“That’s the handiwork of advanced mages from the Mages’ Corps; I saw them practicing in the castle the other day,” Volf whispered.

It was hard to believe that that great dragon had been painted with fire magic. Dahlia reasoned it must have been a lot prettier seen from the castle or from the Central District; here at the tower in the West District, the image appeared a little askew. The dragon in the sky was nevertheless awesome, and cheers roared out around the neighborhood.

When the red dragon dissipated, a moment of silence fell upon the party. The four of them sat upright as they waited intently. After a longer pause, a ball of white light rose into the sky higher and higher still—enough to have made Dahlia wonder if it would ever stop. It lit up their world in a pure white like a fireball from a meteor. As another wave of cheering erupted, Dahlia squinted and shielded her eyes; it became hard to tell the nighttime from the day.

The one capable of creating what seemed to be another sun was none other than the king of Ordine, who commanded the most magical power of any of his royal line. It was most likely a display of fire magic as well, and Dahlia had to wonder what temperature that white-hot fireball must be. The king’s immense power could easily be mistaken for the stuff of tales and legends, and it was a source of awe for his subjects. Conversely, it was a source of dread for the kingdom’s neighbor. Powerful mages numbered more in Ordine than anywhere else as well. It was easy to understand the guarded stance of the neighboring kingdom, although Ordine had never once attacked or invaded a foreign power in its history. As an aside, legends had it that the founder of the kingdom had leveled mountains and monsters to establish the capital city—something that sounded entirely plausible to Dahlia, having seen the man-made miniature sun. Perhaps their power was in their blue blood.

“Every year, I’m reminded of the fact that it really is a sun,” commented Marcello.

“Our king sure is something else!” his wife replied.

Dahlia nodded along as she lit a magical lantern. That ball of white light was bright enough to hurt one’s eyes, and after it was extinguished, the darkness seemed even more profound than before.

She had never met the king, but he was said to have blond hair that shone like the sun and eyes that were dark as night. Other than that, she had no clue as to how he looked. The king’s reign had met with overwhelming public approval, and his subjects would hang portraits of their ruler in their homes. His hair and eye color and handsomeness remained constant, but there was much artistic liberty taken otherwise—the work of cunning merchants, Dahlia reckoned.

“A toast! To the Kingdom of Ordine!”

“Cheers!”

It was finally time for the main event: gorging themselves on food and drink. There were dark ales, wheat beers, and crespelle purchased from a food stall—crespelle being slightly thicker crepes, filled with various ingredients and sauces, and wrapped up into a brick. They were readily available at many stalls; Dahlia and Volf had gone out together for crespelle before. There were three flavors today: minced pork and veggies, ham and cheese, and seafood. This year they were filled to bursting and very substantial.

“Let me start reheating these too.” Dahlia began grilling spiedini. On skewers were chicken thigh and breast, obviously, but also heart, gizzard, cartilage, and skin—the last of these being Marcello’s favorite. The accompaniments were just as important, and she had prepared two: one a condiment of salt, garlic, and scallions and the other a reduction of fish sauce, rice wine, and honey to be used as a glaze.

All the fats and sauces meant lots of smoke. It’d make for a terrific scent outdoors but a terrible odor indoors. With the compact magical stove, though, she could grill whether she was up on the rooftop or out in the yard without having to worry about any lingering smells. Even if she was the one who invented it, she relished how handy it was in a situation like this.

“Those almost done yet, Dahlia? Maybe I could lend you a hand with somethin’?”

“Marcello, dear, why don’t you just sit back and relax?” Then Irma effectively repeated his words. “But is there anything we can help with?”

Dahlia giggled at the married couple’s exchange. “Don’t worry, it won’t be long; sit and chat with each other.”

Volf turned his attention to the grill too. “Is that cartilage there, Dahlia?”

“That’s right. Is it a favorite of yours?” She would have never guessed that a noble like him would have a taste for offal, but perhaps it was something served at his local haunt.

“My favorite’s still gotta be chicken thigh, but I really enjoy the crunch of cartilage. I had it with Marcello the last time we went out together.”

“We hopped from stall to stall before landing at a dive bar,” Marcello added.

“Yeah, I felt like I had every single bottle of liquor under the sun that night.”

“Were they any good?” she asked.

Volf furrowed his brows and stared off into the distance. “Sure, but some were just strange. It was kinda hard to put my finger on exactly what flavor they were...” What could it possibly be? Was it something that was too lowbrow for his noble palate or was it something truly exotic?

For the answer, Dahlia looked to Marcello, who replied, “Boy probably had jungle juice. Never know what you’re gonna get!” That would certainly make for a chance encounter—and one she could stand to avoid.

“There was a sealed bottle too, that dark-gray zinger of a drink—what’s it called again?”

“Boozer’s Bane—that shit ain’t for sippin’; it’s only to get you absolutely trashed,” Marcello answered.

“The first thing Marcello did when he got home was to ask me for medicine, and he’s someone that never gets hungover.”

It sounded like quite the peculiar drink, one that Dahlia could stand to avoid as well, but she was glad that the two guys had been able to go on a bit of a bender downtown. Maybe she would’ve had the chance to drink with them like that were she a man; their easygoing smiles brought her a slight pang of envy. Dahlia took a swig of her wheat beer as she flipped the skewers.

The conversation turned back to the topic of fireworks. “Are those all launched by mages? Do you guys have a lot of fire mages at the castle?” asked Marcello.

“I’d say so, yeah. We’ve got advanced mages who can combine magic as well as knights who wield magic.”

“Still, the most powerful of them all must be the king, right? What grade is his magic, I wonder?” said Irma.

“When I was in school, the highest anyone had was seventeen. The king must be at least twenty, but that’s just my speculation,” Dahlia said.

In high school, people generally aimed to become mages if they had over grade nine magic or advanced mages with thirteen. The minimum to enroll in school for magical toolmaking was four, leading to the idea that the profession was for people who couldn’t make it as mages. However, having more magic did not necessarily make someone a better toolmaker. After having recently gone up one grade, Dahlia found it harder to control her magic than before; affixing kraken tape had become a trickier task. Kraken tape was used for packaging and required very little magic to activate. In fact, using too much magic would cause it to melt and cling to the user’s fingers.

“I bet the king couldn’t handle kraken tape...” Dahlia muttered.

Volf and Marcello laughed along with her, while Irma was recovering from choking on her drink. “What’s that about kraken tape all of a sudden? I pray that you don’t still have slimes living here.”

“Not right now, I don’t.” Dahlia’s straight answer elicited a death glare from Irma, who could not deal with slimes. She nearly blacked out when she saw slimes hanging up to dry in and around the tower, even though they were docile creatures with attractive, translucent bodies of jelly that moved quite slowly. “Anyway, having magic isn’t the be-all and end-all of everything. There are people who have magic but don’t use it.”

“Besides, having that much magic would put me at a loss for what to do with it.”

“Making magic crystals? Or perhaps emergency lighting during a disaster?”

“Just make sure you don’t disrespect the king like that in front of others.”

While they shot the breeze, the spiedini became ready. They all grabbed the skewers they wanted and began digging in as they watched the nightscape. Dahlia’s first pick was thigh with the sweet sauce—the sugars gave the meat a great char. It wasn’t the most polite way to eat it, but she bit into the top piece and tore it off of her skewer. The chicken was juicy and smoky and absolutely delicious. As she silently tooted her own horn on a job well done, she watched Volf, with his eyes shut tight, savor a bite topped with the salt and alliums. The cartilage and gizzard skewers were done as well, and she gently placed them on his plate so as not to take him out of the moment.

“Nothing beats Dahlia’s spiedini with the salt spread paired with a dark ale!” Marcello voiced his pleasure as he devoured a skewer of grilled chicken skin and a mug of beer, and his praises tickled Dahlia.

“What are you talking about, Marcello? It’s obvious that her skewers are best with the sweet sauce! Have it with the wheat beer and you’ve got the quintessence of summer right in your hands!” Irma fired back.

“That’s brilliant too, but I like mine!”

The Nuvolaris continued to discuss the pros and cons of each combination of meat and condiment and drink with all seriousness. Dahlia didn’t see the point in arguing as they could simply just try out the different combinations themselves, but she let them be as she realized that the couple had fun bickering. She grabbed a bottle each of the white and the dark and quietly topped up their glasses.

Volf began grilling another round of the skewers. “Here, Dahlia, let me handle the stove. The chef’s gotta eat too.”

Dahlia sat beside him, appreciative of his offer. “How about you, Volf? What’s your combo of choice?” She figured that she would make a mental note and get more of his favorite for the next time they did this.

He thought long and hard before breaking into a big smile. “Skewers and beer!”

She empathized with and chuckled at his open-ended answer. He had a point—it was all good.

“Ack, it’s burning!”

The heat might have been turned too high or he might have put too much of the glaze on, and so the skewers were getting a little color on them. But it was nothing to worry about and she assured him, “You’re fine. The char is what makes it yummy.”

The panic on his face subsided and turned into a smile. “Sorry,” he said as he placed two skewers on her plate. The chicken with the wheat beer was, for whatever reason, more delicious than when she grilled her own. In the end, the four friends managed to hide a surprising amount of the drink and food in their stomachs.

“Darling, I can’t!”

“Aw, boy...”

As the couple were about to go home, Irma, having eaten or drunk too much, found herself unable to descend the stairs to the ground floor. Marcello moaned as though he were frustrated with her, but in reality, he had a grin on his face as he swept her into his arms and carried her down. Dahlia offered to fetch a carriage for them, but the couple refused, saying that they didn’t have too much to lug to the station.

After seeing them off, Dahlia and Volf returned to the rooftop of the tower. He handily rolled up the waterproof cloth, showing his familiarity with the action. After he carried the table back down, the brief cleanup process was complete.

As Dahlia was wrapping up all the leftover crespelle into one paper package, she tried desperately to recall how she had spent last year’s summer festival. The only thing she could remember was the color of the bouquet she’d brought to her father’s grave, as it hadn’t been long since he passed. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t recall the festivities, fireworks, food, or anything else.

Volf’s sudden voice startled her. “Would be nice to drink together like this again next year.”

“Shall I put you down for a reservation, then?”

“If I may.” Volf bowed very politely, and Dahlia returned the gesture.

She looked back up at him and they both lost their composure, giggling at the random bout of formality. “Want to continue the festivities with another drink?”

“How can I say no?”

Under the starry skies, Dahlia wondered if she could really keep that promise. This time next year, Volf could be called away on an expedition or have some other urgent matter pop up. Not to mention his family would be promoted to marquis by then, and that might complicate things too.

In spite of all of her worries, she knew one thing to be true: there would be no forgetting the treasured memories of this year’s celebrations.

The Adventurers’ Guild

The sun beat down as a stiff breeze blew, like a reminder to Dahlia and Ivano of the season. They were calling on the Adventurers’ Guild today both for business and to collect the bicorn order. The Order of Beast Hunters had slain one, and instead of taking it back to the castle and butchering it themselves, they’d had the Adventurers’ Guild part it out, as its parts were in high demand.

Newer than the Merchants’, the Adventurers’ guildhall was a grand building constructed of red brick and stacked five stories tall. It was further divided into two wings: the left was for adventurers to contract jobs or sell materials; the right was for guests to do business. The adventurers’ side appeared bustling, teeming with adventurers passing in and out. Dahlia almost succumbed to her curiosity and opened the door to see what that side was like, but she came to her senses and entered the correct one for her.

As soon as she did so, a familiar voice called out to her. “If it isn’t Miss Dahlia. Quite the pleasant coincidence.” It came from a silver-haired man adorned with silver-rimmed glasses. Behind him stood his wife Ermelinda. After both parties greeted each other, Oswald produced a sheet of red parchment that contained his order. “I am here to pick up bicorn parts. I assume you are here for the same reason?”

“That’s right. I received their notification saying that it was ready,” replied Dahlia. Word that the Beast Hunters had defeated a mutant bicorn must’ve spread around already, and other magical toolmakers were bound to come by too.

“Shall we go through a lesson on bicorns soon, then?”

“Yes, please!” Mutant bicorns were extremely rare; Dahlia had never enchanted with parts from such a monster before. Just imagining the effects of the different parts and what tools could be made with them made her heart race.

Oswald placed his right hand over his chest and made an elegant bow, interrupting the excitement swimming around in Dahlia’s head. “Forgive my tardiness, but I offer my congratulations to you, Chairwoman Rossetti, on becoming an official purveyor to the Order of Beast Hunters, their advisor, and a baroness.”

His sudden formality sent Dahlia into a fluster. “Oh, please, Mr. Oswald, the whole advisory role thing is only in name, and it isn’t as though my barony has been confirmed yet either...”

Ivano stepped beside her and put in, “Chairman Zola, thank you very much for your kindness. This was only possible due to your care and guidance. As our company is still green, we would be fortunate to have your continued support.”

“You pass, Ivano. As for you, Dahlia,” Oswald said in a low, frosty tone, “you need extra work.” He glared.

Ermelinda tugged softly at her husband’s sleeve. “It is almost time, dear.”

“Oh, indeed. Shall we, then? Miss Dahlia, I shall see you at our next lesson.” Oswald reverted to his usual calm demeanor and, after excusing himself, went up to the second floor with his wife.

Once they were out of earshot, Dahlia let out a heavy sigh. Professor Oswald was apparently quite demanding of his students with regards to both toolmaking and their conduct as businesspeople. The prospect of their next lesson seemed ever so daunting.

“From now on, chairwoman, you’ll have many more chances to get it right.” The employee’s words of encouragement struck fear into the boss, now staring off into the distance.

After Dahlia regained her composure and checked in at the front desk, she and Ivano were quickly conducted to the top floor of the building. The first item on the agenda today was to pay respects to the vice-guildmaster Augusto. She had recently learned from Grato that Augusto had sent a letter endorsing the Rossetti Trading Company the day she had made her big presentation at the castle, and so she had come to deliver a thank-you letter.

Dahlia had also wanted to discuss the matter of slime farming with the guildmaster, though unfortunately, he was a hard man to get a hold of, as he returned to the capital just once or twice a year. Not only did the guildmaster travel between every branch location, he was an active adventurer who personally hunted monsters for those exceptionally rare materials. Augusto was the de facto guildmaster, Dahlia had learned from Volf.

“Welcome, Chairwoman Rossetti.”

“Mr. Scarlatti, thank you very much for giving me your time today.” Having exchanged greetings in the drawing room, Dahlia sat down on the dark brown sofa as instructed. Her seat was cool to the touch even in the summer heat; she surmised that it could only be made from enchanted monster leather.

“Though I would love to take the time to chat, I’m afraid that I have an engagement at the castle,” Augusto explained, apologizing for giving them such a limited time slot. More likely than not, he had gone out of his way to make time for today’s visit.

Ivano handed Dahlia a pair each of the compact magical stoves and zephyricloth scarves, and she then presented the wrapped gifts to Augusto.

“Is this the zephyricloth?” Augusto’s sienna eyes narrowed in a smile; Dahlia could only presume that he, too, suffered in formal clothing in the heat. “My wives have been begging me for anything I could get, be it scraps or patches. Thank you so much.” Wives—Dahlia still wasn’t used to hearing the word in the plural.

“Mr. Scarlatti, I apologize if I am overstepping boundaries as a mere employee of our company, but you have two wives and how many daughters again?”

“Two each, actually.” The man with the indigo hair turned dead serious under Ivano’s questioning.

“In that case, please have these as well.”

“You are far too kind. Thank you.” Augusto politely accepted the two extra scarves that Ivano retrieved from his case. Dahlia silently watched the ritualistic exchange. “I will be sure to give extra attention to the green slime farming operations. If there ever is anything I can do for you, please let me know right away.”

The brief meeting wrapped up with everyone in high spirits, and the representatives of the Rossetti Company took their leave of the drawing room.

“I didn’t realize you brought a stock of zephyricloth with you, Ivano.”

“Yes, I had heard that he has two wives, but I wasn’t sure how many children he had. As fathers, we always want to prove ourselves to our children, you see.” Ivano smiled as they walked down the hallway.

“And he can prove himself by handing those out?” The so-called scarves were a nicer weave of gauze in an undyed pale green color, lacking in patterns or styling. They would undoubtedly be out of place in a nobleperson’s ensemble.

“They may very well be cutting the scarves up and tucking the pieces underneath their clothing. Zephyricloth is said to be a status symbol right now, you know, for those who can get their hands on it.”

“Wait. A status symbol?” A green slime was hopping around in Dahlia’s head. She had a hard time tying that image to anything prestigious.

“According to what I’ve heard from Mr. Forto, noblewomen have been replacing their necklaces with our scarves at balls so that their hair flows elegantly. Meanwhile, noblemen have been sewing them under their cuffs so as to direct a cool stream of air at their partners on the dance floor. Given that it’s Mr. Forto who is distributing our products to that market, I wouldn’t be surprised if all these clever ideas came from him as well. Nobles are always vying to be at the forefront of fashion, especially the ladies.”

Dahlia worried for a moment that the venue was too public for this conversation until she saw the red glint reflecting off of Ivano’s cuff links—he had already activated his anti-eavesdroppers. “Huh. I wouldn’t know.” She’d never had much interest in the latest trends, despite being a member of said group, videlicet “ladies.”

When Dahlia was still engaged, Lucia had lambasted her for wearing clothes that were “a few generations out of style” or “too boring even by granny’s standards.” Lucia still routinely gave Dahlia a thorough check from head to toe, even though Dahlia had improved to “just barely acceptable.” Though Dahlia cared for the latest and the greatest in magical tools, she only cared for whatever was comfortable when it came to clothes. However, as a chairperson who frequented the castle grounds, Dahlia “ought to present herself respectably,” as Gabriella, vice-guildmaster of the Merchants’ Guild, had warned her. Dahlia realized she couldn’t appear slovenly when she was by Volf’s side, and as such, she accepted as much of Lucia’s advice as possible.

“Oh, where did the time go? Sorry, chairwoman—I must return to the Merchants’ Guild for a meeting. I will be back to pick you up afterwards.”

“Don’t you worry about me. After I have them load my materials into a carriage, I’ll head straight home.”

Ivano’s navy blue eyes looked awfully worried. “Are you sure you want to meet with Mr. Tasso by yourself? I wouldn’t mind postponing my—”

“I’m sure. This apology has to come from me—from the Rossetti family.”

Ivano’s expression failed to soften. He kept silent as he handed her a package—something to offer Jean as part of her apology.

After taking a deep breath, Dahlia approached the drawing room on the second floor where Jean was already waiting. The door, which was watched by a guard, had been left ajar, likely so that it’d be a little more welcoming for a woman.

Jean Tasso, head of materials, had chestnut hair. Dahlia had first met him when he and Augusto had visited the Merchants’ Guild to discuss the manufacturing of the toe socks and drying insoles. At that meeting, he had been sitting in front of Dahlia and had yelled at her for making unreasonable requests for materials. She had understandably been quite shocked, but she’d come to sympathize with him when she learned his side of the story.

Jean had been the one who personally sourced the kraken for her father Carlo’s hot water dispenser, the sand lizard for his dryers, and the mountain of blue slimes for Dahlia’s waterproof cloth. The series of events had caused many fissures in his family life—he had divorced soon after his first marriage, and his second wife had taken their children back to her family home. Jean was well within his rights to despise the Rossettis, and Dahlia couldn’t see him ever forgiving them.

When Dahlia entered the room and bowed, Jean set down his paperwork. “Welcome, Chairwoman Rossetti. Please come in,” he said after standing up from his seat. “Congratulations on your new role as the Order of Beast Hunters’ official purveyor and as their advisor on magical tools.” Word traveled surprisingly fast.

Dahlia focused her mind and responded appropriately. “Thank you very much for your kind words. I shall endeavor to overcome my inexperience, and I look forward to continuing to achieve success together.”

He lightly nodded in acknowledgment before taking one step backwards and making a bow so deep that his head nearly touched his desk. “I humbly apologize once again for my insolence during our last meeting.”

“You needn’t apologize! Please raise your head!” She was frantic in her pleading. “I only learned after our meeting about how much trouble we—the Rossetti family—have caused you and your family with our demands for materials...”

“The fault lies squarely on me for venting my anger at you and completely losing my head. I stayed up two nights before the meeting, which led to my disgraceful actions.”

Though he said it as though it were nothing, the fact that he’d stayed up two nights in a row struck a nerve in Dahlia—she had already died once from overwork. She failed to conjure the right words in her mind, so instead, she spoke from the heart. “Mr. Tasso, I would be grateful if you would accept this as an apology for the troubles we Rossettis have caused you.” Her father should have been here apologizing as well, but Dahlia was the last one left in the family. She had turned to Ivano for help with the gift, which consisted of two compact magical stoves, two zephyricloth scarves, and one bottle of top-shelf brandy.

“I should be the one apologizing, yet here I am receiving a present from you with much gratitude. Thank you, as well, for your continued business, and I ask you to please call me Jean.”

“Thank you for accepting my apology. Please call me Dahlia as well. I hope to turn to you for help with materials from now on.”

“I will gladly lend my help with whatever I can.”

After they got their long greetings over with, the two of them were finally able to take a seat. Jean handled the packaged stoves and thanked her once again. However, after realizing that the gift included a pair of fire crystals bundled in a thin cloth, he furrowed his brow. “Chairwoman Rossetti—er, Miss Dahlia,” he said as he brought up his gaze from the desk, “forgive my saying so, but as it may potentially cause misunderstandings with others, I wouldn’t recommend placing fire crystals on top of a present like this.”

“Huh? Oh! I didn’t mean it like that!” yelped Dahlia. As she was leaving the house earlier today, she had casually bundled up the pair of crystals as a power source for the stoves. In Ordine, to be “struck in the chest with a fire crystal” was an idiom for falling in love, and so giving someone a fire crystal was, needless to say, a declaration of love. Dahlia had heard of the custom when she was in school but had long forgotten—or more accurately, it had never been relevant to her, since she had neither given nor received a fire crystal for that reason. “And, um, I’d never do that for anyone else either!”

“There’s no need to fret, Miss Dahlia. Again, I won’t misconstrue your words, but, erm...” Fortunately, Jean was an understanding man; it was only now that Dahlia understood she had essentially said that her love was only for him.

Ashamed of her own panicked reaction, she was about to cover her face with both hands, but she caught herself at the last moment and forced herself into a proper posture. Blushing and getting into a fluster now would only send the wrong signal; she controlled her breathing, though her eyes were a little teary. “I hope you can forgive me for everything.”

“Not to worry. Please forget about it; I shall do the same,” Jean said, reassuring her. “By the way, Miss Dahlia, have you ever been told you take after your father?”

“Quite often, actually...”

“I can see why.”

Though Dahlia herself couldn’t see why, she was glad that Jean dropped the subject and allowed her to bring up another matter. “I have brought along a list of materials that I may be interested in using for my next creation. Could I trouble you to give it your perusal when you have the time?”

“Thank you for compiling it in writing. This will help immensely. I have heard from Lord Fortunato regarding your need for green slimes, and a large expansion is already in the works at the slime farm.”

That’s why Forto was the guildmaster of the Tailors’ Guild: he was always a step ahead. And given that they were already planning an expansion to the slime farm, the Adventurers’ Guild was right on his heels. “The slime farm—that is to the east, correct?”

“Indeed. Currently, about seventy percent of the slimes there are of the blue variety, with very few of any other type. Would you by chance care to pay it a visit?”

Dahlia leaned over the desk. “May I really?!” She had always wanted to do so, and she especially wanted to see the slime vats.

“But of course. You, erm, seem very interested.”

“Yes! Sorry, I’ve just always wanted to see the farm for myself!”

It must have been rather funny seeing a grown woman get as giddy as a child, and Jean failed to keep himself from chuckling. He excused himself, stifled his laughter, and then collected himself again. For better or for worse, neither of them was tense around the other anymore. “How about inviting Sir Scalfarotto on your visit? It would be valuable to get his insight on wild slimes.”

“Thank you for the offer. I will get back to you with our availability as soon as possible.” If anything, it would be even more fun going with Volf. She made a mental note to send him a letter immediately after getting back to the tower, and she prayed that their schedules would match up.

“Shall we go over your order next? Inside are horn, core, hide, bone, and hoof, all harvested from a purple variant of bicorn.” From a cart behind him, Jean brought out a large, silvery chest, sealed with magic. As soon as he opened it, a blast of magical energy radiated from inside. The black horn, likely capable of inducing hallucinations, distorted the image of the objects around it. Dahlia knew better than to touch anything in there, at least not before she received handling instructions from Oswald. After she’d inspected the contents, Jean closed it back up and wound its cord. “The chest is rather heavy, so allow me to fetch some staff to load it onto your carriage.” As he was returning it to the cart, his legs gave out. He managed to prop himself up on his desk with both arms, but he remained immobile for a moment.

“Mr. Jean! Are you okay?!”

“I’m okay,” he said, obviously pale in the face. Veins bulged on the backs of his hands. “Just got light-headed for a moment.”

“I understand that it’s not my place to say so, but please do take better care of yourself.”

“Thank you for your concern, but my body can take a beating. It isn’t as though I collapsed.”

He damn nearly had, though! And his words, a familiar echo of someone she had known, struck a nerve again. They ached in her chest, and she couldn’t help but speak up. “My father once said the same.”

“Excuse me?”

“I always nagged him about taking better care of himself, and he would say that he was tough and that he had never collapsed before. He continued to neglect his health and never collapsed once until he finally did. Then he never woke up again.”

“I, uh... My condolences.”

“That isn’t what I’m trying to get at. It’s...” Dahlia paused to find the right words. “The family you’d leave behind would miss you dearly, so please treat yourself well.” She wasn’t sure if those were the right words either, given that she was neither friend nor family to him. But she still had to say something.

“Again, thank you for the concern, Miss Dahlia. But seeing as my family has already left me as of last week, I don’t foresee it being a problem. Besides, you needn’t worry, as this has nothing to do with you. This is purely a personal problem.”

“Mr. Jean, I—”

“I thought I could do something about it, but, well, it seems as though I’m too hard to love.”

Jean’s quiet grumbling resonated with Dahlia; she was reminded of how her engagement had ended. She had thought she could please Tobias, make him need her, but that had been little more than wishful thinking. She was unlovable as a woman—the thought had ceaselessly plagued her mind. Perhaps it still did.

“I apologize for digressing. Living happily by myself may actually be a noble pursuit. The only real problem is not having someone to drink with,” Jean said. “Oh, and it won’t be long until I can get you the black slime you are looking for, as I shall personally hunt some myself. Despite appearances, I am an advanced adventurer, after all.”

“There’s no rush at all. Just make sure you take care of yourself first...” The topic had changed very suddenly, and now something else popped into Dahlia’s mind: a former adventurer like Jean must enjoy a stiff drink. “Um, Mr. Jean, I’m wondering if you have a taste for scorpio.” As the name suggested, the high-proof liquor was infused with a scorpion in the bottle. It was rather divisive.

“It’s certainly one I enjoy, yes.”

That brought a smile to her face. “Mr. Oswald—er, Chairman Zola also enjoys it, you see.”

“He does? That surprises me, I must say.”

“Yes, and he told me that he too has been having a hard time finding a drinking partner. If you are interested, perhaps I could introduce the two of you?”

“I would appreciate that, thank you. It is always helpful to get to know other business owners.”

Perhaps Jean was just being polite, but Dahlia rushed to the guard standing by the door and asked him to fetch Oswald if he was still in the guildhall. When she separated from her fiancé, it had helped her to be surrounded by friends, and she wished the man sitting across from her wouldn’t have to deal with his troubles alone. Dahlia had heard that when Oswald’s then-wife had left him, he’d had her father Carlo to chat and drink with. She hoped to ask Oswald, with his colorful life experiences, to help Jean out the same way. She felt sorry that she wasn’t any more capable of helping Jean—and felt sorry, too, for dumping the problem onto her teacher.

Before long, an employee of the guild led Oswald and his wife into the room. Dahlia explained the scorpio situation, which brought a grin to his face. “Why, that is wonderful news! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Oswald Zola of the Zola Company. Though we have had the pleasure of conducting business together many times before, I believe it is the first time that we have actually met face-to-face. It is a pleasure to finally do so, Mr. Jean Tasso.”

“I am very touched that you remember me by name, Chairman Zola.”

Their friendly introductions, perhaps because they were acquainted already, brought Dahlia relief.

“Thank you as well to Chairwoman Rossetti for introducing us. And now that we are friends, would you care to join me in my home for an indulgence of scorpio? Just the two of us, man to man, and we can drop the formalities. I have bottles white, black, and red waiting for you and your tales of adventure, Mr. Tasso.”

“That sounds delightful, thank you.”

“Would you happen to be free in the evenings?”

“For the next four nights or so, yes.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. After work in two days’ time, I shall come by the guild with a carriage.”

Oswald had undeniable interpersonal skills, honed by his many years in business. All parties then said their goodbyes and left the drawing room.

Dahlia and the Zolas were making their way down to the carriage station. An employee of the guild had already brought down her magically sealed chest, and so the only other piece of luggage was her leather briefcase.

“Miss Dahlia, thank you for introducing me to Mr. Tasso. As a child, I was fascinated by adventurers, so you can imagine that I am very excited to hear his tales.”

That nearly brought her to a stop. “Did you want to become an adventurer yourself, Mr. Oswald?” To Dahlia, he seemed much more the scholarly type, and she couldn’t see him as an adventurer; she would’ve expected him to have aspired to become a mage or a toolmaker.

“It was a dream and only that; I never had good enough reflexes for that sort of thing.” He chuckled, perhaps wistfully.

“My husband absolutely adores tales of adventure,” Ermelinda said. “I could tell him the same story a dozen times and he would still gobble it up all the same.”

Dahlia figuratively scratched her head. “Stories, like about adventuring?”

“Oh, I must’ve failed to mention before, but my wife Ermelinda was formerly an adventurer, and an advanced one at that.”

“You were?! Wow, that’s amazing, Ms. Ermelinda!” Dahlia marveled, as advanced adventurers could take on powerful monsters. Ermelinda looked to her like just another noblewoman, but she must have been a tough warrior.

“Oh, thank you, but that was just me being reckless ages ago.” She bashfully cast her scallion-green eyes downwards. Battling monsters did indeed require a bit of recklessness, but she seemed most natural standing by her husband’s side.

“You had best bet that she is much stronger than I am. In fact, my beautiful, strong wife could double as my guard,” Oswald said, almost as if to boast, though his eyes narrowed slightly.

His change in expression caught Dahlia’s attention, but they couldn’t detain the carriages, which were just now ready to depart. They dipped their heads in farewell, but just as she was about to turn away, the silver-eyed man whispered softly, “I do my utmost to avoid getting in any kind of quarrel with her.”

The Slime Farm and Nectar Wine

Two days after Dahlia called on the Adventurers’ Guild came the long-awaited visit to the slime farm. Unsurprisingly, it was beyond the city walls, just outside the eastern gates. The site was surrounded by a tall black brick fence, and the only interruption in the masonry was for the blocky iron gates. Though the exterior might have had the look and feel of a maximum security prison, the area inside the gates was anything but—a lush lawn covered most of the ground and the nursery building was unexpectedly small.

Accompanying Dahlia were Volf and Ivano. When she wrote to Volf to invite him on this trip, his reply had been instantaneous. He had given four dates that would work for him, of which she then selected the earliest one before sending a messenger to the Adventurers’ Guild. Dahlia had been afraid of coming too soon, but she reasoned that the workers would have more free time now than after the expansion began.

The response from the Adventurers’ Guild said that she should feel free to invite others as well, and so she did. Forto, master of the Tailors’ Guild, had declined, as he had visited three times already. Dahlia had gotten shut down completely by Gabriella of the Merchants’ Guild, who claimed she was far too busy. Curiously, just minutes before that conversation, Gabriella had asked Dahlia if she would like to go get makeup and pancakes. Lucia had also immediately rejected the offer, saying, “See live slimes?! I wouldn’t go even if you threw money at me!” If it were anything to do with zephyricloth, though, she would’ve jumped at the opportunity to watch larvae poop out silk.

Within the gates, a woman with sky blue hair was waiting at the carriage stop. “Welcome to our facility, members of the Rossetti Trading Company. I am the chief researcher Idaealina Nicoletti; please call me Idaea for short.” She looked to be younger than Dahlia, but given her seniority, Idaea had to be at least the same age, if not a little older. She was slightly shorter than the toolmaker too, and she wore a pair of navy-rimmed glasses and a gentle expression.

“Thank you very much for the invitation. My name is Dahlia Rossetti, chairwoman of the company. Please call me by my first name as well.” Afterwards, Volf and Ivano introduced themselves as one of the company’s guarantors and as an employee, respectively.

From the carriage stop, it took more than a few steps to get to the nursery. The distance was likely by design, as the horses might have startled the slimes. On top of that, the heavy exterior door was wrought from iron. Idaea opened it with two separate keys, and once everybody went inside, she locked it again. “I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable. We keep all doors locked just in case anything were to happen.”

“Safety first!” Dahlia replied. The doorknobs were mounted on bright plates of sealsilver, while the walls on both sides were inscribed with large magic circles. Presumably, they would conjure up air and fire magic upon activation and engulf the corridor in a sea of flames. Dahlia didn’t want to speculate about the reasons the facility might need measures like these, but security here was thorough, to say the least.

“First, let me take you to our blue slime tanks,” Idaea said. Passing through a set of doors with blue decorative signs, she led the party to a large room containing a dozen or more cuboid vats. All sides of the enclosures but the tops were made of glass; the way the sunbeams from the clerestory windows refracted into beautiful rainbows made it obvious that the lids were made of a crystalline material of some sort. “As slimes can be surprisingly powerful, the tops are constructed out of magic-sealing crystal to prevent them from escaping.”

When Dahlia approached a tank that contained an ooze of little ones, Idaea explained that they were one-week-old specimens. The blue slimes, each no more than the size of a table tennis ball, meandered together when Idaea inserted a coarse-ground meal of vegetable and meat scraps into the tank. Their bodies jiggled as they chowed down. The monsters didn’t show any apprehension about the presence of people; if anything, they seemed eager to gather around Idaea as she fed them.

“I didn’t know slimes could be so friendly,” said Dahlia.

“They’re a lot more docile when they’re still young.”

Slimes wouldn’t be a welcome sight in a jungle or a bog, but like this? They were adorable little things. At this rate, Dahlia might just get a fish bowl and keep one herself.

Idaea continued, “These specimens here are four weeks old. Once they reach this size, we can take them outside.”

The ones in this vat were quite a bit larger, about the size of two palms. Seventy to eighty percent of the slimes Dahlia had encountered in her school days had been at this stage. She approached the tank and peered through the glass. The slimes’ gelatinous, round, translucent blue bodies wiggled as they bounced around, almost as if they were playing together. There was a log in the middle of their enclosure. Whether it was part of their habitat or for food, it seemed to be quite popular; many of the blue slimes either gathered around or stuck onto it.

A Mountain of Letters and the Employee

“What’s, uh, what’s with all the letters...?” Inside the room that the Rossetti Trading Company rented for their office space within the Merchants’ Guildhall, Dahlia’s desk was buried under three different-sized piles of letters. The total count had to be in the triple digits.

Standing at the other end of the desk, Ivano indicated the tallest bundle. “The biggest stack here are the congratulations and the hopefuls for business in the future.”

“Congratulations, as in for becoming purveyors to the Beast Hunters?”

“There is that, but it’s more to congratulate you on your nomination as consultant to the Order of the Beast Hunters—that is more or less a confirmation of your barony.”

“Oh. Right.” With the excitement of visiting the slime farm and going out with Volf, she had almost forgotten for a moment about the daunting prospect that she would likely become a baroness next year.

“I will reply to those with conventional thank-you letters. The second largest stack here,” Ivano said, gesturing, “these are the cold calls and interview applicants. Most of them will get shut down with a ‘too busy with the zephyricloth’ response. The rest are from nobles, so I will off-load those to Mr. Forto.”

As Dahlia turned her eyes to the centermost and final stack of letters, she worried whether their tiny company of two merited the attention of Viscount Luini, master of the Tailors’ Guild.

“These are the invitations to dinners and tea parties—the blind dates, if you will.”

“Dates? With me?”

“They certainly don’t have my name on the front. See, the end of your engagement just crossed the three-month mark, and so the letters are all flooding in at once. Let me just say that this is a fraction of what you would receive if not for Captain Grato.”

“You’re saying this is a reduced number?”

“Yes, ma’am. Firstly, there aren’t many from married suitors; few would choose to take a self-made baroness as a second wife. Secondly, those without businesses or titles of their own know that they would be lying to themselves if they thought they had a chance.”

“Lying to themselves...” There were apparently standards for marriage eligibility, but they were completely foreign to Dahlia. But that phrase, the “lying” part—Dahlia shuddered. It reminded her too much of how Gildo had referred to her as a lion, and she shook it out of her head.

“There are eleven letters from senders ranging in importance from large trading families to viscounties. What shall we do with them?”

Firm in her response, Dahlia said, “I have no intentions of even entertaining those offers.”

“Okay, I shall reject them on your behalf. With Mr. Carlo’s name, we can refuse those from nobles whose ranks are equal to or less than his own. However, that leaves us with three letters from viscounts. It is inadvisable to cause friction with them. Shall I turn them down in Mr. Leone’s name?”

“Yes, please. Um, actually, have you asked Mr. Leone about that already?”

“Oh, I failed to mention that he has already given us permission to do so if any bothersome marriage proposals come your way. Our stock response is by the book and Madam Gabriella has made his seal available to you.”

Dahlia was indeed very grateful, although she really questioned whether it was all right for her to have the seal. But there seemed to be a bigger problem at hand—Ivano knitted his brow as he pressed a finger against his temple.

“And to think this is just the beginning... Once you become a baroness, you can’t just flatly refuse the other aristocrats like this anymore... Oh, you’ve got to find yourself a noble guardian soon...”

“That’s not a bad idea, I suppose.” A noble guardian was exactly the two parts of the phrase combined—a noble who looked out for someone of lower rank or with no title at all. It wasn’t so much that they directed their ward; the role was more like that of a guarantor—to guarantee a ward’s abilities and perhaps provide help when needed. Dahlia had had her father, who had been a baron, but she had no other relatives in the aristocracy. Her mother’s side of the family were total strangers to her, so even if they ever came into contact again, Dahlia wouldn’t want to ask them for that favor.

“Right. Actually, you have also received a letter from someone offering to be your noble guardian.”

“Is it Mr. Leone?”

Leone had offered his help, so it wouldn’t have surprised Dahlia if he had offered to do this as well, but Ivano shook his head. “It was sent by Head Treasurer Lord Gildovan Diels. Can’t get much better than a marquis.”

Dahlia’s brain refused to comprehend the words he’d just uttered. Coming from Gildovan of Marquisate Diels, it was certainly a shock. On the one hand, all’s well that ends well, right? He had sent a letter of apology, flowers, and sweets, and she had even sent him a thank-you note in return. On the other hand, Dahlia simply could not think of a good reason why he would offer to act as her guardian. “Say what?”

“It was addressed to the company, so I’ve already opened it up and taken a look. What can I say, chairwoman? Looks like you’re very popular...”

With a slightly uneasy look, Ivano brought out a white envelope with fancy gilding. The seal and the elegant penmanship were identical to those on the letter of apology that had been brought to the Green Tower. She timidly unfolded the message and gave it a read; in summary, it said, “I am indebted to Madam Dahlia Rossetti—contact me if trouble arises. Give me the word and I shall be your noble guardian.” She quizzically tilted her head to one side. “Is it that simple to get someone to be my noble guardian? Even if I’m not that close with him?”

“Lord Diels would bear a great deal of responsibility if anything bad were to happen to you, so it’s not exactly a carefree position for him to assume. It’s akin to ‘being a guarantor for a big loan,’ in the words of Mr. Forto.”

“How am I supposed to take him up on his offer, then?” Was it because of his sense of honor as a nobleman that he wanted to repay a debt of gratitude? Was it because he still felt guilty? It befuddled Dahlia to no end. What she did know was that the discord between him and Grato had been resolved. Volf reported that he’d seen Gildo and Grato walking down the halls of the castle, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. It seemed as though Volf still didn’t trust Gildo, though; the mention of the marquis’ name had brought wrinkles to his forehead. “Oh, how about I ask Volf? Or would that be weird?”

“Given his family’s title of earl, it shouldn’t be a problem. However, his youth might be a factor. Do take what I say with a grain of salt—I’m hardly knowledgeable about this sort of stuff—but as I see it, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. The Scalfarotto family isn’t quite as powerful as Lord Diels’, but that would only be for another year or so—until the two are at the same rank.”

“Well, I doubt the Scalfarotto would send me a marriage proposal.”

“You never know. Perhaps someone will fall in love with you at first sight at the castle.”

“That sort of stuff only happens to really, really attractive people, you know?” Dahlia said bluntly. The maids and workers at the castle presumably weren’t likely to fall in love at first sight and get married. Even so, as someone who now frequented the castle, it was obvious to Dahlia—the people there, including the maids and workers, all had incredibly good looks. Even in full makeup, she would be nothing but an ugly duckling. As her eyes glazed over, Ivano gently folded the letter back up and tucked it away.

“Now, chairwoman, I’d like to make a request.”

“And what might that be?”

“I ask that you subcontract out as much as possible of the production of the dryers, stoves, and waterproof cloth. We still have to do the final check of the stoves that go to the Beast Hunters; that should, however, free up some time for you to come up with new products and improvements to existing products. Our profits are through the roof, so I encourage you to spend them freely on development.”

“Um, how much money are we talking about?” The thought had Dahlia on the edge of her seat. She might even get to pick up a rare material or two for research and experimentation.

“You can have thirty gold immediately, and in about a month, you can have another seventy.”

“Excuse me?” A gold piece was the equivalent of one hundred thousand yen—in other words, Ivano was talking about ten million yen. That was undoubtedly a ridiculous sum of money for a novice toolmaker and a fledgling company. “Ivano, are you off by a digit there?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, chairwoman. I’m afraid it’ll be another five years before I’ll be able to throw down three hundred gold in cash.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

“I jest, I jest. But I am also serious.” He fixed his navy blue eyes on Dahlia. “Everything I said is true. Giving you thirty gold pieces right now is no hardship. Be proud, chairwoman; this is the direct result of your foaming soap dispenser, shoe-dryer, and zephyricloth. We have more than enough to cover operating expenses. In five years—and I mean this with all gravity—I will get you ten times the money for research and development.”

She looked at the open ledger. In just two months, and especially of late, the black numbers had grown larger and larger. Dahlia had delegated this side of the business to Ivano since production had started on the zephyricloth, and it was jarring for her to learn of the sudden jump in profits. “But... Since when...”

“Whatever do you mean by that, up-and-coming magical toolmaker, advisor to the Order of Beast Hunters, and chairwoman?” Ivano interspersed his words with bouts of laughter. He must’ve realized that the wheels inside Dahlia’s head weren’t spinning, and he pointed to the ceiling. “When you and Fermo created the soap dispensers, Madam Gabriella, who’s sitting upstairs right now, made a tremendous effort promoting them to the aristocrats. Because of that, decorated glass products are all the rage right now. For noblewomen, they’re indispensable for face washing; for noblemen, they’re popular for shaving.”

“Wow. Has it penetrated the market that deeply already?”

“Yes, and the dispensers have just reached the commoner market too. In fact, they’re so trendy right now that stores are selling out the moment they get any stock. Some stores even have waiting lists, and they’re so long that my wife and daughters only got some leftover prototypes from Fermo.”

“I had no clue...” Dahlia hadn’t seen any dispensers when she visited the shops, so she’d been convinced that they weren’t selling. To think that there was a waiting list...

“Ever since we supplied the knights with the shoe-dryer, it’s become a huge hit amongst the noblemen and other workers at the castle. They’re all clamoring to get one for home use. Shoe stores and the Couriers’ Guild have been buying all they can as well. With increased production and a second warehouse, we’ve finally been able to keep up with demand.”

“Two warehouses...” she mumbled to herself. Certainly, they couldn’t be big ones, she thought.

“Finally, there’s the compact magical stove. There are many companies that make their own and outsource the production too, but the ones that you make and stamp with the Rossetti name are being sold for three times the price.”

“What? Are ours that unreasonable?”

“No, we wholesale them at around the same price as everyone else. But because our brand has become well-known, the retailers are marking them up.”

Perhaps consumers found peace of mind buying from the inventors of the product. Dahlia recalled home appliance development and sales from her previous life and swore to do better.

Now that the foaming soap dispensers were selling in the quintuple digits, the craftsman Fermo would visit in a few days to discuss warehouses and hiring additional help. Another week after that, Dahlia would learn that the two warehouses for the shoe-dryers were in fact large dockside ones.

Furthermore, there were rumors regarding the Rossetti-stamped compact magical stoves. It was said that the chairwoman of the company shaved down her profits in exchange for the honor of placing her name on the bottom of the stoves, all in order to help the Order of Beast Hunters. The honest and heroic chairwoman put her name there as a charm to protect the backs of the fighting men, so that they would come home safely from their expeditions. In the taverns, the bards got together and wrote a spoony ballad in praise of the woman named Rossetti, but it was not a tune or a story that Ivano and Dahlia knew.

“Since we’ve been well in the black for the past while,” Ivano said, “I believe some of the money should be put into Ms. Dahlia’s personal coffers, as well as those of the Rossetti Trading Company.”

“Sure, that’s not a problem. Is it better that the accounts be separate?”

“Yes. The numbers we’re dealing with are quite large already, and it makes filing taxes easier as well. And it’s also a benefit to you, as no one else will be able to see what your personal finances are like; that would make things difficult for me and future employees.” It was important to think ahead. The more people the company hired, the more diligent Dahlia had to be about her privacy. Ivano continued, “You may check the ledgers any time you wish. We should also have a scrivener check over our books every two months and write us official reports.”

“I know you’re an honest man, Ivano.”

“While I appreciate the confidence you place in me, not having those reports would be a very bad thing for a company dealing with the castle. Getting audited would be even worse.”

“Oh, right, that makes sense.” Trustworthiness was a big deal for a partner of the castle, and that had to include good bookkeeping.

“Our next shipment of waterproof cloth is shaping up to be a big one too.”

“Did someone find a new way to use it?”

“Nothing new in particular, just the usual wagon bonnets, tents, housewrap, that kind of thing. It might be because we have new sales channels opening up,” he said. Dahlia wondered where the sudden spike in customers or sales came from, but she had little idea how this side of the business worked anyway. “For the dryers and stoves, we’ve managed to find enough manufacturers for now, but we lack workshops and magical toolmakers for the waterproof cloth. What I’m hearing is that it’s rather difficult to get an even finish on the surface.”

“That’s right. It requires a steady stream of magic, or else there are a lot of dips and bumps.” The truth was that Dahlia had had a hard time making waterproof cloth lately; her magic had increased but her fine control had yet to become stable.

“Do you have anyone in mind that we can hire?”

“Um, I might...” She didn’t know if she wanted to give him the name, but as it turned out, she didn’t need to.

“Ah, Tobias, is it? Shall I pay a visit to Orlando & Co.? Of course, I’ll handle all communication with them.” It was impressive how Ivano had glossed over her hesitancy and arrived at the right answer, but come to think of it, the only magical toolmaker whom she was familiar with who made the waterproof cloth was Tobias.

“Sure, but might they be too busy? After all, they’re the biggest producers of it in the castle.”

“No, their magical tools department has had a lot of free time as of late. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Oh, is that right?” Dahlia didn’t mean to probe any further, but those were the words that came out of her mouth. Orlando & Co. should have been busy with orders for the waterproof cloth, dryers, and desiccants, amongst other products. They should have been so busy, they would even need subcontractors working for them.

“Worried?”

“Uh, I mean, I’m not not worried.”

“Tobias has made himself a bit of an enemy with the Merchants’ Guild. He has been receiving fewer orders of magical tools and making fewer connections to vendors. Well, Orlando & Co. has other business as well, so it’s not as though they’re about to go bankrupt any time soon. Unless you will it, chairwoman.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Dahlia understood his words but not his implication.

“The Rossetti Trading Company has guarantors in the person of the master of the Merchants’ Guild, Volf of Earldom Scalfarotto, a co-developer in the master of the Tailors’ Guild, slime farming interests with the Adventurers’ Guild, official purveyor status for the Order of Beast Hunters, and a chairwoman who is an advisor for the Beast Hunters and soon to be baroness. We are well-armed, so to say. If you have reservations about Orlando & Co., you have the power to assert your influence.”

“Ivano, just what are you suggesting...?”

“Chairwoman—no, Ms. Dahlia, I ask you for your honest thoughts. Do you have reservations about Orlando?” Never had those navy blue eyes looked more like ice. “If you never wish to see Tobias again, you can have him gone from the capital. If you have to settle a score with Orlando & Co., give it some time and they will undoubtedly go out of business. You needn’t show mercy. If you so wish, Ms. Dahlia, just give me the word.”

She took a moment to let his words sink in, but her own words, when they followed, came out strangely hoarse, shocking even herself. “No, Ivano, it’s all in the past.”

“You are still young, Ms. Dahlia. You have as much a future in love and marriage as you do in work. If the breaking off of your engagement is still binding you down, wouldn’t you say it would be better to break those chains once and for all and start anew?”

Ah, so that was it—Ivano’s words finally made sense now. Dahlia had avoided talking about love and marriage and had refused all proposals that she marry rich, so he had been worrying that her past relationship with Tobias was tying her down. But it wasn’t true. She had never felt freer than now. Tobias’s brother Ireneo had already apologized on behalf of the Orlandos and their company. Never had she felt more fulfilled with life, spending her days having fun with her friends—including Volf—and working with Ivano, Fermo, and the rest of the Gandolfi Workshop. She didn’t bear any resentment towards Tobias or the Orlandos. Though the pain might still linger, her engagement was already a scar—rather, without her even realizing, it had become a scar.

“Ivano, thank you very much for your concern. I’m truly fine. Right now, I’m not thinking about romance or wherever that may lead. Not only do I have my work to focus on, having fun with my friends is also a top priority of mine. So, please, do not do anything to Orlando & Co. Treat them like any other company—we will interact with them if we have business, so keep those bridges unburned.”

“Understood. It seems that I read too much into things, and for that I apologize. But don’t forget this either, chairwoman: I’m aiming to become your right-hand man. I want as many of your honest thoughts and opinions as I can get. Of course, I don’t presume that I can meet all of your expectations...”

“Thank you. You’ve already met all my expectations and have surpassed them ten times over. Be proud of yourself too, Ivano.” If she didn’t have Ivano to rely on for the business side of things, the company wouldn’t be where it was at. Merchandise management, operations, accounting, dealings with the nobility, and his counsel—his help so far had been immeasurable, and what lay ahead would be riding on him as well. He was well past being just the right hand. “I don’t think you need to aim to become my right-hand man either. You alone manage half of the company and all of the business—you’ve already become the whole right side of the body that is the Rossetti Trading Company.”

All of a sudden, Ivano covered his face with both hands and folded over. “Hngk...”

“Wh-What’s wrong?! Are you feeling unwell or...”

“No, I’m fine. To receive praise from you so directly is just, well, a little embarrassing for me...”

“Oh, no, did I say something weird again? I didn’t make a fool of myself with a saying or anything, did I?” Dahlia panicked; the regular occurrence of unintentionally making romantic gestures had traumatized her.

“No, you’re okay. I’m just feeling bashful because of your high praise. There’s also the fact that I made a grave promise to my wife to ‘never show my blushing face to another woman...’”

She understood that to mean she mustn’t look at Ivano’s face right now, and so she kept her eyes glued to the open ledger on the desk. She flipped through the pages and realized that Ivano’s wages hadn’t changed one bit since the founding of the company. “Oh, I forgot! I promised you I’d give you a raise once we started turning a profit. Let’s add as many zeros as we can to your salary!”

“I sincerely thank you for the raise starting this month. I’m sure my wife will be very pleased as well,” Ivano said with great humor, but from the gaps between his fingers, his face presumably still tinged pink.

Afterwards, the two of them continued to discuss business, though their gazes seemed to be magnetically repelled from one another. Dahlia did not see Ivano’s tears that day.

The Forest Serpent’s Slip

Underneath bright blue skies streaked with white, as if put there by the bristles of a brush, the Order of Beast Hunters had mobilized to a grassy plain a short distance from the highway to do some mowing. More accurately, they were trimming the black tendrils of devil nettles. The monsters’ black arms crept through the tall grass, coiling around any unsuspecting victims who walked too close, and sucked their blood dry. It was a hazard that needed to be kept at bay, but the task was no easy feat—the vines’ sharp thorns meant pain when they pierced armor and skin, and their barbs meant more pain in trying to remove them. Passersby were generally safe from the threat, but travelers and their horses straying off the path would become monster feed. And though the devil nettles stayed away from the highway, their prolific growth this year called for the Beast Hunters’ services.

“Doesn’t seem nearly as bad this year,” said one knight.

“Only because we had Volf and Kirk,” replied another.

“Volf really swings that scythe like nobody else. Ain’t called the Black Reaper for nothin’, I s’pose.”

The chatty knights watched the scarlet-clad Volf dance through the field, as though neither his instrument nor his body weighed much more than the grass surrounding him. The process was not as leisurely as it looked, though—he sprinted from cluster to cluster, slicing off the vines that reached out towards him. Matching his pace were Dorino and a handful of squadmates, all wielding scythes of their own. The rookie Kirk and other mages blasted the Scarlet Armors with air magic, assisting them with a tailwind. This supporting role—speeding up the front line—was a new practice; in previous years, the mages had used their powers to attack the devil nettles directly.

“First line, initial mowing complete!” the knights sounded off.

“Second line, support the mages and advance!” came a new order.

The mages, protected by the knights, combined fire and water magic and scalded the devil nettles at medium range, stunning them into sluggishness.

“All units, cut down the area!” The Scarlet Armor vanguards and the rest of the knights hacked away at the devil nettles with scythes and spears, clearing the area in no time.

After the cull, the knights marched to their campsite farther along the highway.

“Ugh. Couldn’t we just get rid of all of them?” grumbled a young knight as he sucked the blood out of a wound in the back of his hand; those barbs must’ve pierced through his leather gloves.

“Get rid of too many of them and there’ll be nothing keeping the monsters in the woods, which would make these roads a lot more dangerous. And apparently, the devil nettles make for a good medicine against some kind of uncommon but very infectious disease,” said an older member of the order.

“That makes sense. I guess it’s not like they can cultivate the monster within city walls for medicine.” The young knight sighed as he stared at the hole in his leather glove, likely bitter because it looked so new.

“You can get that patched up no problem. Just send it out to the tailors in the castle repair shop; they’ll mend it for free.”

“Oh, it’s not that. These gloves were a gift, and I’m just feeling a little down that she might be worried sick for me.”

“She? Your girlfriend? Fiancée?”

The young knight muttered the truth. “My mother...”

Dorino clapped him three times on the back, while the other members smiled warmly in silence.

Volf peeled off his sweaty gloves and gently wiped down his sköll bracelet with a handkerchief. He thought about Dahlia’s fair and delicate wrist and her gold protective bracelet—the one that completely protected her from poison, confusion, petrification, soporifics, anesthetics, and even aphrodisiacs. She was borrowing it from Oswald until she could make one of her own. Volf had wanted her to get it over with, but it seemed as though it wasn’t that easy to craft.

Dahlia’s bracelet had four different rare materials of four different colors embedded in the inside: the white piece was unicorn horn, black was bicorn horn, red was fire dragon scale, and green was forest serpent heart. She already had some unicorn horn on hand, and she had recently acquired some bicorn horn from the mutant that Volf had slain. All that was left to assemble were the fire dragon scale and the forest serpent heart.

Fire dragons were said to live far to the south, though Volf had never seen one before. Their scales showed up for sale in auctions from time to time, so perhaps Guido could be persuaded to help. On the other hand, forest serpents lived in a much broader area, but it was quite uncommon to come across one. The Beast Hunters had come across one during the titan frog hunt a while back. Unfortunately, Volf had been too busy writing his report on the toe socks and had missed out on it. He would’ve put in a reservation for the monster’s heart if he had known she would need one. He prayed to the gods that he would encounter one soon for Dahlia’s sake.

“Hm? What’s that noise?” Something heavy was dragging itself along the forest floor and snapping off twigs and branches in its path.

“Whatever it is, it’s headed our way.” The knights readied their weapons and got into formation, catching glimpses of a green giant weaving between the tall trees. Its torso was as wide as a trunk and stretched on for some distance, and its black-speckled green eyes sparkled in joy at the sight of a big meal.

It was a forest serpent, or the Green King. Seldom did travelers or merchants encounter one, but when they did, they would sacrifice their cargo and horses and pray that they could get away safely.

“Hisssss!” The threatening call of the ruler of the woods echoed in the sky.

Apparently, someone must’ve heard Volf and answered his prayers right away. “Speak of the, er, serpent! I’m in luck!”

Dorino clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, that’s a forest serpent. You were looking for one, Volf?”

“Yeah, Dahlia wants its parts,” he said, showing a broad smile.

None of the men were afraid or nervous; they chatted as normal. “Miss Dahlia needs something? We ought to slay it, then,” suggested one of the knights.

“Okay, let’s do it. Encircle the monster and make sure it doesn’t get away.”

“Mages, could you please flank the forest serpent and immobilize it? The bow knights will take front and center.”

“Got it. Oh, but we should be careful to not damage its parts, right?”

“Hey Volf, which part does Madam Rossetti need?”

“The heart.”

The knights then turned their attention to the snake; its dark green tongue flicked out as if a question mark had popped up above its head. “Hisssss...” it called out, seemingly less confident than before, almost as though it understood their conversation, even if only a little.

“Captain, do we have permission to—sir, not the Ash-Hand! You’ll cremate the whole thing!”

“Hm? Oh, right.” At the knight’s strong reminder, Grato sheathed his magical sword; the gray blade had already started smoking in anticipation of the action. “Well, I don’t want to ruin the monster, so I may as well sit this one out. Our squad’s own madam toolmaker has requested its parts, so permission granted.”

“Aye, sir. A show of hands: who would like to volun—oh, enthusiastic bunch today.” Every knight had a hand up—wiseguy Dorino even raised both. “Bow knights and mages, hold the monster in place! Volf, since you’ve got the details, you take the lead!”

“Thank you! I believe Dahlia is planning to crystallize it, so it doesn’t matter if the heart is in two or three pieces, just as long as it doesn’t get burned up,” Volf explained. “Let’s get into large monster formation one, go easy on the magic, then fell it in a single shot once we bind it down.”

“Bind it and cut it. Understood. Should we harvest its other parts too?”

“The skin should sell well. Since the castle hasn’t put in a request for anything, we can pass it off to the Adventurers’ Guild this time. Couldn’t hurt to get some fresh meat for chow either.”

As they discussed amongst themselves, the bow knights and mages did as instructed; the whistling of greatbow arrows flying through the air drowned out the hisses and the snapping of branches as the serpent struggled. Mages continued by evoking air magic to blind the monster while the knights reformed their line.

But as Volf got into position, the memory of the time when he and Marcello had gone out to drink cropped up. “Now that you mention it, when I went drinking down in the city, I heard that forest serpent is a bit of a delicacy. I haven’t tried it myself, but it purportedly ‘fortifies and invigorates the body,’ whatever that means.”

“Hm. Worth a shot if it can relieve my fatigue.”

“Sure doesn’t look appetizing. It’s not exactly lean meat, right?”

“It isn’t too bad if grilled over an open flame, though it’s a little pricey for commonfolk. Dried serpent is also popular with guys in the city center,” Dorino explained with sword in hand to the two older knights. “As it is, it’s fatty and rich, kind of like an oily fish or particularly pungent poultry. It goes great with strong seasoning.”

“Hey, we’ve still got a jar of dipping sauce that Dahlia made for the squad,” Volf said to everyone’s excitement.

“That sounds like a plan!”

“I bet it’d go down great with a drink too!”

“There’s no shortage of meat either. A monster that size would feed the whole squad twice over.”

The men clamored and drooled as they set their sights on the forest serpent—a look it had likely never encountered before in its prey.

“H-Hisssss...?”

It was a look signaling that the hunter had become the hunted.

Given that the prey was outnumbered by so many predators, the fight wrapped up in a flash. The process of butchering the monster and moving its parts took much longer in comparison, given the size of it all.

The plan was to make camp here, then begin the journey back to the capital first thing at dawn. The slightly sloped field made for a good resting place for the men and their horses. When mealtime came around, some knights lit fires, but most of them brought out their camp stoves. The man with eyes of liquid gold inspected his own stove, stamped “Rossetti,” then set it on top of the waterproof cloth.

Dorino came asking, “Yo, Volf, which one would you like: beef or the spoils of our battle? Or both?”

“I’m good. I’ve brought my own.”

“What do you have in there?” He pointed to Volf’s leather sack chilling on some ice crystals.

“It’s leftover beef from lunch that I’ve got marinating.” It was the same barbecue sauce that Dahlia had made for the rest of the squad, but this one was tweaked just a little bit—lighter on the honey, heavier on the ginger, and with a slightly different balance of herbs and spices to suit Volf’s tastes.

“Ah, so it’s Ms. Dahlia’s cooking, then? Lucky bastard...”

“I offer you a trade,” said Randolph.

“No, thank you!”

“Aw, come on, man. At least share your secret sauce. We’re leaving first thing in the morning, so it’s not like you’ll be able to finish it all anyway,” Dorino said, sighing.

Volf weighed his options. “Two spoonfuls. And ten people max.”

“How stingy can you be, Earl Scalfarotto?! Hell, your family’s about to rise to the rank of marquis!”

“That has nothing to do with anything!” As the schoolboys argued, there was a tug on Volf’s sleeve.

“Um, would you please give me some, Sir Volf?” Kirk pleaded. “I’ll give you half of my wine in exchange.”

Volf looked into his green puppy-dog eyes and lost the battle of wills. “Oh, uh, sure...”

The older knights started whispering amongst themselves. “Damn. Kirk’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“Fine. I offer you a spoon of jam in exchange,” Randolph said.

“I’m not huge on sweets...”

“Oh, but it’s from the store that Miss Dahlia introduced me to?”

“Forget about the trade for a moment, Randolph. When and where did your conversation take place?” Volf glared at his friend.

Randolph looked back with a coy smile. “Hm. I wonder...”

“Ease up on the teasing, Randolph! He’s about to start seething real soon,” chided Dorino. “And Volf, you can stand to be a little more generous. The rest of you can roshambo for some!” What followed was a series of desperate battles of rock paper scissors that lasted for quite some time.

“They’re like children on their first field trip,” said the grizzled knight with a tired smile. The young’uns were having a blast grilling and sharing food with each other. Another senior knight went over to them, as though to tell the boys to behave themselves, but in reality, he ended up joining in on the action. “They’ve grown soft.”

“It’s fine. I can tell they’re still vigilant about their surroundings, and they all have their weapons at their side,” the captain reassured him. “Expeditions might just be like this from now on. They’ll fight well when it’s time to fight, eat well when it’s time to eat, and sleep well when it’s time to sleep. Everyone will share laughs, then get home safely. Isn’t that all we can ask for?”

The grizzled knight grimaced at the sentiment.

“Does it bother you?” Grato asked.

“If I may be honest, sir, I’m a little miffed. Not because they’re doing anything wrong, but...” He trailed off in search of the right words. “I can’t help but regret that this didn’t happen sooner.”

“You’re going to be labeled an old man if you keep counting missed opportunities in anger, you know?” Grato retrieved a silver flask from his breast pocket and began filling a pair of wooden cups.

“Might I remind you, captain, that I am an old man. Anyway, what is this?” He narrowed his eyes at the cup that Grato put into his hands. A fragrant nose rose from the amber liquid, which seemed all too precious to be drunk any other way than neat.

“A fine liquor from a friend. We can’t let the kids have all the fun. But I’ve only got enough for the three of us, so keep it on the down-low,” Grato said with a wink. The third portion quenched the blade of the Ash-Hand, which now sat unsheathed.

The grizzled knight silently brought his cup to eye level, toasting their departed comrades. There had been those fallen who could not be brought home, and Grato had had to drive his sword into their bodies to prevent them from being eaten by monsters and animals. It was a visceral sensation he could never forget, and it was one he did not care to experience ever again.

When the ashen sword had drunk up all of the alcohol, Grato put it back into its scabbard. He did like the sword had and downed his drink in one shot; the liquor brought him some comfort as it nestled inside him.

As the golden spirits vanished, two more pools of gold appeared inside of the tent. “Would you care for some forest serpent, sir? You might be surprised by how good it is,” offered Volf in a cheery voice.

“I’ve had some before on previous expeditions. Can’t say I really enjoy how greasy it is...”

“We rendered some of the fat out by slowly grilling it, and it turned out really good paired with Dahlia’s sauce.”

The captain eyed the meat neatly laid out on the grill grate. “I’ll try some.”

Volf brought the barbecue closer to Grato, enticing him with the mouthwatering smoky scent. “Sir, I have a request, but I know that it may be out of line.”

“Ask away.”

“There is more forest serpent than we can carry home in our wagons, so I’m wondering if we could have you use the Ash-Hand to dehydrate the leftovers...”

“And wholesale it to the Adventurers’ Guild?”

“Not exactly, sir. I’m hoping to give the dried meat out to whoever would like some. One of the more senior knights said that he didn’t have the heart to go home and complain about how tiring his expeditions had been. Forest snake is also said to be nutritious and to revitalize the body, making it very popular with working-class men. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but hopefully it can help the boys out.”

“I’m sure you know, Volf, the captain’s sword isn’t a food dehydrator.” The grizzled knight’s admonishment seemed to have taken the wind out of Volf’s sails.

The Grato of the past would have likely refused as well. Ash-Hand was the same sword that slew monsters and friends alike; it wouldn’t be fitting to make jerky with it. But the captain resolved to put that behind him. His men were cooking, laughing, drinking, and eating together—they were enjoying their time with each other. The lives of monsters and friends had paid for this moment, so they may as well enjoy the gifts they were given. “Why not? I’ll do it. The Ash-Hand hasn’t seen much action as of late; I wouldn’t want to have it start rusting in its scabbard.”

“Thank you very much, sir!” Volf bowed gratefully as he presented his superiors with the perfectly grilled skewers.

Grato accepted the grate with a smile of his own. “Dibs on the jerky.”

“Wha—” Exactly as he’d expected, her eyes grew another size. It was only natural that she, too, would be afraid of someone who was blighted and grew scales. Many women would scream, and if they managed to stop themselves from doing so, they would find a reason to excuse themselves. Jonas was sure that the next time they met, she would only see a monster. “What did you do that for?! Look at you, you’re obviously in pain!”

“What for? Well, I, erm...” Her rebuke caught him by surprise, and he stumbled over his words.

“You could’ve at least gently plucked them one by one! There’s no way that didn’t hurt you...” For whatever reason, she looked as though she were about to cry.

Not only that, but Volf looked at her with concern. It was clear that he was learning how to fight because he wanted to protect the girl, and Jonas’s stunt had probably put him on full alert. Looked like there was more to teach his disciple.

“I assure you, Madam Rossetti, that it was not painful. I apologize that they may be somewhat dirty, but please have them if it would help you.”

“No, I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry for losing my cool, and thank you.” Rossetti bowed deeply and accepted the scales, but her green eyes remained fixed on the bald patch on his arm. “Um, your arm...”

“The bleeding will stop momentarily.”

“So you did injure yourself, then! You’re going to stain your clothes like this too.” She retrieved a handkerchief from her small bag before circling around the table to reach him. Then, as if it were the obvious thing to do, she took his arm and bandaged up the bleeding spot.

Jonas hadn’t thought for a moment that she would dare touch him, and he stood there dumbfounded as she tended to him with her soft hands. The handkerchief, too pure and white, was nearly blinding to look at directly with his elongated and dilated pupil, and he reverted it back to normal.

“Thank you very much for putting up with my unreasonable request.” After Rossetti bound his wound in a panic, she frowned at the bandage, now dyed crimson, and looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment. It seemed to him like she was the anxious, restless type.

“Thank you very much for tending to me as well. Please take solace in the fact that new scales will grow soon.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Even Volf worried for him.

The pair were such worrywarts. Jonas was a bodyguard and attendant to Guido, so it wasn’t as if any injury of his merited this kind of fretting in the first place. Afterwards, Volf and Rossetti strongly encouraged antiseptics, proper bandaging, a healing potion, a physician, and everything else under the sun, and it took a very long time for Jonas to convince them that it was all very unnecessary. It was slightly aggravating to see Guido sitting there smiling with only his eyes, feigning ignorance, and munching on his cured seafood skewer.

With the party over, Volf offered to take his friend back to her home. The black-haired man and the red-haired woman walked down the little path that connected the garden to the main building, their laughter trailing behind them.

Guido smiled softly as he watched them walk off. “Now, shall we compare our assessments before our guest comes around again? From my point of view, there’s nothing to suspect; she’s white. What say you, Jonas?”

“She’s white as can be, or maybe I should say red—what you see is what you get.”

“And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“She came alone without an attendant, she didn’t realize I was in the room until you pointed me out, and she didn’t mind me standing behind her. She didn’t take up your offer of a free lunch, and even after you said she might become a problem for Volf, she still partook in the tea and sweets without so much as a hint of doubt or caution—well, that may be because she had her bracelet.”

“True. She sure ate well too.” Guido made a good point. A young noblewoman would never gorge herself on sweets, then demolish more barbecue afterwards, at least not in the presence of men. Her lack of pretense was refreshing.

Jonas decided to keep that opinion from Volf, however. “She didn’t bat an eye when I swiftly switched out her plate, nor did she notice the knife I was holding. She didn’t react to the sound of me drawing my sword. At first I thought that she might not have noticed, but later, she clearly heard me utter under my breath that you weren’t getting a full portion of dinner tonight. From these things, I’d say that the thought of needing to be on guard against us wasn’t even on her mind.”

The purpose of switching her plate and flashing the knife had been to test her reflexes; anyone who was a trained fighter or assassin would have reacted on instinct. But Rossetti? She just watched as though it were a prestidigitation performance.

“Hell, you had me worrying when you switched out our plates so quickly. I was about to leap out of my seat.”

“I’m the one who should have been worrying. I believe I’ve been cautioning you about your waistline, yet there you were gobbling down desserts and seafood,” said Jonas, only to receive laughter in response. He was going to put his foot down about giving Guido a smaller portion for dinner, but it’d just be laughed off again. Jonas prayed that he wouldn’t have to join his master for the aforementioned training sessions. He continued, “She also froze up when Lord Volf unleashed his intimidation, which means that she has no combat experience. She also did not seem guarded when she felt my magic. Long story short, I don’t think she’ll bring harm to Lord Volf or the Scalfarotto family, and she’s too scrupulous to fall for anything that’s too good to be true.”

Jonas had previously investigated the woman named Dahlia Rossetti but hadn’t been able to dig up any dirt on her. She had been an honors student, and after graduation proved to be a talented magical toolmaker. Nothing stood out in her personal history, save for her engagement having been broken off. However, her encounter with Volf marked a period of upheaval in her life. She had started her own company, gotten involved with the Zola Company, suddenly become purveyor for the Order of the Beast Hunters, and had even been appointed as their advisor—a dramatic change in a mere three months. Not even Guido could understand how it had come to be. Was some powerful family backing her? Had someone assumed her identity? Was she taking orders? He had turned over every stone, and today was the culmination of his investigation.

As someone who’d had extensive training in the martial arts, Jonas had a good grasp on the capabilities of the people he met. He could tell how much combat experience or training others had had. However, those notions weren’t even on the table when it came to this woman. She was notably tense but displayed no sense of vigilance. She wouldn’t be a very good fighter even if she were trained, what with her frankly dull reflexes. She seemed to have no sense of danger, not even fear, when facing a half-monster such as Jonas. That wasn’t to say she was totally fearless; she’d frozen up under Volf’s intimidation, after all. Whether this was typical of female commoners in general, Jonas did not know. What he did know was that this Dahlia woman was naive and vulnerable, and that he empathized with Volf and his anxiety around her.

“I believe she is someone to be trusted,” Guido began, “and I’d like to support Volf’s close friend. I don’t think father should find it a problem if I were to tell him. What do you think?”

“I agree. She’s just a normal girl who doesn’t know too much about noble proprieties. Well, I suppose she is anything but normal, though.”

“Mm. She’s a kind and courageous young lady.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect her to wrap my scaly arm like that.” Jonas strained a smile at his bandaged arm. She hadn’t so much as flinched when she touched his cold hard scales. In fact, Rossetti had even used her fair, delicate fingers to gingerly place his bloody plucked scales in another handkerchief—this time aqua—and packaged them ever so neatly, as though they were a treasure dear to her heart. It was weird, if anything.

“And I didn’t expect you to be so well-behaved when she touched your right arm.”

“Whatever do you mean by that, Guido?” The conversation took a sharp turn, and Jonas side-eyed his friend. The knight and his guest had already disappeared into the distance, and the master and his attendant made their way to the pond. The wind ruffled the surface of the water for a moment, and then all was still.

“You know I’d give you anything that you wish for, Jonas, but her, I respectfully ask you to leave alone.” Jonas was dumbstruck at Guido’s sudden gravity; he was such a doting brother—a terminal case, really. Just what was his master fretting over? The two had been the best of friends for so long; there was no way he didn’t know Jonas’s tastes, and this broad didn’t suit them at all.

“Come on. Not my cup of tea. I’m sure she’s sweet down to her blood, but forgive me for not having a sweet tooth,” the servant quipped back to his friend, who still had yet to look his way. Besides, there was yet another reason for him to keep his distance. “That flower is what my student is protecting with such vigilance. The only thing for me to do is watch it bloom from afar.”

Interlude: The Employee’s Invitation to the After-Party

As Ivano sat in the extravagant parlor, he didn’t hesitate to help himself to the aromatic sparkling wine poured for him in a fine crystal glass, though he lacked the composure to savor it fully.

Earlier today, he had suddenly been summoned to the castle, but when he got there, the only tasks that were waiting for him were to check over the ledgers and the content of the deliveries to the Mages’ Corps, which included waterproof cloth and other trivial magical tools. It had only been then that everything clicked for him: he had been pulled aside so that Dahlia, at the invitation of Volf’s brother Guido, would go alone to the Scalfarotto villa. Nothing should have happened to Dahlia, since Volf was there too, but her safety still weighed on Ivano’s mind. He had decided that if he still could not get ahold of her by evening, he would check in with Volf, Gabriella, Forto of the Tailors’ Guild, and then Grato of the Order of the Beast Hunters—in that order.

After settling himself down, Ivano had calmly set about his work at the castle and then, once everything was complete, left after a few hours. Waiting for him at his parked carriage had been the coachman with an invitation to the “after-party” sent by Guido. Given that Dahlia had gone already, what right had Ivano to decline? He had accepted the invitation on the spot and headed to the so-called headquarters of the Rossetti Trading Company, Volf’s villa. He had been brought to the parlor and there he was now waiting.

To complement the undoubtedly very nice bottle of sparkling wine, there were an assortment of exceptional cheeses, smoked salmon with a beautiful glossy sheen, crackers with various toppings, and bite-size sandwiches cut to show off alluring cross sections. This was no fare for a mere tea party but a substantial dinner; Ivano needed to try at least one of everything, which meant, unfortunately, it would be another day before he tasted his darling wife’s home cooking again.

Gluttony aside, though, it was also a matter of etiquette that a merchant partake in the food and drink when waiting at a noble’s home; it symbolized that Ivano wasn’t suspicious of Guido—so he had learned from Forto. It also helped that Ivano had on his protective bracelet hidden under his right sleeve and it wasn’t reacting to anything.

When the servant filled Ivano’s glass for the second time, the door swung open. “Terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,” said a mild-mannered man in a soft voice as he walked in. He had cool silver hair and deep blue eyes. None of his features resembled Volf’s, and he looked more like a bureaucrat than a knight. Lurking in his shadow was his rusty-haired attendant; even Ivano could tell he was more so Guido’s bodyguard. Noticeably absent were Volf and Dahlia, however.

“Not at all. My name is Ivano Mercadante of the Rossetti Trading Company. I’m very honored to receive your invitation today.”

“Very glad to have you, Mercadante. Need I introduce myself?”

“I’m well-acquainted with your name, Sir Guido Scalfarotto, marquis-in-waiting. I would like to express my gratitude for everything both you and your brother Sir Volfred have done for us.”

After the round of greetings, Guido smiled and urged Ivano to take a seat. “Please feel free to call me by my first name; Volf and I are both Scalfarottos, after all.”

“I shall do that, thank you very much. Please call me Ivano as well.”

Guido beat Ivano to the punch. “If you’re curious about Madam Rossetti, Volf has taken her home already. A wonderful lady, she is.” Given his positive comment and with Volf by her side, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Guido dismissed the server; then his attendant brought him a glass of the same sparkling wine that Ivano had been drinking. Guido loosened his necktie and sank into his seat, looking extremely carefree. “I know we’re both busy men, so let me cut to the chase. And don’t worry about etiquette and all that either; I won’t fault you for it.”

“Thank you for being so considerate; I shall take you up on your offer. As well, I thank you for all of your support behind the scenes.”

“I haven’t done anything—Volf didn’t want me to.”

“I have heard through the grapevine that you introduced our little company to many people.”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Guido said, waving the notion away with his hand. “I offhandedly mentioned to the other guests at dinner that my brother had become a guarantor for the Rossetti Trading Company and that I would like to support them as well.”

“On behalf of the company, thank you very much.” There was no doubt that the recent influx of direct orders for the company’s magical tools, including the waterproof cloth, was thanks to this man. If a soon-to-be-marquis was going around and saying he’d like to support a certain business, other aristocrats would quietly follow suit; they wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of a marquis but would rather curry favor instead. Orlando & Co. must be sweating too.

“Well, Madam Rossetti has been looking out for Volf. Though, I have to say, my contribution is surely but a drop in the bucket, seeing you have the backing of Forto of the Tailors’, Augusto of the Adventurers’, Lord Grato, and Lord Gildo.” His choice to drop their roles and titles was nothing short of bragging about being on a first-name basis with the knight captain and the head treasurer. “Ah, did you find it strange that I addressed Lord Grato and Lord Gildo by their names, despite them being longtime marquis?”

His perception was deeply concerning; it was as though he had read Ivano’s mind. However, Guido’s blue eyes were marked with kindness, and as far as Ivano could tell, he didn’t seem one bit nervous or otherwise guarded. Guido explained, “Lord Grato and I both work in the same workplace, so it’s often that we see each other. Many of the men under my command in the Mages’ Corps have joint operations with the Beast Hunters. Besides, my grandmother’s family was a cadet branch of Lord Grato’s family, and because of that, the children of the first wife are all named in a similar fashion—my father’s name is Renato, mine Guido, and my brother’s Eraldo.”

“I see,” said Ivano, despite not seeing the resemblance at all. As a commoner, a practice like that just seemed so foreign. Their consanguinity was news to him, though, and it was apparent that nobles’ clans extended to include distant families.

“As for Lord Gildo, he has graciously accepted me as a friend, and we call each other by our first names.” Gildo was the only name on the list that was a little dubious, but Ivano kept that to himself. Guido swirled the wine in his glass and continued, “Ivano, I’m asking you this just once: are you connected?”

“No, I’m not. The only strings connected to my back lead to Chairwoman Dahlia’s fingers.”

“Good, that’s good to hear. There are rumors that the Rossetti Trading Company is hers in name, but that in reality, it is your company, you see.”

“Mere rumors, I assure you. Both our products and our company are of our chairwoman’s own making.”

“It sounds like it’s complete balderdash meant to lead people astray, then.”

“That is exactly it, sir.” Ivano had never thought that even people like himself and Dahlia would be targets; he couldn’t imagine how many rumors the likes of Volf, Forto, or Grato had had to contend with up to this point. It wasn’t as though these rumors bad-mouthing Dahlia circulated in public either—no one had so great a distaste for living as to make themselves an enemy to a marquis family.

“Is there anything that your company currently needs? I’m sure capital is not a problem, but perhaps there are problems to be solved?”

“There is one thing. I’m not so sure what to do about a noble guardian for Chairwoman Dahlia.”

“Volf wouldn’t be the best option, seeing how he’s often away on expeditions and thus may be unavailable if something should happen,” Guido said. “How about me? Only with Madam Rossetti’s permission, of course.”

“Personally, I would be deeply appreciative if that were to be the case.”

“I’ll talk to my brother; I’m sure he’ll understand if I say I’ll be his proxy. Could you propose it to Madam Rossetti? Let her know that I’m acting on Volf’s behalf and that it’s an apology for my rudeness today.”

That caught Ivano’s attention, but he decided to wait and ask Dahlia what act of rudeness Guido had committed today. “Very well, I shall do that. What would be appropriate to offer you in return?” Ivano asked. It was only a good idea that he offer something; owing multiple favors to a nobleman was a frightening thought, and he’d rather repay with all that he had.

“Hm, let’s see. How about I ask something not of your company but of you personally?”

“If it is within my means.” Was there something that he could provide that Guido couldn’t get? Ivano doubted it.

“I ask that you protect the Rossetti Trading Company—or rather, Miss Dahlia herself. If there is ever anything beyond the scope of your abilities, let me know.”

“Thank you. If such a thing should ever occur, I would be grateful to be able to call upon your help.” Protect Dahlia—a promise Ivano had already made to Volf. Perhaps Volf had asked Guido to extract the same promise again, or perhaps the siblings were all too similar.

“By the way, I know that you’ve been looking out for Volf as well, so is there anything that you personally need? I’d like to think I can offer money or houses or what have you.”

“If there is one thing I would like, it is information. I would be grateful if you could show me how to gather information, even if you taught me no more than the basics.” That was the biggest challenge Ivano faced at the moment. Even with his relationships to other businesses and commoners, he wasn’t able to draw water from the noble well. Forto, being a viscount, had been a decent enough source, but Ivano couldn’t see into the marquis in the castle. He didn’t expect Guido to give him everything he wanted to know, but he hoped for at least a hint as to how to gather his own intelligence.

“Not a problem. You don’t have a subordinate you’ve been training, do you? Let me get someone who’ll be a direct contact between the two of us. I’ll tell them what I can tell you, you tell them what you can tell me.”

“I would be blessed to have that point of communication, but I’m afraid I won’t have anything of value to you...” Ivano’s heart skipped a beat; he wondered if he had asked for the favor in the wrong way—there was no way he could leak information on Dahlia or the company even if asked to.

“And I won’t ask you to divulge company secrets or development data or anything of the sort. Let’s see...” Guido mulled the matter over for a moment. “Maybe you could tell me about what Madam Rossetti likes to eat or drink so that I can make sure Volf goes bearing the right gifts. Perhaps her taste in operas or plays as well? Oh, and I’d love to know what sweets and desserts are popular with commoners.”

“Commoner desserts, you say?”

“That’s right. A while ago, I bought my daughter a candied apple from the downtown area and she loved it. My wife wasn’t so pleased about it, or at least not until I got her one as well; now it seems that they both love candied apples.” Guido smiled the proud smile of a father and a husband—finally, something he and Ivano had in common. “To return to the topic of information, though, here’s a little advance payment for you. The two letter-writers your company recently hired? The girl is tied to Jedda and the boy to Lord Gildo. Use them well.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Jedda girl should be a good pick to promote to employee. I’m not so sure about the boy, but if there’s anything you want to let Lord Gildo know, you can probably send messages indirectly through him.”

Ivano was caught off guard, and it took him a moment to process Guido’s words. With Gildo being a marquis, his agent was more or less untouchable. However, the Jeddas were viscounts too, and it was natural that they would exert their influence around the guild to get the information they wanted from the Rossetti Company. Ivano felt a little uneasy about the news, but there was a lesson to be had as well—he had been naive.

Guido added, “No strings leading back to Forto or Augusto, though. Just putting it out there.”

Ivano knew better than to joke about whether those strings couldn’t be cut by scissors or a knife. The first time he and Tailors’ Guildmaster Forto had shared a drink, the latter had served him wine that relaxed the lips. Apparently, it was customary among nobles. They displayed their might, wealth, or influence when meeting merchants for the first time to be upfront about the power dynamics of the relationship, and about the fact that there may be times when pressure or support would come into play. So Forto had taught him, but Ivano wondered if the guildmaster had seen the irony in that. Thankfully, Guido seemed to have chosen the latter route, that of support.

“Now, there is something I should confess,” Guido began again. “I have had guards shadowing your lovely wife and children since the week your company became purveyors to the Beast Hunters.”

“What?” screeched Ivano in his moment of shock and confusion.

“On some days at noon, you’ll find an old man with a white beard in the diner near the guildhall. Speak to him if you wish to know more. I believe he used to work for the Merchants’ until his recent retirement, but now, I have him on a leash—er, perhaps that isn’t the best way to phrase it—he’s an informant.”

“An informant?” Ivano didn’t mean to parrot Guido’s words back to him.

Guido continued with a quizzical look. “That shouldn’t be so surprising. There are many out there who want to know more about the Rossetti Trading Company, and you’ll find them swarming around you.”

“What would they want with me?”

“Frankly speaking, Madam Rossetti is a hard woman to get hold of. She doesn’t attend tea parties or soirees, but more importantly, her back is well-guarded. It would be foolish to make a clumsy attempt at strong-arming her. Which is why, to get at the company, they will threaten you instead of her. And to get to you, they’ll threaten your family. And let’s be honest, how could you possibly say no when the lives of your wife and children are on the line?”

Ivano stood up and bowed deeply. “Thank you very much. I am most grateful for your protection. I have been ignorant and careless.” Even Forto had warned him about his personal safety—always have your family travel by carriage, don’t eat or drink anywhere or anything without first thinking, don’t let your children play unsupervised, be wary of any friends old or new who suddenly appear in your life, and so the list went on. Ivano had always kept his advice in mind, but he now realized he had underestimated the danger that nobles faced.

“Please, no need for that. It really is no big deal.”

“Erm, forgive my asking, then, but do you have people guarding Chairwoman Dahlia too?”

“No, I didn’t get anyone to do so,” said Guido. “Although I do have capable fighters as my coach drivers; you’re most defenseless when on the move, see.” That would explain why his drivers were all so burly; it wouldn’t strain credulity if they turned out to be incognito knights. Ivano politely kept quiet for a moment as he contemplated whether he should secretly have people protecting Dahlia as well. “Just in case, I’ll get you portraits of the security detail. Once your wife goes through the sketches as well, burn them. No need to speak to the team. I’ll get fresh faces from time to time so that others don’t catch on. I’ll contact you again whenever I switch them out.”

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you. But, um, about the cost of everything...”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but don’t think it’s foolproof either; it’s safest if you’re cautious of everything and everyone around you and your family.”

“I understand. However, at this rate, I’ll be compounding these debts I owe you.” The security detail and the information he received today must have come at a cost, and this debt was just waiting to be collected.

“Fine. I have one request I would like to make of you: swear right here and now that you will never betray Madam Rossetti or Volf.”

“That much is a given, sir.”

“A given, eh? I’ll take your word for it, then.” Guido should have by all means laughed at the lighthearted exchange, but for just a moment, he had a look of terrible forlornness.

Ivano didn’t know how to acknowledge it and neither did he know how to change the topic, leaving him to make peace with the silence. A drip of condensation rolled down the side of his glass and chilled his finger.

“I know you’re a busy man, Ivano, so I don’t want to keep you from your work for too long. I appreciate you finding time for me today. Next time, I ought to have you and Madam Rossetti come together.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Guido, for your support and your teachings.”

Ivano was about to get up to leave, but Guido was apparently not quite as ready to say goodbye yet. “Just one more thing.” His blue eyes grew a shade deeper as he stared without blinking. The contents of the glass in his right hand started crackling, freezing. “If you do head down the path of betrayal, I hope that you hide well your beloved wife and daughters.”

Though Guido’s expression, voice, and tone were as normal as could be, Ivano felt like a frog caught in a snake’s glare, paralyzed in his seat. His head felt like it was being pushed under the water. It took a split second before the message registered in his head, but when it did, ice ran down his spine. He had thought Guido mild-mannered when he first walked in, but what a joke that seemed now.

Behind that soft voice and those offers of help was a puppet master. Extended in his right hand were shiny gold coins; against the back of Ivano’s neck was Guido’s left hand holding an icy blade. It was the first time he had met such a quintessential noble, such a ghastly man, the marquis-in-waiting Scalfarotto. It ought to have been a source of pride that one commoner merchant like Ivano should be threatened like so.

Ivano thought that as someone who had been by Gabriella’s side, he would’ve been used to this kind of hardship. However, the chance encounter with the knights’ intimidation at the castle a while ago didn’t measure up to the experience now—Ivano would have crumpled to his knees and let his forehead kiss the ground if it meant relief. But no, that wasn’t the right response.

Instead, he gritted his teeth with all his might, bringing out every ounce of obstinacy and willpower he had in order to meet Guido’s eyes. When the man looked back at him, Ivano turned the corners of his mouth upward and projected the confidence and calmness he didn’t have. Just you wait. You may have this battle, but I’ll bring the fight to your doorstep one day.

“Rest assured. I’m magically bound to it already,” said Ivano, suppressing his trembling and flashing a bright smile through nothing but true grit. “Until the day I die, I shall be Ivano Mercadante of the Rossetti Trading Company.”

The Bestiary and the Man-Made Magical Sword: Fifth Attempt—The Riving Blade

On the coach ride to the bookstore, Dahlia unfolded her aqua handkerchief on top of her lap. “Should I really have taken these scales from him...?” She unwrapped six lustrous red scales, all varying in size from about four to five centimeters long. Their streamlined shape was an identifying feature of scales from a dragon. Unlike a fish’s, these had the smooth texture of well-polished obsidian or chinaware. They felt hard and cool to the touch, yet a faint warmth from the magic emanated from them. The color gradated from a deep shade of red at its base, where it was still tacky from Jonas’s blood.

“I think so. Master Jonas voluntarily gave them to you, right?”

She understood what Volf was trying to say—that she needn’t worry—but that was easier said than done. “I guess so. I really ought to thank him properly for this. The way he tore them off and the bare patch on his arm must hurt so much...” Even though Jonas had claimed his sense of pain had dulled and it hadn’t shown on his face, red blood had trickled from the now-esquamulose spot on his arm. He hadn’t just plucked one scale at a time either, but had grabbed a handful and ripped; recalling that the dull, damp noise brought her incredible unease. Dahlia couldn’t help but worry that Jonas had merely put on a brave face.

“Like a thank-you present? I’m already planning to give him a compact magical stove and some cured food to go with it, so let me ask him if there’s anything else he’d like.”

“Please, and thank you. If it’s anything we can arrange for him, I’d like to give it to him as a gift.” Even if the scales just grew from his blighted body, they were still a crafting material. Once she got them appraised, she decided she would get Jonas a suitable gift in return. Of course, the monetary value could easily be compensated, but the pain was less so. “Volf, I’m thinking of getting these scales appraised so I can work with them, but I want to first make sure with you that that’s okay. Mr. Oswald would probably have a good idea of their value, so it’d probably be him.”

“Sure thing. But just in case, don’t bring my brother or Master Jonas’s name up if you can help it.”

“Right. Oh, that reminds me—I hadn’t properly made introductions with Master Jonas, so I don’t even know his full name.” Dahlia should’ve asked then, but she’d been unable to think straight from the panic and the stress of the situation. She only knew his first name, as that was what Volf and Guido addressed him by, but she wanted to know so she could write a thank-you note for today.

“It’s Jonas Goodwin. Randolph’s apparently a distant relative, but since Jonas is from the Viscounty Goodwin, Randolph might not know who he is, so I’m told.”

“Oh, I have heard that there are many noble families with the name Goodwin, but I wouldn’t have expected that they were indeed related.”

“Yeah, the story goes that three Goodwin brothers served the first king, so maybe that’s why there are so many branches in that family,” said Volf. That was the first time Dahlia had heard that story. It seemed that the Goodwin family had had a long history since the founding of the kingdom. “With the scales, you’ve collected all the materials that you need for the bracelet, haven’t you?”

“Actually, I still haven’t got my hands on a forest serpent heart—”

But before she could finish her explanation, Volf broke into a big smile. “You’ve got yourself one of those already. There’s one getting prepped at the Adventurers’ Guild with your name on it. I think it’ll be ready in, oh, a week or so?”

“Wait. Did you hunt a forest serpent, Volf? Aren’t they super dangerous?!”

“It’s not like I did it all alone; one of ’em popped up while me and the squad were out clearing devil nettles, so we all had a hand in taking it down.” Volf was making it sound like they happened to pick a flower while out for a stroll, and Dahlia wasn’t convinced.

“If I recall correctly, forest serpents are incredibly uncommon and powerful monsters, aren’t they?”

“Sure. But us Beast Hunters come across them from time to time; it’s actually the second one we’ve seen this season,” he explained. “And don’t forget, we’re kinda tough too.” The nature of their work meant encountering these dangers, so Volf must have been used to it by now, as he didn’t seem to have found the forest serpent intimidating at all—a far cry from the impression she got from its entry in monster field guides.

“I get that the Beast Hunters are strong; I know that much just from looking at you, Volf...” Dahlia trailed off. “What are forest serpents like in the flesh?”

“They’ve got lots of fat. Taste like chicken. Surprisingly tender and tasty.”

“Huh?”

“The sauce you made went really well with it.”

“What.” Hold on a tick. Dahlia was pretty sure she was talking about forest serpents, the menacing monsters that mauled merchants and travelers along the highway, not some bunnies or deer that frolicked in the woods. “Is that, uh, normal? Eating forest serpents? You must be talking about little juvenile ones, right?”

“It was my first time trying it, but the one we fought wasn’t that big—only about three meters when it reared up. Must’ve been a juvenile one, like you said.”

Hold the heck on. Just how big were they? Dahlia couldn’t picture it in her mind. Three meters tall when it had reared up? Just how long was the damn thing? Butchering one must be as terrible as slaying it.

Volf continued, “We grilled it on our camp stoves, which nicely rendered out the fat, and with a splash of your barbecue sauce, it was really good. Everyone else loved it too.”

His cheerfulness struck her with apprehension. Had the knights resorted to eating the monster because of her company’s stoves? “Volf, is the squad facing financial hardship because of the camp stove purchase? Do you not have enough budget for enough food, so you’ve resorted to eating forest snakes? Please tell me honestly.”

“No! Of course not! We’ve got plenty of leeway in our budget and with our field rations, so don’t worry about that. But the boys said that the meat rejuvenates the body, so I gave it a try.”

“Huh. Did it work?”

“I’d like to think so. I felt less fatigued than usual when I got back to the capital.”

To Dahlia, forest serpents meant fangs, skin, and other materials, but she was only now learning that their flesh was wondrously useful as well. With the Order of Beast Hunters’ seal of approval, forest serpent meat might just be the next trend in the capital. “Getting back on track about the heart, how much should I pay the Order?”

“The captain said that it’s a present to our advisor and that he’ll be happy if you can put it to good use for your research.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve a present like that...”

“As an advisor, you’re already a part of our order, or like a teacher to us. If it’s too big a present, think of it as payment for all the delicious sauce you made for us.”

“Really, Volf? Forest serpent heart for some barbecue sauce? What kind of fools do you take the Beast Hunters for?” And what kind of a crook would Dahlia be if she ripped them off like that? Plus, that was just a batch of sauce she had made for the stove demo. She’d never thought they’d bring it out to the field.

“Okay, how about you make us a barrel of the stuff next time? Payment in sauce. You know, you got a load of rave reviews for it?”

“Payment in sauce...? Fine. I’ll give it some thought.” Dahlia ought to ask the Adventurers’ Guild what was the going price for the forest serpent heart that she dearly wanted. She was very grateful to get this opportunity, but she ought to repay them in kind. It’d probably take a whole lot of barbecue sauce to cover the costs, so she decided to prepare a salt-based condiment and maybe a basil sauce as well. And an herb salt or a spice mix on top? In any case, making such a big batch would be a headache in itself; perhaps it was a job better suited for a spice shop or a chef instead of a magical toolmaker; someone like her should focus on coming up with a tool that would be useful for them in the field.

Volf interrupted her deep thoughts. “Would you like some dried forest snake?”

“Like, jerky?”

“Yeah! The captain dehydrated all the leftover meat for us.” Dahlia knew Volf was a big fan of dried meats, but she wouldn’t have expected Captain Grato to be so into it too. Maybe the Beast Hunters were going through some sort of jerky phase.

“How does it taste?”

“I prefer it fresh, but it’s not bad. People have been experimenting with it too—grilling it, pounding it into a powder then drinking it, using it with spices to make soup and stuff at home. Apparently, drying the meat makes the revitalizing effects even more potent.”

“Is that right? Shall we grill it or use it for soup, then?”

“No, uh, I’m good without. That stuff doesn’t really sit well in my body.”

Volf bit his lip. He hid from Dahlia the fact that his nose had bled when he tried the stuff. That night after the expedition, the men had grilled the dried serpent in the barracks. The older guys had been fine as they ate, drank, and shot the breeze. However, the younger guys like himself and Randolph had had nosebleeds, likely from eating too much of the nutritious meat. Kirk had had it even worse—it had looked like a scene from a disaster with all the blood that shot out of him, and he’d had to lie down and sleep on the ground for the night. Poor kid. At least Dorino had learned from everyone else’s example—he had packed up half of his portion instead of chowing it all down like everyone else.

“I know I’m late in saying so, but I’m sorry for my brother’s actions today,” Volf said.

“It’s okay. He was just worried for your sake. It’s all in the past for me.”

“He didn’t say anything else rude, did he?”

“No, he didn’t. I’m fine, Volf.” All of the hurtful questions that Guido had asked had come right in the beginning, after which he had promptly apologized. Dahlia understood that he was concerned for Volf.

He gulped ever so quietly. “Dahlia, listen. I have no intention to ever stop being your friend or to stay away from you.” Volf, with his eyes of gold, looked straight into hers.

A burst of elation struck her, but so did Guido’s words. You may become a spot of weakness to my brother, he had said. And despite the bitterness that the words were coated in, Dahlia couldn’t refute him. Volf wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for his friends, even if it meant unleashing his intimidation like today or getting into a fight. She wanted to become stronger so she could protect herself, but she was powerless as she was currently. Even now that she’d become a chairwoman and the Beast Hunters’ advisor, every step felt like a leap into the unknown. But nevertheless, no matter how she struggled, she didn’t want to end her bond with Volf. She wanted to be by his side. She was sure of this.

It took a moment longer than she would’ve liked before she could respond, but when she finally did, she said, “Thank you. Me either, Volf.” Her words hardly encapsulated her feelings and her voice was hardly as determined as she felt. In spite of that, she replied with a smile.

“And, um, I’m also sorry for getting so heated and using my intimidation...”

“Well, you got heated for my sake. Nevertheless, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so; my heart nearly stopped...” Not only had she been frozen in place, she’d felt as if she had been encased in ice. It had been so much worse than his last time too. As she shivered just thinking about it, she noticed Volf look away.

“Dahlia, um, do we need to stop for clothes—”

“Volf! I would love to just immediately head to the bookstore right now, as soon as possible, without any delay.” She spat out the sentence, cutting him off. “And if you so much as say another word, I will forever address you by ‘Lord Scalfarotto.’” Perhaps she would bury him in sand were he to bring up the topic again.

“I’m so sorry...” The youth hung his head, never to look her in the eyes for the rest of the ride.

The coach pulled up in front of the bookstore and stopped. The black brick building, which extended three stories into the air, had a pair of guards—one holding a spear and the other a sword—flanking the open pair of gates. Dahlia thought the security at this place went a little overboard, but books were indeed still luxury goods here in the royal capital.

Block printing was the best they had, so mass printing was still out of reach with the current technology. Because of that, short books cost about a silver piece, while thick books and technical books ran for a gold, if not a gilt silver and change. These were expensive products, and large bookstores employed security teams to protect their investment.

When they alighted, Volf took her hand even more gently than usual; Dahlia accepted it as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. The two, predictably, weren’t going to address what had just happened, but Volf was the first to break the silence. “Say, Dahlia, is there, um, something in particular you’re looking for?”

“I’m hoping to find something on noble etiquette and on letter writing. Actually, Mr. Oswald recommended a book on etiquette and I placed an order for it already, so we’ll just have to pick it up. I’d also like a guide on the monsters in other countries.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that for myself as well.”

At the front desk by the entrance, Dahlia gave her order number to the clerk, who went to the back and retrieved the bag containing her book. It had already been paid for, meaning that all Dahlia needed to do was to check the contents of the order.

“Is it okay if I look around for a bit?” asked Volf.

“Of course. Is there anything you’re looking for on this floor?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually walked around a bookstore before...” Volf gave a pained smile with his spectacles-adorned green eyes. It was obvious that with his natural looks and without the fairy glass, he wouldn’t have had the chance to take his time and browse for books before.

“By all means.” The busy first floor housed children’s books, novels, practical manuals, and other books of the sort, and the two of them, wearing cotton gloves so they could handle the books, set out on the suggested path, which ran clockwise. “How did you manage to buy your books up until now?”

“Because they come around to the barracks to sell books, I’ll tell them what kind of books I’m looking for and how many I want. I’ll ask Dorino, Randolph, or the other guys to pick out books for me as well.”

Getting a bespoke selection wasn’t such a bad idea, but nothing could beat immersing yourself in the sea of books. Dahlia could see it in Volf. It was kinda cute the way he would move, stop, and scan everything with his eyes like an excitable boy. At the children’s books corner, the two of them whispered about all the books they’d read as kids. When they got to the novels section, they picked up hot-off-the-press stories of adventure and of chivalry. Volf spent much time looking through travel memoirs, which tempted him to buy one that focused on domestic travel. As for Dahlia, she found a cookbook of recipes from Esterland and knew she had to have it.

After paying for their first floor selections, they went up to the second floor, where scholarly journals and technical books filled the shelves, many of which were about arms, armor, and magical tools.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s anything on magical swords...”

“Magical swords are quite rare, after all,” reasoned Dahlia, though she felt sorry given how dejected Volf seemed to be. With how uncommon they were, it was hard to imagine anyone had collected enough information to fill a whole book. She decided that if she found something that had anything about magical swords, she would buy it without hesitation. With a few more books than before, Dahlia and Volf headed up the staircase once more.

The collection on the third floor included the most expensive tomes, such as dictionaries and illustrated reference books. All visitors had to register their names before entering. There were two employees, one male and one female, standing by the doors to check belongings.

Volf removed his fairy glass spectacles and walked ahead of Dahlia to greet the man to the right of the door. They seemed to be well-acquainted, and the employee let them pass through.

“Um, Volf?” Dahlia fretted, wondering if she should at least put down her name.

“You’re good. Remember how I said the bookstore comes around the barracks sometimes? Well, he’s the one who swings by. All the books I have on magical swords and monsters were found by him.”

“Oh, I see. He must be knowledgeable.”

“Yeah, you bet. One time, Randolph longed for this novel from his homeland, and our guy had it delivered to him in moments. A more senior knight wanted books to give to his children, and he was very happy with the suggestions he got as well. Books on weapons, agriculture in foreign countries—you name it, he can get it for you.”

It sounded as though he was a total expert. Unlike in Dahlia’s previous world, there wasn’t a catalog or search system in this world so someone could get the exact books they were looking for. Having someone who knew so much about the world of books would be a godsend, and Dahlia thought that she would want to try requesting a book one day as well.

There was another anecdote that Volf had failed to mention to Dahlia. The employee’s top recommendation was for a large print book with not very many pages. The cover featured artwork of plants and monsters, but the illustrations on the inside were scintillating portraits of lovely ladies that showed a lot of skin. The employee also talked to many of the boys in the Order, got their preferences for breasts, behinds, or whatever else, and brought them each some light reading. Volf had made a few such purchases as well, but he’d sooner perish than bring that up to Dahlia.

“He must know a lot about books,” she said.

“Yep.” Volf left it at that, and hurried inside the room.

There was an air of magic inside the room, likely from magical tools or spellbooks. In the back was a glass case, which housed thick and undoubtedly heavy dictionaries and illustrated reference books. Leathers in dark shades of black, red, green, navy, gold, and silver bound pages of ivory-hued parchment. They were decorated with fine embroidery, gilding, vermeil, and gemstones, turning them from mere books into works of art. Right in the center was what they were looking for: a bestiary on monsters in foreign lands. Its black cover featured gold text and gold embroidery and was as thick as a volume of encyclopedias of Dahlia’s old world.

Volf approached an employee standing behind the glass case and received permission to examine the bestiary. The employee placed the book on a nearby desk, then Volf and Dahlia, still with gloved hands, gently turned over its pages. The intricate illustrations had shockingly vivid coloring, and, fortunately, the text had been translated into Ordinato, so Dahlia had no problem reading it.

The duo found themselves stopped on an entry: the alraune—a monster that had so far been sighted only in the nation that neighbored Ordine. The top half had the appearance of a beautiful young woman with dark green hair, while the bottom was of a huge flower with crimson petals and green leaves. In its entry, it was said to be a subspecies of mandrake, and there was an account of it being able to cause auditory hallucinations. Astoundingly, the petals were said to be able to prevent hallucinations when used as an enchantment material. This was seemingly public knowledge in Ordine’s neighbor. There were also explanations of how to breed and cultivate a variety of different monsters, proving once again why they were described as a land of herders. The unicorn, baphomet, kingsnake, sköll, dullahan—all of the other entries were just as finely detailed, the art just as colorful, and the content just as interesting.

Finally, Volf’s voice interrupted her focus. “How much is this?” he asked the employee.

“Seven gold, sir.”

Seven hundred thousand yen—that was no small sum. After all, a scribe had to reproduce all of the full color and elaborate illustrations by hand. The content was extremely valuable too, and it was something that could be very useful to Dahlia. She figured she should consult Ivano before spending the company’s development funding on something like this, but as she hemmed and hawed, Volf said he’d take it and swiftly made the purchase.

“It should make for good research when I’m on an expedition, since I never know what I’m gonna face out there. It’s not like monsters know much about international borders, right?”

That was very much something a Beast Hunter would say, but he had a good point. Monsters roamed the lands as they pleased without a care for the man-made concept of borders. A long time ago, a hydra had begun wreaking havoc in the neighboring nation but had then brought its wake of destruction to Ordine. Though the Beast Hunters and the other orders had joined together and fought in unison against the monster, the casualties had been terrible. There was consequently a memorial constructed at the capital’s cemetery for those who had fallen in the battle. Fresh flowers adorned that grave no matter the season.

“Where shall we deliver this book?”

“I’ll take it home with me today,” Volf said, answering the bookstore employee. The bestiary came with a fancy black box trimmed in gold, which was then wrapped up in a black cloth with a sheen. It was a literal treasure, but Volf casually grabbed it with one hand. “I don’t really have that much personal space in the barracks and I leave for expeditions all the time, so I’m hoping maybe you could keep it at the tower?”

“Huh? But Volf, this is—”

“It’d be nice if it were helpful to you with your work. Plus, I come over all the time when I have days off anyway, so maybe we could read it together then.” His words raced and his golden eyes flittered; this was obviously a premeditated crime. But even so, it made Dahlia very happy—yes, the book itself was exciting, but what she couldn’t wait for was the chance to read it together with him.

“Okay, I’ll keep it on the second floor, then.” She would have to make room for this very precious item on the top shelf that was in her living room. She also made a note to prepare gloves for it too, so they wouldn’t ruin the book with their hands.

“Thanks!”

“No, thank you.”

Their faces shared the same bright, warm smile, and the two of them left the bookstore behind.

Their next stop had been the weapon shop—the same place from which Volf had bought the shortswords previously. The shopkeeper with the white beard remembered her well, even though she had visited only the one time before today. He had asked Dahlia if the enchanting on the shortswords had gone well and laughed when she said not as well as she would’ve liked.

“Can’t help it if you’re new to it. Just like with blacksmithing, it takes a thousand blades for an apprentice to become seasoned,” the old man had said in a chipper voice, bringing her father to her mind. This time, instead of the shortswords, the shopkeeper recommended she try her hand at a bigger item for practice, and so the duo had decided to follow his advice and go for a longsword suited for enchantments.

Dahlia had no eye for this sort of thing, so she had let Volf do the choosing. Their size was more or less standard, but the metal the sword was smithed from mattered. He had discussed with the shopkeeper whether they should go for something that was sharp and would stay sharp, something more robust, and whatnot. Dahlia, though, hadn’t been able to keep up with their conversation.

While Volf was picking out the sword, the shopkeeper had conducted Dahlia to the other room, where she was shown an enchanted pair of women’s shoes. It was an extra-durable pair done up for an adventurer, which had made Dahlia awfully curious. By the time she’d returned to the main room, Volf and the shopkeeper were already on a first-name basis—the former calling the latter Flores and the latter calling the former Volf, both without any titles or honorifics attached. It was shocking how quickly they’d managed to get so close and crack jokes with each other. Volf, Ivano, Marcello, and men in general seemed to get chummy with each other so naturally; Dahlia had felt just a tinge of envy.

Back in the tower, Dahlia and Volf changed into overalls and got to work on the longsword. Between the development of the zephyricloth, the camp stove presentation, and expeditions, the duo hadn’t been able to fit in magical sword crafting until now, and they were also gung ho because they were sure that they had perfected the recipe.

She outlined today’s objective. “The plan this time is to cover the joints with two bidirectional layers of sealsilver.”

“And we’re using a proper longsword to boot!” exclaimed Volf, practically bouncing off the walls; Dahlia failed to contain her smile.

On top of her workbench were a longsword fastened with screws for easy enchanting and a small box containing sealsilver. The plain and affordable sword sported a black hilt, a silver guard, a light gray scabbard, and a shiny blade, currently unsharpened. There was nothing ostentatious about it; rather, it was an honest, heavy-duty longsword. Its weight was hard to handle for the likes of Dahlia, which made it all the more shocking that Volf could wield one in each hand on the battlefield. If she tried to do so—not that she could really hold it up anyway—the swords would be swinging her around instead. Dahlia had a newfound respect for her friend.

Once the lid came off the small metal box, which was just the right size to fit in her palms, the sealsilver within reacted to Dahlia’s magic and wobbled; her stoicism masked her shock. Sealsilver was dubbed a special metal because of its unique ability to solidify after one applied magic to it, which also meant coursing it with a big bout of magic would turn the whole thing into a block, rendering it unusable. And, because of Dahlia’s recent increase in power, her control was now less than perfect and her body sometimes discharged magic of its own accord. For today’s experiment, she made a conscious effort to concentrate.

“Shall I keep the enchantments the same this time? Self-sharpening for the blade, a water crystal in the guard for self-cleaning, a wind crystal in the hilt for haste, weight reduction for the sheath, and hardening for the screws?” she asked Volf for confirmation.

“If it’s possible, could you swap out self-sharpening with fire magic on the blade?”

“And make it like Sir Grato’s Ash-Hand?” Dahlia had seen for herself the captain’s curious sword, which output an incredible amount of heat and magic, and knew it must’ve been powerful enough to roast monsters alive.

“Yeah, exactly. It was really good for making jerky—efficient and effective at dehydrating meat.” Hm. His words were befitting not of a knight of the Order of Beast Hunters but perhaps of a fisher, pleading for a tool for his fishing village.

“I think I can make it hot, but not that hot. Give me a second...” Dahlia grabbed a pencil and crunched some numbers in her notebook, double-checked her calculations to make sure the sword would be safe to handle, then allotted some buffer on top of that. “Okay, so it looks like I can safely give it three fire crystals. It should be enough to cook small fish or green squid, and I’ll give the sheath heat resistance as well, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is!” he said with a grin.

Dahlia laid down a layer of sheet metal treated with heat resistance, then placed the sword, which Volf had disassembled for her, on top of that. She began by enchanting the blade with fire magic, placing her right hand on the crystals and her left on the blade as the magic flowed through her. Instead of the usual full spectrum of colors, the light projected onto the blade as a narrow beam of red and orange. The warmth tingled her fingertips, but her own magic prevented her from being burned.

“Are you okay, Dahlia? It’s not burning you?” Volf couldn’t help but worry, even though she had explained it in advance.

Nonetheless, it was heartwarming how considerate he was. “I’m fine; it’s just a little warm,” she said, smiling as she progressed with the enchantment.

Before long, the blade took on a slight redness and its heat caused it to begin shimmering. The question was how effective it would be in the field. It would be handy if it could serve as a backup fuel source for his camp stove, but it likely didn’t have that much energy within. It may have been a good experiment, but it almost felt like a waste of a good sword. Dahlia thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to Volf about looking into having a mage at the castle strip the enchantment when the magic ran out.

Dahlia had some armored crab shell in stock and used it to give the scabbard heat resistance. As it said on the tin, armored crabs were two-meter-tall crabs that lived in rocky and sandy areas and had a tough armor-like shell. Its defensive layer was noted for its heat resistance, giving it invulnerability to incoming fire magic attacks; the bestiary entry also said that it was weak against ice magic.

“Is that shell from an armored crab? I didn’t know it was heat resistant. I thought all it was good for was hardening armor.”

“They’re also good for cookware—and perfect for making medicine that would otherwise react to metal vessels.” In her hands were fragments trimmed off of a bigger piece, and that much was plenty for the scabbard. “Have you hunted them before, Volf?”

“No, never. There’s never a severe enough outbreak to warrant a cull, and adventurers are the ones who usually take care of them in the winter since the cold makes them all sluggish. What I have done is seen and eaten them, though.” Armored crab was a delight; its flesh was succulent and the tomalley buttery, making it a highly sought-after seasonal item. It was said that no part of the monster was ever wasted, and Dahlia fully understood why.

Back on the topic at hand, Dahlia blasted the red and white powder with magic; that was to melt the shell, something required before using it in magical tools. It turned into a liquid-like substance, which then formed a film. She covered the inside of the sheath and then applied a layer of sealsilver on top. This was the method Oswald had described for facilitating composite enchantment. Cladding the connecting parts and making the enchantments directional prevented the different magics from repelling each other. It also required Dahlia to apply the sealsilver unidirectionally—the first application went outwards and the second inward, and then she used a fixing spell to make sure they adhered. Dahlia made sure to keep the shell and the sealsilver layers as thin as possible so that the sword would actually fit in the scabbard; the concern in the back of her mind was that if the clearance was too tight, then it might snag while drawing, which could be the difference between life or death.

Just as last time, she applied a water crystal to the guard for the self-cleaning function and an air crystal for haste. These enchantments, too, were covered in a layer of sealsilver for each direction, and Dahlia made sure it was a thicker layer—she was a little excited to see it wriggle around like a long silvery slime.

What was different from last time was the amount of magic used in the enchantments. The guard and the hilt needed dramatically more magic than Dahlia had expected, though she didn’t know whether that was simply because it was a bigger sword or it was a result of the materials. She made sure to keep it under a certain threshold so that the weapon would be safe to handle, and if everything went smoothly, she could up the magic in the next iteration; Dahlia found a certain joy in the trial and error.

“Let me just give the blade a once-over before I let you assemble it again,” said Dahlia. She held her hand a few centimeters above the blade and felt the heat radiating from it; it was slightly too hot to touch with bare hands. She applied a little water, which sizzled as it slowly vaporized. “Should I fetch a piece of jerky from upstairs to test it out?”

“Here.” He retrieved a small pouch from his breast pocket; inside were crumbled bits of dried kraken.

That gave Dahlia pause. “Volf, just what the heck do you keep in your pockets?”

“What?” he called back defensively. “Emergency rations.” Volf eagerly placed a piece of it on the blade and the jerky immediately began curling up; squeaking soon followed. He grabbed it and offered half to Dahlia, and she accepted it with little gratitude—though she had to admit the kraken was tender and thoroughly warmed. “I think this is just perfect for grilling up a jerky snack.”

“Why did you seek out a sword for this task? What purpose does the camp stove serve anymore?” Dahlia was appalled that he would find any excuse to use a man-made magical sword. Speaking of which, though, she wondered how he’d been using the Lamenting Blade they’d created last time. It did little but release a trickle of water—although if that was enough to put a smile on his face, then more power to him.

“Well, it looks like everything’s fine, so I’m gonna put it back together.” With work gloves covering his hands, Volf speedily reassembled the longsword—he was so accustomed to the task, he seemed as though he could do it blindfolded. “The sword’s holding together, and water comes out of the guard just fine.” Water splashed out from the guard and covered both sides of the blade—a marked improvement from their previous attempt.

Volf continued, “I’ll go over there and give it a quick shakedown.” Moving towards the wall at the opposite side of the workbench, he gave the sword a hard swing. Swoosh—Dahlia hadn’t thought he would put that much effort into it, and she flinched. “Ooh, it’s fast. It should be good once I get used to it.”

“Oh, good. We’ll just have to wait and see how long the enchantment on the blade lasts.”

When he returned, Volf placed the sword on the workbench. The blade glowed a slight red, though once it was in the sheath, no one would be any the wiser. But then, just as Dahlia placed her hand on the workbench and was about to ask him how the sword felt, the heat-resistant metal began vibrating ever so slightly. “Huh?”

A closer inspection revealed that it was the sword that was shaking, bringing Dahlia bad memories of the Creeping Blade. And then she perked up her ears—a faint chirping. Was it the sword? She looked at Volf and he looked back, and then the two of them stared silently at it in wonder. It was then that the shaking intensified and the sword began ringing.

“That doesn’t seem good; I’m going to take it apart!” said Dahlia.

“No, it’s too dangerous! I’ll do it!”

As the two panicked, the sword began to terrify them even more: the noise turned to one of creaking and groaning. Volf flung her backwards by her seat as he slid in front of her. Suddenly—prang!

“Volf! Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It split at the seams, but nothing blew up.”

There the sword lay with its sealsilver layers flayed and its parts scattered across the table. Even the scabbard was in shambles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would self-destruct like that...” Her math had said it would be fine, so how had it happened? The sealsilver was from the usual store and it hadn’t deteriorated. It couldn’t have been too much magic for the sealsilver to contain, especially since Oswald had given his approval. The application had been done properly, and she had made sure to coat every enchanted surface. Did that mean the two directional layers weren’t enough? Perhaps sealsilver was weaker with two layers in opposing directions, so it had messed up her calculation? Dahlia knew she needed to study this some more, but it wasn’t exactly possible to go up to Oswald and tell him, “So, I’ve been making magical swords...” The other possibility was that she’d put in more magic than she realized, but that was unlikely seeing that she wasn’t near the limits of her mana.

In any case, this experiment had concluded with a surprising result. There was supposed to be a way to contain powerful magic via materials with high magic resistance, but that was beyond her at the moment. Dahlia reckoned she’d begin work on the next man-made magical sword by hunting for materials.

“Gotta make sure the magic levels on the... Then make sure the difference there is...”

As Dahlia thought aloud, Volf joined in on the muttering. “You’d rather be in pieces, huh? I guess you guys must’ve hated the idea of being reincarnated as a sword...”

“Volf, let’s not anthropomorphize the sword.” She’d rather not believe the terrifying notion that any part of the sword had free will.

The Creeping Blade moving around had been enough to scare her, and thankfully, the magic in that hadn’t been too strong. That time, Volf had said that the only ghosts that would be present would be her family’s, but just thinking about her father or her ancestors haunting her tools had struck her with terror. Man-made magical swords were just magical tools, and the one laying there in front of her eyes was just a disassembled sword. Despite the strange noises and its spontaneous disassembly, there was absolutely, positively no way that it was haunted. Nuh-uh. None at all.

Dahlia looked at the parts on the workbench. “I suppose we can’t name it this time.” It had remained a sword for mere moments, and so surely, it would be too difficult to give it a name.

“You went through too much to not give it a name...”

“What are we going to name something that couldn’t even stay in one piece? The ‘Sword of Tatters?’ The ‘Unassembling Sword?’”

“Wh-Why would you say something so cruel...?” For whatever reason, Volf reeled back, aghast and offended at what she honestly thought were fitting names. “No. This must be the ‘Riving Blade.’”

Dahlia squinted in disbelief. She knew her taste in naming wasn’t great, but it had to be better than his. “Isn’t that a little strange, Volf? I mean, it was barely a magical sword, and the only thing it rived was itself...”

“No. It needs pizzazz. It needs to be...romantic.”

“Pray tell, why would that be necessary at all?”

“Dahlia, you just don’t get it, do you? You don’t.” Volf huffed. She figured it was a losing battle, and rather than engaging further, she decided to flick around the glass spoon she used for scooping out sealsilver. Now it was Volf’s turn to squint at her. “Now, there’s no need to be throwing around your spoon, is there?”

“I just find the so-called romance hard to understand. I guess.”

“Well, then, let me explain.”

“I don’t think anyone but you needs to know.”

“What? No! I want you to understand—no, you need to understand! Let me start from square one!”

“Thank you, but no thanks!”

Today was the day Dahlia learned that not everything about herself and Volf blended so harmoniously.

Interlude: The Employee’s Offer for Subcontracting

After Ivano got out of the carriage, a quick scan of his surroundings told him all he needed to know. Although it was slightly before noon, there were no couriers running around with cargo, no foot traffic from customers or clients, no signs of life at Orlando & Co.—a far cry from the previous time he was here.

As he approached the entrance, he saw a woman loitering around and peering into the windows. Her profile was a familiar one, one that he’d seen many times at the Merchants’ Guild in the past—she was the missus of the former chairman and mother to Ireneo and Tobias. Even from the side, she looked as though she’d aged awfully quick. Ivano remembered her as someone who, despite being in her fifties, had glossy, supple brown hair and a full, round face, a vestige of the glamor she’d enjoyed when she was younger. Now, though, she was clothed in a baggy dress and her graying hair was tied up in a bun, her haggardness front and center.

“Very good to see you again, Madam Orlando.”

“Oh, if it isn’t Ivano. It’s been too long,” she greeted him in return with a slight startle. That was only natural, as Ivano hardly looked as he had before, if he did say so himself.

Back when he was still an employee of the Merchants’, he had dressed much more casually so as to move cargo. Now, though, there was a tightly woven ivory shirt under his dark navy three-piece, and his brushed mustard hair was grown out to accentuate its waviness; he was grateful to have the Tailors’ Guildmaster Forto’s recommendation for a stylist and Oswald’s recommendation for a barber. Though clothes may make the man, he was confident in his new presentation too, even if he couldn’t have said so on the first day after his makeover. He had writhed in front of the mirror that day, but “You look so cool, papa!” his wife and two daughters had shouted, and he had learned to love his new style. Ivano was a simple man.

“You’ve grown to be such a splendid young man, Ivano; Madam Gabriella must be so happy.” Only Old Lady Orlando would bring up not his wife or parents but Gabriella.

“I wonder. With how busy I have been as of late, the vice-guildmaster and I haven’t had the time to chat.” Ivano smiled, fishing for a response.

The bite came after a beat. “How has everything been?”

“Well, I’m as you can see. Unless you were referring to someone else?” Ivano knew full well she was asking about Dahlia, but he made sure his navy eyes didn’t show it.

“She would be having herself a good laugh if she could see how our company is now, that young lady.”

“Hah! I should like to think our chairwoman is better than that.” In response to her regretful tone, he deliberately hammed up his laugh, only for the conversation to die there. “Anyway, I’m here for a meeting today, and hopefully it will be a long-lasting deal. Would you be able to show me in?”

“Oh, forgive me. Right this way.” As if she were looking for an excuse to do so, she led him across the threshold.

“My name is Mercadante, and I’m here on behalf of the Rossetti Trading Company.”

“Thank you very much for coming by, Mr. Mercadante. Ireneo will be with you shortly. Allow me to show you to the drawing room first,” said the employee, who seemed to have been waiting idly. “Um, Mrs. Orlando—”

“It’s no bother at all; I would be very glad to have Madam Orlando join us today.” Ivano’s words did little to assuage the employee’s concern, but the man led the two of them to the drawing room.

It was the third time that Ivano had come here on behalf of the Rossetti Trading Company to talk to Ireneo, pick up materials, and the like. Because Guido had promoted their company at a dinner party, they’d had a boom in orders for waterproof cloth and other magical tools. On the other side of the coin, sales must’ve dwindled for Orlando & Co. After all, not only was the company promoted by the marquis-in-waiting run by his brother’s lady friend, but that lady friend had had her engagement broken off by Orlando & Co.’s manager of magical tools for selfish reasons—it was only a natural outcome that the company should suffer. However, neither Dahlia nor Guido knew about the moral grays Ivano had also committed.

For eighteen days after the camp stove presentation, Ivano had hired gossip-birds to spread word about the dire straits the Order of Beast Hunters were in. Many fell in battle against terrible monsters, many more suffered injuries, they were saddled with dreadful conditions and field rations, they were often parted from their loved ones, all to protect the citizens of the nation—so Ivano had made it known in common drinking establishments. The grim tales of the brave putting their lives on the line were just the right accompaniment for a working man’s fourth or fifth drink, and the gossip-birds seemed to have liked the tunes they were chirping as well.

The Beast Hunters had always been a favorite of the masses, and in short order, the embellished stories made their way back to Ivano’s ears. Then, at the same bars and taverns, he had gradually sowed whispers of the camp stove: how the chairwoman had wanted to lend the little power she had to the Beast Hunters, how she had shaved her profit margins in exchange for a single humble request—the honor of putting her name on the bottom of the stoves—how Captain Grato had paid homage to her and asked her to be their advisor, and other stories in praise of Dahlia. It had all been part of the plan. The patrons, with the tragic Beast Hunters still fresh in their minds, had lapped the stories up and shared them without any prompting.

Now, this talk contained no lies or exaggerations; it was verifiably nothing but the truth. But tales of the chairwoman of the Rossetti Company—so dramatic and interesting, they should be in an opera—slickly sneaked their way into the collective mind of the people. It wasn’t long before people stopped mentioning her broken engagement or that she was under Volf’s protection. Instead, Dahlia was rumored to be a valiant woman who supported him with her own work, despite their difference in societal standing. That wasn’t Ivano’s doing either; it was how things took their course—or perhaps some noble may have pulled a few strings. Not to say he wasn’t curious, but there was no point in bringing unnecessary trouble upon himself, so he wasn’t about to look into it either.

Plus, although Dahlia was convinced that she had forced Ivano to give in to her demands to make the camp stove cheaper for the Beast Hunters, nothing could be further from the truth. When she’d said to stamp the Rossetti name on the bottom of their stoves so that it would be good advertising, it had sent shivers down Ivano’s spine—it was then he’d known her vivid imagination reached beyond just magical tools. He wanted nothing to slow the impetus of a gifted mind like that.

Along with some tea, the employee brought the chairman of the company. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

“Not at all. It was I who arrived earlier than our appointment.” Ivano hadn’t; it was Ireneo who was a tad late.

The rings around his eyes were darker and his face was paler than the last time. “Now then, about—”

His mother interrupted him. “Ivano, is there a way we can apologize so that Lord Scalfarotto will ease up on us?”

“As far as I know, neither Sir Volf nor Lord Guido has done or is doing anything to Orlando & Co.”

“But with how things are now...”

“Mother, be quiet.” Ireneo couldn’t contain himself; he’d likely wanted to shut her up earlier, but he must still have been off guard, having been caught by surprise when his mother appeared in the room. “I apologize, Mr. Mercadante.”

“No, it’s fine. I would like to clear the air as well. Lord Guido told me that Sir Volfred had prevented him from acting against your company.”

“Are you and Lord Scalfarotto on speaking terms, Ivano?” asked Madam Orlando.

“Yes, and in fact, he invited me for a drink the other day.” None of it was strictly false. It may have been the first time they had spoken with each other, but they also now had a private messenger between them. He knew there was no escaping Guido, but the name Ivano Mercadante must mean something to have earned a sword hanging above his head. And that being the case, Ivano may as well use the name Guido Scalfarotto to his advantage. “Back on topic, though, would you happen to have spare hands?”

“Quite a few as of late, actually,” said Ireneo.

“I have much magical toolmaking work to share.”

“I would be grateful to accept all that we can.” Ireneo accepted without needing to make time or ask for terms; business must have been even worse than Ivano had imagined.

Ivano pretended as if he didn’t notice the veins bulging in the backs of Ireneo’s hands as he poured him tea. Good leaves, but tepid. Ivano glanced at his ring; it had already become a habit to check for poison.

“What about Dahlia?” Madam Orlando asked.

“What about our chairwoman?”

“Did Dahlia give permission to off-load work onto us out of spite?” She seemed as though she couldn’t help asking.

Ivano smirked. “The word doesn’t even exist in her vocabulary. Our chairwoman is too busy with the castle and various guilds, not to mention her fulfilling private life. Spite! Oh, that’s rich.” He was keenly aware how belittling his sneer was, and how wicked his face, but he had no intentions of acting otherwise. “Quite frankly, I doubt she gives much thought if any at all to Tobias, the Orlandos, or Orlando & Co.”

Forgive me, Carlo, Ivano thought; I know I’m in no way Dahlia’s father figure, and I could never, ever replace you in her life. The way Tobias had called off the engagement had pissed Ivano right off, though he could no longer say whether that was because he had daughters of his own, because he and Carlo had gone back a long way, or because he had learned just what kind of person Dahlia was since he began working with her.

“She instructed me to treat Orlando & Co. the same way we would any other company, but believe me when I say I have tried suggesting otherwise,” continued Ivano. “The chairwoman, having been raised properly, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Whichever way he took that, Ireneo growled Ivano’s name. “Mr. Mercadante...”

But the one Ivano was looking at wasn’t Ireneo; it was Madam Orlando. It had been Carlo who had raised Dahlia, but who had raised Tobias, the one who had broken off the engagement with Dahlia? Answering the question between the lines, Madam Orlando cast her gaze to the ground and spoke. “When Tobias told me that he wanted to break off the engagement, I gave him my approval on the spot. I could see that Tobias and Dahlia weren’t together because they had feelings for each other, and I wanted him to find love. And I thought Emilia would be good for the company too—that selfishness played no small part...” How the tables had turned—they had traded a woman who had now earned her barony with her own two hands for a woman who may have earned the ire of a viscounty. “I should have reprimanded Tobias or, at the very least, have thought things through better. I should have protected Dahlia like my own daughter, but I sacrificed her instead. I bear much responsibility for the way things are now, and for that, I deeply apologize...” Her wretched repentance conjured no response from Ivano; rather, he had no right to comment on this matter—not that he wanted to anyway.

“Ivano, thank you very much for coming today. If you could, please apologize to Chairwoman Rossetti on my behalf. I pray that the company sees nothing but success and prosperity hereafter,” Madam Orlando said in an oddly soft voice. When Ivano met her gaze, he thought there was something terribly wrong about the color of her eyes. As though to confirm that, she continued, “Sorry for butting in, Ireneo. I’ll do as you have said and never show up at the company again. I pray that business goes smoothly from here on out...” She looked at her son and smiled before deeply bowing once and leaving the room.

“Mr. Mercadante, I apologize again for the embarrassment—”

But this was no time for apologies. “Chairman Orlando, please go after her right now and have someone follow her. Your mother, she had the same look in her eyes that my father did right before he passed. I might be presumptuous in saying this, but I think it would be best if you don’t leave her alone for the time being.”

“Excuse me!” Ireneo must have forgotten his cool, and he bolted out of the room.

Ivano, now alone in the room, took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. He didn’t hesitate to empty the pot of black tea into his cup. Steeped too long and astringent it was, yet the burnt umber liquid helped soothe his mind—not that there was any getting accustomed to that color in the old woman’s eyes.

By the time Ireneo returned, it was a quarter hour later. “Forgive me, Mr. Mercadante, and thank you very much,” he said, offering a deep, earnest bow. Whether Ivano’s word of warning had been on the mark was yet to be seen; neither of them mentioned the matter further.

Instead, Ivano chose to change topics, extracting some documents from his briefcase and laying them out on the table. The other man, though, had something else in mind.

“Mr. Mercadante,” Ireneo continued, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What is it?”

“If there are any employees of ours who have caught your eye, please let me know.”

“You would have me poach them?”

“As chairman of my company, it wouldn’t be right for me to explicitly ask for it. Before I’m forced to lay off our workers, I’m sure there would be someone who could make for a good subordinate for you. It would spare them from the indignity of being dismissed as well.” The knuckles of Ireneo’s clenched fists were white; perhaps Ivano’s father’s had been the same when he’d resigned himself to the fate of the family business.

“Let’s both lay our cards on the table.” Ivano stuffed his index finger under his collar and pulled, loosening his necktie. “We could really use talent. How many people are you looking at, and on what time frame?”

“A fourth of our workforce in four months.”

“Chairman Orlando, you understand that would be a blunder?”

“I do.”

“If we were to take a quarter of your people, in two years—no, one and a half, we would be able to swallow your company whole.” The numbers in Ivano’s head said that if even half of that quarter turned out to be promising workers, the Rossetti Company would be able to take Orlando’s clients.

“Still, that would be a year and a half more that we live.” Strained as his voice may have been, it was still that of a chairman, that of a superior—one that was shockingly similar to the former chairman’s.

“Do you wish to survive in the hopes of recovery? It shan’t be easy.”

“It would be more time to protect those working for our company.” Ireneo’s decisiveness was reassuring. At the very least, he seemed to respect his workers instead of treating them as disposable, as mere numbers. “And you, Mr. Mercadante...? What do you wish for?”

Ivano answered Ireneo’s wavering question with full frankness. “Freedom. Freedom for our chairwoman to pursue her own interests, freedom for me to conduct business—freedom from those who intend to interfere with us.” He did not wish for the destruction of Orlando & Co.; that would not be in the interest of the Rossetti Trading Company. If something could be of use, then let it be of use; turn the troubled past into an investment for the future. Dahlia would accumulate smiles with her magical tools and he would accumulate trust and gold so that the company might stand tall. For that to happen, though, they needed people who could be of use. “Chairman Orlando, I ask for your whole workforce.”

“Excuse me?”

“The entirety of Orlando & Co. shall subcontract for us, putting our work as top priority. None would dare to make an attempt on you while under the umbrella of the Rossetti Trading Company. We shall lay the groundwork to make it so. Though your operations may shrink, others will not be able to put your company out of business. We shall endeavor to prevent them from meddling with you.”

“But wouldn’t Miss Dahlia—er, Chairwoman Rossetti become the target of, um, unsavory comments?”

“Still playing the part of the watchful brother-in-law, are you?” Ivano laughed in his face—deliberately, of course. “Ever since the end of her engagement, our chairwoman has taken all sorts of comments in stride, never showing a smidgen of pain or even care. Besides, that’s if anyone can stand up tall and say these things to the world now.”

If anyone had the guts to say this was an act of revenge or punishment for breaking the engagement, Ivano would like to see them try. Dahlia was the chairwoman of a company with official purveyor status to the Order of Beast Hunters, an advisor to the same group, and had made baroness in a year. Not only was she in Marquis Grato’s favor, she was a brilliant magical toolmaker inventing breakthrough after breakthrough. She had glowing recommendations from various guilds. Who would want to make an enemy of her? Besides, it didn’t matter if the attacks came to her face or from the shadows; Ivano Mercadante was going to plow through the naysayers.

“Very well. I would like to hear your terms,” said Ireneo.

“‘Subcontractor’ doesn’t give off the best of impressions, so shall we call it a business alliance? In any case, there is a great deal of work we would like to entrust to you, so we will give you as much as we can. We shall go through our connections to protect you where we can. If there is anything wrong, we shall be happy to help. In exchange, however, I ask the two of you to go to the temple and enter a magical contract, promising that you will never do anything that could harm Ms. Dahlia or the Rossetti Trading Company.”

“The two of us, you say?”

“Namely Chairman Orlando—you—and your company’s manager of magical tools—Tobias. Oh, and, of course, we shall cover the fees to be incurred. Please take seventy-two hours to consider, starting now.” Ivano’s expression showed that he wasn’t about to concede on the terms, not that his peremptory way of speaking allowed Ireneo to get a word in anyway.

“So, you would say you take after your grandfather, Mr. Ivano?” Dark and glum, Ireneo rehashed his question from their last conversation.

“No,” Ivano responded immediately. It had taken all of Ivano’s resolve to maintain his expression the last time he’d confronted that question, but those barbs no longer pricked him. His grandfather, who’d founded the family business, had been criticized for being all too shrewd a businessman. His father had been respected as a kind man of integrity but had led the company to its ruin. To Ivano, now clad in mercantile armor, they were simply memories of the past—he was his own man and his own merchant. “I have been introspective lately, and I realized I take after neither my father nor my grandfather.”

“I see...” Ireneo’s black pupils pinned the floor. He had nothing more to say.

“Would you call me Ivano from now on, Ireneo?” By doing away with honorifics and titles, he made it clear that it was merely a rhetorical question. It was odd, if not wrong, that an employee like himself would do so to the chairman of another company. Nonetheless, it was all a mere pretext. Although addressing one another by their first names implied familiarity, the two men were no longer equals—

Was it antipathy? Resignation? Whatever that flash in his black eyes was, for the sake of protecting his people, his only choice was to bend his knee and accept the extended hand. “I would be most grateful to do so, Ivano.”

—Ireneo was his match no longer.

The Present and the Professor’s Wisdom

“Hmm... Now, what do I do with this?” Dahlia, with another filing drawer in her hands, was at a loss for where to put it. The room the Rossetti Trading Company had been renting for their office space must’ve shrunk, or at least it felt very much that way. Every shelf was buried under bundles of papers; every box had stacks of books on its lid, like pickling weights squishing down vegetables in brine. Dahlia lamented that she could neither summon a computer and a scanner to this world nor did she have materials powerful enough to create them.

The Rossetti Trading Company had been renting a warehouse for a while now, meaning that they didn’t have to deliver orders themselves. Thankfully, they didn’t need all that much storage space given how quickly products flew off the shelf, though inventory management must’ve been a headache in its own right with the number that came and went.

Dahlia had heard from Ivano that he had found a few viable business partners, and he had been dealing with that side of things by himself. Orlando & Co. was apparently one of them, but she hadn’t heard much about the details, as Ivano had quickly moved on to speaking about another company. He was likely trying to be considerate and avoid talking too much about them, but regardless, everything between her and the Orlandos was in the past.

What was surprising was that Ivano had said that he’d like to take more time recruiting before hiring. “We’ll be dealing with the castle and nobility a lot more from now on, so we ought to find someone who we can trust. It’ll likely be a little more expensive this way, but let’s stick to using the support staff from the guild,” he had said, convincing her. Right now, they had two clerks helping the company out. They seemed to deliver letters and documents, though Dahlia didn’t know for sure, as she had never spoken to either of them at length. She was happy with whatever, just as long as it made Ivano’s job easier.

Ivano also proposed that Guido stand in for Volf—since he was often away for expeditions—as her noble guardian. After she got Volf’s thumbs-up and gave it some thought, she gratefully accepted the proposal. Now that she’d received Jonas’s scales and Guido’s protection, Dahlia asked Volf to see what would be appropriate to offer in return. Volf had already sent them a smorgasbord of dried and cured foods, which they absolutely loved. However, Dahlia was reminded of her visit to the villa and worried that Guido would be grilling indoors again, but she kept it to herself this time.

There was one more thing. Dahlia asked Ivano about Gildo’s offer to be her noble guardian. Apparently, it was a “you’d best get one sooner rather than later” sort of warning, but he would’ve gladly done so if she had asked. After all, Gildo was a man with a big heart, but he was always too many steps ahead. He was obstinate or even secretive in his way of doing things, and Dahlia couldn’t help but feel things would be a lot easier for him if he were more honest about his feelings.

When vice-guildmaster Gabriella heard about his offer, she scrambled to write him a letter thanking him and apologizing to him, and along with it, a pair of camp stoves and ten zephyricloth scarves. However, the next day, just when Dahlia thought she could take a breath, she found herself receiving a foreign-made red baphomet rug, fancy green tea, adorable flower-patterned fine confectionery, and an elegant thank-you note, all delivered to her tower. Gildo truly was blisteringly quick with his attentiveness.

And so, as her tummy churned, Dahlia wrote a thank-you note for his thank-you delivery. Even flustered as she was, the tea and candy really were yummy.

“Hey, how’s it going? I hope I’m not bothering you guys by coming a little early.”

It was Ivano who responded to the knock at the door. “Not at all, Sir Volf. Good to see you again. We don’t have guests or clients today, so come in and relax.” It had been a few days since Volf had had the opportunity to take time off work, so he and Dahlia had made plans to have dinner together. “Ms. Dahlia, Sir Volf is here early. I’ve already finished checking the ledgers, so why don’t you head on out earlier today?”

“Sure, right after you, Ivano.”

“Oh, I just have a few more documents to go through...”

“I’ll join you, then.” Dahlia knew full well he would be working more anyway after he got home, so she kept an eye on him while she could. Just the other week, Gabriella had fabricated a story about how the room had a closing time to send Ivano packing, and that was after he’d already told Dahlia that he would be “going home soon.” Dahlia knew better than to let her guard down now. She wasn’t about to let her beloved employee die of excessive overtime like she had in her previous life.

“Very well. I’ll just file these documents in trays, store them in the cabinets, then go home.”

“All right, that shouldn’t take long. The three of us will leave all together, then, Ivano,” Volf chimed in. It seemed that no one in the room had much faith in the employee.

Ivano chuckled and threw his arms up in surrender, then, just as he’d said, he began filing documents in trays. Just as Volf laughed along with him, another knock came at the door.

“Chairwoman Rossetti, there is a delivery waiting for you from the Adventurers’ Guild. Um, actually, he’s here already, so maybe I should send him in?” The guild employee seemed awfully nervous; Dahlia wondered if that was because of the presence of the ex-guild veteran Ivano or that of Volf of Earldom Scalfarotto.

“Please,” she said, as she took out pen and ink to sign the receipt. Volf lounged in his seat, while Ivano was bundling up the excess files that couldn’t fit in the trays and tying them with string.

“It’s very good to see you again, Chairwoman Rossetti. I apologize for visiting so late, but I have with me the forest serpent you ordered.”

When she saw the man ducking through the door, Dahlia yelped. “Mr. Augusto!” Volf, too, looked shocked, and Ivano snapped the string in his hands.

“Sorry for dropping by unannounced as well; it just so happens that I was in the area.” Augusto bore a stack of silver chests; the big smile on his face made his brown eyes all but disappear.

Now why had the vice-guildmaster of the Adventurers’ graced the room with his presence? A runner could’ve easily brought her materials here. Dahlia could only offer him a seat.

“Oh, Volfred, you’re here too. Perfect,” said Augusto as he placed one large and two small magically sealed chests on the desk. “Here is the forest serpent heart, along with the fangs and skin.”

“Thank you for taking care of it for me,” said the knight.

“Of course. We made sure to take extra good care of the heart.” The large chest must have contained the heart of the serpent that the Beast Hunters had felled the other day.

“Isn’t that great news, Dahlia? You have everything to make the bracelet now.”

“Right. Thank you very much,” she said. Volf seemed so excited for her, but she wasn’t so confident that it would be as easy as he may have been thinking; Oswald had said that she would need at least a year if not more before she was ready, and she could just barely wield her increased magic.

Augusto explained the contents of the other boxes. “In here is a whole black slime, powdered, and in this one is the horn from a unicorn mare.”

“While I did order the slime, it was through another company, but, um, I didn’t order the unicorn...” She was sure the powdered black slime had been ordered through Orlando & Co., and she had no recollection of the horn at all.

“These two are on the house—a thank-you gift from Jean.”

“Jean? Whatever for?” She had given him the compact magical stove a few days ago, but that had been an apology on behalf of the Rossetti family and it surely didn’t warrant a return gift.

As she racked her brains, Augusto smiled and said, “I heard it was you who introduced Jean to Chairman Zola, and I’d like to thank you for that. It seems that Chairman Zola has helped him with a handful of matters, and Jean even addresses him as ‘Professor Oswald’ now.” He presented her with a card bearing an inoffensive (if generic) message of gratitude in sharp, blocky letters. What was heartwarming was that beside Jean’s signature, there was a little stamped depiction of a scorpion, hinting at the delicious drink he must’ve had at Oswald’s. “Jean now spends less time producing equally great results at a new job, and his health is on the upswing too, all thanks to Chairman Zola.”

“That’s so good to hear.”

“The other black slime that Jean caught has been processed and shipped to Orlando & Co. already. It should be just a matter of time before it gets to you.” Two black slimes at the drop of a hat? It really showed how experienced the former elite adventurer was. It would be nice to pick Jean’s brain about the slimes’ habitat and how to hunt them.

“Black slimes... Can’t be too careful with them, even when they’ve been turned to powder.” Volf’s muttering was probably directed at someone in particular, but Dahlia ignored him for now.

“I would like to thank you personally as well, Miss Dahlia. After your introduction, Jean’s wife and children came back to him. I could not be happier to hear that his family is whole once again. As his superior, I realize that I am to blame for pushing him so hard at work, but it is a relief that things have improved for him.”

“Thank you very much for the sentiment, but the credit should go to Chairman Zola instead. Nonetheless, I’m very, very glad to hear that Mr. Jean has gotten better.” Hearing that his family was together again genuinely made Dahlia very happy. Oswald must’ve given him good advice over a few drinks of scorpio; that must also be why he called him “Professor” as well.

“Jean looked extremely happy too, although perhaps plagued with a sort of ‘joyful fatigue.’”

Augusto’s pained smile made Dahlia awfully anxious. “What? Um, is Mr. Jean okay?” What kind of fatigue could he mean? She worried whether he wasn’t pushing himself too hard again for his family’s sake.

“It seemed as though he had quite a few things to get off his chest, and not only has he mended the relationship with his current wife, but he mentioned that he also went to apologize to his ex-wife. Now, it turned out that his ex-wife had remained unmarried through all these years, and in accordance with his current wife’s wishes, they had a discussion amongst themselves and decided to live all together.”

“He... Huh?”

“And, since they’ve remarried, his current wife is now his first wife, while his ex-wife has become his second wife. I’m happy they have come to such an amicable solution.”

It took all of Dahlia’s efforts to suppress her bewilderment. “Mm, yes, what a joyous occasion. Please send my congratulations to Mr. Jean...” Perhaps it was her commoner senses speaking, but although Dahlia felt a little guilty for being judgmental, she couldn’t help thinking that Jean didn’t have to learn everything from Oswald. Jean had fixed his relationship with his current wife—that much she understood—but he’d fixed his relationship with his ex-wife too? And they still had feelings for each other? Even so, as long as his wives—plural—and children were happy, then all was well that had ended well; her opinion didn’t make a lick of difference anyway.

“As his now-second wife was also an elite adventurer, she and Jean went hunting for the black slimes together. He said they even had a competition to see who could get one first, but the funny thing is that they each defeated one. I was told that their son also went with them and that they happened to stumble across the unicorn, so they took the chance to slay it as well.”

This time, it was Ivano’s turn to mutter under his breath. “Oh, yes, just a very casual thing to do...” Unicorns were notorious for being agile and tough to handle, but that just went to show how elite the adventurers were. Dahlia supposed it was more or less the same story with the Beast Hunters and the forest serpent. Must be a bad time to be a rare monster, she thought briefly; Dahlia was just grateful to have her materials.

“Jean has also been transferred to a new position, and he is now head nurse for all monsters, including slimes. And instead of returning as an adventurer, his second wife made her debut in the Adventurers’ Guild as Jean’s assistant. That should make his job easier and hours shorter,” Augusto explained. “As thanks for all that you’ve done for him, Jean has also asked me to take care of any future questions or requests for monsters and materials, so please don’t hesitate to come to us.”

“You two are far too kind. Thank you.” After a few more words between them, Dahlia, with a bit of a forced smile, sent Augusto off, leaving three people in the room.

“‘Professor’ sure is fitting for that man,” Ivano sighed in exasperation. Oswald was more than just a professor—a sage, even; he’d repaired Jean’s crumbling relationship and even reignited an old flame. Dahlia wondered where he’d gotten all his wisdom from in the first place. Then, Ivano turned his navy eyes to the black-haired youth. “Maybe you should take a few lessons too, eh, Sir Volf?”

“What? Why would I need to study under Oswald? I’m not looking for a second or a third wife, Ivano.” Volf seemed incredibly offended by the suggestion, but all Ivano did in response was stare back at him.

Dahlia, always in a fret, had to come up with something to soothe the tension. “Ivano, Volf doesn’t need to do that!”

“You don’t think so, Ms. Dahlia?”

“Dahlia...”

“Yes, Volf could easily get ten wives if he so wanted, wouldn’t you say?” Volf could do better than two or three wives; it would be a cinch for him to have twenty or even thirty women in his arms.

“Wow. Ten wives, huh? That, uh, sure is high praise, Sir Volf...”

“And yet, I can’t say I’m very happy at all...” The two men laughed, but it sounded hollow.

The Hog Farm and the Giant Boar

Given that the eastern highway saw much private and freight traffic, it was no wonder that it was kept in tip-top shape. The thoroughfare was packed smooth by earth magic, formed perfectly so that rainwater drained well, wide enough so that opposing covered wagons could get past each other, and featured rest areas at regular intervals—almost exactly like the highway systems of the world that Dahlia had once known.

Today, Dahlia was riding in a fine, splendid vehicle. Drawn by twin sleipnirs, the large coach—painted black with shining silver trim—was reserved for honored guests of the Order of Beast Hunters. Whatever sort of suspension it rode on did its job extremely well. The classy interior featured a base theme in white, while the pillowy seats that Dahlia sank into were covered in gray velvet. She stared off into the passing scenery, wondering how everything had gotten to this stage.

The day before, Volf had visited her at the tower. “The new guys just finished their horseback training, and so we’ve decided to go for a ride and call it patrolling the highway. And since we’ll be out there anyway, we’re going to go to the hog farm to pick up our order of bacon and have lunch there. The captain thought you might want to join us as well,” he had said. A picnic at the hog farm to cap off equestrian training (and more importantly, it wasn’t an expedition), a casual affair with no dress code, and only a handful of people? Say no more.

Given how safe the highway was, and in combination with the protection of the Beast Hunters, there was surely no safer means of traveling. Besides, a priest capable of healing magic had also come along for this excursion—in case of food poisoning or the like—hence the deployment of the coach. And since there was room anyway, Dahlia had gratefully decided to take them up on their offer and catch a ride.

The only issue that had troubled her was what to wear. The titles of purveyor and advisor weighed heavily upon her shoulders, so she didn’t have the luxury of dressing like a complete slob, despite the supposed lack of a dress code. It wouldn’t make sense to wear anything too constricting on a farm either. After some anguishing, she had decided on an aqua blouse, a pair of navy culottes, and a coat in matching colors—just in case the weather were to take a turn for the worse.

Now, in the coach, Dahlia sat by the window, leaving a seat between her and Grato, captain of the Beast Hunters. Across from her was the older priest in a white robe and silver-embroidered stole, and beside him was Head Treasurer Gildovan Diels, dressed in a dark gray three-piece and with a pair of golden feathers pinned to his lapel. Gildo, who had switched from his inconspicuous black coach to board the Beast Hunters’ coach at the castle gates, had politely greeted Dahlia and she him, but her stomach had sunk when she saw him—there truly was no such thing as a lack of a dress code.

Though everybody was engaged in small talk about the year’s hot summer and whatnot, Dahlia couldn’t have been less comfortable on this ride. She was still a little nervous around Captain Grato, she was meeting the high-ranking priest for the first time, and then there was Gildo, whom she had too much recent history with. Ivano wasn’t there to save her either, as he had a meeting he couldn’t get away from today. Meanwhile, Volf, being the Scarlet Armor that he was, led the convoy with the three rookies in tow; he had a job to do, so it wouldn’t have been right to ask him to accompany her. Dahlia had no choice but to let her stomach be nervous.

“Did you like the bacon, Gildo? Goes great with wine, doesn’t it?” Grato asked.

“Mm.” The man with amber eyes offered little in the form of a response, but he’d most likely enjoyed the bacon very much.

“It was so good, it was to my detriment—I couldn’t stop drinking!” added the priest, as he turned to Dahlia and smiled; he must’ve seen her looking his way. “Three days ago, when we were told that the Beast Hunters had put in a request for a priest to join them on a trip to the hog farm, all of us volunteered for this coveted assignment.”

Among the priests at the temple, those with embroidered stoles occupied administrative roles, or so Dahlia had heard. She would’ve expected the lower-ranking priests to concede to their superiors, or maybe that it would be dangerous for them not to concede, but she kept the thought to herself.

“If it was so competitive, how did you manage to get selected? Must be that new stole of yours, Aroldo?”

“Why, of course. That, and the gods’ blessings granted me a victory in a decisive round of rock paper scissors,” the priest said with a smug grin on his face. He had introduced himself as such to Dahlia earlier, and, surprisingly, priests who worked at the temple didn’t go by their last names, as neither family background nor social status had any place before the gods.

“Good that you could enjoy the sun too, since you’ve been saying that you haven’t had the chance to even leave the temple.”

“I needed this; cooped up any longer and I would be growing mold.”

Gildo cleared his throat, prompting Grato to explain himself. “Apologies, Rossetti. I should’ve explained that Aroldo is a relative of mine and that we have been friends since we were young.”

“Yes, and Grato taught me everything bad I know, while Gildo was always there to scold us afterwards,” he added. Dahlia hesitated to laugh along with him.

Gildo played his role as described. “Behave, you two. Have you forgotten that you’re in the presence of Chairwoman Rossetti?” The three men truly did speak very casually with each other.

“Have you all tried giant boar bacon before?” asked Aroldo. “It’s even richer and more flavorful, and absolutely on a whole different level than giant hog bacon.”

“Can’t say that I have. How about you, Chairwoman Rossetti?”

“No, I haven’t had the opportunity either.”

“Me either, and I’m afraid that we won’t have the chance to try any today, as they likely don’t have any in stock, since no giant boars showed up last year. And seeing how it is only summer, there may yet be time to come across them this year...” Grato sounded almost impatient to take down a giant boar with his Ash-Hand in the fall.

“Given your luck with monsters, we should look forward to autumn,” said Aroldo.

“Good point. Our order has already encountered the ruler of the woods twice.” The captain was talking about the forest serpent—the last monster that travelers and couriers would like to meet. It was very uncommon for the serpents to appear, but their strength and tenacity meant there was little chance of escaping them—so Marcello, who worked in the Couriers’ Guild, had said. This time, though, Dahlia felt pity for the forest serpent, but as the one who had received its heart, she had little right to say much.

“Grato, one would normally think you unfortunate for having encountered the forest serpent twice...” said Gildo. Dahlia kept silent, but she was surprised to find that for once, she was in full agreement with him.

Not long afterwards, the convoy turned off the highway and into a meadow. Waiting for them in front of a building framed with thick posts and robust beams were the beefy farmer and his farmhands.

“We are so glad to have you here, Beast Hunters!”

“Thank you for having us today. All of us here today are big fans of your smoked bacon.”

“What an honor, sir!”

Thirteen knights, two mages, and one priest were visiting today. For whatever reason, the head treasurer and some magical toolmaker had also tagged along, and—much to Dahlia’s discomfort—were also considered part of the Beast Hunters’ party.

After a round of greetings, they were brought to a pasture area that filled every corner of the eye. As the grass swayed in the breeze, the auburn pigs napped comfortably in their pen under the sun. Though the hint was in their name, giant hogs really were gigantic—each was about the size of a cow. They would sometimes get up and move around, only to flop down and fall back asleep immediately. It was quite the easygoing lifestyle.

“They sure are big,” said Grato, “and there are quite a few of them too.”

The farmer responded, “And they’ll be all yours soon. There are forty of them there, all females. Keep in mind that they’re already one size smaller than the males too.”

“My! They’re considered small! Do you raise males as well?” asked Dahlia.

“We’ve got three in a shed, but they’re still shoats.”

“Are they perhaps not as delicious as the females?”

“The flavor is just as good, but they can be somewhat tougher. You see, the capital prefers a tenderer cut of meat, so females are more valuable. Another reason is that males tend to fight to be the alpha, and that can get out of hand quickly.”

“Ah, just like giant boars, then?” Grato asked.

“That’s correct. They are very similar species, after all. From time to time, boars also come from the hills to the east to snatch themselves wives.”

One giant boar male led a sounder with around twenty females, and males that had lost their territory in the hills would sometimes go near human settlements in search of females and a home to call their own. The gilts, with their healthy, shiny coats, were apparently irresistible to the boars. Once every two years, the males would destroy the fencing at the farm to reach potential mates, and four years ago, they had taken away fifteen hogs with them, said the farmer. The squad sympathized with him when he said with very tired eyes that he had only just paid off the loans from that incident.

The conversation took place at a coarse-grained wood table, atop which was a feast and enough dark ale to match. Then, they were also brought wine and cheese. And once everything was ready, everybody raised their cups of wine and bottles of beer. Though the knights had originally intended to have lunch by themselves, Grato made the people from the farm very happy by inviting them to join, and from the private coach reserved for the Beast Hunters’ guests, he brought wine, cheese, sausage, and ham. “Even my future grandchildren will be bragging about the time I got to drink with the Beast Hunters!” Some of the farmers even had tears welling up in their eyes, demonstrating just how beloved the knights were.

Their merry voices rang out amid the summer breeze and gentle fluttering of green grass. Grato decided they would dine buffet-style with flexible seating around the round table. Dahlia accepted an offer to sit. The dark ale she was handed wasn’t quite cold, but that allowed the malts to shine through, ending in a gentle bitter note as it washed down her throat. She nibbled on some pickled cucumbers grown in the area; they were fantastically salty and sour, perfectly refreshing for the season. She then tried some pickled carrot and radish as well, which all paired very well with the drink in her hand. Apparently, the priest was a big fan as well, as he munched and crunched away beside her.

“Hey, Dahlia, there you are. Here, try some of this,” Volf said, handing her a plate of pink ham. It was reassuring to finally hear his voice.

“Thank you, Volf, but feed yourself first—you must be famished from leading the convoy.”

“Oh, it was nothing. We didn’t want to press the newbies too hard, so we were going at a pretty relaxed pace back there.” Speaking of whom, the knights dressed in unscarred armor were clinking their beer bottles. They looked to be in their late teens or just after and much more innocent than the men around them.

Then, a pair of bowls filled to the brim appeared in front of Dahlia and Volf, the steam wafting from them carrying a beautiful scent. “Volf, Ms. Dahlia, have some of this pork and vegetable soup!” Randolph was likewise placing bowls in front of the squad leaders.

“Thank you very much, Dorino. Were you at the front of the pack today as well?”

“Nah, me and Randolph were at the back letting the horses do the hard work while we enjoyed the scenery.” As he laughed at his own joke, Randolph came by, and so they all put their glasses together again.

The rich white hue of the soup was made possible by the creamy giant hog broth base. Lots of thin pork slices and a good dose of salt made it hearty, and the slivered vegetables added a crisp texture to every spoonful. The sudden lack of conversation indicated just how delicious the soup was.

Dorino separated his face from the bowl only after slurping up every last drop. “I’ve heard that giant boar males come alone but take up to twenty female hogs with ’em; is that true?”

“I have heard the same,” the shieldman said. “That would be, what, half of the hogs roaming here?”

“If that happens, we can say goodbye to the farm.” As jovial as their conversation may have been, that much was no laughing matter. “Still, a male’s gotta have a bit of charm if he’s able to bring back so many piggies with him.”

“Giant boar males are even larger than giant hogs, have tusks, and are seasoned fighters too, hence their attractiveness.”

“No shit? But providing for so many females means he’s gotta be pretty resourceful. Or maybe it’s the other way around?”

“Boar males only stay with their mates for a short period of time before going off on their own again.”

That caught Dahlia’s curiosity. “Are the giant hog females able to survive in the wilderness, then?”

“That I do not know. I have heard that the male will expand his territory if he deems it unsafe for the sounder, and that females join in the search too.”

“Well, when you’ve twenty wives to take care of...” Volf’s mumbling almost sounded like a reference to his conversation with Dahlia and Ivano the other day.

That must’ve triggered the knights at the other table, as they began getting rowdy. “How dare you, giant boars?! Make do with just ten wives, dammit!”

“Think about those of us who can’t even get one wife!”

“And to think you’d just up and disappear on them too!”

Dorino could but smile awkwardly as he brought the lads some more beer.

“Hm?” Dahlia noticed the giant hogs meandering closer and closer to the fence opposite her, perhaps drawn in by the boisterous boys or the unfamiliar faces. Those cute round eyes staring her way made things difficult for her—it was only a matter of time before they became pork chops sizzling on camp stoves.

As she dealt with her internal turmoil, an earsplitting squeal came from what looked like a black boulder with pearly tusks charging down the hill. Its mouth was bright red and its black upturned eyes were frightening; even a giant boar piglet would be enough to send Dahlia running for her life. From behind her came a chorus of cries from the giant hog females, almost like they were a particularly shrill cheerleading section. They began rearing up and stomping their front hooves on the fence, which did little to help ease Dahlia’s mind.

“Cut it out, girls. You’re going to starve to death if you go up there with him,” said the farmer. Almost as though his words had gotten through to them, around half of them stopped squealing immediately. But even then, their eyes remained glued to the giant boar ramming and taking down the fence.

“The boar is early this year. Perhaps it wanted to join us for lunch.”

“You truly do have luck with monsters, Grato,” Aroldo said.

“It appears so. Ah, Rossetti, why don’t you bring its tusks home? They might make for good enchanting material.” Suddenly appearing beside Dahlia was the captain, who had one red and one black longsword in his hands.

“Oh, um, thank you very much.”

“He’s a good size. Shall we turn half of the meat into bacon?”

“Make it two-thirds, Captain; that way, we’ll look forward to going on expeditions!” said a knight. They hadn’t even begun fighting the boar and they were already chatting about eating it. They almost seemed too relaxed.

The boar must’ve realized they were scheming to eat it, and it squealed in a fit of rage. Dahlia subconsciously took a step back as the men around her stepped forward.

“This should make for a good training exercise for the rookies. Back them up and don’t push them too hard,” ordered Grato.

“Let’s go, newbies! Show us what you’ve got, and maybe we’ll show you a slice of boar steak afterwards!”

“Aye, sir!” the boys called back in response as they charged ahead. Following some distance behind them were another handful of knights.

“Don’t let it get close to our esteemed magical toolmaker, now,” their captain warned them.

Then, the sound of a sword drawing from its sheath came from beside Dahlia. “Be back in a bit, then,” Volf said nonchalantly, as if he were simply heading out for a stroll.

Dahlia watched him walk away, but she didn’t know what to say, what she could say. “Um, Sir Grato, I thought giant boars were quite the dangerous monster.”

“They are rather dangerous, yes. Having the rookies around might make things a little trickier, but my men are stronger still.”

They kicked up dust and dirt as they ran in formation towards their mark. The first one to challenge the monster was a knight with a sword and brand-new armor. However, with a quick flick of its snout, the boar sent him soaring through the air. As the boy’s scream trailed farther and farther away, Volf moved at a terrifying speed and spread his arms wide. It was a good catch, and he lowered the boy to the ground, patting him twice on the shoulder after he did so.

“S-Sir Volf!” he burst out, overcome with emotion. But his savior had already turned away to pick up his dropped sword and face the beast again.

Grato provided some commentary for Dahlia. “See how the seasoned ones are taking care of the fresh recruits? An ounce of prevention is obviously best, and our masterful priest is here to provide many pounds of cure in case anything goes wrong.”

“Yes, not to worry,” replied the man, who reeked of liquor, as he bit into a skewer of pork in his right hand and then quaffed the dark ale in his left.

These two made it seem like nothing was out of the ordinary when one of the knights had nearly been sent into the stratosphere already. If he had fallen to the ground, there was little chance he would have come out of it all right. Not to mention, he could’ve died if he had been impaled or bitten by the boar! As scary scenarios played through Dahlia’s mind, a pair of knights—with the same shiny new armor—struck the monster’s flank. Crack! and snap! went their spears.

“Their hides are thick and tough, and our spears were too light. Ones double the heft would do well, but they would likely be unwieldy for newbies. Those boys need to pack on some muscle too...” mulled the captain. But it really seemed like the wrong thing to be focusing on. Now riled up, the boar turned around ninety degrees, faced those knights, and pawed at the ground.

“Dorino! Help ’em out!”

“Gotcha!” He moved his legs and his lips—he must’ve been chanting a spell, as drops of water began to fall from his palm. He dashed right up to the boar and, with a flick of the wrist, sprayed the drops right at its snout. The boar cried out in what sounded almost like a sneeze and then froze in a daze, giving Dorino time to grab the stunned newbies by the arms and pull them to safety.

Seeing its prey slip from quite literally under its nose must have made the boar even less happy. It gouged the ground even deeper with its forelegs and squealed at the retreating knights once more before sprinting after them.

“Randolph! Shield!” barked Volf.

He readied his shield and aimed squarely at the monster. “Aye!”

There’s no way he’s going to stop it! Dahlia couldn’t bear to watch and squeezed her eyes shut. Then immediately, thunk! The heavy, dull noise made her open her eyes again, but with much apprehension. The boar cried out silently as blood gushed out from its right eye. Randolph quickly backed up with his bent shield in hand; he must’ve bashed the boar with the edge.

“Volf!” Randolph shouted.

The black-haired youth didn’t just run, he moved so quickly that it didn’t even seem like his feet were even touching the ground. And then they weren’t; one wondered how high his wings would take him. The boar tracked him, swinging its tusks upward in defense. Dahlia clamped her mouth shut with both hands to stop herself from screaming aloud as she prayed for his safety with all her might. Then, a flash of black streaked across the sky; evading the tusks, Volf—with his black blade—split the boar’s neck wide open, its blood splattering onto the ground only after he had touched down. The giant boar growled one last time before its great body crumpled. With one arm over his head, Volf turned back and smiled; Dahlia was so glad the blood covering him wasn’t his.

“Everybody, get draining and butchering, but stay on your guard—there might be a continuation!” Following their captain’s command, the knights hurried towards the slain giant boar. With their limited numbers today, it would surely be no easy task to move the carcass around. “I shall join them too; good chance to teach the recruits something new. Gildo, protect Rossetti!”

“Of course.”

Grato handed his friend a black longsword before joining his men. That left Dahlia with a question for Gildo. “Um, Sir Grato mentioned there might be a continuation? Will the giant boar get up and move again?”

“He meant that the boar’s mates might come.”

“Oh, is that right?” She wondered if they worried about their husband or if they would come seeking revenge; either way, the giant hog females sounded like they had a lot of love to give, and Dahlia felt just a little sorry for them.

“Chairwoman Rossetti, erm, it likely is not what you are thinking,” Gildo said in a softer tone.

“How do you mean?”

“The giant hog females would not be here because of any concern for their mate, but in search of the male that was powerful enough to defeat their mate. The sounder is always in search of a stronger male and will even drive away ones that are too weak.”

As Dahlia felt really sorry for the dead giant boar, the knights began draining it of its blood, the redness of which drew her attention. Then, three dark beasts ran through the gap in the fence. “Why are they...?” They were about half the size of the giant boar earlier, but the three hogs charging straight at Dahlia were more than enough to terrify her.

“Must be because the hogs caught either the male shoats’ or the boar’s scent. Stay still, Chairwoman Rossetti.” Gildo drew his sword and stepped forward. One of the hogs fell to Grato’s sword and another was cleaved cleanly in twain by Volf. The third, the smallest and fastest, wove its way around the knights and rushed towards Gildo and Dahlia.

As small as a female may have been, it was still a giant hog; Dahlia was paralyzed with fear. “L-Lord Gildo!” she yelped out.

But the man in front of her didn’t seem one bit bothered. “You needn’t worry. I am a chivalric studies major, after all. Stone Bullet.” The pebbles, tapered to sharp points, flew from his left hand and into the eyes of the oncoming giant hog, depriving it of its sight and sense of direction. Then, he traced a large arc with his longsword; the giant hog hit the ground before it could even make a sound, and after a beat, blood came gushing from its neck. More knight than head treasurer, Gildo turned to Dahlia and smiled. “I would say I can match Grato. Wouldn’t you?”

Afterwards, all available hands were put towards bleeding and dressing the boar and hogs and, aside from that, it was a rather peaceful scene. Fortunately, none of the knights had suffered any major injuries, and when the urgent tasks were complete, everybody was back enjoying the meal again (though it was more like afternoon tea by now). Some of the meat from the wild boar had been sliced into steaks to be grilled. For some of the organs, the priest first cast his purifying magic, then the people from the farm fried them in hot oil; there was something exciting about how rustic it was.

“Please, have this aged giant hog! This is just a bit of extra leftover from the batch we sent to the castle, but you Beast Hunters should have it!” The farmer brought a pail of the beautifully marbled pink meat.

“That should be some of the finest meat there is. Allow us—no, allow me to purchase it from you,” Grato said.

“Captain, we couldn’t and can’t defend ourselves against giant boars. Even if they only come once every few years, you saw how destructive one can be; they destroy our fences, terrify our people, carry off our livestock. Even when we’re able to call on the Order of Beast Hunters for help, it’s only after a boar shows up. This time, you’ve prevented any real damage, so I really cannot thank you all enough.”

Grato looked troubled by his kind words. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that was merely our—”

Interrupting him was Gildo. “Captain Grato, how about we gratefully accept his generosity? In return, we can offer the slaughtered boar. It would be in everybody’s best interest to have a lasting and amiable relationship, wouldn’t you say?” His sudden change into this bureaucrat-like demeanor had some of the knights looking as though they were wondering whether that was the same person as before; Dahlia took great pains to stop herself from showing her own surprise as obviously.

However, the way he turned on his head treasurer mode satisfied the farm owner. “Thank you very much for accepting it. Please enjoy the rest of your meal.” He bowed and bowed before finally taking his leave, but somehow, it felt as though both parties were closer to one another. Furthermore, the three freshly slain boars were to be turned into new, experimental flavors of bacon for the knights, who simply couldn’t wait to smack their lips in the fall.

When the farmer came by with more dark ale for Dahlia, she asked him something she had been wondering. “Do other animals besides giant boars come to your farm?”

“Regular boars come by to steal food from the hogs at night, but that can be solved with a small dose of sleeping drugs mixed into the feed.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t work for the giant boars, though?”

“No, the giant boars don’t eat our feed in the first place and they come whenever they please, day or night. Fences work as well as you saw earlier. We usually get hit pretty bad in the fall, but I guess the seasons don’t matter this year...” Dealing with giant boars sounded like a total pain in the behind, and he seemed so tired and fed up with it. Dahlia empathized. If only they could set up electric fences; shame that there weren’t thunder crystals or the like in this world. The farmer continued, “We boil black chili powder in water and sprinkle it on the fences, which helps deter them, but it only works for so long until the smell dissipates.”

“Do boars dislike black chilies?”

“Both regular and giant ones. Splash some on their faces and they’ll turn around and run home. But the smart ones manage to avoid breaking the waterskins of the stuff, and the stubborn ones just don’t care.”

“That must be difficult...” She didn’t know whether to call the beasts passionate or brand them as stalkers.

“If it’s just a regular boar, we’ll shoot small waterskins filled with black chili juice from a bow, but they’re not that easy to hit with how nimble they are. The giant boars, though? We’re not about to get that close.” They were just regular people, so that much was only natural; the Order of Beast Hunters were the ones who were weird for treating the giant boars as walking pork chops.

Both types of boars hated black chilies, but it didn’t work if the scent dissipated. If boiling chilies in water would make it last longer, then all they had to do was— “What if you make a trap with an atomizer that sprays out chili water?” Dahlia suggested.

“Atomizer, like what you’d find in an iron or bug repellent? Wouldn’t the smell disappear really quick?”

“Not spraying the fences ahead of time, but if there’s a way to spray the boars when they get close...” Regular and giant boars moved differently, so there wasn’t a one-size-fits-all solution to the spray range. Putting the contraption together, however, didn’t seem too difficult.

“Huh. Sounds kinda hard to have those traps along the whole length of fencing, though,” Dorino said.

“In that case, turn the fences into a funnel trap,” Randolph suggested.

“What’s that?”

“Run the fence in a valley shape so that it draws creatures in. It would be best to have done so from the beginning, but it would be fine to cut the fence and make a funnel as well. Should work if you use the new gap in the fence, line the rails with veneer, then put the funnel trap at the bottom of the valley.”

“You sure that’ll attract the boars?”

“Creatures, including boars, tend to dislike running into sharp corners and jumping over obstacles. Thus, they would go for the path of least resistance—the gap in the fence. To be doubly sure, at the mountains on either side of the valley, you can affix something metal—iron powder, rust, or what have you—to repel them. That should draw them into the valley.”

“Damn. You’re smarter than you look.”

Speaking from his experience abroad, Randolph explained, “We got gray wolves, boars, monsters, and other pests along the border. Farms and ranches were easy targets. The baphomets were the most vulnerable.”

“Sir Randolph, what sort of traps are employed at baphomet ranches?” asked Dahlia. The margravate might have advanced traps that she had never heard of.

“Foothold traps are most common, but clever creatures will avoid them. They are no use against packs of animals either. Therefore, they set up robust fences but leave the funneling part only wide enough for a single wolf.”

“Hm? But, Randolph, wouldn’t the gray wolf get through?” Dorino asked.

“Gray wolves come only at a certain time of the year, so people and their hounds lie in wait for battle. In our territory, all creatures, including gray wolves, are important resources.”

“Nature’s tough for a margrave, huh?” Forests ran deep and hills grew tall in the wilderness between nations. Animals and monsters thrived in those areas, and defending ranches was a difficult task. However, a hog farm like this couldn’t have knights standing by at all times.

“Though I can’t guarantee that it would work, how about we give it a try? I believe I can fashion the atomizer out of a modified hot water dispenser,” Dahlia said.

She meant that she’d like to give it a try at some time in the future, but Volf leaped out of his seat. “All right, let me grab the insect repellent vaporizer out of the wagon.”

“Ms. Dahlia, I’ve got kraken tape and a complete set of magic crystals for ya,” added Dorino.

“I have some full concentration black chili water, giant hog hide, and a spare water dispenser. Let me get all that for you right away,” said the farmer.

Yes, momentum was indeed a very important part of research and development, but never before had Dahlia been dragged by the wrist into an experiment like this.

Dahlia completely disassembled the hot water dispenser to scrape off the fire crystal circuit, remove the hoses and thermal regulation parts, and generally take out anything else that was unnecessary. She knew the magical tool like the back of her hand, since it was something that she and her father had invented together. However, a closer inspection of the internals ticked her off. Whoever had built this particular example had cut corners; a few of the lines in the circuitry were imperfect, if not outright defective. Anyway, the automated atomizer was fundamentally quite simple. It used a water crystal to create water for diluting the black chili concentrate, and it vigorously expelled that solution out of a tight misting nozzle.

Dahlia had to first create a waterskin for the chili concentrate with some giant hog hide and kraken tape. Then, she had to modify the dispenser so that water from the crystal flowed to the external nozzle. While hot water dispensers were by no means inexpensive, jury-rigging it into an automated pepper spray was far cheaper than creating a case from scratch. It also was affordable to run, as the water crystal and the pepper water were only consumables that would have to be replaced at intervals after the tool was in operation.

Once everything was hooked up, Dahlia tested the functionality before assembling everything and, to the praise of everyone around her, the nozzle sprayed out a little rainbow mist.

“It’s amazing how you managed to do that in a flash! The Order of Beast Hunters truly is home to the best of the best, including your magical toolmaker!” exclaimed the farmer. Dahlia found it hard to celebrate with him, as the device had yet to prove a success.

The others chimed in with their own thoughts and opinions. “Couldn’t you put something other than black chili water in there? Maybe something like a fast-acting poison?”

“Are you serious? Any poison that might kill a giant boar will kill a human being!”

“Setting it up and maintaining the device would be a serious threat to the user’s life, and there wouldn’t be any smoked bacon for anyone anymore.”

“What about a potent soporific? It would be easy to slaughter a sleeping boar and turn it into bacon.”

“Something that could put a giant boar to sleep ought to be dangerous to humans too...”

“What about anesthetics? Paralyze it, slay it, and turn it into bacon?”

“More often than not, anesthetics are plant based, and giant boars are resistant to plant toxins. And, again, that would be dangerous for people.”

The people sitting around Dahlia offered gluttonous ideas and suggestions, which taught her that the smoked boar bacon had truly captured everyone’s hearts.

“Oh, I got it! We can make some sort of philter to tame them!”

“Dorino, who’s going to make something like that? And who’s the boar going to fall for?”

“I foresee that poor soul being crushed to death...” Randolph’s words elicited pained chuckles of agreement.

Little did they all know, though, Dorino’s suggestion was far from absurd. The neighboring nation, known as the land of herders, had secretly begun a program employing a drug that attracted giant boar females in the hopes of capturing them and crossbreeding them with domestic giant hogs.

“Um, thank you everyone for your valuable input, but I hope to test this trap today with black chili juice.” After the successful test with water, Dahlia reassembled the parts inside the case and added extra reinforcements. She had tuned both the crystal and the nozzle to produce a thick cloud of mist. She also connected the dispenser to an external switch, itself attached to a rather large sheet of leather that would be spread on the ground, which would be activated by, say, the weight of a mature boar. The average man should also be heavy enough to trigger the trap, and Dahlia made sure to warn everybody about it. “It’s only a prototype, but the black chili water atomizer trap is now complete.”

The people around her shifted their eyes away. “I mean, I knew already, but your names are really on the nose...” said Volf.

“It is very straightforward, but, erm, it is awfully long...”

“You are correct, Rossetti. That is exactly what it does...”

It was such an easy-to-understand name, yet their comments suggested that it was not a great name. Why not?

“How about making it more operatic, like Diavolo Nebbianera, meaning the Devil’s Black Mist?” The name, edgier than anything Volf could come up with, came from the priest.

“It hardly rolls off the tongue,” criticized Gildo.

Grato didn’t seem to like it very much either. “Sounds like a distant cousin of the devil nettle.” Aroldo’s shoulders slumped in dejection.

“Nebelfalle.” A mumble from Randolph caught everyone’s attention.

“Ne-bel-fal-le—hey, that’s a pretty cool name!”

“Yes, it’s easy to pronounce and remember.”

“Oh, I, erm, didn’t mean to... I was just wondering how it sounded in my language—”

“It might just catch on with neighbors too!”

With the black chili water atomizer trap having been christened the nebelfalle, it was time to give it a shakedown. They mounted wooden boards on both sides of the gap in the fence, forming a U-shape with a tiny gap in the center—the trick to a funnel trap like this one. There they placed the magic tool. “Before we proceed with the test, can I have someone put in the waterskin filled with water?” Dahlia asked before she forgot to do so.

“I got it,” answered Volf.

Since they were going to test it manually, it was important they didn’t feed the trap with actual pepper water. The waterskin was attached to the exterior so that anyone could easily swap it out. With the help of the knights, Dahlia set the switch on the ground, secured it in place, and covered it with a thin layer of sand.

“All right, I’ll be the giant boar for the trial today!” Dorino said, volunteering. He deliberately moved a good distance away from the fence and then sprinted into the funnel. The activation of the Nebelfalle sprayed a very powerful drizzle that—curiously enough—carried a very spicy scent... “Gaaaaah! My eyes!”

Dahlia went pale in the face as Dorino writhed on the ground. “D-Dorino! Are you okay?!”

“Dorino, that’s water. Did it get you in the eyes?”

“That most definitely has black chili in it! Oh, gods, it burns so bad!” As he rolled around, he cupped his face with both hands and used water magic to wash out his eyes, which proved to be bright red when he finally lowered his hands. Fortunately, the priest, despite reeking of booze, had impressive healing magic and immediately cured Dorino of his ails.

Dahlia checked the magical tool to find that it indeed had the wrong waterskin mounted on it. “Why was it loaded with chili juice? I did say to put in the waterskin filled with water, didn’t I?” She fretted that she might have misremembered, and the first person she turned to was Volf.

“Yeah, I did like you asked and then I placed it on the waterproof cloth. After that, I helped out with the sand—”

“Forgive me, I replaced the waterskins once again afterwards,” interrupted Randolph as he tried his best to avoid looking either in the eye. It should’ve been an easily avoidable mistake, as the waterskin with the boiled-down chilies was much larger and had big words written on the side that described its contents.

Dorino’s veins bulged from his temples as a big scary grin spread across his face. “You two!” Drops of water whirled on the palm of his raised right hand, and though they were beautiful under the shining sun, the dread of what was to happen next prevented Dahlia from enjoying the sight.

“I’m sorry, Dorino! I’ll buy you drinks!” cried Volf. “Make that twice!”

“Same goes for me!” The two knights begged for mercy in a panic.

“Fine. I shall let bygones be bygones.” As Dorino sucked all of the water back into his palm, he let out a great, big sneeze—his shirt was dripping wet from when he’d washed his eyes out.

“Dorino, I would feel terrible if you caught a cold, so would you please get into dry clothes? I’ll prepare something warm for you in the meantime.”

“I’m as healthy as a horse, Ms. Dahlia. A change of clothes and a drink will fix me up just fine.” After waving goodbye to everyone, he walked to the wagon to get changed.

Dahlia then turned to the group. “Um, I owe Dorino for this too, so let me pay for his meal...”

“No, I got you—”

Randolph, once again, interrupted Volf. “A meal at the Green Tower would be more than enough.”

“It won’t be much more than commoner food, much like last time. Are you sure he wouldn’t mind?”

“If anything, he would be very happy.”

“In that case, I’ll invite you all to the tower next time.”

“It would be...”—he paused to search for the correct word—“an honor to be invited.”

Unlike Randolph, Volf wasn’t smiling; in fact, he was wearing a bit of a frown. “Erm, I wouldn’t want to trouble you like that.”

“It’s totally fine, Volf. It’s not like I’m going to prepare a feast for you guys.” It seemed as though he was worried about putting a burden on her, but cooking at home was infinitely cheaper—and more comfortable—than going out to eat.

“We shall bring some food and drink with us, Volf. That should make things easier on Miss Dahlia. You decide what to get.”

“Oh. Sure.” A wrinkle formed on Volf’s brow, perhaps because he was already troubled about what kind of drink to bring to the dinner.

Before they could really wrap up the conversation, Dahlia was called away by one of the knights. The farm owner was pacing around the nebelfalle, wanting to try it out for himself. Of course, it was still loaded with the waterskin filled with chili juice, so she dashed over there before any harm would befall him. “I’ll be right back!” she said as she left with Volf right on her heels.

As Randolph watched them speed away, he felt a pat on his shoulder.

“Don’t push Volf too hard,” said a knight with reddish blond hair who must’ve overheard their conversation.

“I was just hoping he would be more self aware,” Randolph responded in a soft voice.

The other knight shook his head. “You know how he is. He can be as stubborn as a child. Plus, Lord Gildo stole the show today, so Volf’s gotta be a little miffed, right?” Volf may have slain the boar, but Gildo had gotten the glory of protecting Dahlia. His skill with the sword was shocking for someone from the treasury department.

“I sympathize.”

The other knight had joined the Beast Hunters at the same time as Volf and Randolph; they all knew each other’s personalities well. However, the mischievous glint in his navy eyes was an unfamiliar sight. “I’ve never seen you this chatty before either, Randolph. You got a good part in the show too, didn’t you, margrave?”

“I only spoke about what I thought would be pertinent from my experience.” Randolph furrowed his brow. “And the margrave is my father.”

“Hey, don’t get too worked up now.”

“I am not.”

“Well, your very accurate remarks might have come off a little pointed today is all. Volf might just not want to let others into the tower, you know?”

Randolph said nothing to agree with him and instead fired off a few words of his own. “He’ll have to mark the tower as his own territory first.”

The farmer and the farmhands sang the praises of the nebelfalle and thought it was perfect installed as is. They had high hopes for it, but a regular or a giant boar would have to visit again to prove its efficacy. Dahlia wished the best for them; it would be some time before she found out whether her idea had borne fruit, but she hoped the tool would keep the hog farm safe.

With the prototype and test run complete and some time before the sun set, Dahlia, Grato, Gildo, and a few other knights sat together around a table and continued the warm conversation. The rookies and younger farmhands at the other table began digging into their giant giant boar steaks—just looking at the abnormally thick slabs of meat was plenty filling. In front of Dahlia was a camp stove for frying up giant hog bacon and thinly sliced giant boar, and that was paired with a mountain of assorted vegetables.

“Ms. Dahlia, Volf, you’ve got to try some of this liver next!” said a grinning Dorino.

Dahlia could but nod silently, as she was busy gnawing on a thin slice of deep-fried giant boar heart. Though it was tough and carried a slight bitterness, its unique texture and savoriness made it a very nuanced cut of meat. It may have been her first time trying it, but it was plain to Dahlia that it was very different from regular pork heart.

Volf finished before her and so replaced her empty bottle of dark ale with a new one. “If your nebelfalle works well, you’re going to make a lot of boars sad.”

“Here’s hoping,” she said. Both regular and giant boar would in fact be crying, but mass-producing the nebelfalle would also make Ivano—who would have to set up the production line—and Fermo—who would be crafting them—bawl, as they would be up to their necks in orders, though it wasn’t something either Dahlia or Volf had any inkling of at the present time. “Oh! But that would mean we wouldn’t get any more smoked giant boar bacon.” Of course, the safety of the hog farm took precedence, but no boars also meant no bacon.

“Maybe they could notify us when they see one. Then us knights could wait at the bottom of the funnel to slay it.” Volf would have himself and his squad inside a trap if it meant getting more bacon.

“If I were the giant boar, I wouldn’t even think about coming near the farm in that case.” There may have been individual boars that would power through the pepper spray to get themselves a wife, but surely their survival was more important. There was no way a boar would go where their predators—the Order of Beast Hunters—were at the ready; if anything, they would sprint away as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. Would a male really give up that easily if he found a potential partner?” He seemed awfully sympathetic, but he was a Beast Hunter—he shouldn’t feel sorry for pests! Besides, he had just been talking about waiting inside the trap.

“What if you were a giant boar, Volf? Would you step into an ambush of Beast Hunters to get to your potential partner?”

“That—” The man shifted his golden eyes just once before staring straight into hers. “That might be something a man ought to do.”

Flying into the face of danger was pure foolhardiness, but Dahlia realized that must be the knight in Volf speaking. Risking one’s life to do what one must was noble—“I get it! Chivalry!”—so understood Dahlia, she declared.

“Hnk!”

“Ack!” Sitting diagonally across from her, both Gildo and Aroldo choked on their drinks and coughed with all their might.

“Are you two okay?!” Dahlia worried they had eaten or drunk something very offensive.

“No need to worry, Rossetti.” Grato, sitting directly across from her, looked at his friends with a strained smile. “I told you not to overdo the pepper.” Grilling on the camp stove were pieces of giant boar, their grease spattering from the grate. It seemed as though the cause of their choking was too much black pepper on their meat. Gildo had recovered already, but the priest was still hunched over and his shoulders were shaking up and down.

“I wouldn’t want you to choke on the ale again, so let me go get some water for you.”

“I’ll go with you, Dahlia.”

Dahlia and Volf went off to fetch some water, and no one at the table tried to stop them.

“O Madam Toolmaker, I do not believe that is chivalry...” The soft murmur from a voice unknown dissolved gently into the raucous sounds echoing to the summer sky, never to reach the redheaded magical toolmaker nor the raven-haired knight.

Extra Story: A Father and Daughter’s Magical Tool Invention Diaries—Magical Lantern Decoration

“Apply it evenly with magic, and...there.” In Carlo’s hands was a dull silver plate, atop which sat a puddle of vivid red liquid—a solution made from a powdered plant from Esterland called onirosso. Controlling his magic with the tip of his finger, he spread the substance to all four edges, fully covering the rectangular plate in an even layer. It was as though the metal were clad in a beautiful layer of thin red glass that sparkled under the light—perfect for a lantern.

But in the Green Tower’s workshop, his daughter, who would soon graduate high school, creased her brows. “Well, it’s not there, father.”

“Hey, no need to get so frustrated. Relax, give it some steady magic, and it’ll spread into a flat layer.”

“I’ll give it another shot.” On her plate, which was a size smaller than his, Dahlia gently squeezed the onirosso from an eyedropper. However, as the liquid touched the metal, it shot in a diagonal line across the surface. “Come on! I haven’t even put my magic into it...”

Such was liquid onirosso; it moved upon contact with the tiniest amount of magic. Its vivid color made it a good dye, while its durability made it a good paint. However, it wasn’t very popular with magical toolmakers or mages. Very fine control of magic was necessary to prevent it from running everywhere or even from shooting off the surface. Blasting it with lots of magic didn’t work, but trickling a tiny amount of magic wasn’t the way to do it either. It had to be set with a fixing spell before the color faded as well. Despite that, it was often applied to furniture and arms in Esterland. Carlo wondered how they did it there; he would love to go with his daughter to see their craftspeople in action.

“Hnnng...” Dahlia yowled like a disgruntled cat as a bead of sweat dripped down from her chin, her dainty fingers trembling ever so slightly. Whenever she focused on her work, there was nothing else in her world—not fatigue, not hunger. He knew that it was something they had in common, unfortunately.

“All right, let’s call it a night.” He straightened up the work area so that his daughter couldn’t just reach for another metal plate to try and try again.

“Father, would I be able to do this enchantment if I had more magic?” Her eyes, green just like his, stared bitterly at the metal plate. The red liquid on it wasn’t in a level layer but rather extended in lines from the center like a flower, like—dare he say—a dahlia in bloom.

“Well, it might make things a little easier. But, you know, what’s important for domestic magical tools isn’t the amount of magic you have but the control you have over it.” Again, just like him, his daughter wanted to craft magical tools for the home. Tools that required a large reserve of magic, like those for the nobility or the castle, were something they almost never dealt with.

“Father, was it hard doing the sköll enchantments at the castle? What grade do I need for large hot water dispensers?”

“Almost never” didn’t mean “never,” and he had actually done so once, which seemed to have piqued Dahlia’s interest. “About twelve. Anything less than that is difficult, so don’t you accept any jobs like that.”

“That means you have grade twelve magic? I’ll never, ever be able to do it, then...”

“If you want to get better, then make a hundred small hot water dispensers. They all dispense the same hot water anyway. Nothing inherently different about them.” He decided to suggest something different instead of teaching her how to increase her magic, which might have relieved her disappointment. It wouldn’t be right to teach her something that could damage her still-growing body, hence him not being entirely honest. Dahlia had grade eight magic. She would reach nine if she kept enchanting, but Carlo didn’t want her to go any higher than that.

The truth was he wasn’t at grade twelve magic either; even getting to eleven had been something relatively recent, and that was only because of the job at the castle that Dahlia had mentioned. Carlo had taken on a job to modify the large hot water dispensers that the royal family used, which had meant enchanting the dispensers with wind magic to prevent them from overheating. He had rejected such offers up until that point, but he’d needed a favor—and the money as well. And honestly? It had been a mistake.

Sköll fang had been the material for that job, but Carlo hadn’t managed to control its avarice for magic—despite having used mana potions to enhance his magic beyond grade eleven in preparation. Sweat had come out of every pore on his body and his breathing had become ragged. The client, in his black three-piece suit, had suggested bringing on other magical toolmakers to assist Carlo. Other well-known toolmakers were Oswald and the people within his circle, Leone—who now worked in a completely different field—and his daughter Dahlia; Carlo had only one choice. “What, and split the money with them? I must decline!” he had said, mustering the biggest laugh he could. The client had said nothing; only his thin lips had curved upward in a smile.

Completing that job had taken all the magic Carlo had thought he’d need and some more, which had had the effect of bumping his magic up closer to twelve. He had felt fortunate to make it out alive. When he finally got home that night, he’d found Dahlia waiting for him by the door. He had given her an impromptu seminar on how wind magic prevented magical tools from overheating and shown her a piece of sköll fang he had received. Her eyes had sparkled as she poked at it, and the tenderness of the gesture would have been enough to resurrect him even if he had died from the job. “It’s a very difficult material, that one,” he’d warned her. “I don’t want you to use it right away. Give it five or ten years, then you’ll be up to it.”

She was, after all, his daughter. She must’ve secretly enchanted with the fang alone at night, just as he probably would have. He passed out that night, and it was too late by the time he found her pale in the face. He feared the worst, his fingers trembling in fear. The silver lining was that she was merely running low on magic, so he had her rest in bed for two days. That wasn’t enough to soothe his anxiety, so he made her bread porridge with milk, a heap of sugar, and a secret splash of potion. Carlo knew damn well that she felt, as a magical toolmaker, she needed to challenge what seemed to be impossible; of course he knew, since he was the one who’d passed the trait onto her. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself, and so he did nothing to reprimand her.

“Do you think you could take my son Tobias as your apprentice?” Carlo’s friend proposed that his younger son enter Carlo’s workshop next year after reaching high school and enrolling in magical toolmaking studies. However, there were a lot of considerations when it came to learning the trade, like magic capacity, magic attunement, and even what one would like to craft.

“I’ll think about it if he’s suited to make what he wants to make, and if it’s not just something his pops wants him to do,” Carlo replied. However, his friend was the chairman of a company that dealt in many magical tools, so there was one thing that bugged Carlo. “You gotta know a lot of noble toolmakers. Why don’t you ask them instead? Your kid would make a killing with them.”

“Tobias has the most magic of anyone in our family. Most likely, my wife’s father skipped her and passed it down to his grandkid instead...”

Ah, I get it. That’s why he asked me. His friend’s wife, much like Dahlia, had noble ancestry; you could never predict when those ties would come to wrap around your ankles like fetters. Carlo’s friend wouldn’t want to jeopardize his son’s future like that.

“Plus, I’m a merchant. I might trade tools, but what do I know about the skills or the spirit of magical toolmaking? It should be obvious that I’d turn to my good friend, someone who I can trust.”

“Touching, but that’s that and this is this. It’s going to cost you, you know? Say, drinks twice a month?”

“So, no change from now, then? You ought to have asked for three times, Carlo.”

The two men chased their drinks with loud cackles. It wasn’t until the date had changed that they returned home, much to the anger of their respective families.

A few days afterwards, the aforementioned son arrived at the tower. “My name is Tobias Orlando. Thank you very much for having me.”

“Carlo Rossetti. Good to have you,” he said cheerfully in response to the brown-haired boy’s very polite bow. Tobias seemed less like his father and more his mother—both in appearance and in their magical ability. “All right. Shall we get started with magic control?”

Partially to test his aptitude, Carlo set down a metal plate and some liquid onirosso. Tobias immediately apologized for his ignorance, then asked the desired outcome and the purpose of the exercise. It was music to Carlo’s ears. Who will use it in what way?—those were key questions to keep at the forefront of the mind when creating magical tools for domestic use, and he was happy Tobias already understood that.

Though he had less magic than Carlo, he seemed to have some foundational knowledge, and his enchanting and shaping were crude but careful. These were trifling problems that could be fixed simply enough through practice and repetition—such was obvious to Carlo after spending just half a day’s time with Tobias. His control of magic wasn’t spectacular, but that was something Dahlia was still learning as well. Tobias also acted very much like a chairman’s son—polite, courteous, and mild—exemplified by his quiet but intense stare at his failed enchantment as sweat rolled down his brow. This bout of focus could only be one of two things: a passion for magical tools or the stubbornness of a magical toolmaker.

“Forgive me if I’m being a bother, but would it be possible for me to continue working in your workshop for just a while longer?” Tobias asked as the sun went down.

How could Carlo possibly say no? He turned the magical lantern just a little brighter. The boy pouring his heart and soul into that thin metal plate reminded Carlo so much of when he himself had been a young man.

Following his dreams, Carlo had pursued magical toolmaking in high school, but it hadn’t been long before his lack of magic had become apparent. It didn’t matter how much they had practiced; those with blue blood flowing through their veins excelled at enchantments that required much magic. In the Magical Tool Research Group—the club he had joined for the advisor—many of the members had had powerful magic as well; they had been able to easily enchant with materials that Carlo couldn’t even handle. There had been an older student there who majored in both civil service and magical tools, made many tools with his high magic capacity, and sold those tools to provide for his family. There had also been a student of Carlo’s own age who, despite somewhat lacking skills, pumped out tools and helped the family business. Compared to them, Carlo had had too little magic for the materials he wanted to work with, and he could only sit by and watch others do what he couldn’t. His father may have earned his barony through his craft, but Carlo had been nowhere near his father’s level.

“Be proud, Carlo. Your father’s control of magic is on par with that of the gods themselves”—so said a material supplier who’d visited the Green Tower when Carlo was still a young boy. Carlo had thought those words were more or less simply flattery, but he had realized they were very much true when he entered high school and became an apprentice under his father. His father hadn’t had a lot of magic, but he had had a most delicate touch. Through an opening in the housing smaller than a gimlet hole, he had been able to flow his magic like a silk thread and lay down a magical circuit inside the tool without breaking a sweat.

“Is there a trick to controlling magic well?” Carlo had asked his father. He had received three words in response, those being “practice and determination.” His father and mentor was a man of few words. Carlo had wanted to improve by leaps and bounds, but all he did was grind through drills in magic control, calculations, and the like; those were certainly important skills, but he had felt as though he wasn’t getting anywhere. Seeing his mates craft and enchant like it was nothing had been more than enough to make Carlo burn with envy.

The month of his sixteenth birthday—the age of majority—Carlo went out drinking to celebrate with his research club friends. There, fueled by alcohol, they did as knights did and played the confession game. A round of rock paper scissors decided who went first, and, though he no longer remembered the specific order, Carlo went last. There were stories about sleeping in on the day of the entrance exam and needing to reschedule it, and crying about how someone’s childhood friend had gone and married a man he’d never heard of—stories one would expect to hear from people of their age. It was then, finally, that the toolmaking confessions came around.

“I hereby confess that I can’t control my magic! Gods, I wish I could have the satisfaction of using kraken tape just once!” said an older student. Come to think of it, he had asked Carlo to apply kraken tape to a decorative bottle made for his girlfriend. It turned out he hadn’t foisted menial tasks on Carlo just because the latter was a new member of the group.

“I hereby confess that I can’t release magic in a steady trickle. I’ve even refused good toolmaking jobs because I’d be wasting too much time trying to do so...” said another senior of Carlo’s. Though the fellow was from a noble family, he had toiled away making and selling magical tools. He had even passed on odd jobs to Carlo, and it turned out that it wasn’t because of tight deadlines but rather because they were jobs he couldn’t do at all.

“I hereby confess that I can’t stand developing tools. My old man wanted me to be an inventor because he didn’t have the chance to be one, and so he put me through school, but all I want to do is craft them...” So that was why he enjoyed producing the same tools over and over again but hated writing papers.

By the time it was Carlo’s turn, his own anxieties seemed so trivial. “Come on, Carlo,” urged one of his seniors.

With his right hand on the table and his left on his glass, he took a deep breath and blurted out his secret. “I hereby confess! I only joined the Magical Tools Research Group because I had a crush on our advisor, Professor Lina!”

A few moments of silence preceded the group going absolutely wild. “Rossetti, you dog! You told everyone you joined because you wanted to get better as a toolmaker!”

“Ha ha ha! I knew it, Carlo!”

“So, that’s why you wanted to talk about Professor Lina...”

After a few slaps on the back and a few more drinks in his system, Carlo found himself with more friends that night.

It was now so obvious that it didn’t matter whether someone came from a noble or common family, whether they had much or little magic, whether they were older or younger—everyone had their fair share of troubles. From that point on, Carlo stopped complaining about his magic capacity and instead focused on perfecting his magic control. With control, technique, and information, he knew he could become a proper magical toolmaker. He knew he could become a toolmaker like his father, who never needed to increase his magic to make perfect enchantments. In fact, he knew he could become a better toolmaker than his father one day.

Right after waking up, on his way to school, during breaks between classes, after meals, with the research club, after he got home, and until he fell asleep, he would practice and practice and practice. When he was alone, he would practice passing his magic through a hole drilled through a sealsilver-painted plate. He had to be accurate, otherwise the magic would bounce back and bite him on the finger, and that hurt like being flogged with a whip. One time, he was careless and split his fingernail wide open, and when he visited the infirmary, he lied and said he’d fallen. But that couldn’t stop him; whenever he had a free moment, he would be training his magic control for no one’s sake but his own.

The year after, a pretty boy of a new student with silver hair and eyes joined the Magical Tools Research Group. He was from quite the famous and wealthy viscount family, in the top five students, had good looks, and was popular with the ladies, which garnered curses from those who were envious of how the gods gave not with both but four or even five hands. But he was honest, saying that despite his background, he didn’t possess much magic and couldn’t craft many magical tools. It was only because his father said he would be looking for a toolmaker who could handle the production side of things to be his subordinate that he joined the club. When Carlo asked him what he had trouble with, the freshman replied that his father—though he had little magic—handled everything, like magical lanterns with enchanted effects. There wasn’t much he had tried either, as his magic was lower than what the instruction manual recommended.

“You know, with good magic control, even you could make all of that stuff there,” Carlo said. The freshman was shocked, but his silver eyes glimmered. Then and there, Carlo decided that he would look out for him—not because Carlo saw his old self in the kid, but because his big silver puppy eyes were just so cute.

However, teaching someone else magic control turned out to be quite difficult. Unhelpfully, Carlo said to him, “If something doesn’t work, think outside the box and try again. Repeat until it does,” but somehow it got through to the freshman. He, too, practiced until his fingernails split and his fingers bled; he aimed to have such fine control as to thread magic through a pinhole. The two of them trained with the spirit of knights, trying and trying until they could accomplish their goals. Besides, Carlo couldn’t let someone his junior get the best of him.

With four years of stubbornness, the holes in Carlo’s plates went from pen sized to gimlet sized to yarn sized. One night, while lamenting that he couldn’t get to his father’s silk-thread fineness, he fell asleep sprawled over the workbench. The next morning, his father suddenly brought him a dozen mana potions. “I’ve been waiting for you to get to this level of fine magic control,” he said, and taught Carlo how to raise his magic—a very pleasant surprise. It was no exaggeration either; Carlo’s father could indeed turn the flow of his magic from the thickness of yarn to that of a single strand of hair, then to two, four, and eight strands. His control of magic was truly impeccable, and, for the first time, the apprentice found respect for his father as his master in magical toolmaking. Even with instruction, Carlo struggled with training in the beginning, but results came quickly.

At his graduation ceremony, Carlo arranged fifty white paper roses in a line and then launched them into the air before the club advisor. After the initial shock, Professor Lina broke into the brightest, most beautiful smile he had seen yet. It was a tragedy that she was already married. When his friends found out, they reacted with a mixture of surprise and laughter and said all together, “Carlo, you devil, you!”

It was the dead of night and Carlo celebrated by his lonesome the fact that he’d gotten a new apprentice. He poured the red wine into a beaker ever so gently, praying that it wouldn’t wake his sleeping daughter. That day, he had formally accepted Tobias as his new disciple, and when Dahlia returned home, he’d introduced Tobias as his disciple and her senior. She had opened her green eyes wide, and for a split second, she’d looked at the boy with displeasure. Carlo had never thought she had such a competitive spirit dwelling in her, but she had undoubtedly reacted to the “senior” part. It was a relief for Carlo, really. He was proud of his daughter’s kindness and gentleness, but it was because of those good traits of hers that he had feared she would turn out to be a doormat. It seemed as though he needn’t worry, as she not only had passion for magical tools but also the stubbornness of a magical toolmaker, just like himself and likely Tobias too. Three stubborn people together might just work better than it sounded, he reckoned. His two apprentices shone bright like rainbows after the rain. He wished for their magic to shine through forever, piercing any cloud that may overshadow them. He wished that they would always remember to help each other out in their futures making domestic magical tools. He wished, prayed even, as a man whose lack of magical capacity had hung above him like a cloud.

“My apprentices ought to learn to control magic well.” School will get you this far. The average toolmaker is this good. If you want to work in the castle, you’ll need this much. But having those references would only encourage them to set their sights on the lowest standards, and Carlo was going to teach them better than the bare minimum. He would teach them there were no limits but the ones they set for themselves. But as a master to his apprentices, he needed to give them a target, even if he wanted them to surpass every minimum. So that his apprentices would never catch up to or surpass him, he reaffirmed his determination to work on himself. Carlo—someone who’d had his father as his master—would never learn that it was a terrifying standard. Neither would his apprentices. Working on yourself simply became something that would be passed down from master to apprentice as an obvious necessity.

For the redheaded toolmaker, the results of her training began to blossom when she first put her name on her magical tools—when she was able to wear her name as a magical toolmaker with pride.