The Benefactors and the Beneficiary

“Wow. There’s so much I didn’t know, even with my experience in the field...”

After dinner at the tower, Volf and Dahlia sat side by side reading the bestiary they had bought a few days ago. The tome contained eye-catching artwork of the monsters in the neighboring nation, such as the sköll and unicorn, the mighty forest serpent, and the terrible hydra. There was detailed information on how to raise bombastworms and pasture crimson cattle and baphomets, demonstrating the common attitude in that country that monsters were livestock.

Volf continued, “It says there that cockatrices charge up before unleashing their petrification breath. That sounds like something we could exploit instead of hacking away at its head as we usually do.”

Even Dahlia was surprised by how much was new to her. “I knew that cockatrice beak prevents petrification, but I never knew that its feathers could be used as material for one-time protection from petrification.”

“I can’t help but kick myself for wasting its feathers and all the other parts.”

There was so much they thought they ought to have known that was seemingly common knowledge in Ordine’s neighbor. Different people in different places know different things, after all.

Volf peeked out the window and said, “It’s dark out already.” The two of them had been so enraptured by the book that time had just flown right by.

Perking up her ears, Dahlia heard faint drops of rain. A streak ran down the windowpane. “Oh, it looks like it’s raining. Would you like to stay a little longer?”

“It’s gotten so late already...” Just then, as if to shut him up, the passing shower fell even harder. The two of them looked out and saw the pouring rain before turning to each other and chuckling.

“Volf, could you stay longer?”

“I’ll do that, thank you,” he replied. Suddenly, his brows furrowed. “Sounds like someone’s coming.”

“Huh? At this time?” The sound of the rain nearly masked the bell at the gate. Dahlia looked out the window and saw a figure in a cloak. It must’ve been something urgent, and she rushed down the steps.

“Sorry for coming at this hour...”

“Marcella!” There he was, standing soaked at the front gate. Dahlia hurried him inside.

Marcella took a step past the threshold and sank into a deep bow as water dripped off his sandy hair. “Dahlia, I need your help! Please save Irma!”

The Senior Apprentice and the Magic-Leeching Bracelet

Before she returned home from Oswald’s mansion, Dahlia had dropped by the Merchants’ Guild to get Ivano up to date. As crafting the magical tool might bring him—the other half of the company—into the thick of things, she had felt the need to apologize and explain the situation with respect to Marcella, the magical tool, the danger from the nobility, the potential impact on the company, and everything else. Ivano had not a single word of criticism for her and instead gladly offered to attend to the business, as well as heartfelt wishes for the best for Irma. He said he would visit them at Oswald’s after wrapping up the day’s work. Then, at the tower, Dahlia had gathered her overalls and the materials on her list. She was fully aware how frantic and drained she must have looked. The well-built driver had extended his hand and helped out with loading the coach. Now, she was finally back in the mansion.

Oswald, dressed in a set of white work clothes, set down a few magically sealed boxes, presumably containing crafting materials. “A pregnant woman with hypermageia must have the excess magic extracted from her body. With the wide disparity between her and the father, a ring would most likely be too small, so we shall be making a magic-leeching bracelet.”

“All right!”

There was no need for a longer introduction, and the toolmaking duo went over the plan. “The mother is at grade two, but the magic the child has discharged has her up to grade eight. We will need to extract the excess magic from the child to protect the mother. Moreover, we will need to prevent further crystallization from the earth magic and stabilize the effects of the magic disparity in order to protect both mother and child. Lastly, we will need to implement a function to discharge the stored magic, as the bracelet can only absorb and hold so much.”

The five necessary enchantments were as follows: magic leech, crystallization prevention, protection for the pregnant woman, protection for the fetus, and magic discharge. Any one of them sounded difficult; all of them together sounded impossible. Or at least, it would have been, if Dahlia had been working alone.

Oswald continued, “The materials we shall be using are sköll fang for magic leech, cockatrice beak to prevent crystallization due to excess earth magic, horn from a female unicorn to stabilize the mother’s condition and rejuvenate her, horn from a male bicorn to deceive the fetus into thinking the mother has enough magic, and basilisk talon to discharge the magic.”

Dahlia had brought all the materials she had at home, such as the sköll fang and parts from a unicorn and a mutant bicorn. Fortunately, Oswald had cockatrice beaks and basilisk talons in stock, and, if they were to run out, he said he could procure more from the Adventurers’ Guild.

“With how much magic there is coursing through the mother, we shall need to make the bracelet out of mythril. The inside will be split into four sections to be enchanted with the various materials. To prevent magical interference, we will apply the unicorn horn to each section as a barrier, then enchant the obverse with basilisk talon to balance it out. The healing powers of unicorn horn would be the safest for a pregnant woman,” explained Oswald. That method of preventing interference was something that Dahlia had only just now learned, and she felt a little guilty that in spite of the emergency, her first thought was that she could use the same technique in making Volf a magical sword. “Do you have any questions?”

“Will the magic stored in the mythril bracelet be converted back to aether by the basilisk talon?” Dahlia wondered how the mythril and basilisk talon would play together.

“No, it will not. The mother will have to use earth magic once a day to discharge the magic stored up. It should be intuitive, and she should only need to do so for the duration of her pregnancy.” Bizarrely enough, that meant Irma would become a temporary earth mage. “I must also apologize—I have never crafted this magic-leeching bracelet before, and considering your magic and mine, I can only give it a fifty-fifty chance of success.”

“Right...”

“That said, we do have some extra material for trial and error. And if we are not successful, you can try asking Captain Bartolone of the Order of Beast Hunters to introduce you to a healing mage. Keep your chin up, okay?” Oswald offered some silver lining, as he must’ve seen through her—with how dire the talk was, it was natural that Dahlia was tense. The more time she spent with him, the more of a professor he seemed. “I’ll have you use magic to whittle down the cockatrice beak into a flat disk that will fit in the bracelet. Two things to be careful about: do not use too much magic on it and do not forget your protection against petrification.”

“I can’t imagine it would be easier to craft this bracelet with my hands turned into solid stone.”

“You wouldn’t be able to turn door knobs or open windows, leading to a very difficult time asking for help. I cannot recommend it,” he said with a straight face. But Dahlia couldn’t hide her smirk; she hadn’t thought he would have a first-hand account for her. “We have a few of the beaks, so why don’t you give it a try, Dahlia?”

“Can I really? Thank you!” The cockatrice was a monster with the head of a rooster and the body of a serpent. It differed slightly from the ones in the legends of her previous world, where she had read a book that described them as having the body and wings of a dragon. Here, they were real, and their wings were small and their torsos more like a lizard’s. To be fair, dragons in this world were considered large lizards, so perhaps there wasn’t much of a difference after all.

“I shall roughly hew it with a saw to form the correct shape for you. You will then affix it to the bracelet, sprinkle it with the powdered unicorn horn, and apply a fixing spell.” In Oswald’s hand was the lower mandible of what looked to be a mere rooster’s beak—dark yellow on the exterior and orange on the interior. He handed it to Dahlia for her to examine, and she found it to be as hard as metal; a peck from a cockatrice would inflict more than just pain. Oswald took a magical toolmaking saw to the beak, and within moments, he had a small yellow disk.

Mythril was a silvery metal that shimmered in blue if it caught the light right; the cold look wasn’t something Dahlia had seen in her previous life. The bracelet had a hinge in the middle and metal clasps at the ends. There were cutouts on the inside of the band, ready to receive enchantments. Dahlia, being very careful to not drop it, slotted the thin disk of horn in. Next, she streamed magic out from the index finger on her right hand to first engrave a magical circuit, then connect the anti-petrification module. That much was easy. After checking that magic could flow through the circuit, Dahlia proceeded to sprinkle the ground unicorn horn on top. It adhered to the cockatrice beak as soon as she applied magic to it, meaning that she managed to avoid getting the pure white powder everywhere. With the fixing spell properly done, the beak disk glowed a faint yellow.

“Very well done on both counts.”

“Thank you.” The words of praise allowed her to finally relax her shoulders. However, that was just one of five enchantments to do—no time to rest.

“Let us do the sköll next. Did you happen to bring any from your home?”

“Yes, I had one.” Dahlia opened the magically sealed box, and Oswald removed his glasses to examine the silver fang, which glimmered in gold.

“We should be able to handle a sköll fang of this size with our powers combined. With such a big difference in magic between the couple, your larger pieces would be better suited than mine. We shall saturate it with our magic until it crystallizes, then affix it to the bracelet. But first, let us get some help for safety’s sake.” When Oswald opened the workshop door, he called for Ermelinda, who was just welcoming in a certain raven-haired guest. The synchronicity of it all was frankly a little shocking. “Welcome, Sir Volfred. I apologize for springing this upon you, but may I ask for your assistance to ensure Miss Dahlia’s safety while we complete our work?”

“Uh, sure...”

“And Mel, could you help me please?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

Their greetings were cut short by the pending work, and the two assistants headed into the workshop. It must’ve been quite the sight for Volf, as his golden eyes darted around in shock. It was easily ten times the size of the tower’s. The glossy, light gray marble flooring and all the magically sealed boxes on the floor-to-ceiling shelves made it paradise for any magical toolmaker.

“Dahlia and I will combine our magic to crystallize this sköll fang. If either one of us collapses or faints, I ask that you pull the table away from us. No need to be gentle about it either,” instructed Oswald.

“Sköll fang...?” Volf immediately had a look of concern on his face.

Dahlia smiled, hoping to reassure him. “We want to use sköll fang because it can absorb the magic from Irma, and so we need to crystallize it by pouring magic into it first. Plus, I have Professor Oswald working with me this time, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“By all calculations, we should be well within the range of the capacity needed, but it is always good to be prepared, lest we slump over near the fang,” Oswald said. Behind him stood Ermelinda and behind Dahlia stood Volf. The sudden and unexpected audience—and the fact it was Volf too—gave Dahlia a bit of stage fright. “Please step in if either of us collapses or faints, but do not do anything otherwise.”

“Very well.”

“Understood.”

While Dahlia rolled up her sleeves twice, Oswald removed his gloves. He said, “We will do it in one go. I shall bring us mana potions afterwards.”

“Thank you.”

Though both of them favored their right hands, Oswald pointed with the pad of his thumb and Dahlia pointed her first two fingers as she lightly clenched the rest of her digits. A toolmaker’s grip was a very personal thing. Unlike mages, not many employed wands, staves, or rings to project their power but instead held their hands in whichever way made it easiest for them to manipulate their magic. Dahlia had learned her grip from her father, and that was the grip she still used today.

“We commence.” Oswald led the enchantment process and beamed his magic—like a silver breeze mixed with rainbow dust—into the sköll fang.

Dahlia followed his lead, emitting a semi-transparent multicolored stream. However, because of the recent increase in her power, her output was somewhat unstable. She tried her best to prevent her magic from fluttering and rippling like a ribbon.

The fang continued to take in both the silver and the rainbow lights, and it shook and shimmered slightly brighter. The four of them observed silently. It should’ve only been a matter of time before it crystallized, but after seven or eight minutes, it was obvious to the pair of toolmakers that they had been entirely too optimistic.

“Hm. This fell outside of our calculations. It is clear that we were somewhat naive going into this.” Sweat dripped down Oswald’s neck as he failed to hide his frown—the enchantment was taking a lot out of him.

It should have already been more than enough magic by now, even if Oswald had been working alone. But even so, the fang disappointingly remained unchanged. Dahlia wondered if it didn’t come from a mutant specimen; it wouldn’t be discernible by sight, and she wouldn’t know even though she had used the same fang last time. If it were a fang from a mutant sköll, Dahlia would certainly be one of the luckiest people alive—she had somehow crafted Volf’s bracelet without suffering any major repercussions.

“Hngk!” Suddenly, Dahlia’s magic was draining twice as quickly. The fang must’ve preferred hers over Oswald’s, and it latched onto and plundered the magic out of her body.

“Dahlia, ease off!”

“I’m fine!” she shouted back, despite perhaps not being very fine at all.

That was all the sköll fang she had left—she did not have any spares—and it was larger than anything Oswald had. That should mean it would be better for Irma. Besides, if she were to stop, she wouldn’t have enough magic for all the tasks that remained to do afterwards. Dahlia also wouldn’t want Oswald to chug a mana potion and keep on going; he was already four over his starting grade—any more and he would be repeating Carlo’s mistakes.

Dahlia stared at the fang, gritted her teeth, and calmed her magic. With her new powers, she should have easily been able to safely go up one grade higher. Irma only had grade two and was withstanding grade eight magic; now was the time for Dahlia to be brave. As she desperately continued to pump magic into the fang, her arms started trembling. She had a bit more to give, but the strain was causing her legs to cramp.

“Dahlia!”

“Sorry, Volf! Prop me up!” This would normally never happen, as being connected with someone else might influence the output, but Volf was incapable of expressing his magic—there was no chance of his magic being mixed into the stream or weakening hers. Even though her arms were beginning to cramp as well, and even though she almost couldn’t stand anymore, she was still conscious and she could still stream her magic.

“On it!” Volf supported her right hand and braced her body against his. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect!” Now that she didn’t have to worry about collapsing to the ground, she could concentrate entirely on the enchantment. Dahlia raised her left arm and pointed her fingers towards the fang. Her head started to spin, but she powered through it. Just as the sköll demanded, she pulled out all the stops and unleashed everything she had. The rainbow stream that came from her fingers had never been more powerful.

Good Night and Pleasant Dreams

Dahlia and Volf had sped from Oswald’s estate to the temple, but as it was a woman’s room, only Dahlia had entered to see Irma. Irma had still been constantly vomiting the little she had in her stomach as the toolmaker put the magic-leeching bracelet on her. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the movies—the bracelet was no instant cure, and only time would tell if Irma’s situation improved. At the very least, her nausea had soon stopped, and after she had taken a bottle of potion, she’d passed right out. Dahlia had panicked slightly, worried that Irma had taken a turn for the worse, but the priestess in attendance had explained that Irma was finally able to get some deep sleep, as her magic had stabilized. Relieved, Dahlia had left the room; there had been nothing to do except to wish for Irma’s recovery.

There had been more relief waiting for her. Volf, who had been sitting in the waiting area while she was in the sick room, had explained that a Scalfarotto messenger had come by and relayed that Irma was to receive her full recovery the next day. It would be within the seven-day time frame, meaning that Irma’s fingers should heal from the crystallization. After urging Marcella to let them know should he need anything, the two of them had left the temple behind.

Though Dahlia would have loved to start sawing logs, her empty stomach would have kept her up; she had had little for breakfast and nothing for lunch, and it was approaching evening by now. Dahlia and Volf had done away with being embarrassed and embraced the fact that their bellies were growling synchronously. Along the way, the coach had stopped so Volf could pick up a few items at the food stalls. They had found themselves with panini, crespelle, and a platter of sliced fruits, and after reheating some chicken soup that had already been made, the tired twosome was ready to recover.

For once, their meal wasn’t accompanied by much conversation, and right as they finally finished eating, the gate bell rang. Dahlia spied the Scalfarotto family coach through the window.

“A celebration gift from my brother: the scarlatterba we had before.” Volf came back with a large black wooden box he’d received from the driver; inside was what looked to be a supersized sage plant. Curiously, wringing the nectar out of its blooms produced something like a liqueur, which Dahlia really enjoyed. There were even more glossy white flowers than on the plant from last time. “Here, let me,” Volf said. With experienced dexterity, he plucked a flower and rolled it up from the pedicel to squeeze the drink out into both their glasses, filling the room with its syrupy floral aromas and alcoholic fumes. Just as they had done last time, Dahlia took hers neat while Volf mixed it in a splash of carbonated water.

“To Irma’s recovery. Cheers,” she said.

“To the success of the bracelet. Cheers.”

The clinking of glasses signaled to Dahlia’s subconscious that she could finally relax. Like last time, the honey-sweet and rather strong liqueur was very delicious. But as grateful as she was, receiving such a precious gift gave her a bit of pause. “I was wondering—what’s something I can give Lord Guido in return? Not just for the scarlatterba, but also for everything else he has provided for us...” There was the guarantor thing, Jonas’s fire dragon scales, Irma’s full recovery—it went on. Money wasn’t the currency to pay for the ever-growing list of favors, and so Dahlia racked her brains for what she could repay him with.

“It’s no rush, but my brother said he’d like a pair of the camp stoves to keep at the castle.”

“I hope he isn’t planning on grilling squid in his office.”

“Of course n—hm, well, I sure hope not anyway.” Volf’s confidence faltered for a moment, and his eyes darted away from hers. The stench of dried meats grilling away would permeate the walls, his clothes, his papers... Surely, the idea was too outrageous to even consider, and if Guido did give it a try, his attendant Jonas would put a stop to it.

“What about you, Volf? You don’t grill in your estate, do you?”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about regarding that. I’ve set some compact stoves in the two rooms near the kitchen so that anyone can use them whenever they’d like. Plus, nothing like the smell of barbecue to whet appetites, right? I’m sure if they try it once, my brother, Master Jonas, and all the personnel there will understand...”

“Is that right?” In that case, they must have all been on the same wavelength. Still, if everyone could use the compact magical stoves whenever they wished, the room and their clothes must’ve been stained with odors. Dahlia decided that on top of four camp stoves, she would gift them a set of air fresheners for the room and deodorizers for their clothes.

“Anyone else you have in mind?”

“Tobias said he won’t take any payment, not even for his time.”

Volf paused. “So, you’ve gone back to calling him by his first name.”

“Just this time. It didn’t feel natural to be so formal when we were working together, and I doubt we’ll see each other again anyway,” she said. There was a very tiny chance they might work again in the future, but those occasions would be few and far between. “For Professor Oswald, I’ll be sending him a case of scorpio and the material costs. He also waived his fees and will instead have me assist him on future large-scale projects. That will eventually pay off, but I’d like to send him something first; I just can’t think of what, though.”

“Hm, yeah. I don’t know what Oswald would like either.”

“I’ll ask Ivano for his opinion, then.”

Quite some time after this conversation and unbeknownst to Dahlia, Ivano would send Oswald a large gift of dried forest serpent.

“Was enchanting the bracelet difficult?”

“Very,” Dahlia answered. “But I learned a lot as well. And Professor Oswald’s control of his magic was the most amazing thing—he was delicate yet quick, and perhaps even more accurate than my father. Tobias also pointed out a few things to me, so I’ll be working on my control starting from tomorrow.”

She seemed so excited to talk about her work after Volf brought up the topic, but there was one thing that still bothered him. “Do you regret not being able to work with Orlando any more?”

“It has its downsides, but it’s much more enjoyable now. Don’t worry.”

Volf bit his lip but hid it from her. “Don’t worry,” she would always say, but was she really okay? Was she just hiding her lingering feelings and pain? Was she merely hiding her wounds? He let slip a sentence better left unsaid. “But, Dahlia, you told him you still loved—”

“What?! No, I didn’t,” she said firmly. “Oh! The anti-eavesdropper cuts in and out, so you must’ve missed the context around it! I absolutely didn’t mean him; I was talking about the color of his magic!” She waved both hands in front of her, frantically denying the accusation.

It was a little reassuring. “What do you mean?”

“When Tobias makes waterproof cloth, the surface of it turns blue and then glows in many colors. It looks like the clear sky after the rain, and I was just telling him how pretty I thought it was and how much I loved it. It, not him.”

“So, that’s what it was? Sorry for pressing you about it. I was just, well, curious about whether you still had feelings for him...”

“We’re just fellow apprentices and toolmakers. That’s what we talked about today—work. Besides, I’ve already told you, haven’t I? ‘Not one bit,’ I said.”

“Right, of course.” When they’d reunited at the restaurant and bumped into Tobias and Emilia, Volf had asked the same question and received the same answer. “No feelings whatsoever?”

“Not one bit,” she replied instantly, just as she had that day.

Volf then asked her about the workshop, the magical processes, the spellbook, and whatnot, and Dahlia answered his questions without any hesitation, flushing away any hard feelings he had left. However, in the end, it was she who had a bit of a sour face.

“As grateful as I am for my father, Tobias, and even Ivano protecting me, do I really seem that weak? Everybody seems to want me tucked behind them.”

“You’re plenty strong, Dahlia. It’s just that men are protective creatures.”

“Troublesome creatures. I don’t want anyone behind or in front of me, only beside me,” she said as she munched on thinly-sliced apple to go with her drink. “Oh, I almost forgot—my father tucked a letter in between the pages of that spellbook you found. It was addressed to Tobias, though.”

“You read it too, didn’t you?” He remembered how her green eyes had fluttered on the verge of tears.

“I did. The body of the text, asking him to protect me, was touching, but the postscript ruined everything.”

“That bad, huh?”

“It said ‘I leave all of my picture books to my son. Hide whichever you like for yourself when you clean them out.’ I have no idea what possessed him to write something like that,” she said. Volf felt the same way. “If the books are in his will, then we can’t just incinerate them, right? I was told they might be worth something at a used bookstore too.”

“Should I, um, take them for you?” Volf didn’t know how to react or what to say; he had to tread carefully lest he step in a trap.

“Could you please? Or if you know anyone who would like the books, feel free to offload them too. I’m sure my father would rather that than have them burned.” Her eyes remained vacant as Volf refilled her glass.

“I sure hope Irma gets well soon.” Volf understood that one false step would be the end of him and so opted to switch topics.

Dahlia smiled and nodded. “Me too. You must be worried since you didn’t get to see her. She’s lost a bit of weight, but she’s still tough as leather.”

He had been at the temple too, but with Irma in a gown, he couldn’t see her in person. Instead, he’d spent his time talking with Marcella.

“It’ll be a fun time next year,” Dahlia continued. “We’ll have to plan something for them.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask my brother and see what ideas he has. I can tell you’re really happy too.”

“I’m glad I’m a magical toolmaker, glad that I have my own company. I’m happy I had you so we could save Irma.” Her slight monotonous tone said that she was starting to feel the alcohol.

Volf couldn’t let someone so happy drink alone, and he wrung out more nectar into his glass. “To the Nuvolaris. May the three of them have a happy future together.”

“Cheers.”

After clinking glasses yet again, he noticed she was staring straight at him, but those bright green eyes were welling up with tears. “Dahlia?”

“Volf, do me a favor and outlive me.” She could barely keep her glass in her hand, and so Volf helped her set it down on the table.

“Outlive you? That’s out of the blue.”

“Just do it, Volf. Live longer than me.”

“I am older than you, you know? By chronological order, I’d be first.” He didn’t know what brought it to her mind, but he guessed it might have something to do with his occupation.

“No, you’re not. I’m older on the inside.”

“What are you getting at? That I’m a child at heart?”

“Heh. Just know that I’m waaaaay older than you are, so you have to live a long life and outlive me. You have to, you have to!” Dahlia drilled it into him almost as if she were admonishing him, albeit incoherently.

Fact was that he was older than her and his job at the Order of Beast Hunters was to fight monsters. The Scarlet Armors were even referred to as those at death’s door. It wasn’t a promise he had any confidence in keeping. But with her pestering, begging him like this, he succumbed. “As you wish.”

“Good!” Dahlia beamed, satisfied. She sank into the armchair with her legs folded to one side and her head resting on the back of the seat. Her eyes were closed and the glass in her hand was empty.

“Dahlia?” Volf received only soft breathing in response. His experience with expeditions meant that he had to be a light sleeper and had to function with little sleep, but it was no easy feat for anyone. On the other hand, Dahlia had used up so much mana and had only napped for about two hours this morning, so it was no surprise that the drink had made her so sleepy. If anything, he felt bad for having topped up her glass.

In any case, she was leaning crooked in the armchair. Volf would have felt guilty about waking her up, and so he instead chose to admire the view of her sleeping. She looked so innocent and vulnerable, like she wasn’t ever guarded against him.

“Guarded?” he mumbled to himself, and his errant thought put a bashful smile on his face—the fact that she trusted him and felt so safe around him was hardly a bad thing. Despite what others may have said about their somewhat odd relationship, Volf was unironically grateful for the blessing that was a friend who could just be herself around him. And that was fine. Having someone beside him to share a smile and nothing more was just fine.

“Pardon me.” Volf scooped up Dahlia from the armchair and put her on the sofa. The blanket he had used earlier this morning had already been put away, so he reached for the throw nearby. Having heard the story about how she had fallen off the sofa, he moved the armchairs over to fence her in; she could toss and turn as much as she wanted to and she’d be safe from the perils of gravity.

Even with all the shuffling around, Dahlia showed no signs of rousing from her sleep. Her slightly disheveled red hair dangled atop her soft, pale cheek, begging Volf to brush it aside—but he regained his senses right before caressing her, and he pulled his hand back. “Guess I’m drunk too.” Volf smacked his face with both hands; he hadn’t intended to hit himself hard, but the resulting clap was an aural delight.

Locking up behind him wasn’t a problem. The Green Tower had two sets of locks—one for the front door and one for the gate. As the gate could only be opened by those who were registered, Dahlia had said that the door could be left unlocked as long as the gate was closed. Besides, it wouldn’t be proper for him and his lack of sobriety to remain in the room.

“Good night.” It reminded him of the day he and Dahlia had first had a meal together and how she had said the same thing. Wishing each other a good night and pleasant dreams was a custom in this country among friends and family, but Volf hadn’t uttered or heard the phrase in over a decade; it was “I’m hitting the sack” in the barracks or “Good night, Lord Scalfarotto” at the estate. Her words that day had surprised him with how warm they’d felt to the ears, and ever since meeting Dahlia, Volf had never once replayed his mother’s death in his dreams. Her dying alone was a nightmare he didn’t care to have again—he didn’t care to have any nightmares again.

The lap blanket was just a bit small to cover Dahlia. He pulled it down to her feet and used his jacket to cover her shoulders instead. Fortunately, the night wasn’t too chilly, and that hopefully meant he wouldn’t be catching a cold.

“Good night, Dahlia. Pleasant dreams.” He whispered his prayer out to the ether and wondered whether it would reach her ears. But that gentle smile on her sleeping face was enough satisfaction, and so he crept out under the night sky.

Proud of Her Friend

The crisp blue above, without a single streak of white, announced it was autumn, and both the air and Dahlia’s pace were brisk as she left the carriage stop. It had been three full days since she had completed the bracelet, and so she had come to the temple to check on Irma’s recovery. Unfortunately, Volf was busy with work; he had taken the past few days off, so there must be training he had to catch up on right about now.

The other day, after having a bit too much to drink and falling asleep in the living room, she had woken up to find herself on the couch surrounded by the armchairs, covered by a throw blanket and his jacket. Dahlia had no recollection of how she’d gotten to that state or when he’d left. But as Volf had napped on the couch the morning before and his jacket had been on top of her, his scent had filled her senses; in the morning, she had instinctively reached her hand out and failed to find him beside her, though that was something she could never admit to anyone.

“Good morning, Marcella.”

“Morning, Dahlia! And thank you so, so much for getting Irma better.” Marcella bowed deeply in the hallway. Two things were evident: that he had been waiting for her and that, by the color in his face, he was doing much better too.

“My pleasure. But it wasn’t just me, you know? Everybody had a hand in it.”

“’Course. Know that I’m grateful to them too. Once Irma’s discharged, I’ll be making my rounds to thank everyone. I’ve got a lot to prepare for too.”

“That’s right, like baby clothes and the crib, dad.”

“Gosh, you’re gonna make me blush...”

“Or perhaps you would prefer to be called ‘daddy’ first?”

“That sure ain’t helpin’!” Marcella ruffled the back of his head, laughing. His hair was noticeably shorter and his neckline and brows had been trimmed too; it didn’t take any guessing to figure out who had tidied him up.

“I see Irma has a pair of scissors in her hands again.”

“She was at it right after they cast full recovery on her yesterday. I wish you coulda seen the smile on her face when she picked up her scissors and razor again. When the priest came to check up on her, she practically held him down to cut his hair.”

“That sure sounds like her...” Dahlia nodded. “Was the priest okay with it, though?”

“Yeah, all of the other priests loved it too.” Irma was a hairstylist through and through, so it was no wonder she would start working even before she got out of the temple. Her productivity must have been directly tied to her health, and at this rate, she was bound to have many new clients by the time she returned home. “Go and see her, Dahlia. I’mma go get a few things from the cafeteria.”

“Are you sure this wouldn’t be enough?” she asked, lifting up a large basket. “The only thing I’m missing are drinks.” She had stuffed it with more than enough food for four, and that should have covered them unless there were others on their way.

“That might just be enough for Irma alone. I ain’t kiddin’ when I say she eats as much as three people do.”

“She must be making up for her lost appetite and her expended magic. I’ll be sure to bring even more next time, then.”

“Thanks, Dahlia. My mother and hers just got on my case yesterday about how my cooking’s too heavy and salty and how it ain’t fit for a pregnant lady. One more thing I’ve gotta learn.” With the amount of physical exertion at his courier job, he needed that extra sodium and strong spices not just to replenish his body but to accompany a drink. That would certainly be less than ideal for Irma and the child in her belly, and Dahlia thought maybe he ought to ask for help from his mother and in-law.

“Have both your mothers come by the temple?”

“Yeah, yesterday afternoon and first thing this morning. Both of them came together, so you can imagine how lively things got.”

“And your fathers too? Work?”

“No, the men had drunk themselves to a hangover, so they couldn’t come. They’ll probably head home first, then come back another time with my brothers. Things are sure going to get rowdy.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Dahlia and Marcella laughed together before parting ways.

As Dahlia’s hand moved to knock, Irma’s door swung open and a priestess with long, silver hair done up in an intricate braid walked out. They exchanged a quick smile before they passed each other by. “How are you feeling, Irma?”

“Superb!” Irma, sitting in her bed with rosy cheeks, wasn’t in her hospital gown but her usual blue shirt. In her right hand was a comb—needless to say, the priestess’s braids were her handiwork. She would restart her business here and now were she able to stand.

“And your hands are back to normal too?”

The answer was obvious, but she demonstrated anyway by going snip snip with her pair of scissors. “Yup. The deacon came and cured me yesterday. It was my first time seeing a silver stole!”

“Whoa. This silver stole is a deacon?”

“Mm-hmm. He was one of the four deacons and he introduced himself as Aroldo, but I still ended up calling him Mr. Deacon instead. Thankfully, they were easygoing about it.”

“I see. Did the healing magic take much time?”

“Not at all. Father Aroldo held both hands above me, and like pure white snowflakes, his magic fell onto me. My hands were coarse one moment, then soft the next. Same for my shoulders, knees, and whatever else that got hard to move.” Irma didn’t use the term “full recovery”; she must’ve been kept in the dark so as to not burden her with the thought of finances. Dahlia chose not to correct her either.

However, what did catch her concern was that Aroldo was a deacon. Both he and Dahlia had joined the Order of Beast Hunters on their trip to the hog farm the other day, but she hadn’t been told of his rank and position within the temple. She wondered if Irma was talking about somebody else with the same name, but the fact that this Aroldo had a silver stole as well indicated it was no coincidence. Someone most definitely should have informed Dahlia that he was a deacon, though. She was frightened by the thought of meeting him again, but recalling the priest who had drunk too much to walk and had to be carried by Gildo, she wondered how much dignity the man really had. He must’ve sobered up by the time he returned to the temple, or so she hoped.

“Oh, good. It sounds like even your stiff shoulders got better,” Dahlia said.

“Better than when I came in. If not for you, I wouldn’t be able to go home tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s great to hear! I’m sure Marcella is excited to welcome you home too.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’m going to see if he’s been keeping up with chores.”

Dahlia laughed—if with fear for Marcella—at Irma’s matriarchal act. “No need to scrutinize the house. You know he’s been worried sick about you.”

“I’ve got to show him everything while I can still move around! After I give birth, I won’t be moving around for a while, you know?”

“Wait, is there still something wrong, Irma?”

Her friend shook her head. “It’s not that. Hey, Dahlia? I haven’t told Marcella yet, but”—she paused for a brief moment before continuing—“that priestess you just saw? She told me I have twins.”

“Twins?!”

“They’re both very healthy, she said. I don’t know if they’re boys or girls, but either way, I’ll have both my hands full taking care of them...”

“That’s for sure...” Taking care of one newborn was usually too much work for one person already, and she’d have twice that.

“Marcella’s mother said he was a demon when he was little, so what if both twins turn out to be like him?”

“Look who’s talking. Do you remember how often auntie would scold you for climbing trees and rooftops? Your kids are going to be rambunctious no matter who they take after.”

“Please don’t say that, Dahlia. You’re making my head hurt...”

“Hee hee. You’ll do just fine, Irma.” The thought was terrifying, but, for the time being at the very least, it was so very exciting.

“Hey, Dahlia?” Irma reached her hand out, and Dahlia took it into hers and sat at the edge of the bed. Irma leaned in, her slightly coarse brown hair brushing against Dahlia’s arm; the gloss would come back as soon as she returned home. “Thank you for saving me and my children.”

“It wasn’t just me, you know? There’s Volf, Professor Oswald, and Tobias too. Everyone lent a hand.”

“Even so, you were the first to set everything in motion. Thank you. I really, really mean it.”

“Of course. You’re my sister, Irma.”

Irma smiled with her eyes. “And in a year, I’ll be ‘mommy.’ Still feels a little weird.”

“That’s right, you and Marcella will be ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy.’” Just thinking about how they’d each have a baby in their arms brought a broad smile to Dahlia’s face. She was sure they would be the most patient and loving parents deserving of those titles.

“Me and the kids will be healthy; Marcella won’t be crying; grandma, grandpa, and the uncles will be busy celebrating; we’ll be racking our brains thinking of names; we’ll have a mountain of baby clothes and diapers. Once we can get the twins under control and things calm down, you, Volf, Lucia, Marcella, and I will have to celebrate with a drink.”

“You can’t be consuming alcohol when you’re breastfeeding.”

“I know, I know. I’ll toast with a glass of milk or something.” So as not to bump her belly, Irma hugged Dahlia from the side, and she returned the gesture. It had been mere days since Irma had worn the bracelet, but it was obvious she had regained some of her lost weight. To get her back to one hundred percent, though, Dahlia decided she ought to cook a balanced and nutritious meal for mother and children. Irma looked her way. “Hey, Dahlia? On second thought, I’ll be keeping Marcella to myself.”

“Good idea. I wouldn’t know what to do with him.”

“It won’t be easy, but we’ll be taking care of our children.”

Nothing made Dahlia happier than being able to turn ‘If anything happens to me, I want you and Marcella to raise my child’ into something to laugh at. Even Irma, drilling her head against Dahlia’s shoulder, couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re going to give me a bruise, Irma.”

“Oops, sorry. Thank you, Dahlia...” Irma squeezed her tightly; the skin on her hands was pale, soft, and supple.

Dahlia was sure the twins would grow up in no time too. That warmth she didn’t want to lose forever, that she wanted to protect, was in her arms.

“I’m so happy that my children are healthy...and that I’m alive... Thank you, Dahlia, thank you, thank you...” she said in a scratchy voice as cold tears trickled down Dahlia’s neck.

“I might not be near my father’s level yet, but”—Dahlia paused as she attempted to hold back the burning sensation in the back of her throat—“I’ve become somewhat of an amazing magical toolmaker, haven’t I?” It was Dahlia’s turn this time to dry her eyes on Irma’s shoulder.

Irma laughed as her tears continued streaming down her face. “Mm-hmm. The friend I’m so proud of is such an amazing magical toolmaker.”

Interlude: Anguish, or the Conclusion to the Picture Books

Anguish.

In his room in the Scalfarotto villa, Volf had before him two great burlap sacks of picture books—no ordinary ones, mind you, but the bequests of Dahlia’s father Carlo, which contained skin tones aplenty. They had been “left for his son,” so Dahlia had said, and it was for that very reason Volf could not bring it upon himself to simply trade them to a bookstore for cold, hard coin. On the other hand, bringing them back to the barracks would undoubtedly draw unto him unwanted attention; he would not like to explain the circumstances in which he had acquired the literature. There was no other place where they belonged, and so Volf had brought the hemp bags back to the mansion. They had ended up at the back of his closet in his locked chambers, which he had forbidden the maids from entering during his absence.

The business with the bracelet meant he had had training to make up, and he had finally been able to return home today. So, he had taken out the sacks and placed them atop the table as he thought long and hard over where to store them (read: where he could hide them). Just as he realized what he had to do was to buy a large chest with a sturdy lock to keep in his closet, a knock came at the door.

Thinking it was the maids coming to clean his room, he opened the door to find two unexpected figures. “Brother, Master Jonas, is something the matter?”

“Sorry for dropping in on you. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. May I come in?”

“Yes, by all means...” he said, his words hardly matching up with the trouble in his voice. He didn’t really want to be disturbed at this moment, but Guido might have something important to discuss in regard to Marcella’s situation, and so Volf invited both guests into his room and tossed the sacks against the wall.

“Volf, is there something that has been troubling you?”

“Huh?” It must’ve shown on his face, despite him trying his best to hide his anguish.

Sensing Volf’s fluster, Jonas explained, “The servants were worried about you, Lord Volf. They told me you seem to have a lot on your mind recently, and so I relayed the message to Lord Guido. I apologize for being nosy.” Volf hadn’t expected either that the servants would worry so much about him or that they would escalate the issue.

Before his brother could come up with an excuse, Guido, with his deep blue eyes, looked intently into his own. “You can talk to me, Volf. I’m your brother, and you know I’ll do anything I can to help you.” Standing behind his master, Jonas’s eyes of rust were pointed Volf’s way as well.

Their concern was real and Volf was not used to the attention, so he could not bear to keep it a secret any longer. “The truth is, well...” He spilled his guts, confessing about the contraband and its source, without his audience stopping him once.

“That’s what it’s all about? I see...” The elder Scalfarotto nodded to himself. “Well, at least it’s good to know it wasn’t a dismembered man contained in the two bags over there.”

“I wish I shared your humor, Guido.”

He smirked at his brother’s retort. “And you said Madam Rossetti’s father willed it to his son?”

“That is correct.” Volf swung the heavy, large sacks back onto the table—they really did weigh as much as one person.

“With this much, you wouldn’t be able to easily hide it all behind a bookshelf or under your bed...” Guido said. “There are these magical bookshelves with cabinet doors that can only be opened by people who are registered, usually for important files and confidential documents. They are regularly available at a magical tool shop, so let me get one of those for you. I’ll have it delivered, and by the end of the day, you can fill the shelves.”

“Shall I purchase the model that Lord Guido has, the one with the glass door on the top shelf and wood on the subsequent ones? That way, it would look natural when you display your dictionaries, reference guides, and other presentable books.”

“Please do...”

“Very well, Lord Volf.” Jonas stepped out to put in the order. Volf was extremely grateful to have his brother and master to solve the problem and ease the anguish.

“Shall we bundle them up, then? Oh, there seems to be something in between the pages.” When Guido opened up one of the bags, he saw a loose sheet of paper jutting out from one of the picture books. On it was some illegible scrawling and some sort of formula—nothing that either brother understood, but it certainly had something to do with magical toolmaking.

“I believe that is one of Mr. Rossetti’s notes. It must have slipped past me.” After he hurriedly explained the memos, they took all of the picture books out from the bags and piled them up atop the table.

“We ought to go through them again to check for anything important.”

“You wouldn’t find it to be, I don’t know, uncomfortable?”

“I see it as art.” Guido’s deadpan expression was more than likely him trying his best to be delicate about the situation, and for that, Volf was sorry to have foisted the responsibility upon him.

And so, the two of them sat side by side and pored over the picture books. But given the matter at hand, thoughts of the original owner came to Volf’s mind. “I have a favor to ask of you, brother...”

“What is it, Volf? No need to be so reserved around me.”

“I’m hoping that maybe I could entrust the content of the future bookshelf to you were something to happen to me? Not that I have plans to disappear from the face of the world any time soon, but as they did with Dahlia’s father, these things may come unexpectedly.” If Volf were to suddenly kick the bucket like Carlo had, he wouldn’t want anybody to learn the secrets contained within his future bookshelf.

If servants learned the secret that he’d stashed away the books, it wouldn’t matter—he’d be dead—so long as they didn’t look. But Dahlia finding out he’d kept the pictures with no clothes? He’d die a dozen deaths were this disgrace to her disclosed.

“I understand. I’ll register myself as well when it arrives, as usually it allows two people. If anything happens to you, I’ll keep them with me or I’ll destroy them for you,” Guido pledged. Then, he lowered his voice. “I also have a request for you.”

Volf tensed up. “What is it?”

“Remember how Jonas said I have a similar bookshelf? Well, he’s registered to it too, but there is a nonzero chance that we might die together. Next time you come over to the main estate, I’d like to get you registered too and bequeath the contents to you in my will.”

“Of course, brother.” Whatever that content was needn’t be explicitly explained, though Volf was secretly surprised to learn that Guido had some too.

“After hearing Madam Rossetti’s story, I am sure I’d die a second time if one of my daughters found my hoard.” His grievous words were nothing to laugh at; Volf didn’t even have anything he could say, despite having thought the same thing. “You are free to keep whatever that you like, but you must absolutely not divulge that you got them from me. Switch out the bookshelf or something.”

“Understood.” The brothers had exchanged secrets, but there was no guilt attached. If anything, Volf felt closer to Guido.

They returned to work, flipping through the pages but finding no more notes. When they finished with one of the piles, the elder Scalfarotto started muttering again. “Seems like Madam Rossetti’s father was on team behind.”

If Volf had had a drink, he’d have spat it out. Instead, he swallowed and looked as unaroused as possible. But since there was no one else in the room and one may as well hang for a sheep as for a lamb, Volf pretended to be as nonchalant as he could. “May I ask you something completely unrelated?”

“Only if you answer the question first.”

“Behinds.”

Guido heaved a great sigh, if a bit exaggerated. “Shame.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on team breasts.”

“What do you mean by that? Four to one are for breasts.”

“No. I’d say people around me are closer to three to two for breasts.”

“I don’t know what company you keep, but your ratio is unbalanced.”

“Surely it’s yours that’s lopsided.” His figure was derived from a survey conducted when the Order of Beast Hunters had gone out drinking together, but Guido’s numbers must’ve been from the Mages’ Corps. Leaning so heavily on one side was suspect, but what reason was there to lie?

“Besides, team behinds is in cahoots with team hips and team legs. If your alliance is no more, then your numbers are even fewer.”

“In that case, for such a narrow focus such as breasts, your numbers surely cannot be so high.”

At that moment, in walked Jonas. “I have returned from ordering the—erm, did something happen?” His perfect timing meant that he caught the brothers grimacing at each other with the picture books on full display.

Panicking, Volf said, “Oh, we were just going through Mr. Rossetti’s books for any notes stuck between the pages!”

“Allow me to lend a hand.”

After Volf and Guido explained the thing about the notes again, the three of them sat side by side and once again began falling into the chaos of flipping through the pages. If it were him, Dorino, Randolph, and the other lads, the room would have been filled with conversation and jokes. But as it stood, the people beside him were people whom Volf deeply respected. Just what kind of expression or mood was he supposed to put on? “Sorry for troubling you, Master Jonas...”

“Not at all. This is a thousandfold better than reading a mountain of documents,” he answered in a chipper tone—the complete opposite of Volf. It seemed as though Jonas checked through his master’s paperwork; Guido made a sour face but otherwise kept silent.

Their hard work was evident in the pile of checked books at one corner of the table. Guido jogged the stack, commenting, “Judging by the amount of artwork featuring behinds, my guess is that Madam Rossetti’s father was on that team. Or perhaps he was for legs?”

“Right...” His brother was on the mark, but Volf wasn’t sure whether to confirm his suspicions.

“Shame. Not quite Lord Guido’s taste.” At least Jonas’s calm tone broke the tension. But Volf was curious about him too.

“Um, how about you, Master Jonas? Which do you prefer?”

“Neither, to be frank. I do not judge women by their breasts or behind.” An absolute gentleman. It put Volf to shame to have even discussed it in private with his brother.

“Of course. What do you look for in a woman then, Master Jonas?”

“I prefer those who have accumulated much experience.”

“Accumulated much experience?” Volf thought of Dahlia. The waterproof cloth, fairy glass spectacles, sköll bracelet, and now the magic-leeching bracelet—she had lots of skills and techniques accumulated within her; anguish at the thought that Dahlia might be Jonas’s type flooded Volf.

“Yes, they are usually more graceful and kind, and so they make for better conversation as well.” Jonas’s words demonstrated he was anything but shallow, and Volf respected him even more for that.

But Guido, sitting beside him, placed his hand on Volf’s shoulder and silently shook his head. “Years, Volf—Jonas is talking about experience from age. At least ten years older, and who knows if he has an upper bound.”

Guarantors and the New Employees

The westbound sun peeked through the windows, dyeing the room orange or maybe red. In that second-floor room of the Merchants’ Guild that the Rossetti Trading Company was renting as an office, Dahlia and Ivano sat across from each other.

“Lord Gildo sure acts quickly...” she said.

“I’d say that’s something I could learn from him if I didn’t have objections about it as well...” On the desk separating the two of them, there were a letter and some documents from Marquis Gildovan Diels, the head treasurer of the royal castle.

Marcella had to step down as guarantor when he became an employee of the company. Gildo had offered to contact him if trouble arose, as Gildo felt indebted to Dahlia, and so they had sent him a letter to call upon him to fill that vacancy. Although they had asked for an audience with him only when convenient, he had responded the same day with his acknowledgement and said he would check his schedule. Dahlia and Ivano appreciated Gildo’s promptness; that much was expected by now. However, they had not expected the following sequence of events.

The following evening, shortly after sending someone to the Guild to confirm that the Rossetti Trading Company had people in, Gildo and his attendant had swung by. However, Ivano had panicked, as he had been the only person present, so he had asked Gabriella to act as their witness. Signing the document had taken only moments, and within five minutes of becoming a guarantor, Gildo had left as quickly as he arrived. Afterwards, Ivano had sped to the Green Tower in a carriage—while the chairwoman had been absent, the marquis and head treasurer had visited in person, hadn’t been served any refreshments, and had left without receiving a single thank-you gift. Dahlia had gone ghastly pale.

Earlier today, as she had been scratching her head about how to express her gratitude, Dahlia had returned to the guildhall to find that Ivano had gone pallid. The cause? The letter in front of them. In addition to “contact me if trouble arises again,” Gildo had written that the very busy chairwoman need not take time out of her day to visit. The extremely polite writing had been typical of a nobleman like him, yet it had carried a deeper message: the chairwoman didn’t need to visit, but it wasn’t that no one needed to—with the Rossetti Trading Company only having two employees, Gildo had practically requested Ivano by name.

Ivano had choked down a double dose of medicine for the nausea that ensued, and Dahlia had poured him a glass of water. The two of them, dead inside, had stared off into the distance as their brainstorming session began. They had already given him zephyricloth scarves for their previous correspondence, so they decided this occasion had called for enough bolts of zephyricloth to make three dresses. Ivano had then asked a messenger to deliver a letter to Gildo saying that he would like to thank him in person soon.

This was around the time when Ivano would typically say he’d finish up just a little more paperwork, but he looked absolutely drained today. Dahlia asked, “It’s a little earlier than usual, Ivano, but shall we call it a day?”

“Good idea. We ought to pack up before Marquis Diels sends us another letter.” It was probably supposed to be a joke, but neither of them were laughing. Then, as if the world had a wicked sense of comedic timing, a knock came at the door. “No, it can’t be. Surely, that’s too early. Gods, please, don’t let it be him...”

Dread overflowed Dahlia’s face as she watched Ivano walk over to the entrance.

“Evening, Dahlia, Mr. Ivano. Sorry for dropping by unannounced, but do you think you have time to talk for a bit?”

“Apologies for bothering you during your work.”

On the other side of the door stood Marcella and a youth with brown hair. “Ah, Mr. Marcella and Mr. Grieve,” announced Ivano.

Mezzena Grieve wasn’t someone who showed up often; he was busy with his work at the Couriers’ Guild. In spite of that, Dahlia felt that she owed him greatly—on top of being a guarantor of the Rossetti Trading Company, he was one of the people who had helped her move back into the tower.

The two newcomers took a seat at the desk as well. “Did everything at the Couriers’ Guild turn out okay, Marcella?” She knew Marcella had planned to resign the day after Irma received the bracelet. He should have been wrapping things up at the Couriers’ already, and in a week, he would become a knight to the Scalfarotto household and an employee of the Rossetti Company. But since Mezzena came with him today, there must have been some kind of hiccup.

“That’s the thing...” Marcella began explaining. “I hate to drop this on you, but I was wonderin’ if you’ve got another opening for Mena—Mezzena, I mean. He knows everythin’ about my situation and we go way back, and so I can vouch for him.”

Talk about dropping her a bombshell. “Mr. Grieve, are you planning on resigning from the Couriers’ Guild?”

He responded, “That’s correct. In fact, I have talked to my manager today, and I will be leaving on the same day as Marcella.” Dahlia wondered if they were so inseparable that Mezzena would follow Marcella to his new workplace, but the apprehensive look on his face painted another picture. “You see, many people have asked me today about the marquis who will be replacing Marcella as the Rossetti Trading Company’s guarantor...”

“Let’s not downplay it. Rumors about me being headhunted by the Scalfarotto family left him unscathed, but Mena has been hounded by people in the guild and even while he’s on the job.”

“Oh, dear,” Ivano said. “It seems as though our company has played a part in Mr. Grieve’s troubles, wouldn’t you say, chairwoman?”

“Hm?” She didn’t have the slightest clue how the company had anything to do with Mezzena.

“Our guarantors were Viscount Jedda, guildmaster of the Merchants’; Sir Volf, son of Earl Scalfarotto; Mr. Marcella; and Mr. Mezzena Grieve. We shall be removing Mr. Marcella from that list, and yesterday, Marquis Diels personally offered to be his replacement. I’d call that conspicuous, and it’s no wonder that it has already become a topic of discussion around town,” Ivano explained. “I apologize, Mr. Grieve; I meant to talk to you soon about this matter, but the pace of everything has caught me by surprise...”

Without Marcella, everybody aside from Mezzena on that list were noblemen—very high-ranking noblemen at that. Now it made sense to Dahlia why he would have the spotlight pointed at him. “Mr. Grieve, could you tell me what they said to you?”

“Well, they asked me for referrals for business and, erm, personal reasons regarding you, Ms. Rossetti. It has been quite overbearing, and so I’ve decided to search for a new job. The problem is that I have no family, and if I ask Marcella to be my—”

“No, this was my fault to begin with,” he interrupted. “Dahlia, if it’s going to be any trouble to you at all, of course we’ll look elsewhere. Gods know how much trouble I’ve caused you already.”

Tracing where the trouble came from, Dahlia landed at herself, the chairwoman of the Rossetti Company. “Ivano, could we please hire Mr. Grieve? It really is our fault he’s caught up in this.”

“I wouldn’t even need to be a full-time employee; I’d be more than happy helping out wherever I could, like as a courier, or a driver, or at whatever odd jobs you might have. Anything helps,” Mezzena said, diffident and reluctant to impose.

Ivano smiled. “Of course. The only way I see for us to help with your predicament is to hire you as an employee. If you can give us a few days, we’ll work out the details. And forgive me for being rude—I understand you said you do not have family, but would you happen to have any relative who could be your personal guarantor?”

“I grew up in a state institution, so I don’t have any sort of relatives. There was an elderly woman who I called my grandma and got my last name from, but she has already passed away...”

“I understand. Very well, Mr. Grieve, I’ll have you start on the same day as Mr. Marcella, then. And Mr. Marcella, may I put you down as his personal guarantor?”

“Of course, and thank you, Ivano. Trust me, I ain’t gonna let him cause no trouble—erm, I mean, I shall be answerable for his actions.”

“Thank you very much!” Mezzena bowed as deeply as he could. The two friends—more like brothers—then clasped hands as they shared a big smile.

“Aren’t you glad, chairwoman? Starting next week, we’ll have twice the number of people to share our worries.”

“I really am glad, actually.” Despite laughing at Ivano’s words and understanding that more heads didn’t automatically mean their troubles will go away, Dahlia was genuinely happy.

For now, Marcella and Mezzena looked quizzically at them, but the new hires would understand well enough in a week’s time.

Crystal-Roasted Sweet Potatoes and Silversabers

“Sweeeeet potatoes! Get your taste of autumn here!” From outside the Green Tower’s windows came the distinct call of a hawker. A parallel to Dahlia’s previous life, though it was a splendid boy soprano singing his song here.

Dahlia grabbed her wallet and a dish before finding a tiny food cart on one wheel by her door. “Hello, two, please.”

“Thank you, miss!” The boy’s smile was as sweet as the potatoes he was selling.

In Ordine, small pushcarts like these would come by with flowers and vegetables in the spring, fruits in the summer, and chestnuts and sweet potatoes in the fall and winter. The peddlers were usually schoolchildren pitching in for their families or earning money for their tuition. Incidentally, the customer’s age never mattered; they were addressed as “miss” if their outfit seemed to be feminine. And if that didn’t fit the bill, the customer could make a correction and the peddler would remember to use the right term of address forever. As an older lady had once put it to Dahlia, the secret to feeling good about yourself was to patronize these food carts.

“Here you are, miss! And a bonus for you because you’re so pretty!”

Dahlia got two extra sweet potatoes on her dish, though they were a little smaller and slightly charred. Though he was half her age, the boy’s flattery still managed to get a smile from Dahlia. What a natural salesman. “Thank you. And since you’re working so hard, mister, here’s a little tip for you.” Peddling was no easy task and he was trying his darndest, so he deserved a few more coppers for his effort.

“Thank you again!” he bellowed, making her flinch. The air magic in the boy meant he needed no magical tool to amplify his voice, and working his powers lured out the neighborhood’s housewives with their plates.

Dahlia smiled and said goodbye as she headed back inside. What a natural salesman indeed.

Though the sweet potatoes in the Kingdom of Ordine were just as purple on the outside, they weren’t quite as sweet on the inside as the ones in Japan. The sweetness of these fire crystal-roasted tubers came in the form of honey butter that came with every purchase. Dahlia, too, had two white paper packages of the stuff by the side of her dish. It was a guilty pleasure available every fall in the city center. And if you didn’t have enough of the compound butter, you could always do the devilish deed of ordering more from the stalls.

“I’m sharing with Volf, so I’m fine,” Dahlia reasoned with herself, the temptation of indulging herself winning over the worries about her waistline creeping up. “I should be fine, right...?”

It wasn’t long before the bell rang, then after a brief pause, another time—Volf’s leitmotif. (Without the pause in between, that would be Irma.) It had been a while since he came by; he had to make up for the training he missed out on during the crafting of the magic-leeching bracelet, and then the appearance of a red bear on the highway meant an expedition. After greeting him and sharing a smile, the two of them went up to the second floor.

“Sorry for dozing off on you the other time, Volf, and, um, thank you for the jacket.”

“You’re welcome, and don’t be sorry—you were exhausted. More importantly, you didn’t roll off the couch, did you?”

Dahlia was ever so slightly bashful as she handed Volf the jacket, but it didn’t seem as though he was bothered one bit; he must have lent his jacket out to his squadmates too, she reckoned. “With the armchairs around me, of course not.”

“Good to hear. Oh, here,” he said, opening up a paper bag for her to see, “I got these on the way in.”

Now she had six sweet potatoes. Dahlia figured it would be better to tell a white lie and quietly tuck the ones she’d bought earlier in the fridge; making a dessert out of the leftovers wouldn’t be a bad idea. “Thank you so much! I think milk tea would go better with these than just plain.” She had an odd sense of self-satisfaction about the fact that they’d both bought the same thing.

With a strong pot of tea and milk on the side, the two of them began digging in. Dahlia snapped one potato in half; steam drifted up from the still-warm treat. The toasted skin separated easily from the bright golden flesh, which was tender from the thorough cooking. When Volf took a big chomp out of his, Dahlia felt much less reserved about doing the same. Still, she tried her best to take smaller, more polite bites than usual, and the rustic sweetness and creaminess were just as enjoyable.

About halfway through, Volf opened the small package and drizzled the melted honey butter onto his sweet potato. Dahlia watched with suspicion—he wasn’t a huge fan of anything too sugary, yet he wasn’t holding back—and her thoughts must’ve been obvious. Volf smiled, saying, “It was a favorite of my mother’s. When the weather started getting cold, she’d pick up some for me, keeping it a secret from the other knights.”

“It seems she really loved you.”

“Maybe. Haven’t really thought about that, though...”

Volf trailed off as if memories were coming back to him, so Dahlia decided to change topics. “Was the red bear a difficult foe?” She recalled him mentioning he had grappled and thrown one once.

“I didn’t get a chance at it, actually. The mages really gave it their all, encasing the red bear in ice and finishing the job without a fight. We loaded the whole thing and took it home to butcher or something. Just in case, though, we did camp for a night to see whether there was anything else that would show up, but unfortunately...”

“I would’ve assumed that was a good thing.”

“Well, we all brought our camp stoves, right? Of course we had our hopes up to grill a red bear. And if not, then we were at least hoping to make some boar or game bird stew. But nothing.” With how each and every knight of the Order of Beast Hunters seemed to exude apex predator energy, Dahlia wondered if the powerful monsters and animals wouldn’t simply run away for fear of being eaten. “In the end, we foraged some mushrooms, then sautéed them with some butter to accompany the meat that we brought to grill. Oh, and the boys were absolutely ecstatic about your sauce, telling me to thank you for them.”

“Oh, I’m so glad they liked it. Is there still enough for everyone?”

“We’re, uh, running a little low.”

She had made two kinds of barbecue sauce, enough to fill a pair of medium kegs, but the grown men worked hard and ate lots, and it seemed it wasn’t enough. “If you’re almost out after just one expedition, then I ought to place an order at a professional kitchen to send you a big barrel.”

“Vice-Captain Griswald said he’s more than happy to pay for your recipe and keep it under lock and key too.”

“Oh, I’m always on the receiving end of things, like with the forest serpent. Besides, it isn’t like it’s some sort of secret. Irma, my father’s friends, our neighbors, and the like all know the recipe too, so feel free to use it to your heart’s content. I’ll jot it down for you later.”

“Thanks. I think you prevented a full-scale war just now.”

She chuckled. The Beast Hunters’ Battle for Barbecue Sauce? That might just be a fun watch. “I’m happy that no one got hurt on the expedition too.”

“Well, the alcohol did some damage to us.”

“I thought healing magic was effective on hangovers.”

“It was the priest and a mage who were hit the hardest—they really enjoyed their cheese fondue with estervino and grilled dried kraken with more drink...” Estervino wasn’t such a common drink either, so they might have chugged it like wine. Still, none of that sounded like proper behavior during an expedition. “The priest couldn’t focus well enough to use his magic, but because he had a splitting headache, he tried to fix himself first. Ended up collapsing on the ground.”

“And he had to be carted back?”

“Nah. Once the vice moaned about how he’d have to find others to join us for our expedition next time, the mage somehow pulled it together and healed himself, then the priest and everyone else,” Volf said, to Dahlia’s relief. There was probably some sort of ego involved in that, what with the threat of being replaced. Of course, getting so drunk as to be hungover was on them, but Dahlia couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for her recipes too.

Right after they satisfied themselves with the roasted sweet potatoes and honey butter, Volf had his mind on dinner already. “Anyway, Dahlia, do you wanna go out for dinner tonight? I’m always putting you through so much trouble when I come over.”

“Um, well, I actually have everything prepared, and it won’t keep very well...” She felt bad declining his invitation, but she had another autumn delicacy ready. That caught Volf’s curiosity, and so they both went to the kitchen and she opened up a box. Inside were four silvery fish, long and straight, packed with an ice crystal, peddled by the fishmongers today. “They’re nice and oily, so I was thinking of bringing them up to the rooftop to grill.”

“Are those perhaps silversabers?”

“That’s right, but we common folk tend to just call them sauries. Do you like silversabers, Volf?”

“I don’t think I’ve had them since I was a kid...”

It was unusual for him to be so apprehensive about food, especially given how he loved dried seafood. Then it clicked for Dahlia—saury was one name for the fish; another was slumfish. In the fall, they were fatty—if not outright greasy—and widely available in Ordine. She could see why it would give him pause. “If they aren’t to your taste, I have some dried seafood we could grill too.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. I had it as a kid with my mother, but I ate too much, and since there was so much fat in the fish, my stomach couldn’t really handle it. At the time, she joked about how the silversabers were still rattling around inside me, and I guess I took it to heart and I never touched the stuff again. Now that I say it out loud, I realize just how silly I am, huh?”

“Children are like that; they scare easily.” But the truth was that Dahlia couldn’t fathom why Volf’s mother had said something like that. She had been mischievous maybe, but look at the trauma left on him. Poor Volf. Dahlia nodded to herself, then brought a bottle of brown spirits from her kitchen cupboard. “But you’re an adult now, so how about giving it another shot?”

His golden eyes flickered to the amber liquid, and then the man smiled. “Yeah, I think I will.”

The skies felt a little more within reach up here. With cushions and plates on top of the layer of waterproof cloth, the Green Tower’s rooftop diner was open for business. The wind was still, meaning the throw blankets wouldn’t see any action just yet. Dahlia set down a pair of compact magical stoves, brought them up to temperature, then began grilling the lightly salted sauries, which were a bit big for the grill grates. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, but the silver glimmer of the fish looked brighter than the ones she had known in her previous world.

In that life, sauries had been a favorite of Dahlia’s father, but her mother had hated the mess in the kitchen that came afterwards, so the three of them had frequently gone out for saury dinners as a compromise. Scenes of those autumn nights were as hazy as if she were looking through thin cloth, but the laughter, joy, and meals they had shared were eternal.

“Could you please juice these for me, Volf?” she asked. He took the halved lemons into his hands and wrung them out over a cup with a spout; he and his strengthening spell made short work of the task. Then, into their glasses, Dahlia added ice, a glug of the liquor, a good amount of water, and topped them with a heavy splash of the lemon juice.

“Not the usual whisky soda with lemon, I see.” He seemed intrigued by the substitution of water for carbonated water.

“That’s right. I think estervino pairs very well with silversaber, but my father loved it like this better. ‘Saury goes well not with bubbles but with extra lemon,’ he said.”

“Huh, so it’s something your father was picky about.”

“Mm-hmm. But, you know, to each their own. If you like soda, I could do that instead for you. Or when you don’t want to get drunk or if it’s for someone who can’t handle their drink, lemon water with some ice and a few drops of liquor on top for flavor is also a good choice.” Dahlia omitted the name of said lightweight, but it was the go-to of her good friend Lucia.

As they chatted, the oil began to spatter and smoke rose from the heat. It was plain to see that the ferocious scent of the saury had Volf on the edge of his seat. Dahlia flipped the fatty fish, and the oil that had rendered out trickled onto the heat, resulting in a delightful sizzle. Then, they were ready.

“There’s salt, fish sauce, grated radish, chili powder, lemon, and ginger at your disposal. Feel free to use whichever you like,” she said. The sight of all the seasoning and condiments had Volf sitting up straight. Sadly, Dahlia had seen neither sudachi nor kabosu—two sharp citruses from Japan that were nearly a must-have to accompany fish—in this world.

The saury, barely fitting Dahlia’s long rectangular plate, was seared to a nice golden brown. With a pair of chopsticks, she took some of the flesh from the back with its crisped skin still attached and brought it to her mouth. Of course, it was piping hot, as it had just come off the grill, and her impatience scalded her. But once the intensity of the heat faded, she was rewarded with the robust flavor of the fish, then the sweetness of the fat and the smoky charred skin—autumnal bliss in a bite. She looked over at her dining companion to gauge his opinion, and good was the verdict—his eyes were closed and the corners of his mouth were upturned, as he was absorbed in chewing his food; Dahlia decided to keep quiet so as not to interrupt his moment. When he finally swallowed his bite, he followed up with a drink of his whisky and branch with lemon, then let out a very satisfied sigh.

When he finally noticed her, Volf made his smile even bigger, his mouth glistening with grease. “Dahlia, this is amazing...” He turned his gaze—tender and yearning, like a boy in love—back at the saury; how many people would fall for him if he were to use that look on not food but people? Though the dorsal side was easy to work apart, the flesh near the belly wasn’t and had many small bones, and Volf struggled with his fish as Dahlia deftly split hers with chopsticks. “Is there some sort of trick to this?”

“What I like to do is to work my chopsticks into the spine, eat the side facing me, and take out the bones. Then I eat the rest,” she explained, not bothering to stop with her meal. Volf followed her instructions but couldn’t quite figure it out, so she borrowed his chopsticks and helped him out.

“You’re really good at this, Dahlia.”

“Once you get more practice, I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time.” She then took a bite of the organs. Having them with the condiments made them a delicacy with much complexity. The bitterness was mild, leaving the flavor of brine and fish to shine through—a good sign that the saury was very fresh.

“Are you supposed to eat every part of the silversaber like that?”

“It’s an acquired taste, but I think the organs are quite good too at this time of the year.”

Trying a very small piece of it was enough to crease his brow. “That’s a bit bitter...”

“You might like it better having some grated radish and a squeeze of lemon in the same bite. Then, take a swig of your drink. My father said it’s something for grown-ups, and even then, I don’t think many adults actually like it. Please don’t feel like you have to force yourself to enjoy it.”

Volf added the suggested condiments and braved a second try, and then even a third try with some chili powder on top. “Hm. I get it now. Yeah, that’s pretty good. So, that’s what something for grown-ups tastes like...” He seemed like he’d reached a comprehensive understanding of the silversaber.

“I’m glad you acquired a taste for it too.”

“I mean, ‘silversaber’ is pretty obvious, but I wonder why it would be denigrated as ‘slumfish.’ With how good it tastes, maybe they should call it ‘silverfish.’ Or better yet, ‘goldfish?’”

Dahlia would rather not call it the name of those beautiful ornamental fish from her previous life, let alone imagining them flopping around on the grill. “Silversabers are quite fatty, so maybe they’re not to the taste of nobles, since they don’t move around as much. Maybe you knights who are very physically active and young people who don’t mind more fat to their meat enjoy it more?”

“Yeah, maybe the other knights would be happy to have something like this on expeditions.”

“I don’t think it would be very feasible to pack them with you. Silversabers spoil quickly unless you can keep them refrigerated.”

“What if we got the mages to keep them cold while we travel?” Whenever Volf got into a particular ingredient or dish, he was bound to spread it to everyone else. He might not be conscious of it, but he’d try to get everyone else to try it too—his squad, everyone in the castle, Guido, even Jonas. He was quite the natural salesman too.

“Volf, why do you need to bring sauries on your missions so badly?”

He broke into a grin and said, “Morale.” His morale.

Nothing but sauries would indeed be too heavy, and so, next on the menu was corn—bright yellow and grilled on the stove. Dahlia had parboiled the corn before rubbing them down with butter and salt. She would’ve preferred to season them with soy sauce, but she made do by heating up fish sauce to dampen some of the funk and then adding a bit of sugar. She brushed that mixture onto the three ears on the grill. The corn in Ordine had big kernels—about one-and-a-half-times as big as the ones she had had in Japan. The hull was also a bit stiffer here, though they were plenty sweet and had a great snap. As they were partially cooked already, it didn’t take long for them to be ready.

Seeing the charred corn on his plate, Volf quizzically tilted his head to one side. Nobles were probably too pompous to eat corn on the cob if they ate corn at all—it was supposedly considered a peasant food. But corn chowder was sometimes on the menu of fancy-schmancy restaurants, so wasn’t that a little hypocritical?

“I, um, hope you don’t mind going to town on it,” Dahlia said.

“How exactly do you mean?”

“You probably won’t want to do this in polite company, but like this.” She grabbed the ear of corn at both ends and sank her teeth in.

“I see. You really are going to town on it.”

“Nrgk! Uh, a-a knife! You can use a knife if you’d like, Volf!”

As embarrassed as she was to have demonstrated, her student wasn’t, and he did just as she had. And then he paused with eyes wide. “So sweet...”

After that, Volf gave it his undivided attention. The way he was like a little boy discovering the food for the first time was a little endearing, but it’d be rude to say that out loud, so Dahlia continued eating her ear of corn too. Its sweetness complemented the savory sauce glazed on top.

This time, it was Volf’s turn to watch her relishing her food. To be more precise, he was looking at her corn. “How do you eat it so cleanly, Dahlia?”

“I put my bottom teeth in between the rows, like this.”

“Oh, you’re so clever, Dahlia. Lemme try too.” He wedged his pearly whites in the gap between the kernels, carefully plucking them up and out; Dahlia couldn’t stifle her smile. When Volf cleanly cleared out three rows, he looked down at the cob with much satisfaction. Dahlia couldn’t keep count of how many times she’d corrupted this nobleman with such vulgarity, but it was already too late to try to correct the course.

When Volf grabbed his second ear, Dahlia restarted the compact magical stove. “I’ll grill some more saury next.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m treated to something scrumptious every time I come over. Are you sure you’re not trying to tame me?”

“I’m not trying to make you my pet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Maybe I keep returning to the Green Tower because I’ve been tamed by your delicious meals already...”

“Well, so that you’ll keep coming home from your expeditions safe and sound, I’ll have to make you more delicious meals,” offered Dahlia. She placed some more fish on the grill to the soundtrack of his laughter.

“The wind’s picking up a little,” Volf said. “Oh, hey, the moon.” As they were catching their breath after the meal, the sun just sank below the horizon, while in the east, the large full moon came into view.

Dahlia dimmed the magical lantern that she had turned on earlier, and the two looked up into the night sky. “I guess it has become a moon-viewing night.”

“Seems like it,” Volf agreed, eclipsing the moon with his glass as he swirled it.

While he enjoyed the amber up above, she finished off the amber in her hand. Her drink was mixed stronger than it had been during dinner, warming her up as it passed down her throat. They chatted as they indulged in the view.

When the conversation came to a lull, Volf set down his empty glass. As he was about to refill it, there was a terribly pained expression on his face that turned to a cold smile and then disappeared altogether.

“Volf?”

He paused. “It’s nothing. Just thinking about something stupid.”

“If you ever want to talk, I’m always here to listen.” She snatched the bottle out of his hands and filled his glass with a splash of the amber.

Volf stared down his glass as words began trickling out from him. “My hair is the same color as my mother’s, but what about my fool’s gold eyes? Who do they come from? My mother’s were dark brown, while my brother and father have blue eyes. They’re not from my grandparents either. In fact, I’ve never met a relative with the same color eyes as me.”

“Maybe it was passed down through your ancestors on your mother’s side.”

“Maybe. But maybe my father hated her and had—”

“The alcohol’s getting to you, Volf,” she said, cutting him short. But her plans only got her so far; Dahlia scrambled to find something else to say. “Erm, it sounds like your mother was a gallant knight. And your father fell in love with her at first sight, was it? So I don’t think you should keep going down that line of thought. I could only imagine how tough it must be to be suspected by your own child, or at least it would be for me...”

“Thanks, Dahlia. I’m a bad drunk. Forget what I said.” He sounded as though he had calmed down, and for a brief moment, he looked like Guido.

“Besides, you’re quite like your older brother.”

“Am I?” Apparently it wasn’t something he’d heard often.

“I think so. The way you two knit your brows when you worry, the way you laugh, even the way you jump from topic to topic—I never know what comes next, like cranking a jack-in-the-box. I’m sure there’s a lot more if I think about it,” Dahlia said. “Oh! You two have similar tastes in food and drinks.”

“Huh. I guess so...”

“My father and I were the same way. We didn’t look very much alike, but there were many other areas where we were alike.”

“Is that right?” Volf slowly nodded before breaking into a smile. “In that case, I’m confident that my brother would love grilled silversabers too.”

“Please do not grill them indoors. I beg of you.”

It turned out it was a wish that would not be granted. Along with compact magical stoves, the Scalfarotto household would place a large order of degreaser and detergent with the Rossetti Trading Company in about two weeks’ time.

The Newcomers’ Meeting

“Are you sure you’re all right, Marcella?”

“Of course, chairwoman,” he answered, “though I must say I don’t know how long I can keep this up.” His face was stiff as a board despite his words.

Seeing him like that, even Dahlia couldn’t keep it up. “Ugh, it just doesn’t feel right when we act so businesslike around each other.”

“’Course not, Dahlia! But imagine if I were talkin’ to you like this in front of company!”

“He’s got a point, chairwoman!” quipped Ivano.

Inside their room in the Merchants’ guildhall, the members of the Rossetti Company had met up to practice proper etiquette. Dahlia sat beside Ivano, across the desk from Marcella and Mezzena. Ivano was the only one infallible in his behavior, and so the two newcomers needed tutelage, but just getting down speech, bowing, and formal introductions was beyond difficult. Currently, due to a chain reaction, Dahlia and Marcella had both failed, while Mezzena was trying his best to keep from laughing out loud.

Ivano continued, “Please try a little harder, chairwoman. You must understand that at work, Sir Marcella is your subordinate.”

“May I implore you to refrain from addressing me as such, vice-chairman? It makes my skin crawl.”

“If I may be so honest, Marcella, the same goes for me.”

Both men squirmed and shivered at having their titles emphasized like that, something that was almost nostalgic for Dahlia. “Now you two will understand how I used to feel being called chairwoman,” she said with a smirk.

That was the breaking point for Mezzena. “Thank goodness I’m a nobody, eh, sir knight, vice-chairman?”

“Oh, I’ll get you back for this, Mena...”

“Remember what we’ve been practicing, Marcella,” said Ivano. Though they didn’t quite stick the landing, the four of them had finally finished the session and they all heaved a sigh of relief. “Now, let’s move on to some procedures we have to get through. As the two of you have stepped down as guarantors, you are entitled to a share of the profits made during the period. I have already deposited the money into each of your accounts at the guild, and here is the receipt.”

When Marcella and Mezzena became guarantors, they had each put in four gold toward the founding of the company. Now, they were refunded their deposit and a share of the profits on top of it. But when the newcomers read their receipt, both of them froze up.

“Erm, vice-chairman, is this sum correct?”

“I have checked my math, Marcella. There is no mistake,” Ivano said as nonchalantly as possible. Written on the receipt was the initial four gold plus another twenty—a sum of twenty-four.

“Six hundred percent in a mere four months...? Was this some sort of high-stakes bet...?” Mezzena’s aqua eyes were fixed on the piece of paper; whether he was shocked or moved was not yet apparent. But it was only natural that they were so surprised. She was too—it was the equivalent of putting in four hundred thousand yen and getting nearly two and a half million back.

“It was thanks to your support we were able to make such a profit. Please accept the money.”

“Very well. I gratefully accept it,” answered Marcella. He slid the receipt over. “And—not Chairwoman Rossetti but Dahlia—let me pay you back for the bracelet with this money. Whatever I still owe you, I’ll pay you back in installments.”

“But Marcella, you’re about to have kids—twins at that—and I don’t think Irma will be returning to work soon,” she said, wanting him to have some elbow room.

“My wage from both Lord Scalfarotto and the company is plenty. Besides, I still have money saved up from my courier work, so we’ll be all right.” He was adamant about giving her the money, and having been his friend for so long, she knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer here.

“Okay, then, if you insist. I’ll take the sum of the interest as repayment toward the bracelet. I’ll get you to thank Lord Guido as well, so we can consider this debt settled.”

“Whoa, what about the materials cost? And the labor?”

“Professor Oswald traded the cost of the materials for my help on future projects and Tobias said he wouldn’t take money for his labor, so the twenty gold covers everything. As for the Zola Company and Lord Guido, I’ll think of some way to repay them sooner or later.”

“All right. I’ll put my all into my work and I’ll think of how I can thank them too,” Marcella said before pointing his brown eyes toward Mezzena. “No worries about moving now, eh?”

“I might even be able to move into a place with a hot water dispenser.”

That caught Dahlia’s attention. “Erm, are they hounding you at your home too, Mezzena?”

“There”—he paused to craft his sentence—“aren’t that many people.”

The way he looked away sheepishly made Dahlia feel even more terrible. He couldn’t possibly relax if people were accosting him at his home about supposed connections with the nobility. “We are to blame for that as well, so we will find a new place for you. After this, please let us know what preferences or requirements you may have. You should stay at an inn tonight as well.”

“Thank you very much, and sorry about the trouble,” he said. “Oh, and could you please call me Mena, chairwoman and vice-chairman? ‘Mezzena’ is a bit of a mouthful and it doesn’t sit right with me, as everyone back in the Couriers’ called me Mena as well.”

“Very well, Mena.” Calling him by his nickname made Dahlia feel like they’ve grown closer, if only by a bit.

“From this day forth, we shall bring prosperity to the Rossetti Trading Company!” Ivano declared, to smiles from everyone in the office—which, incidentally, must’ve shrunk again.

After they had gone through their agenda, the Rossetti Company decided to close early for the day. Dahlia and Marcella decided to take a carriage together to the tower.

“Oh, Mena, would you mind staying behind for a little bit? I want to talk to you about your accommodations,” said Ivano.

“Of course not.”

“I’ve got knight trainin’ in the mornin’—uh, I mean, I have training in the morning at the Scalfarotto estate, but I shall return in the afternoon.”

“I hope everything goes well, Marcella,” Ivano said.

“Yeah, I just hope my head doesn’t explode...” The man with the sandy hair let out a defeated sigh. Yesterday, he had started lessons in knightly etiquette, and he seemed to have been overloaded with new knowledge. It wasn’t as though he was a complete stranger to that world—he had regularly made deliveries to the mansions of the nobility—but apparently a knight needed to know more. It would be one-on-one hands-on training with a veteran, and they’d be at it from morning to lunch, going through how to greet people, walk down a hallway, eat properly, and even bathroom etiquette. Hearing about it was enough to make Ivano’s head spin too.

“I know you can do it, Marcella. You’ll come out of it just fine.” Dahlia supported her good friend with an innocent smile.

But his was full of pain. “Pray for me, Dahlia...” And he opened the door and the two of them stepped out of the room, leaving Ivano with Mena in the office.

“Mena, please have a seat,” the vice-chairman said. “Would somewhere in this area be suitable for you? I have three places picked out already, and the company shall lease you whichever you like. As well, I’ll have you stay in this inn until you move in.”

“Thank you very much. Whichever is the cheapest of the three would be great. Same goes for the inn...” After Mena glanced over the documents on the table, he had an apologetic look about him. He may have been young, but he seemed to know the value and importance of money, and, fortunately, he was not seeking to take advantage of the company either.

“Don’t worry, the company will pay for your lodging. It’d be a nuisance if anybody were to bother you during your stay, so I recommend this inn, as they guard their guests as well.”

“That would be great. I can’t say it enough, but thank you...” Mena’s newfound relief only showed how mentally exhausted he had been up until now; there must have been more people who were interested in the company and in the chairwoman than Ivano had expected.

“Is anything else bothering you? I ask that you don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Actually, about my salary...” Mena said. “It’s more than what I was making at the Couriers’ Guild, and I’m not sure whether you aren’t overpaying me.”

“The company owes you for the trouble we have caused you thus far. We don’t have many employees either, so you might have to take on miscellaneous tasks aside from deliveries. Oh, and of course, the more responsibilities you have, the more your salary will go up.” They’d poached Mena away from the Couriers’, so a thirty-percent pay bump wasn’t unreasonable. And with how much work there was in store for him, he would hardly be overpaid. “By the way, can you cast body strengthening, or are you otherwise capable with magic?”

“Yes, I have body strengthening, which grants me the ability to carry up to three times my body weight with ease. My magic is rated at grade four, and I possess air magic—just enough for a light breeze and to dry off my sweaty clothes in the summer.”

“And you mentioned you have experience as a driver as well?”

“That is correct. I’ve always loved horses, so I’ve taken care of them and ridden them quite frequently as well. I am good enough to make urgent deliveries within the capital.”

“Marcella said it ‘wasn’t uncommon’ to need to defend himself, and so you have experience with that as well?” Self-defense was necessary for couriers, as there were people who wanted to rob their deliveries. It was common outside of city limits, but especially when delivering big-ticket items to nobles, making body strengthening a highly desirable asset for the Couriers’ Guild.

“I was partnered with Marcella, so I have some experience, yes.” Mena’s apparent lack of enthusiasm for fighting improved Ivano’s appraisal of him, and all in all, he seemed like a competent young man. It might cost a bit more money to poach someone of his caliber from the Couriers’ again.

When Ivano narrowed his navy blue eyes, it was time for the question he had been meaning to ask all along. “Mena, how long have you worked as a gossip-bird?”

A beat, then he answered truthfully, “About three years or so?” Gossip-birds were people paid to spread gossip; Mena would talk to people in bars and diners where commoners congregated.

“Will you continue after this?”

“I have thought about quitting after joining the company...”

“If you don’t mind telling me the details of what you say, then I won’t mind you continuing. I’m sure it’s a lucrative side gig, and we might just give you work too.” Ivano smiled pointedly as he looked straight into the youth’s aqua eyes. “Marcella isn’t aware of this, is he?”

“I haven’t told him, no. Marcella’s prone to worrying and I didn’t want him to ask too many questions, so I figured I would make a little pocket money for myself on the down low.”

“May I ask as to how you spend your extra cash?”

Mena looked back indifferently. “Relationships. I’m a bit of a free lover, you see, and the costs add up.”

Free love was considered a symbol of the freedom enjoyed by the citizens in the Kingdom of Ordine. Those who engaged in it generally did away with the idea of exclusive relationships between couples and instead adopted a broader, polyamorous definition. And if all parties consented to it, everybody won. Ivano, though, didn’t really see the appeal; he had eyes for his wife and only for her. “I understand. As long as you don’t bring trouble to the company, your relationships are a personal matter and we won’t poke our nose into it.”

“Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

Ivano took another good look at Mena—his soft, chestnut-colored hair, fine features, and refreshing aqua eyes fit perfectly with his trim courier build and light blue jacket. Seeing Volf all the time had numbed Ivano, but Mena was a handsome man too. Not that Ivano was envious, but he understood why Mena was so popular. “Thank you very much for your time. The inn knows you’re coming already. I doubt there will be people following you if you exit through the back of the guildhall.”

“Likewise, and thank you very much, vice-chairman. Allow me to excuse myself for the day,” he said, putting to use the polite figure of speech he had learned earlier in the afternoon.

All by his lonesome, Ivano tidied up the documents before unfurling onto his desk a sheet of parchment that Guido had sent: Mezzena Grieve. Parents unknown. Raised in a state-run institution. Hired by the Couriers’ Guild on Marcella’s referral. Established reputation of a hard worker. His abilities were above expectations, he had Marcella’s guarantee, and his clean background meant he wasn’t tied to any noble—a rare gem indeed. However, what was unexpected was how he had lied earlier.

While the background check had revealed that he had many female friends, what he’d failed to mention was that they had all grown up in an institution together. The money he earned was donated away anonymously, and the places he frequented were orphanages. He couldn’t be faulted for saying his money went to “relationships,” but he hadn’t been exactly honest either. Why was he self-deprecating and why did he claim to be a free lover? Because he was embarrassed to admit the truth? Because he wanted to act tough like young men tended to do? Ivano had no answer to that question yet.

His master Oswald had previously recommended that he “raise a puppy” as soon as possible, meaning to find and train someone young and reliable within the company. Mena was friendly and not timid, knew propriety to some extent, and didn’t warrant worrying about if he was sent out alone for deliveries. He had body strengthening magic and the skills to protect himself. And he was a gossip-bird, and that meant he was able to swallow the many shades of gray that appeared in this world. His ever so slight disposition toward dishonesty would hardly blemish the fact that he could be raised into a very competent businessman. Not that Ivano could claim to be one himself, but collecting useful subordinates and trustworthy allies was always a good idea.

“The responsibilities just keep stacking up...” Ivano said aloud, and then chuckled to himself.

Bonus Translator’s and Editor’s Notes

[Osman/TL]

Can you believe we’re here together again? Translation can be such hard work when I’m in the thick of things, but it feels like it was just a few days ago that I was writing the bonus content for the previous book!

Both Shakuzan and I agree that Volume 6 was undoubtedly the best volume so far! The tension and excitement of Irma’s pregnancy came right away in the opening was absolutely gripping. Then, during the crafting to save their lives, we were treated to the changed dynamics in the relationship between Dahlia and Tobias. Not only were there many great scenes of humor, character development, romance, and cuteness (drunk Lucia adorable!!!), I gotta admit I also shed a few tears at Marcella’s interlude and the extra story.

I’m hoping we get to meet some new characters in the upcoming volumes too. Not that the established ones have gotten stale or anything, but I think the audience has worked up an appetite for fresh plot and intriguing conflict!

A big thanks to the editor Shakuzan for being such a great partner to work with, always deciphering my sections of word vomit in the translation and comments and picking out errors with a fine-tooth comb. I’d like to thank Ryoko again as well for help with the “financial assistance” line in the extra story. Such a simple few words, but I could not wrap my head around it the first few times I stared at them. It really helps to be able to get help from someone who not only is a native speaker but also someone who is very familiar with the series. Oh, and Ryoko also manages the Dahlia wiki! Such a great resource.

I really enjoy interacting with everyone on the forum and Discord server, and it’s really encouraging to see people love what you worked on! So, as always, thank you for the continued support, and I hope to see you again at the end of the next volume!

You’ve Got Questions, We’ve Got Answers

Let’s start off with an easier question. Lily Garden asks: “Since Dahlia is a story about craftsmanship with detailed descriptions of creating magical tools, has the series inspired you to try crafting for yourself?”

[Osman/TL]

Like, literally? Hmm. I would like to try crafting magical tools if I could, but I don’t know if I’d make it a career even if I were good at it. I’m worried I don’t have Dahlia’s imagination, but I’d do grunt work like Tobias?

As for crafting IRL, I’ve built model cars and painted a miniature before and really enjoyed it! I also work on my car from time to time. I’m not very good at wrenching, but I get basic maintenance done by myself.

“What about cooking? Or alcohol consumption?” Tacitus adds to the question above.

[Osman/TL]

I’m always waiting for the series to show me a dish that I really want to recreate, but nothing has really caught my curiosity yet! Maybe when I finally do, I’ll put the recipe here to share? o:

At the end of every year, I try to make a big batch of alcohol as presents for my friends. A few years back, I did a fat-washed rum for hot buttered rum which I really enjoyed. This past holiday season, though, I made glögg (a Swedish mulled wine) which I didn’t really like... The combination of spices I used had a—for a lack of a better way to put it—old person taste to it. Everyone else seemed to love it, so mission accomplished, I guess!

[Shakuzan/ED]

Dahlia does frequently inspire me to drink, yes, mainly when she finds herself thinking of Volf but can’t for the life of her figure out why.

Incidentally, Amagishi-san occasionally posts recipes on Twitter (@amagishihisaya), although I have yet to try making any myself!

Continuing on the theme of food, TheGrimLich asks: “Which monster that we've seen thus far do you, personally, think would be the most delicious? The least delicious?”

[Osman/TL]

Kraken or green squid would probably be the tastiest! When squid is really fresh, its texture is really creamy and I absolutely love it. Oh, and how about dried shredded squid? With a nice frosty beer on the side? One of the big little joys of life. Don’t forget about grilled squid either! The tentacles are so good when they get toasty and smoky. There’s just so much you can do with kraken and green squid that would turn out good.

Setting aside inedible monsters like dullahans—literal walking suits of armor—I don’t think many monsters would be very tasty. Slimes would probably be goopy, goblins and the like are probably too humanoid to be hunted for food, and strong monsters are probably lean and tough. I think the marsh spider would probably be the ickiest with its hairs and all. Or maybe they would be good when they’re freshly molted, kinda like soft-shell crab?

[Shakuzan/ED]

Giant boar seems like a safe bet for most delicious—although, having recently eaten a reptile for the first time in the form of a gator po’ boy (it really does taste like chicken!), I’d at least give forest serpent a try. Least delicious has to be the marsh spider, right?

True to their username, “Who would you pick to voice Dahlia and Volf in a hypothetical anime adaptation?” asks AnimeJ.

[Shakuzan/ED]

Speaking very generally, I always imagine Dahlia having relatively subdued voice acting, with only a few characters who “sound anime” (mainly Lucia).

Fantasy casting Dahlia is particularly tricky. She’s intelligent and outgoing but just a little insecure, and I feel like a lot of seiyuu tend to play similar girl genius characters to one of two extremes: shy or brassy—neither of which quite fits Dahlia. As I was thinking back through favorite vocal performances that are a little more offbeat, one possibility that occurred to me was Maeda Ai, who’s primarily a film actress but voiced Kino in the 2003 Kino’s Journey. Maeda projects a lot of intelligence and sensitivity, although Kino is rather more poised than Dahlia.

Fans have unfortunately turned him into a one-dimensional meme ever since Stardust Crusaders, but it’s tempting to name Miyake Kenta for Volf, who is, after all, cut from the same cloth as the “big protective guy” characters Miyake has been voicing for decades. (Watanabe no Tsuna in Otogi Zōshi is an early example who’s somewhat Volf-like in his prowess with the sword and loyalty to a woman he refuses to touch.) On the other hand, given that Volf is an aristocrat, I sometimes picture him as the kind of man who sounds less macho than he looks, besides which it’s hard to imagine Miyake, with his stentorian baritone, capturing the dopey chocolate Lab aspect that Volf takes on around Dahlia. That being the case, casting a more naive-sounding performer against type might pay unexpected dividends.

I also feel compelled to point out that (although I may be imagining it) there are a couple of passages that read to me as though Amagishi-san is describing character acting tics associated with Kyoto Animation—in this volume’s chapter “Good Night and Pleasant Dreams,” Dahlia waves “both hands in front of her, frantically denying the accusation,” which sounds an awful lot like director/key animator Yamada Naoko’s “KyoAni jazz hands”—so the correct answer here, in terms of the author’s intentions, may well be “A couple of voice actors who work with that studio.” Hikasa Yoko’s performance as Mio in K-On! is not too far off from how I imagine Dahlia.

[Osman/TL]

I used to watch a lot more anime but I’ve dropped off in recent years, so I’m kinda out of the loop with regards to voice artists. That being said, I’ve always imagined Dahlia to have a kinda softer, subdued voice—a character that doesn’t “sound anime,” as Shakuzan aptly put it—so I’m thinking Ishikawa Yui playing Violet Evergarden. However, the Dahlia PV had Oonishi Saori as a narrator—and from my view, their choice for Dahlia Rossetti—so it should go to her, and it would work great. For Volf, he should definitely have a soft and somewhat deep voice. I know even less about VAs for male characters, but if I had to cast someone, I think Miyano Mamoru would fit the bill, as clichéd as that might be, haha.

Next, let’s get into some hard-hitting questions. “What is the most difficult bit of wordplay you've had to localize thus far? Were there times you needed to find an English equivalent that preserved the overall spirit of the original?” asks zwabbit.

[Osman/TL]

A tricky turn of phrase in this volume was in the first chapter where Volf talks about how cooking bacon in the barracks draws uninvited guests. The term he uses is 人寄せベーコン (lit. crowd-drawing bacon), and from what I can surmise, it’s probably a play on 人寄せパンダ (lit. crowd-drawing panda, meaning “main attraction”, like in a zoo). We couldn’t think of an English equivalent that would fit the bill—I didn’t want to write anything that would imply the existence of zoos or pandas in the world of Dahlia, for example—and I ended up translating the dialogue with a more literal approach with regards to its meaning.

The usage of “picture books” in the translation is something I really like. It’s an obvious-enough euphemism that has some semblance with the source material’s usage of 姿絵 (“portrait”). It also gave me room to be creative—I decided to ham it up a little with “pretty portraits of debaucherous dames”, “stacks of skintone softbacks”, and “leggy ladies” to highlight the humor (as I had a riot reading the passage).

[Shakuzan/ED]

I love all of the language around the “picture books.” Dated sexual slang is just inherently funny.

Torka adds: “What's the best wordplay you’ve translated, like a phrase or term that just seemed to be perfect for the context?”

[Osman/TL]

In the chapter “The Rossetti Trading Company’s Meet and Greet,” the source used 六倍返し in reference to Fermo sharing six new inventions with Dahlia for them to sign as codevelopers. Another reading of that phrase could be framed as Fermo enacting a revenge six times as deadly, hence the translation of “avenged sixfold,” which coincidentally riffs off a band called Avenged Sevenfold (which I just learned is a reference to the story of Cain and Abel from the Bible!)

Another (self-admittedly) clever bit was in “Crystal-Roasted Sweet Potatoes and Silversabers.” In the source, Volf described how his mother said the saury were “still thrashing about in his stomach.” I played into the “saber” part of “saberfish,” as that’s what they would probably call them instead of “slumfish” given his upper-crust background, and phrased the translation such they they were “still rattling around inside him.”

PuckGoodfellow00 0 wondered something similar, asking: “When translating, do you try to keep the Japanese idioms? Or do you use the English language equivalent more often?”

[Osman/TL]

It would definitely be ideal to use something similarly-phrased and that means the same thing in English whenever possible, but rarely do adages and idioms line up like that in both languages. In that case, I believe the second best option would be to use the closest English equivalent.

Something in this volume that worked really well was in “The New Guarantor and the Kit,” where Ivano said “Only a kit. Still a silver fox.” Though it almost reads like an adapted idiom, this line was translated rather literally: the English phrase “silver fox”—meaning an attractive older man with a slight implication of wiliness—was perfect in the context, and the “kit” extension was natural.

kingpendragon asks: “Do you ever think ‘Oh, I know the perfect word for that, but almost no one will get what it means’? Or maybe ‘There is a good word for that but this character wouldn't know it’?”

[Osman/TL]

The old-timey-ness of the setting allows me to use a lot of vocabulary that might be dated and there are a lot of places like crafting and biology where I feel like I should use accurate technical terms. I don’t shy away from doing so; I’d rather have the audience flip open a dictionary than to sacrifice flavor. But the second part rings true! Normally, I reserve any real-life references for when the story is in Dahlia’s point of view as she is the only character (that we know of?) from our world—it wouldn’t make sense for anyone else to do so. That cautionary mindset has me checking the dictionary and origins of many popular idioms, like “in one’s wheelhouse” (stems from baseball), or the etymology of words, like “adrenaline” (coined in 1901), to see if they fit in the setting.

Anguish

If servants learned the secret that he’d stashed away the books, it wouldn’t matter—he’d be dead—so long as they didn’t look. But Dahlia finding out he’d kept the pictures with no clothes? He’d die a dozen deaths were this disgrace to her disclosed.

[Osman/TL]

Though I doubt many people noticed this—or at the very least, no one pointed it out in the forums—these few lines are my very favorite in this volume. I fiddled with this section for about an hour to perfect the rhyme and meter, resulting in—well, read these four lines out and see if you can feel it. I wouldn’t add poetry (if you could call it that) to where it doesn’t belong, but the interludes in Dahlia are a great playground. Some of them are very playful, like the chapter “Interlude: Anguish, or the Conclusion to the Picture Books” where this excerpt is from, and so I decided to play into it.

Slumfish, Silversabers

It was a guilty pleasure available every fall in the city center.
Saury was one name for the fish, another was slumfish.

[Osman/TL]

The parts underlined above have 町下 in the source, a term that occurs frequently enough in this series. If you take the characters literally, you can bisect it as “down” and “town.” Hey, bozo, ya haven’t heard of this great English world “downtown” before? It’s the same compound as the Japanese, I hear you yell through your screen, but the nuance isn’t quite the same between the two languages. The downtown of a city is its central business district, which I would associate with fancy, clean, and maybe even snobby, while 下町 has more of a grungy, poor urban center vibe—direct opposites.

Lucia

“Wine! The red kind! And I’m fine. I can drink more than ever thanks to Mr. Forto, I’ll have you know,” she said. Lucia, now equipped with a glass half full of wine, turned to Dahlia with a mischievous smile on her face. “Get this! Earlier today, Mr. Forto looked real bummed out, right? And so I said to him, ‘I bet it’s because Dahlia didn’t invite you to her party,’ and guess what? He whimpered like a puppy!”

“Sometimes when it’s hot out, he’ll wear an odd hemp shirt that totally transforms his aura.”

Hold on, let me gush about how cute drunk Lucia is! How she mispronounces everybody’s name! How she gets so excited about underwear! The illustration at the end of this chapter with her cute hairstyle and tongue poking out!

Okay, got that out of my system.

When I write Lucia’s lines, I want to bring out her feminine and casual idiolect. In the source text for the first example, she described how Forto “seemed jealous.” It felt almost out of place how bland that was, especially when compared to her usual animated self. So, I opted for a more flavorful way to phrase it, saying that Forto “looked real bummed out.”

I do try not to make her sound too modern though. In the second example, I really wanted to have Lucia say that the odd hemp shirt “totally transforms [Forto’s] vibes.” Though I thought it would really fit the audience’s image of her, I decided her character would probably not use slang that recent (recent with regards to our reality.)

And this wraps up Volume 6! Just like last time, there were great questions that we couldn’t get to, so please ask them again when the question corner for Volume 7 opens up! As always, thank you dear readers for, well, reading! It really means a lot to me personally to see everyone get as excited about Dahlia as much as Shakuzan and I do. I hope to talk with you again on the forums and Discord server. Until the next volume!