could always cast his strengthening magic and sniff out the adamantite like a—

Dahlia pulled the brakes on that train of thought and quickly decided to forget it.

“I never heard anything about adamantite when I was in school, but there was a rumor about the walls. ‘The walls protect the city with a magical barrier,’ people said. Apparently, the magic keeps monsters and such away.”

“That’s what I always heard too,” Volf agreed. “I mean, there is magic in the walls, but it’s just a hardening enchantment so they last longer and stand up to storms.”

The city walls were not only tall, but very thick and very long. It was no wonder powerful hardening enchantments were needed to keep them in good condition.

“I just remembered another of the wonders: ‘Late at night, at the Royal Opera House, you can hear fairies sing.’ People thought music-loving fairies came out to sing once the opera house was empty.”

“I don’t want to shatter your dreams, but I’ve been told those ‘fairies’ are just up-and-coming singers who aren’t good enough for the stage yet. They practice in the wings at night. Sometimes, retired singers come and sing from the opposite side of the stage to coach them. One of the older knights is a regular at the opera, you see. He’s the one who told me all this.”

“I think that’s lovely.”

True, it was nice to imagine fairies filling the empty opera house with mystical melodies by night, but the truth of the singers, young and old, coming together to support each other was perhaps nicer still. One day, those novices might stand on the other side of the stage to mentor the next generation. Dahlia took another sip of estervino, letting the chilled liquor wash over her tongue.

“What else?” Volf mused to himself. “Oh, yeah. ‘In the castle grounds, there’s a building with no way in or out.’ Actually, there are quite a few buildings near the royal residence with hidden entrances. I imagine they’re emergency shelters for the royal family.”

It was a logical explanation. If those buildings really were for ensuring the royal family’s safety, it was no surprise that the entryways and exits were kept top secret.

“At school, someone once asked me, ‘Have you heard about the ghost in the historical archives?’ That turned out to be another of the wonders,” Dahlia recalled.

“Historical archives” was perhaps a more dignified name than the building deserved. It was more like a three-story warehouse stuffed with decades and decades’ worth of dusty documents, disused magical tools, arms and armor—all manner of old things were squirreled away there in a less-than-orderly manner. It was a dingy place hidden in the shadow of the main school building. Dahlia had never gone inside.

“We had to do nighttime awareness training for my chivalric studies course. They made us walk around that place in the dead of night. I never ran into any ghosts, though.”

“I’m so glad I never took chivalric studies.”

Dahlia had had no idea that tests of courage like that were part of the coursework. She thanked her lucky stars that no such thing was required of the magical toolmaking students.

“And then there’s the seventh wonder,” Volf began, his expression solemn.

“‘The king can come back from the dead!’” the pair said in unison.

The supposedly unkillable king was probably the best known of the Seven Wonders.

“I think that story’s been around since the kingdom’s founding. It’s said that the first king survived being stabbed with a sword.”

“Yes, they say only old age can claim the life of the monarch. I can’t help wondering whether this wonder isn’t just people’s wishful thinking, though.”

It occurred to Dahlia that coming back from the dead surely made one undead, but she kept the thought to herself. It felt perilously close to lèse-majesté.

“It might be wishful thinking to some degree, but it’s really not far from the truth. The royal family’s healing magic is extremely powerful.”

“Goodness. So they have fire and healing?”

The current king boasted the most potent magical power of any monarch in recent memory. His fire magic was so terrifically powerful that he was sometimes nicknamed “the Sun Wielder.” It was news to Dahlia that the king’s restorative powers were just as impressive.

“Most of the royals can command all five schools. As far as I know, fire magic is the king’s specialty, but he also has powerful water, air, earth, and restorative magic. He can use every type with the skill of an elite mage.”

The gods had obviously seen fit to shower the ruling family with their bounty. Dahlia couldn’t help feeling a tad envious.

“Still, to come back from the dead would mean that the king can use healing magic to revive himself. Is it even possible to heal your own wounds like that?”

Obviously, one couldn’t use magic once already dead, but perhaps there was some kind of revival spell one could cast in advance, just in case the worst should happen. Wouldn’t that qualify as necromancy, though? Dahlia thought to herself. Whatever the case, the idea that such magic existed was undeniably exciting. She’d love for the Beast Hunters to be able to make use of it on their missions.

“Well, this is only what I’ve heard, but with the right kind of magic, it seems that some priests and mages can heal themselves, yeah. They can treat their own wounds and even hangovers.”

“No need for them to buy potions, then.”

Being able to heal one’s own wounds would be a useful skill indeed. Personally, she’d start with doing something about the lingering prickle those fish scales had left on her fingertips.

“The only trouble is that you need to concentrate hard. A mage I heard about tried to cure his hangover but ended up making it twice as bad.”

“Ouch. That sounds awful.”

Few people would be able to muster proper concentration through nausea and a pounding headache, so it was hardly surprising.

“But about that revival magic,” Volf continued. “My guess would be that it’s just powerful healing magic cast on someone who’s on the brink of death, rather than actually dead.”

“I see. That is more plausible.”

“On a mission a while back, a high priest who was accompanying us said, ‘As long as you’ve still got your head and your heart, we can manage something or other.’”

“Something or...other?”

Dahlia’s imagination whirred into action and she felt her blood run cold. She prayed sincerely that none of the Beast Hunters ever ended up in such a state.

While she sat there fretting, Volf smiled cheerfully and said, “We usually have a priest with us these days, so even if some huge monster gobbles us up, we’ll probably come out of it all right.”

“Volf, do you have to always say such terrifying things?!” Dahlia demanded, glaring at him reproachfully.

She’d been afraid that this conversation would end up somewhere gruesome, and her instincts had been proven correct. Hoping to change the subject and dispel these distressing thoughts, Dahlia produced a long oil-paper bag.

“This is lamb jerky from the next kingdom.”

“Lamb jerky?”

“Mm-hmm. Irma gave it to me. One of her clients went traveling and brought this jerky back as a souvenir. She said the flavor’s good; not too overpowering, considering it’s sheep meat. Would you like a piece?”

“I’d love one. I’ve never tried jerky made from sheep before.”

Volf took one of the long, thin pieces of jerky and peered at it with interest. Dahlia took one for herself too, biting down without hesitation. It turned out to be much more tender than it looked. Most jerky was fairly tough, but this was obviously a soft type. Chewing it gradually released the flavor—savory and meaty without tasting too strongly of sheep.

“Nice and tender, huh?” Volf commented. “It’s not as salty as the stuff we take on expeditions either.”

“Is the type you usually eat very tough?”

“Yeah. It needs to last, you see. The guys around my age don’t mind it, but some of the older knights struggle to chew it. They usually soak it in water to soften it.”

Chewing tough, dry jerky would be a struggle for anyone without strong teeth and jaws. It was no wonder the older knights had trouble. For her part, Dahlia was also concerned about its high salt content. There was no such term as “hypertension” in this world. However, in her conversations with friends and acquaintances, Dahlia had often heard of people suffering what sounded like strokes and other symptoms that were typical consequences of high blood pressure. She couldn’t say conclusively that there was a link to these people’s salt intake, but it was hard to believe that there was no connection.

The meals the Beast Hunters ate during their expeditions sounded quite poorly balanced. While there was nothing wrong with the rye bread, all they had aside from that was salted dried meat, salty cheese, dried fruit, and soup with a few dried vegetables. Such a salty diet could easily give rise to high blood pressure, and it was lacking in protein and vitamins too. Aside from all that, it must have been somewhat demoralizing eating the same dull meals day after day. The knights’ work was dangerous and difficult. If only Dahlia could perfect her camp stoves, they would be able to cook some more nutritious and enjoyable meals to sustain them on their missions.

“I’m going to give these stoves everything I’ve got—whatever it takes to get the order to adopt them,” Dahlia declared, her expression resolute.

Volf grinned. “I can’t wait!”

“Oh, that reminds me. What was that urgent mission you had to leave for yesterday?”

“We had to exterminate some purple bicorns. They’re a kind of mutant bicorn.”

“Purple? Are they poisonous, then? Or do they maybe have some kind of paralyzing magic?”

According to Dahlia’s bestiary, purple often indicated monsters with poison, venom, or magic that caused symptoms like paralysis.

“They have illusory magic. They use it to disguise themselves as people. Everyone hates fighting them.”

This was news to Dahlia; she’d never heard of bicorns using illusions. She could imagine how confusing that might become in close combat.

“Do they try to confuse you so you attack each other?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that. They, er...turn themselves into people you’re close to. Or people who are important to you, I guess.”

Volf dropped his gaze, his voice low. Dahlia was reminded of how exhausted he’d looked when he’d turned up on her doorstep earlier. From his expression, one would think he was chewing on a cockroach as he sat there eating his jerky. Volf must have seen his mother, Vanessa, yesterday, Dahlia reasoned. She couldn’t imagine how awful he must have felt raising his sword against her; the fact that she’d long since passed away would have been no comfort.

“It must have been very hard.”

“Huh?” Volf stared at her for a moment, motionless. “I didn’t... I mean, it didn’t last all that long. I saw through them and managed to take them out.”

“Right. I know mutants can be especially dangerous, so it can’t have been easy,” Dahlia said quickly, making it clear she was referring to the monsters’ genetics and not whatever illusions Volf may have seen.

It was their use of magic that many people believed separated monsters from ordinary animals. Many were highly resistant to magical attacks. Depending on their magical affinity, some could even survive long-range spells from elite mages. Fire magic would be ineffective on a monster that used fire magic. Earth magic would be moderately effective, while water magic would do the most damage. That was more or less how affinity worked. Even ordinary bicorns were quite powerful, magically speaking. Battling their mutant forms would be no mean feat.

“Oh, your cup’s almost empty.”

Volf suddenly reached out and refilled her cup from the serving bowl. Just for a moment, as he placed it back on the table, Dahlia glimpsed a thin red mark running across the palm of his hand.

“Volf, is your hand okay? It looks like you’ve hurt it.”

“It’s nothing. I hardly noticed it.”

She could tell from his calm smile that he was telling the truth. Still, she was sure that if she’d gotten a cut like that, Volf would be fussing over her like a mother hen.

“I realized something yesterday,” Volf continued. “I want to be so strong that I can one day defeat any monster with ease, but...I’ve still got a long way to go. As a knight of the Order of Beast Hunters, I’m sworn to defend the kingdom against any threat, but I don’t have the strength to do that yet. I need to work harder. I need to temper my mind and body so that I’m ready for anything.”

There was a darkness in Volf’s golden eyes that Dahlia had rarely seen. He held his injured hand clenched as though to hide the mark, tightening it until his knuckles turned white. It was both unease and resolve that kept his fist clenched so hard. Dahlia couldn’t guess at the thoughts playing out behind his pools of liquid gold—whether they were of his mother’s death, his conduct in yesterday’s battle, or the savage beasts he might fight in the future. All she was sure of was his burning desire to become a man of unquestionable, unstoppable might.

“Volf...?” She whispered his name so softly that even he didn’t hear.

“You’re more than strong enough already,” she wanted to tell him. “Don’t rush into danger. I want you to be safe and come home unhurt.” But she couldn’t bring herself to speak these thoughts aloud. She knew it would only upset him further. Instead, she put on her best smile and said cheerfully, “Volf, I need you back here in one piece, okay? I’ll be waiting with a nice meal for you.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Though his expression was serious, his playful words made Dahlia grin, and she refilled his glass with estervino.

Alongside magic crystals and monster materials, the danger of monsters and the inevitable damage they wreaked were facts of life for the people of this world. Here, these fearsome creatures were simply another kind of natural disaster. Thanks to the work of the Order of Beast Hunters, as well as many mages and adventurers, the kingdom of Ordine was relatively safe in comparison to its neighbors. Dahlia’s recollections from her past life, however, had left her with a rather different understanding of safety from most people around her.

Powerful monsters could be as destructive as any force of nature. Even well-armed caravans could be laid to waste if they encountered a forest serpent on the highway. Desert worms could descend without warning on travelers and oases and leave nothing but sand in their wake. Many a ship had been lost at sea to the wrath of sea serpents. In the neighboring kingdoms, wind dragons sometimes ruined vast swathes of wheat fields, while fire dragons had been known to reduce whole towns to ash, residents and all. There were records of goblin hordes pouring from the hills and razing villages in Ordine, long ago. In her history class at school, Dahlia had heard of a hydra appearing near the border some twenty or so years ago. Many men from the Order of Beast Hunters and other knights’ divisions had lost their lives battling it.

While a few monsters sprang up in much the same areas at around the same times each year, for the most part, it was impossible to predict where or when monsters would appear or what damage they might do. The appearance of mutants only added new layers of uncertainty.

Like every other living thing in this world, monsters were just trying desperately to survive. Given time, they were sure to become stronger and cleverer, leading to ever bloodier battles with humankind. To continue fighting and vanquishing these creatures year after year would be a Herculean task.

Dahlia could not fight monsters. Despite using many monster-derived materials, such as powdered slime, she would be helpless if one attacked her. And so she was resolved to fight in the only way she knew how—through her craft. Just as Volf sought strength as a knight, so she would seek strength as a magical toolmaker. She would complete her camp stove and then set her sights on more new magical tools that would improve the knights’ lives. She wanted to make magical tools that would help people live in comfort and happiness in this magical, monster-riddled land.

If she could invent something to brighten the daily life of just someone in this world, be it Volf, the Beast Hunters, the citizens of Ordine, or anyone else, then all of her efforts would be worth it. She would be proud to call herself Dahlia Rossetti, the magical toolmaker.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us, but let’s give it everything we’ve got,” Dahlia said.

“Yeah, no holding back.”

The glow of the magical lantern gently wavered as they brought their cups together with a clink.