Argent Fireflies and the Letter Opener

“This is argent firefly dust.” Shaking the little glass bottle kicked up the silvery powder inside, causing it to sparkle like glitter. Though the midday sun did well to obscure it, the powder—or more accurately, the beautiful scales—luminesced dimly in the shades of night. The argent firefly, despite what its name suggested, was an insectile monster rather than a true insect.

In her previous life, fireflies hadn’t shed powder like this, monsters had been figments of the imagination, and the only magic had come in the form of technology—Dahlia Rossetti, who’d been reincarnated in Ordine, found herself comparing her present to her past. Here, she was a craftswoman who created magical tools for everyday living and had unremarkable looks, save for her bright red hair and vivid green eyes.

“Whoa, I didn’t know argent firefly scales were so fine...” Entranced by the bottle was her friend Volfred Scalfarotto—or Volf, as she called him. He was a royal knight of the Order of Beast Hunters and the fourth son of an earl; someone of his status ought to have little to do with a commoner like Dahlia, yet theirs was a fast friendship born out of pure coincidence. The duo had since shared many meals and even discussed business together. His hair was the color of a doused raven, his skin like fine porcelain, and his eyes a deep gold. He had the brow of an intellectual, from which a sharp nose extended downward, and delightfully shaped lips. Every part of him was a brushstroke that completed a masterpiece, yet his looks caused misunderstandings due to the way women flocked to him, and those past experiences had instilled in him a wariness of others—beauty was truly a double-edged sword.

“As is, the dust scatters at the lightest breeze, so I’ll add it to some water in a dish and mix it with a paintbrush. Enchanting with this will enhance an item’s radiance. They use this stuff on guardslamps too, you know?”

Guardslamps were magical lanterns used by city guards on night watch. As they were powered by fire crystals, they were much brighter than any regular lantern. Their globes were painted with alternating stripes of red and yellow to dye the light they cast. Guards wielded these lanterns when rushing to the scenes of robberies, fights, carriage collisions, and other injuries, and, with their body strengthening magic, they moved at tremendous speed—it brought to mind the police cars or ambulances of her past life, not that she would have expected anyone here to understand what she meant.

“I’ll begin mixing it now.” Dahlia added a quarter spoon of the scales to one spoonful of water in a small white dish, then began stirring, turning the liquid into what looked like a snippet of lamé.

“That’s really pretty. Oh, I’ve actually seen real argent fireflies at a large pond during my expeditions, and they’re just as pretty in person. The slightly greenish-white light they produce reflects from their silver wings, making it quite a bit brighter than a regular firefly’s.”

“I’d like to see them for myself.” It sounded as though argent fireflies were even more gorgeous than normal lightning bugs dancing in the air; with their wings glittering above a mirror of water, the sight was sure to be fantastical. Her life in Japan had been confined to a dense concrete jungle, and she had never seen a firefly in the flesh before.

“The locals there had a whale of a time trying to catch them with long nets, but argent fireflies have body strengthening magic, so it was supposedly quite difficult but very profitable to do so.”

That world, this world—what was the difference? Humans would destroy their fantastical environs for a pretty penny all the same. Dahlia stared into the distance as if she’d find hope somewhere out there.

But Volf turned to her with a smile on his face. “Dahlia, wanna go see them next summer? There’s a few of them out in our territory.”

She saw their powder quite frequently, but if it was safe, she’d like to see the real thing. She’d especially like to take a close look at how their wings worked and see if different specimens had different levels of magic in their scales. “I’d love to!”

“I’ll get the people there to contact me as soon as they appear, then.”

Going to see argent fireflies with Volf next summer—there was yet another thing to look forward to. “Okay, I’m going to enchant your letter opener with this paste now.”

“Thank you!”

The object of today’s enchantment was a letter opener that Volf had brought with him. The grip had a decorative design, and—perhaps due to its age—the silvery parts had lost their luster. When they’d spoken about bringing it back to a brilliant shine, Dahlia, on top of providing him with polish and a cloth, had gone a step further and offered to enchant it. As he buffed it with some elbow grease, she had prepared the argent firefly scales, bringing the two of them to the present moment. The enchantment would make the silvery parts shine only a little brighter, but even so, Volf had snapped at the opportunity and was staring at her hands; his golden eyes sparkled brighter than any metal.

“Here I go.” Dahlia took the buffed letter opener into her left hand and pointed her right index and middle fingers at it. A rainbow strip of energy flowed out from her fingertips, turning silver when it came in contact with the paste in the bowl beside her, and enveloped the letter opener in a glimmer. As the silver serpent reached the tip of the blade, Dahlia diminished her output and, so that no part of the knife would be left uncovered, concentrated to apply an even flow, then tightened the spigot completely. She gently set the letter opener down on the cloth on the workbench, then double-checked her handiwork—it had a uniquely fine silver shimmer that was unlike any polished metal.

“It’s so pretty...” Volf sighed his words out; it was evident he liked the result.

“It should be just as sharp as before, but why don’t you give it a quick test to make sure?” What good would it be if it couldn’t open letters?

He took a folded sheet of paper from her, then carefully cut it at the crease. “It feels good. Heck, it might even be a little sharper than before.” That was most definitely just his imagination—argent firefly dust had no such effect. “You know I bought this thing in college because I thought it looked like a magical sword?” How very like him to have done so.

This was a world of magic and swords and magical swords. As for the latter, some were born out of the protection of spirits, fairies, and the like, while others were artifices. Naturally, it was very useful to have weapons and blades—kitchen knives and scissors, for example—enchanted with hardening so that they didn’t break or self-sharpening for a persistently keen edge. Volf, however, wanted neither of those—what he wanted was a powerful magic sword, one imbued with romance. He and Dahlia had been developing their own but had found little success so far.

“Since college? Well, it’s no wonder that it’s lost a little of its luster.”

“To tell you the truth, it was around then that I pretty much stopped opening letters myself.”

“Uh, what did you do with your mail, then?” She knew he must’ve received piles and piles of love letters from girls at school.

“I had others open them for me at home, and I only took important documents. One time, I cut my hand open because someone had stuck a razor blade inside; apparently, it was from some guy who really resented me.”

“Gosh, you’ve had it rough...” Not only had he not wanted those letters, one had been genuinely dangerous to open—no wonder he’d had people handle his mail for him.

“That’s why this letter opener hasn’t seen much action at all; all I ever use it for is when my family sends me news. Oh! I do open your letters, though.” His bright smile warmed her heart.

Dahlia’s letters contained neither threats nor confessions of love, and she hoped he wouldn’t need to fear them. However, she wasn’t much of a writer, and their content wasn’t much to behold; they resembled nothing so much as business correspondence, asking him when they could meet next.

“With this enchantment, this, too, has now become a magical blade.”

“Uh, no? That’s still just a letter opener—a particularly shiny one, perhaps, but it’s not like it can kill any monsters.”

“Oh...”

Why was he so disappointed? Now she felt bad for him. Perhaps she ought to call it a false magical sword, she thought to herself, as Volf gripped it in his right hand. Maybe it was his natural good looks, or maybe it was because he was a Beast Hunter, but he did indeed appear very gallant wielding it.

“You’re right, I don’t think I’d have an easy time slaying a monster with this thing.”

“Don’t go proving my point, okay?”

He agreed not to. “Anyway, it might be kinda nice if our next magical sword were this shiny...”

Dahlia failed to see the point in fighting monsters with a shiny sword. If anything, the way it gleamed would scare them off. But perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea either, as it could ward off monsters; he’d come home safe and sound without a battle—though that was definitely not what a Beast Hunter would want.

“We’ll be going to tomorrow’s field training together, won’t we, Dahlia?”

“Yes, though I’m afraid I’ll hinder everyone.” But she knew that was twisting his words, and she dismissed those negative thoughts.

The training session tomorrow involved inspecting a reservoir along the western highway, securing materials, and field testing her own invention, the portable warm air circulator. According to the other knights, though, the real objective of the journey was an armored crab—a large cancroid monster that lived in rocky ridges. They would take its shell back as material; everything else, they would use up on location—in other words, they would have happy bellies. She had been invited along, as it should be fairly safe, but the prospect of the trip nonetheless made her quite nervous.

“Don’t worry, Dahlia. It’s safe out there, and besides, we’ll be there to take care of any monsters that show up.” He must’ve seen through her concerns.

Volf began preparing to return to the barracks. The black coat he put on reminded her of when they had first met—his armor had been covered in blood, his clothes in rents, and his body in wounds as he collapsed in front of her carriage.

If I hadn’t been there at that exact moment—the thought chilled her to the bone. His departures were always sudden, and he never knew how long he’d be out on an expedition or when he’d return. There was always the chance that more monsters had appeared than the reports detailed or that other monsters would appear. He had to suffer the heat and the cold of the wilderness and any unforeseen storms of thunder, rain, or wind.

Despite her title of the Order of Beast Hunters’ Advisory Magical Toolmaker, Dahlia could not fight; she did not belong on their expeditions. But tomorrow, she would not be seeing Volf off or waiting for his return—she had the opportunity to join him and the rest of the Beast Hunters on their field training. She couldn’t have been happier about it.

“I’m so excited! See you tomorrow!” Volf did not bid farewell to her with “Good night and pleasant dreams” or “See you next time”—his dazzling smile linked this day to the next.

And so Dahlia responded in kind. “I can’t wait!”

Field Training and Armored Crab

Clear skies awaited them the following day.

“Why, if it isn’t Dali!” Volf’s voice was filled with a certain joy as he rushed over to Dahlia.

It was still early in the morning, so the only other people in the castle’s carriage station were Beast Hunters finishing up preparations for the expedition, but it was still a little embarrassing. “Um, I suppose you’re right—I am dressed like Dali.”

She was dressed exactly the same way she had been when they had first met. She had on a black hat into which she’d stuffed her hair; her father’s shirt and trousers, the latter of which were a little baggy on her; a tall pair of boots; and black-rimmed glasses. Although the lenses weren’t corrective, neither were they just for show—she figured the glasses could be protective if she had to push her way through tall grass.

“Is there a particular reason why?”

“I know some of you are worried about a woman tagging along on the expedition, so I thought it might be prudent to dress like this today.”

“You even sound like Dali too...” It was as though he were reuniting with an old friend he hadn’t seen in ages.

Around Dahlia’s neck was a voice caster, something her father had invented to alter one’s voice; this particular unit deepened her voice to give it a masculine flavor, and she had been wearing it when she’d first encountered Volf.

A few days ago, Vice-Captain Griswald had told her that a few knights had expressed concern about having a female guest joining their expedition, and he had recommended that she wear comfortable clothes she didn’t mind getting a little dirty—he had even specified that there would be a bit of a hike and that it would be better to wear boots and trousers than a skirt. However, Dahlia had taken that to mean “Don’t look like a dainty girl, wear something that blends in with the others, and make sure you can move around easily.” Volf had once said that monsters tended to target the easiest prey, and she didn’t want to cause trouble for the others if any showed up. Hence, cross-dressing, which Volf was oddly taken with.

“Your voice also suits you very well, Dahlia—er, pardon—Chairwoman.” Marcella scrambled to correct himself, his shoulders silently trembling as he suppressed a laugh. It felt like just days ago, he had been with the Couriers’ Guild, but by some convoluted turn of events, he was now Dahlia’s bodyguard. They had come to the castle by carriage together, but she hadn’t activated the voice caster until now; he likely found it quite jarring to hear a different voice coming out of her mouth. Marcella was the only other employee of the Rossetti Trading Company who was present today, as Ivano, the vice-chairman, had a meeting he could not reschedule.

“Chairwoman Rossetti, your outfit today—I can tell you put a great deal of thought into it.” Arriving on the scene just now was Jonas, and his rust-colored eyes smiled from behind Volf. Jonas was the bodyguard and attendant of Volf’s elder brother, and, by yet another convoluted turn of events, he was now also the head manager of the Scalfarotto Weapons Works.

Dahlia was sorry that a nobleman like him was obligated to give her a compliment. “I thought I should blend in as much as possible to not get in the way during the expedition.”

“Indeed, your outfit looks very easy to move around in.”

Just then, someone called for Volf; it appeared that it was time to depart on their journey. “All right, Dali, I’ll see you later in the woods!” He ran back to the rest of the Scarlet Armors.

The Beast Hunters’ carriage was slightly longer and more spacious than the ones Dahlia usually rode in, and traveling together with her were Marcella and Jonas. Its little windows gave her a fresh view of the streets of the capital.

“Master Jonas, if I may—I am wondering about Lord Guido’s security detail today.” Marcella really had become a knight of the Scalfarottos.

“As he will remain on castle grounds until my return, we have requested that two knights from the family and two of the mages under his authority serve in my place during my absence.” Were there four people guarding him at the same time, or were they taking shifts? In either case, it was evident that Guido was heavily guarded. “Lord Guido expressed regret for being unable to attend today’s excursion.”

“Truly, how unfortunate...” It shouldn’t be very dangerous today, the weather was so nice, and Guido surely would’ve loved to go on an outing with his brother too.

“Lord Guido very much enjoys armored crab, you see.”

“I’m sorry?”

“His favorite preparation is grilled whole.”

Ah. Guido’s regrets centered on missing out on the eating part. It was surprising, though, that he enjoyed them that way; it was difficult for Dahlia to imagine him getting his hands dirty with the shell and all. Like everyone else, nobles probably wanted to take it easy—if they didn’t need to mind their manners in front of company, then maybe they were prone to bouts of barbarism too.

“Erm, if there will be extra and if I can get permission to have a portion of it, shall we freeze some and bring it back for him?”

“I am sure he would be delighted.”

Jonas’s smile reminded her of a question the vice-chairman had entrusted to her. “Master Jonas, Ivano had a question—he was wondering if it would be possible for him to pay his respects to your family’s business.”

Jonas—now head manager of the Scalfarotto Weapons Works—came from Viscountcy Goodwin, and their family operated the Goodwin Combine. The Rossetti Company owed much to him, so Ivano hoped to go say hi and establish a relationship with them.

“No, thank you. Rather, I ask that you not do so. I am estranged—erm, our relationship is not so mendable.” His right wrist—his illusory bracelet—clinked. Jonas had a fire dragon blight, and if he were to remove that bracelet, the red scales on his right arm would become visible. “Viscountcy Goodwin no longer considers me part of the family—my mother was a foreign dancer, and I possess no external magic.”

The atmosphere in the cabin changed in a matter of seconds. Even Marcella, sitting beside Dahlia, tensed up. She had heard that being unable to express magic impeded a noble from succeeding their family’s rank and from many professions as well. Furthermore, Jonas’s mother was a commoner from abroad; Volf had no external magic either, but Jonas likely had it worse. Dahlia couldn’t find a good reply.

But his iron-oxide eyes saw through her hesitation, and Jonas continued in a calm voice. “You needn’t worry. I have had aid from my father and the honor of being employed as Lord Guido’s attendant since our elementary school years, so I am not in want. My blight has even granted me the ability to use magic now.”

He was so casual explaining his background, but as Dahlia nodded along, she nevertheless decided to avoid bringing this subject up again.

“I hope I’m not prying, Master Jonas,” Marcella began to pry, “but, erm, what about your mother?”

It was surprising that Marcella had pursued the topic, but Jonas was unhesitating in his answer. “She returned to her homeland and remarried an outstanding businessman, and I am pleased to know that she is in good health.” Having said as much, he then proceeded to thoughtfully change the topic. “The portable warm air circulator and the heated low table are simply fantastic magical tools. The former is very helpful during the day, and the latter does wonders to warm the colder parts of my body. I have not had good sleep in the colder months until their existence.”

“Might it be that your right side tends to get cold, Master Jonas?” Dahlia remembered the conversation they had had before.

“Yes, indeed it does, but it isn’t very sensitive, and I only feel the chill where scales do not grow.” He touched his shoulder with his right hand, then opened up his left. “The chill does spread to my left side too. When it gets even colder, I lose a lot of my agility, and I even become quite sleepy at times. You have my utmost gratitude for your portable warm air circulator.”

“I’m very happy to hear that it has been helping you.” It was miserable to be cold all the time, even if it was only a certain part of the body. To hear that Jonas had regained some mobility was music to her ears. She had to wonder—were fire dragons not very good with winter either? Her illustrated monster guide said only that they were weak against ice magic. “Do fire dragons also tend to get cold in the winter?”

“Perhaps so. The mental image of them shivering isn’t very majestic, though.”

“They might even worry about their tails getting frostbitten.”

Dahlia giggled. That really would be unbecoming.

“Have you heard from Lord Guido about how I became a turtle under my heated low table?”

“Um, no. Not at all.” She had been told to keep it a secret, so what could she do but lie through her teeth?

It must’ve been less than convincing; the corners of Jonas’s mouth curled upward. “You are a poor liar, Madam Rossetti. For the sake of your role as a chairwoman, perhaps you would do well to practice it some more.”

“Yes, maybe...” A good poker face would definitely be advantageous. She wondered if she should ask Ivano or Oswald for help. And just how did you practice something like that anyway? Dahlia began giving those questions some serious thought.

“Master Jonas, I believe you ask too much from our chairwoman...” Marcella had a troubled expression already, which did not help him when he caught Dahlia’s glare; he zipped right up.

“I jest. You should—well, I ask that you stay the same way and stay by Lord Volfred’s side.” Jonas smiled gently.

By the time she realized she was being teased, the city gate came into view.

The carriage progressed along the western highway, faintly lit by the morning sun, before finally parking at a carriage stop. The squad had split up to conduct their inspection, and they were on time for the rendezvous here, as everything had appeared to be okay at the reservoir. By this point, they would likely have already begun ascending the rocky mountainside by horse and on foot, but today, Dahlia had a job to do first.

“Can everyone hear me?” Her father’s voice caster was very handy in this situation—she could turn up the volume on the tool and use it like a bullhorn. It was not as loud as a loudspeaker powered by multiple air crystals, but it was perfect for a small group of people. Furthermore, her deeper masculine voice carried better to everyone. Even with the voice caster and her menswear, the Beast Hunters recognized who she was. But because they did, quite a few of them seemed somewhat confused.

“Knights, take your portable warm air circulators!” The whole group tensed when Grato, the captain, bellowed. Even without a voice caster, his voice was loud and carried well. The Beast Hunters did as instructed, and they each took a circulator from a wooden crate.

“Begin by strapping this part to your back. However, not only can you use it on your back, you can also tie it to your waist and the back of your neck, so tighten the belt and affix it wherever you prefer. The temperature and the airflow each have three settings—use these two cords to adjust them, then be sure to wear something on top so they do not catch and become tangled on anything.”

Dahlia had help from Volf, who stood next to her and demonstrated how to put on the circulator.

“If the heating is insufficient, you can also wear another one on your front. However, be sure to adjust it to an appropriate setting to avoid low-temperature burns. Then—”

After going through it once, the other Beast Hunters began putting the portable warm air circulators on various parts of their bodies. With miniaturized mini-kotatsu now tied around themselves, the once-stalwart knights, too, had become “kotatsnails”—it pained Dahlia to restrain herself from bursting out laughing. Once they had their jackets on and tools activated, most of the Beast Hunters were riveted in place; their bodies thawed and their expressions melted.

“Oh, it’s so cozy...”

“It’s perfect how warm the air is...”

The knights’ oozing smiles were infectious.

A few of the knights must’ve set the fan speed too high, as the tickling had sent them to the ground laughing. Dahlia decided to let them figure things out on their own—she had instructed them twice to start at the lowest setting.

“This is very nice. Much better than the fire crystal—powered warmers that only get one spot hot.”

“The temperature’s perfect. I haven’t been this moved since the zephyricloth.”

“The cords could be a little thicker; these feel like they’d snap.”

“If they get caught on anything, it might actually be safer if they did snap.”

“We’ll have to be sure that nothing’s poking out of our clothes during combat.”

Dahlia perked her ears up. She had planned to survey them for their opinions and to see what needed improving, but nothing could be more genuine than the feedback they didn’t mean for her to hear. And they made very good points—it would not do if the cords were to snap or if they got in the way during combat. Not only should they keep the ventilators under their jackets, Dahlia also needed to figure out a way to make sure her invention was as safe as can be.

“Sir Jonas, are you not keen on trying the portable warm air circulator?”

Jonas opened his jacket for the grizzled veteran to see. “I am already wearing two of them—both settings on medium for the one on my back, and both settings on low for the one on my front. It is extremely comfortable.”

After tying the units to their backs, the other Beast Hunters had begun putting the ventilators on other parts, searching for their favorite spots.

“Eugh, it shoots my armor stink back up at me!”

Dahlia whipped around to see who was suffering—a youth with navy hair, now sniffing himself.

“Did you not properly air it out last time you used it, Dorino?”

“You cannot blame the magical tool for your own lack of maintenance.”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault for sweating easily either!” Dorino snapped back at Volf and Randolph, despite the fact that both were being quite calm and reasonable.

“Maybe you need to spend more time in the bath.”

“Since body odor is a concern, I recommend you wash thoroughly with deodorizing soap.”

“You jerks are just saying I stink in a roundabout way.”

Dahlia recalled that horrifying memory of Volf saying he had found her by her scent; she’d be running away if she had to listen to people talk about how she stank. “Um, it’s only natural that your armor smells like sweat, since you’re so active! Let me bring you a deodorizer for leather and fabrics next time I go to the castle. Using zephyricloth in the fall and winter should also help combat this problem.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ms. Dahlia!” Dorino beamed like he’d finally seen a light at the end of the tunnel, giving her relief too.

“Oh, here comes the cauldron!” Volf had his gaze on a large object shrouded in gray cloth, now being set down on a sheet of waterproof cloth.

“What is it for?”

“The big catch.” The gray cloth was pulled off to reveal a great silver cauldron that looked more like a bathtub; it was actually larger than the bathtub in the Green Tower.

“The plan is to roast the armored crab legs and boil the body for soup. I hope the one we get will be too big to fit in there, though!” The green-haired youth, Kirk, was bouncing with excitement; Dahlia could but smile too.

The group moved up the craggy hill. Some knights were behind the pack guarding the carriage, though Dahlia was traveling on horseback. She hadn’t yet mastered riding on her own, so an older knight was leading her horse while she sat on a beginner’s saddle, which had a handle. Dahlia had planned to walk alongside everyone else, but she was very grateful for what she got instead—this way, she wouldn’t slow down the squad, who were all hustling up the hillside. As Marcella could not join the knights’ march, he was to help out by the riverside. Filling in as bodyguard was Jonas, who followed Dahlia on his own horse. The ascent was sandy and muddy—it was impressive how the knights and the horses seemed impervious to the rough terrain.

Finally, they reached a shallow valley with little greenery but lots of sand. It was flanked by boulders of all sizes, but there wasn’t even a trace of an armored crab around here.

“Now we wait. Griswald, Randolph, you two are up.”

“At once, sir.”

“Aye, sir.”

Griswald and Randolph donned scarlet armor and equipped themselves with a pair of spears. Each then headed toward a rocky tract. Rushing to intercept monsters was the role of the Scarlet Armors—was the vice-captain a Scarlet Armor for the day? Or was he an armored crab specialist?

Grato, who was beside Dahlia, must’ve seen the puzzlement on her face. “I should have explained, Rossetti—armored crabs turn red when they are in combat or emergencies, and so they will recognize the approaching Scarlet Armors as enemies. Furthermore, the crabs only fight when they have a size advantage; otherwise, they hide. Hence, with those two out there, we are sure to find a very large specimen.”

“Huh?” The captain’s explanation elicited a squeak from her. Griswald and Randolph were both just over two meters tall, and they had the bulk to go with their height too. If Dahlia were to encounter a crab her size, it would be a wise bet that she’d hightail it out of there immediately. She couldn’t imagine what an armored crab larger than those two would be like.

“The cast’s leader will likely be the one to respond when those two encroach upon its territory. It is critical that we not reduce the crabs’ numbers, so we take only males above a certain size.” Armored crabs might have been monsters, but they were treasured for their meat and materials, so it was Grato’s responsibility to ensure they were not overhunted. No matter the world, being a leader was a lot of responsibility.

Griswald and Randolph clashed the tips of their spears, and in response to the cacophony, there came the clacking of claws.

“Ah, there it comes.”

“That is an armored crab?” How a creature of that size and color could have remained hidden for so long was a mystery. It towered over the two knights, giving Dahlia a novel but very confusing perspective. The shape was like a hybrid of the snow crab and the red king crab of Terra. The sharp spines on its carapace were like pillars, and its legs were thick and very long.

“It looks like a fine specimen. One that big should feed all of us with leftovers.”

Hearing Grato sounding so pleased, she fought to keep her composure. The monster hardly looked delicious; hell, if anything, she was afraid she would end up as food for it. The crab’s peculiar eyes goggled this way as it snipped its claws menacingly, sending a shiver down Dahlia’s spine.

“This is— Ah, Volf, how about you?”

“Right away, sir!” He lifted the broadsword at his side and, for a split second, glanced at her.

“Be careful” was what she would have loved to say if she could speak. On instinct, she extended her right arm, dropping the notepad she was holding. She scrambled to pick it up, but by the time she raised her head, Volf’s back was receding into the distance. Right. This is work for Volf the Beast Hunter. His steps were sure-footed as he dashed toward a monster that made her knees weak. He might get hurt, he might die—as she saw him off, Dahlia bit the inside of her lip so as to keep her anxiety to herself alone. She could not stop him; the little she could do was to give him her support and pray that he returned unharmed.

“There you are, Volf!”

Griswald deflected the giant claw hurtling toward him, and when the crab opened its mouth to spit acid, Randolph stuffed it full with both his spears.

“On it!”

“Aye!”

The two other knights backed away as Volf slid underneath the crab. When he was diagonally below the monster, he pierced its belly with a potent thrust of his broadsword. The cracking of the shell sounded like a boulder being split, and the colossus squirmed. The next moment, the point of the broadsword poked out between the monster’s eyes. It silently screamed as it toppled over, lifeless. The armored crab had been swiftly extinguished.

“A tremendous warrior.” Grato seemed impressed by Volf’s skills.

Though she understood that Volf had slain the beast, it had happened so quickly that Dahlia was still processing what she’d seen.

“A critical blow, Volf? That’s our Dark Lord.”

“You could have put on more of a show, you know?”

In any case, Dahlia understood only that Volf was very strong and that he was nicknamed “Dark Lord.” But against something that size, wouldn’t it have been better to use the Galeforce Bow—a powerful enchanted bow—to strike from a distance? She turned to Kirk, who was nearby. “Do I understand correctly that the Galeforce Bow will not be used against the armored crab?”

“That’s correct; we are planning to test both the Galeforce Bow and Blades later this afternoon, after we deal with the crabs—it would be a waste to shred their meat!”

“Yes, that makes sense.” Dahlia met his tender smile with a stiff one. All the Beast Hunters saw was an appetizing meal on legs.

Then, the snipping noise returned. As she checked in a panic to see if that armored crab was still alive, a second one—slightly smaller, but still gigantic—came crawling toward them from a different direction.

“Lucky us!”

“The boys who stayed home today are going to get more than their fill!”

There was zero sense of tension among the knights, but at least that alleviated some of Dahlia’s fear.

“Captain Grato, perhaps you could demonstrate Ash-Hand for Chairwoman Rossetti?”

“Sorry?” Much to her confusion, her name had suddenly come up. Was Grato going to use his magical sword to roast the armored crab?

The voices of the knights answered her question. “Please, Captain!”

“This is a perfect stage for Ash-Hand!”

Grato’s red eyes smiled softly. “Now, tell me—and I will not be angry—what is it that you truly mean?”

“I love steamed crab!”

“Roast the brown meat, and we will be able to eat it as soon as you return!”

“All right, all right. My knights sure have become immoderate in driving their captain.” With a troubled smile on his face, Grato drew the red longsword hanging at his left hip, and a powerful wave of magical energy blasted outward, wreathed in wisps of white smoke.

Ash-Hand was the powerful magical sword bonded to Bartolone blood. It was said to be capable of turning its target to ash with a single thrust. It chose only those who had both Bartolone blood and fire magic; not even the royal family could wield it. Its fame was known throughout the Kingdom of Ordine.

“I will return shortly.” Grato sauntered over to the armored crab with no sense of urgency, the trail of white smoke clinging to the blade like an animate being.

The crab raised its claw and swiped down to crush its prey, but the magic sword was quicker; the monster was flung off its legs, and it slid across the ground. Ignoring its yelping, Grato launched himself upward without a run-up, and he stood atop the struggling armored crab. He plunged the magic sword down into the center of the carapace.

“Ash-Hand!”

The magic sword reacted to its name and shrilled as the monster extended all legs straight and smoke poured out of its mouth and joints. Then, the unique scents of both grilled and steamed crab wafted through the air. Grato delicately extracted his blade from the beast, which now lay flat on the ground.

“Hooray for our captain!”

“The strongest man I know!”

Big smiles stretched across the knights’ faces as they cheered—was it for their leader’s prowess in slaying the monster in one blow? Was it for the perfectly steam-roasted feast? Dahlia could not figure it out.

“Ash-Hand sure is nice...” Before she knew it, Volf had returned to her side and was pining for his true love in heartrending tones. It was fair—that was a bona fide magic sword.

It was also a wonderful magical tool. Dahlia was intensely curious about what materials had been used and how it had come to be. It was so mystical, and she, too, was very interested in it. The blade seemed to have immense magical energy and could emit burning temperatures on demand, yet it was stable in its sheath. Nothing she had ever made in the Green Tower came close to Ash-Hand. Even if her goal was too lofty, she wished to perfect an artificial magical sword that could gratify her friend. “I’m very glad you made it back safely. Hopefully, you’ll get a nice magic sword one day too, Volf.”

He returned her soft-spoken words with a delightful smile. “I’m looking forward to it—I know we’ll come up with a super magic sword.”

Dahlia balled up her fists as the knights surrounding them continued celebrating.

“Hm, this one turned out to be blue—must be a mutant. Hopefully it isn’t poisonous or anything.” The armored crab that fell into Volf’s hands had been flushed red during the battle, but now, it had a new coat of paint—the mutant was blue by nature.

“I’ll get my antidotal ring and try a bite. If I’m not hallucinating afterward, I’ll take it off and try again. If that turns out to be fine too, then we can all dig in!” The smile on Dorino’s face suggested he was quite excited to be the squad’s taster. “If I throw a fit or start spouting nonsense, then please step in, Father Aroldo!”

Popping out from the back of the crowd was the priest Aroldo in his white robes, black cloak, and silver stole—a deacon’s badges of office. On an expedition such as this, his presence was a given. “Place your trust in me—I shall dispel your affliction, be it poison or paralysis!”

The people of this world were quite the gluttons; their passion for gastronomy could not be understated. They enjoyed poisonous delicacies, like certain fungi and fish, with great relish, and a bit of antidote was simply the price of admission—that much was commonplace. However, a ring or a bangle could only do so much to counteract toxins. Anything particularly powerful or unusual called for a more effective magical tool or healing magic from a priest or mage.

“Chairwoman Rossetti, you needn’t worry at all.” Aroldo smiled to soothe her concern before showing his true colors. “Should anyone find themself needing deliverance from any ailment, I am here for them. Such is my excuse for partaking in today’s feast of armored crabs, you see, and I really should put in some work.”

“Sustenance is crucial during an expedition, Father Aroldo. If the knights ever run out of supplies, it isn’t unlikely that they will find themselves needing to eat a mutant form, and it would be very troublesome if the antidotes they have on hand couldn’t handle the toxins.”

“You make a fine point, though I have heard that one encounters mutants only rarely.”

“In either case, it is good to be prepared for the unexpected, and your role today is critical. Besides, what if the mutant armored crab turns out to be delicious and makes for fine foodstuff? Erm, I mean...” Since when had Dahlia been brainwashed by the knights? Were these cancroid monsters just walking meals to her now too?

“Delicious mutant crab, you say?” The priest quietly chuckled to himself. “Thank you for the kind words, Chairwoman Rossetti. Indeed, dispelling ailments is a very important role, one I am grateful to assume. I shall therefore be on hand and enjoy the armored crab. Perhaps the blue specimen will be tasty. If it proves not to be wholesome, then I shall counteract the poison as everyone savors their meal.”

They would seldom encounter blue armored crabs in the future, but because of the mutants’ rarity and distinctive flavor, they would be elevated to the status of “Apex of Armored Crabs” among epicures. Later still they would be known as “King Armored Crabs,” despite not being the leaders of their casts. To blue armored crabs, however, having humans take a liking to them would be a nuisance.

“Oh, it’s amazing—I think it’s even sweeter! It’s definitely good to eat!” With food taster Dorino’s approval, the Beast Hunters began preparations to butcher the crabs.

The sheer size of the armored crabs made them too challenging to move whole, so the knights removed their legs and bundled them up in waterproof cloth to bring them back to the riverbank. There were opportunities to use large pieces of the red carapaces as material; thus, they were wrapped with a sheet of waterproof cloth and transported by four people working together. Though the cold weather prevented the crabs from spoiling, the smell might attract other monsters, so work had to be done quickly.

“Chairwoman Rossetti sure looks sharp in her menswear.” The knight stole glances at Dahlia, who was tidying the sheets of waterproof cloth some distance from the group of men.

“Not only is she cross-dressing today, but she even altered her voice to be deeper so as not to attract monsters, you know?”

“She’s always so passionate about her work too...”

“It looks so natural on her, I could be convinced that she normally cross-dresses the other way.” The knights spoke in hushed tones as they unfurled waterproof cloth.

One of them stopped in his tracks. “Wait, come on. Don’t tell me you actually think she looks like a guy.”

“She’s put so much effort into it, sir—don’t you think she deserves more credit?”

“I don’t mean it like that. Look at her nape.”

“Huh, you might be onto something.” A few of them nodded in agreement; gaps in her thin scarf afforded glimpses of her fine skin and delicate neck. Just then, Dahlia extended her left hand to flatten a corner lifted by the breeze, giving the men a look at her profile.

“Her wrists are so thin too...”

“How could you say she is anything but womanly?”

A mage, hitherto silent, cleared his throat twice. “Gentlemen, is it not dishonorable to speak of Chairwoman Rossetti—someone who is giving her all for us—in this manner?”

The veteran who had led Dahlia’s horse earlier looked at the mage who had so gently admonished the others. “Forgive us. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not true that you have spied upon her just the same?”

A few seconds of silence passed before the maroon-haired mage quietly spoke up again. “Personally, I think Chairwoman Rossetti would be stunning with eyeglasses!”

“Well said. Hopefully we will have the chance to see her with glasses in her usual dress.”

“That would be a treat.”

“No, no. She would look best dressed as she is but with a pair of glasses.”

“You two are awfully fixated on eyewear...”

Despite the fine weather today, a shadow suddenly fell over the whispering men—unforeseen clouds in the horizon? The knights looked up to find a blue armored crab towering above them.

“My friends, I hate to interrupt your lively conversation, but I have come to dissect.” At the sight of the soft-spoken man carrying an armored crab aloft, the color drained from the faces of the knights and mages.

“V-Volf...”

“Lord Scalfarotto...”

“Sir Volf, we were just, uh...”

Volf did not reprimand the group, nor did he unleash his intimidation. For what reason, then, did the knight—who likely spoke for everyone in the group—seem to feel the need to prostrate himself and beg for forgiveness?

“I’m thinking I ought to stuff their mouths full of salt, bind all their limbs, and roast them over an open fire.” Volf’s mouth was in the shape of a smile, but his golden eyes, pointing this way, chilled them to the bone.

“Volf, you—you’re talking about the crabs. Right, Volf? Right?”

The Dark Lord did not respond to the knight’s cracking voice.

Back at the bank, sheets of waterproof cloth lined the ground around the two bonfires, whose heat triumphed over the chilly late autumn river breeze.

“Some crabmeat over here, please!”

The great cauldron was hoisted onto a platform assembled out of metal rods, and once the blue shell went in, a mage magically filled it with water. Next to arrive were lidded pails containing seasonings and chopped vegetables, which were then dumped in as well. Glorious was this cooking scene.

Just as Dahlia was wondering how the cauldron would be hung over the bonfire, two mages lined up before the vessel. “Shall we turn up the heat so as not to keep everyone waiting too long?”

“Yes, let’s speed things up—Fire Wall!”

A split second later, the bottom and sides of the cauldron were bathed in flames. The level of heat spewing from the wall of fire was far greater than what Dahlia had expected; she reflexively recoiled, and a small stone under her step threw off her balance.

Volf caught her in the nick of time. “Are you all right, Dahlia?”

“I-I’m fine, thank you. I just tripped over a rock.”

“I’m sorry, I should have explained ahead of time—the mages lend us any magic they have to spare and directly heat the cauldron. It’s not always that the terrain is favorable, but this is certainly the quickest way.” Its efficiency and efficacy couldn’t be questioned, but what a luxury it was to spend the royal mages’ magic this way.

“Fire mages must have their work cut out for them, then.”

When the spectacled mage made eye contact with Dahlia, he walked over to her, then shook his head. “On the contrary, actually. There are only so many situations in which fire mages come into action—with fire magic, there is too great a risk of starting wildfires in forests and grasslands, and it destroys monster parts that could be used.”

“Each expedition location has its difficulties, I see.”

“Indeed. Furthermore, sandy deserts are perfectly safe places for fire, though the monsters there tend to be resistant to heat. Only one environment comes to mind in which fire mages can freely use their powers—the swamplands where we cull titan frogs. As offensive magic, however, fire spells are hard to beat.” The mage was wistful as he explained his craft. “I believe my work has caught up to me.” As the knights lined up a few large metallic buckets on the other side of the cauldron, the mage returned to his station.

“What are those for, Volf?”

“Oh, those are ice buckets. For the crab and alcohol.” It had seemed logical to use ice crystals instead, but today’s expedition was only a day trip, and the mages probably had plenty of magic to spare.

“Ice Crash.” If it weren’t for the mage’s quiet chanting, the way the ice came forth would have seemed like sleight of hand. The shower of ice rattled into the bucket. Not only was this less frightening than the earlier Fire Wall, it was also quite a handy spell.

“I heard it takes a lot of control to do that. Because almost all of the ice mages have a lot of magic, ‘making large chunks is simple, but equal-sized little pieces take a lot of practice,’ so my brother said.”

Randolph joined the conversation too. “Ice magic requires a fair amount of time to activate, yet he does it instantly—the result of diligent training.” It was clear that this was no easy task, and those who traveled with the Order of Beast Hunters probably had very fine control of their magic.

“I wonder how they become so proficient,” Marcella pondered aloud.

“There is some relation with the type of magic; however, I believe the most important factors are how much one has practiced and how good one’s instructor is,” Randolph answered.

Marcella had recently begun practicing earth magic, and his attempts at making bricks were still at the level of mass-producing pickling weights. In fact, he had a painful recollection from just the other day of trying to dial down his output, but that had merely produced large pumiceous stones. He had only taken a few steps on this journey, and the path ahead was sure to be rocky.

“Everyone, come get some crab!” The knights who had been cutting up the crab by the riverside came to announce it was time for lunch.

Dorino returned with two large pailfuls of crabmeat. “This one’s for eating raw, and this one’s steamed by the captain, and someone else will be swinging by with the grilled stuff.” The pail on the left was full of ice water and large chunks of raw meat, and the other had the crab steam-roasted by Grato’s Ash-Hand. According to the bestiary, armored crabs were “difficult to defeat with fire magic,” likely because their shells were heat resistant. But no crab was built to resist a magic sword cooking it from the inside out.

“Let us raise a toast, then proceed with the ‘on-site taste test.’”

Griswald proceeded under his captain’s direction. “Let us not forget that today is a field training day. And though Father Aroldo has graced us with his presence, anyone in a drunken stupor will not be receiving any recovery magic, so exercise moderation!” The knights only got more excited after the captains’ words. They all received their wineskins, which they clashed together.

For the inexperienced Dahlia, though, drinking straight from the wineskin proved to be difficult. Its contents couldn’t be sucked out, and inclining it caused the wine to rush out and drown her. The wine itself was quite delicious—a white with citrus notes—but her concern was being able to taste any of it. When she looked to her side, she found that the problem lay in her lack of suction force—Marcella, Jonas, and the others had their vessels in one hand, and they were drinking just fine. Dahlia ended up folding and squishing hers to get the contents out.

Volf handed her a plate of the blue—the one he’d slain. “Some raw crab, Dahlia?”

The legs were as thick as her fist, and the meat inside blossomed like a white chrysanthemum. There was much more meat to be had here than the crab sashimi she’d had in Japan, and it felt very grand.

“It’s as fresh as it gets, so no problem with it being raw. It’s not poisonous either, and the acid sac and gland have already been removed. To be safe, though, here’s some medicine—with it, you’ll be fine even if you eat too much or start seeing weird bugs crawling in your vision.”

Dahlia received a powder that was purplish-red, a color that looked to be poisonous rather than curative. “Has no one else taken it?”

“Before the trip, we all took a liquid medicine that’s compounded of that powder, an anti-infective, and a slew of other stuff, but it’s... Eugh.”

His furrowed brow told her all that she needed to know. Still, the powder was an antiparasitic and would prevent her from suffering the consequences of overeating—she did as she was told. As for its flavor? Well, she would have much, much preferred it in capsule form. Dahlia cleansed her palate with a swig of wine.

She took her plate of salted raw crab, dug it apart with her fork, and took a bite. “Oh, it’s so sweet.” The crabmeat had a delectable sweetness and toothsome texture, not unlike the raw prawns found in Japanese cuisine. Due to its size, it was slightly fibrous but far from sinewy. The more she savored her bite, the happier she was to have this opportunity.

Volf’s golden eyes grew large. “This is definitely less tender than ordinary armored crab, but it’s also sweeter, like you said.”

“The flavor is fine, but raw? I’m afraid the texture is not for me.” Randolph had stopped eating already, so Dorino traded him for some steamed crab and finished Randolph’s leftovers with an additional sprinkling of salt.

Marcella also looked hesitant as he chewed his food. It seemed like raw crab wasn’t for everyone, maybe because Ordine didn’t have much of a sashimi culture. It was then that Dahlia realized something, and she looked across to Jonas, who had just cleaned off his plate.

“Master Jonas, how do you like raw crab?”

“Very. Delicious.” The way he punctuated the two words, Jonas must have been telling the truth. His right oxide-colored pupil turned vertical for a split second. He took an extra large serving from Volf—who must’ve noticed Jonas’s delight—and he thanked the knight.

“Here you are, Chairwoman Rossetti.”

Next was the steamed crab. Both the shell’s exterior and the membrane were red, while the interior was white. The sword-steamed crab was still warm to the touch, with a wisp of vapor rising from it. She began breaking off the meat with her fork, but she met with resistance from Volf.

“Try not to tear it apart but instead sink your teeth into it, Dahlia. That way, you won’t lose any of its savory juices.”

“Good to know; thank you.” It wasn’t the most elegant way to dine, but she took his advice to heart; everyone else was doing the same anyway. “Oh, that’s good...”

The gentle cooking method helped the meat retain all its juices. It lacked the brininess of saltwater crabs, but that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a generous application of salt. The flavor was very much armored crab, but perhaps due to its freshness, it was richer than the norm. How extravagant was it to have a mouthful of crabmeat? She reminisced about ponzu, which would go so well with it, but that was why the drink of choice today was a citrusy white wine.

“The captain sure cooked it perfectly.”

“Indeed. It could not be better.”

“Ash-Hand sure is nice...”

Dahlia had compliments to pay as well, but her mouth was filled with crab. It truly was delicious. She looked around her—many were silently feasting on the steamed too. Although shelling the meat required some effort, the deliciousness was enough to keep the chatter down.

Volf saw the empty pail and went to fetch more food. “I’ll go get some more of the steamed crab.”

As he watched Volf walk away, Jonas looked terribly emotionless. He took two bites of the steamed crab, then washed them down with a gulp of wine.

Dahlia hurried to bring him a big plate of the raw. “Here, Master Jonas!”

“Thank you very much...”

She took his unfinished plate of steamed crab and swapped it with the plate of the raw. “Have you eaten much crab before?”

“Not much since my sense of taste changed.” A change in his sense of taste—that was to say when he had received his blight.

“Do you find all cooked foods unpleasant, Master Jonas?”

“Yes, unfortunately, cooked meat tastes very burnt to me. If it is sautéed, then the texture is like biting into cotton or cloth. I quite enjoyed steamed crab before, but the texture is rather difficult for me now.”

“And vegetables are a matter of texture too?”

“That is part of it, but the grassiness and sourness are also overwhelming.” He paused to sigh. “Please forgive me for uttering such unappetizing words during a meal.”

For Jonas, meat could only be raw or rare, and it sounded like anything else was difficult for him to force down. Since he seemed to be enjoying his raw crab, Dahlia wondered if he’d enjoy similar foods. “Master Jonas, have you ever tried sashimi?”

“Sashimi? What Esterland calls the dish of raw fish with its head attached?”

“Huh?”

“I saw it once when I was a child. The fish’s head was still moving about—trust that I can’t forget about it, though I have yet to try it again.” His rust-colored eyes wandered into the distance. Jonas’s first experience with raw fish must’ve been something prepared live—what Japanese people called ikizukuri. But how could anyone possibly have served that to a kid? It was no wonder the experience had left him permanently scarred.

“Oh! Um! Most sashimi is served without the fish’s head. Since you enjoy raw crab, I’m confident that you would very much enjoy it if you tried it again. It may be rather pricey, however.” In Ordine, places that offered Esterland cuisine tended to be expensive. Serving seafood as sashimi necessitated the freshest product possible, so given the price point, it could be had only at Esterland restaurants in nobles’ quarters.

“Then I shall try my hardest to talk Lord Guido into it.” The way Jonas had said it so nonchalantly made Dahlia snicker.

At that point, a mage approached the group to replenish their pails with ice. “Forgive me if I am overstepping boundaries, Chairwoman Rossetti, but may I ask why you address Lord Jonas as ‘Master’?”

“Umm...”

“I had the opportunity to explain a few things, as Chairwoman Rossetti knew nothing about weapons, and I have had the privilege of her gratuitous respect ever since.”

Lying came as easily as breathing for Jonas; Dahlia shrank a little. Of course, it wasn’t like they could tell people the truth: that “Master Jonas” had stuck in her mind because Volf had started calling him that. There was also the fact she used his first name, though she only realized now—a little late—that it might have been rude on her part.

“Hence ‘Master Jonas’?”

“Yes—although, considering that she is an advisor to the Order of Beast Hunters and an outstanding magical toolmaker, I ought to be the one calling her Master Dahlia.”

“Ah, indeed, Master Dahlia!” He seemed to have really taken a liking to that title, though Dahlia herself had begun squirming at the conversation. As others needed refills of ice too, the mage dipped his head and then took his leave.

“Erm, might addressing you as Master Jonas be disrespectful?”

“There is no problem at all with that. If anything, it’s a great honor for someone like me to be addressed that way.”

He was quite casual about it, but that somehow made her feel even less at ease with the prospect. “Um, Master Jonas, please feel free to use my first name as well.”

“What an honor. Would you prefer Master Dahlia? Or perhaps Miss Dahlia would better befit a lady as comely as yourself?” Nobles sure were good at flattery. She was actually envious of how collected he was, sitting there enjoying his crab.

“Master Jonas, I think I ought to learn how to lie from you.”

He nearly choked on his food—a very novel reaction.

“It should be almost finished simmering.”

The cauldron that the mages were so gently bubbling had begun to let off a delicious aroma, drawing longing gazes from Volf and the others. Just then, knights came by with buckets, and everyone knew to swiftly retrieve the shallow pots for their camp stoves, into which went pieces of crab. With armored crabs being the size that they were, a single segment of the legs was plenty. One side of the shell had been removed, so maybe the plan was to grill them on the lid-skillet—so thought Dahlia, but then a mage came with a silver case, from which he spooned a mound of rich yellow butter onto each piece of crab.

“Will we be frying it?”

“No, the butter will just be on top. The shell is so thick that frying it tends to dry out the meat. We are also fed a lot of butter and cheese on our expeditions so that we stay full for longer.”

“Not that we ever really get the chance to feast on crab, mind you—it’s mostly rye bread with a thick spread of butter that does the trick.”

“Yeah. If it’s a particularly long expedition, we’ll even soak the bread with olive oil. It’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, yeah! We used to do that a lot! Jerky and olive oil wasn’t very good, if I recall correctly.”

“Your journeys must have been very difficult...” The Beast Hunters seemed to painstakingly pad their meals with extra calories while out in the field. Imagining how everything would taste made Dahlia wince.

“What an expedition calls for is honey.”

“Haven’t you been having a whole lot of honey lately, Randolph? You’re gonna turn into a bear, you know?”

“Fret not. It is a restorative.”

As talk of expeditions turned to the topic of Randolph’s sweet tooth, the mage began flinging flame at the line of pots on the ground. Dahlia had never seen—or even heard of, for that matter—crab cooked by little fireballs. The fragrance of crab, butter, and then char filled the air, making her mouth water.

“Bon appétit!”

“Thank you so much.”

The mage turned over an empty stockpot on the sheet of waterproof cloth in front of Dahlia, making a perfect platform for the shallow pots. Judging by how smoothly he set them down, this was likely a common occurrence.

Everyone proceeded to stuff their faces with the grilled buttered crab, and Dahlia did the same. It was hotter than she had expected, likely from the added fat; she huffed and puffed as the crab scorched her mouth. It was noticeably sweeter than the crab she had yearly, and each bite had also been saturated with just enough salted butter. She spent as long as she could savoring the heavenly harmony of the grilled crab’s smokiness and golden melted butter before swallowing.

“Name me something better than grilled armored crab with butter!”

“Without a doubt, this is tastier than any crab I’ve ever had...”

As Dorino and Marcella lavished praise on the meat, Jonas shifted his rusty eyes. “I believe we have a guest.”

Everyone’s gazes went to the dark green coach that had just arrived at the riverbank; the coat of arms, painted in gold, signified a very high-ranking noble.

“Ah, he’s finally here—my vice-captain when I was a rookie. I extended an invitation to him, as he has a taste for armored crab. I shall receive him; you may all continue.” A beaming Grato and a veteran knight approached the coach together as the rest of the Beast Hunters returned to their meal.

“Grilled tomalley and crab soup are ready!” Each person had their camp stove pot filled with soup. Those who wanted the simmered and grilled crab fat had dishes of them.

“How about some estervino courtesy of Lord Guido Scalfarotto?” Next to the barrel lay dozens of large wooden scoops, insisting everyone imbibe. According to Volf, Guido was hooked on estervino—this was demonstrated by the experienced way that Jonas offered the full ladle to Dahlia.

“Ms. Dahlia, we’re to season the soup however we want. Would you like to try it with some meeso—er, miso? Anyway, that Esterland seasoning made from beans.”

“Miso?! Yes, please!” Of course she said yes to Dorino—she had been yearning for that very bean paste! And if there was miso, there just had to be soy sauce out there too! “Do you happen to know where the Order got this miso from?”

“From our quartermaster. He said it was a sample product for long-lasting provisions. Where he gets it from, I won’t learn until we get back to the castle.”

“Please let me know once you find out!” It wasn’t a request—Dahlia demanded he track down the supplier.

Dorino then cranked up the heat and tossed in a spoon of the miso.

“No, Dorino! You mustn’t turn the heat all the way up!” She was shocked by how loud she’d said that.

“Huh? Miso doesn’t dissolve without a bit of heat, you know?”

“It’s better to turn off the heat first, and you should mix it in instead of throwing it in all at once.” Her impromptu demonstration of miso soup preparation drew the attention of Dorino as well as the mages in charge of the cooking.

“Having tried her wonderful barbecue sauce and spice mix, I am not surprised that Chairwoman Rossetti is so knowledgeable about miso.”

“Where did Madam Rossetti learn so much about Esterland cuisine?”

“Dahlia bought a book on the topic from the bookstore, and she must have studied how to cook with miso.”

“Ah, her passion lies not only in magical tools but also in the culinary arts, I see.”

The others were quietly chatting about her behind her back, but there was something more important on her mind: she drilled into them the risk of destroying miso’s flavor when bringing the seasoning to a rolling boil.

“How does it taste, Randolph?”

“Good, but it tastes purely of crab. It lacks...depth.” Randolph took the spoon out of his mouth and then looked toward the river—perhaps the late autumn sun was reflecting into his eyes. “They should still be in season, and the stream is strong. Vice-Captain Griswald, permission to enter the water?”

“By all means.”

“No nets, Volf, so lend me a hand.”

“Sure thing. Dorino, you kill the incoming fish.”

“Got it!”

Net income, huh? The mention of those words inadvertently brought to Dahlia’s mind the paychecks of her previous life.

As the three knights walked toward the water, they made it look like catching fish with bare hands was something normal people did all the time. Randolph removed his scarlet armor, portable warm air circulator, and then his shirt.

“Um, what are they doing?”

“You needn’t worry, Chairwoman—Sir Randolph’s trousers are still on,” Marcella reassured Dahlia, who hurried to avert her eyes.

“Sir Randolph is quite the expert at catching fish with his bare hands, you see.”

She had little to say in response to the knight. Before long, the half naked Randolph hopped in and waded his way to the center of the river. It couldn’t have been warm in there, and the current was terribly strong. Dahlia worried that he might be washed away, but he looked to be unfazed, unmoving with his face and one arm plunged in the water. Then, Randolph’s hand emerged from the river with a splash—and within his grip was a thick golden object that dazzled everyone on the bank. Volf caught the lump of gold dancing in the air and passed it along to Dorino, who took no time to set it on a cutting board and pierce it with a shortsword. A fourth knight then took the killed fish.

Interlude: The Delivery and the Hand

“Servant to the Scalfarotto household Lord Jonas Goodwin has arrived to offer some armored crab, Lord Bernigi. He has requested, erm, that you personally select the parts you would like from his carriage.” Already a while after suppertime, Bernigi’s attendant came to his master’s chambers with apparent hesitation.

Bernigi’s white eyebrows furrowed. Indeed, he had a taste for armored crab—that was no secret. He had used that excuse to accompany the Order of Beast Hunters on their field training and converse with Grato today, and he had returned home satisfied. It would have been understandable if the captain were visiting, but it was shocking that it was the Scalfarottos. Not only was a servant of an earldom visiting unannounced, but he was also calling the former head of Marquisate D’Orazi—a house belonging to a different faction, no less—to his carriage. Jonas’s intentions were anyone’s guess. This situation might even have contained an element of danger were Bernigi still marquis, but he was just a retired senior now; even if anything happened to him, his family would not be impacted.

Jonas Goodwin—he had been introduced to Bernigi as the one in charge of the Scalfarottos’ Weapons Development Team. In that case, perhaps he was involved with the Galeforce Bow Bernigi had seen today. Was he looking for a letter of recommendation? Financial support? Or was he perhaps here simply because Grato had put him up to delivering the crab?

Accompanied by his guard knights, Bernigi made his way outside of the manor. Stopped in the guest lot was a carriage with a small Scalfarotto family crest, one for transporting not noblemen but goods. By all appearances, it might indeed have been carrying a delivery of armored crab.

The man with rust-colored eyes introduced himself briefly as an attendant of the Scalfarotto family. “I hope you can forgive us for visiting so late, Lord D’Orazi.”

“No matter. I hear you bring armored crab?”

“Yes, indeed. We have received a large number today, and we wondered if you would be interested in taking some off our hands. Our knight Marcella can bring it in for you once you are sure the parts are to your liking, though I am afraid that it may be a little cramped inside our carriage.”

Bernigi squinted at the message between the lines—climb aboard alone. He deliberated on the name mentioned, and he clenched his cane. “Wait out here,” he ordered his retinue.

“Lord Bernigi!”

“Your insistence will not make it any more spacious inside. Like the man said, I need to ensure the crab is to my liking.”

“Very good, sir.” The knights relented, though not out of a lack of concern for his well-being.

Bernigi accepted Jonas’s invitation to board the carriage, whereupon the well-built sandy-haired man inside greeted him—the man who had sat beside Chairwoman Rossetti during the field training this afternoon. His features were easy to see under the illumination of the magical lantern, but Bernigi, wary of becoming too fixated on the young man, turned to the pair of large pails.

“The cloth, Marcella.”

“Right away.” Even having been cut in half, the armored crab legs packed in ice were still impressively large and thick.

“This here is the second leg of the regular, and this is the third leg of the mutant; please take as much time as you need to choose. We have also brought a half dozen bottles of wine that would pair well with the crab. May I offer you a taste of it right now?” The little table inside the cabin had been prepared with a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses, almost as if they were receiving Bernigi as a guest. “I would offer to taste the wine for poison, though I have had too much to drink today—Marcella?”

“Yes, of course!” Marcella pulled the cork out of the bottle and then poured himself two sips. He appraised the wine’s aroma and brought it to his mouth; it must’ve been to his liking, as his eyes lit up.

“It looks to be rather delightful.”

“I think it’s superb.”

“Do have some more. Lately, I have been unable to finish a bottle by my lonesome.” Bernigi filled the glass in the knight’s hands.

“Oh! Thank you.” Marcella seemed terribly guilty, looking to Jonas as if asking whether it was okay for him to partake.

“Graciously accept your drink, Marcella, and then pour for Lord D’Orazi.”

It was only then as Marcella did as instructed that Bernigi got a good look at him. Marcella’s kite-brown eyes glowed with positivity. His cheekbones were prominent but not too much so. His hair was coarse. His knuckles were pronounced, despite his youth. His large frame looked sturdy. There were so many little things, like the way he had cast his gaze downward as he tasted his wine and then opened his eyes wide when he enjoyed its flavor—rather, one needed not to spot these little things to see Marcella’s resemblance to Bernardi, Bergini’s son.

The old man willed himself not to let his emotions surge out, and he kept as collected as possible. “To what shall we raise a toast on this occasion?” Until the Scalfarottos revealed their motives, celebrating and saying “To meeting my grandson” was not an option.

“For the two of you, how about to family?”

“Oh.” With that one line, whatever stiffness was on Marcella’s face had now turned to surprise and bewilderment; it must’ve been only now that he learned they were related.

“Cheers to the health and fortune of our families.”

“To...to our families’ health and fortune. Cheers.” Marcella managed to force out his words. That nervousness was just like Bernardi’s when he’d donned his knight uniform for the first time.

“Is your family well?”

“Yes.”

“Marcella will become a father next year.”

“Oh, how joyous. Have you decided on a name yet?”

His brown eyes pointed down to the floor before looking directly into Bernigi’s. “Names, actually—we are still scratching our heads for our twins, but I am thinking of naming them Bernholt and Dino if they are boys, Bertina and Diana if girls.”

“I see...” The words Bernigi wanted to say tore his heart apart. His son had never returned, not even a body. But now the bloodline continues—Bernardi! “’Tis a good name. I pray for your and your wife’s health.” He could keep his voice from trembling, but not his fingers; Bernigi folded his hands with as much strength as he could muster.

Though he refrained from involving himself in the moment, Jonas gave him a perfunctory smile. “Lord D’Orazi, I understand it would be too much to ask you to do so for our titleless knight, but with your similar name, may I ask on Marcella’s behalf that you please offer your hand as congratulations to him and his children? You are the most hale and venerable knight I know of.”

“Erm, forgive me for my ignorance, but I suppose you don’t mean his literal appendage?” Marcella asked.

“Upon the birth of a child,” Bernigi explained, “the oldest member of one’s family would print their signature—their hand—on paper and have the child touch it. It is a tradition that conveys the wish for the newborn to live longer than the signer. But I am afraid you have misplaced your trust in someone with dreadful handwriting.”

“No! Uh, a commoner like me does not deserve such an honor...”

“I hope you will not mind if I address you as Marcella?”

“No, sir.”

“Call me Bernigi. The way I see it, this is fate. I may have the worst print you will ever see, but I am old and healthy enough for this role. I ask that you allow me to offer your children my hand.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Ah, yes. My wife is the same age as me—may I ask that she be allowed to do so as well?” He had overstated his wife’s age by one year, but surely she would not be angry.

“Yes. I am most grateful for this grace.” Marcella bowed deeply.

“We are most obliged for your generosity. Our knight here has been troubled over his magical practice lately, and I am sure this will spur him on in his training. There are very few teachers who can help him with his grade-fifteen earth magic, see.”

“Fifteen, you say?”

“Indeed. He climbed another grade the day before yesterday.” Though this was the knight’s business, Jonas was speaking for him.

However, Bernigi directed his words toward Marcella. “With that much magic, you can easily be adopted into a noble house. I am sure whoever is fortunate enough to adopt you will welcome your family as well.”

“Naw, me and my—no, my family and I wish to live the rest of our lives as commoners.”

Bernigi recalled the day that he had fallen out with his youngest son. His eyes, brown as a kite, had been the same color. His voice had been just as firm and resolute too. To witness his grandson respond with such utter lack of apprehension was bittersweet. “Very well. You must have a wonderfully loving family.”

His grandson had grown up to be a fine man; they had raised him well. For him to be alive and healthy, to be able to share a drink with him—what more could Bernigi ask for? He could not unfold his hands yet.

A while after, Marcella exited the carriage to move one of the pails of armored crab. That Bernigi was able to reunite with his grandson seemed to be the work of the only other man in the cabin.

“As a commoner, Marcella had not studied much or practiced magic, but he is determined to become a proper knight, Lord—”

“‘Bernigi’ is fine, Jonas.”

“Thank you very much for the honor, Lord Bernigi.” After his circuitous explanation, so like a nobleman, the attendant donned a smile—not one with warmth but a smile like a serpent imitating a human’s; there was a reason they called him Scalfarotto’s Blighted.

It was almost embarrassing to be so easily manipulated by young’uns at his age. It was not all bad, however. “I suppose I cannot die yet—not until I give out my hand.” He could not help but grin.

However, Jonas’s smile faded. “Speaking of which, the woman named Marcella for whom you are looking is no longer of this world. I hope you can stop searching for her out of consideration for our knight.” It was not a request—it was a warning. The anti-eavesdropping device by his sleeve lit up red.

Marcella, the woman, had been a prostitute, and for her, Bernardi had cast away his social status, knighthood, money, and all else. Bernigi had admonished him, telling him to calm down and think things over. They had fallen out that day, and the next, Bernardi had gone off to the frontier to battle the hydra. After lopping off one of its nine heads, he was no more. His order had suffered enormous casualties, and even Ehrlichia had become quite nervous about the situation. But with the proverbial fire to put out, Bernigi had had no time to mourn his son’s death.

His youngest son had so loved this Marcella; after a month, Bernigi had felt he had a responsibility to inform her of his death and give her a sum of money. However, there had been no signs of that woman in the red-light district. There had been rumors that she had long left her profession, gotten together with someone else, or even gone abroad for work. Bernigi had never gotten hold of her, and after a season had passed, he had given up.

Twenty years had passed since then. Bernigi and his wife had lived long enough. Their other children and grandchildren had grown up in good health, and there was no need to worry on that front. This autumn marked a decline in his health, and he had figured he ought to put his affairs in order and clean out the drawers in his study. Then he had spotted a sheet of parchment—the report he’d received on the search for Marcella. It had long since been time to let go, yet he once again dispatched people to look into the woman. But the results had turned out to be inconclusive, and the people who had been interviewed all those years ago had all forgotten about her. There were no traces of this woman, as though she had never existed. It had seemed too odd to be a coincidence, and so Bernigi had asked the Intelligence Office to find Marcella. Not long after, he had received an invitation to today’s expedition.

“Fine. I shall call off the investigation.” It was now clear as day why she had been erased from the earth. Perhaps if Bernigi had employed the Intelligence Office earlier, he would have found Marcella the knight before the Scalfarottos had taken him in, but it had all worked out in the end. It was obvious that Guido Scalfarotto had more sway with the Intelligence Office than Bernigi, but he was not about to give up.

“Marcella has only recently begun learning magic. I’m sure he would appreciate some advice if you have the chance to visit us next time.”

“Very well. I shall do so when the opportunity arises.” It mattered not what the excuse would be; Bernigi would go to the Scalfarottos. Grade-fourteen, fifteen magic just sitting dormant and untrained for so many years was an irritating waste of good talent. If he had met Marcella much earlier, he could have taught him magic control, advanced earth magic, whatever kind of weapon training, even chivalric combat—he could have personally taught him all that.

“While we are on the topic, Marcella’s children are thought to be over grade eleven. In the future, finding an instructor will surely prove very troublesome.”

Jonas’s tone was terribly dramatic, but it was the substance of his message that was so alarming. To carry a child with a great magical imbalance was very risky to the mother, and despite Jonas glossing over it, Bernigi was seized by worry. “Over grade-eleven earth magic? Marcella’s wife is a commoner, is she not? Is she in good health?”

“Thanks to a special magical tool, both mother and children are now very healthy. With their talent, however, they are sure to attract unwanted attention. Marcella himself said that he was not interested in being adopted, and our family is providing his family protection, so this search... It may cause him to become the subject of rumors.”

Because of Marcella’s wish to remain a commoner, the Scalfarottos had erased all information on him. “What with your poking around within the Intelligence Office, there is the risk of information being leaked to other noble families. So, for your own grandson’s and great-grandchildren’s sakes, help us help them.” Despite the carefully chosen and polite words, it was closer to an order than a request; the Scalfarottos required his obedience, not his assent. Furthermore, their protection of Marcella and their permission for his grandfather from a different faction to meet him could not be had without a price; the Scalfarottos did not operate on benevolence.

There was no point beating around the bush. “So? What do you want from me?”

“We would like to ask you, as former vice-captain of the Beast Hunters, to become a member of the Scalfarotto family’s Weapons Development Team. This team is based out of our villa, where you may find the Rossetti Trading Company as well.”

“Very well. It is important that the squad get good weapons, and I would love to be able to help.” That was the perfect excuse for Bernigi, a noble from a different faction, to lend a hand, and for him to visit the Scalfarottos as well—this had been well planned.

“Still, what a shame...” Bernigi continued. His grandson has as much raw talent as his late son, and his great-grandchildren had hidden talent too. If it were possible, Bernigi would much rather they take up the D’Orazi family name so he could protect them instead. There was a great deal he wanted to teach them in the very little time that remained to him. Perhaps that was why he was so driven by his desires. “Will you not entertain the idea of letting my family take in your knight? I would make the trade fair.”

“We will not—he himself does not wish for it.”

Jonas’s lack of hesitation was somewhat irritating. I would lose the chance to protect my grandson, just as I did with my son. “And if I said I will take him by force?”

“We shall oppose you. Marcella is one of ours.”

Both men’s voices were equally icy, and it felt as though snow would fall inside the cabin. Bernigi had already reached for the shortsword on his left hip, but Jonas—the red-brown pupil of his right eye split into a vertical gash—pressed three fingers to the back of the old man’s hand.

“Forgive my rudeness.” In the midst of their intimidation battle, Bernigi’s reflexes had made his body move involuntarily—his subconscious had identified Scalfarotto’s Blighted as a monster to slay. He very likely would have drawn his sword if not for Jonas.

“I ought to apologize for subjecting you to something so unsightly.” His pupil returned to its original roundness. Although he had almost been attacked, Jonas seemed neither angry nor surprised.

Not only had Bernigi lost this battle, he truly felt he had done wrong. “Is there anything I can give to you as an apology, Jonas?”

“I shall ask Lord Guido—”

“I am asking what you want, Jonas Goodwin.”

When he heard his full name, his gaze went diagonally downward. Five seconds elapsed before he looked back up with an all-too-perfect U-shaped smile. “In that case, on the day Lord Guido receives his marquisate, may I have you take the initiative to speak to him first at the castle? As we shall be cooperating in the near future, I hope you can also address him as Guido.”

When a title was bequeathed to someone, they were to go around paying respect to families of the same rank. To have Bernigi greet him first and call him Guido, sans honorifics, was an immense display to others—it was a big ask of someone from a different faction, despite the old man being retired. But Jonas—or rather, the man behind him, Guido Scalfarotto—was undoubtedly giving Bernigi much more.

“Very well, Jonas. I shall speak to Guido first, and I shall heartily congratulate him on his marquisate.”

“Thank you very much, Lord Bernigi.” His rust-brown eyes were surprisingly emotive—this was perhaps the first time Bernigi had seen Jonas smiling from the heart.

After Bernigi was promised he would be invited to the Scalfarotto villa, he alighted from the carriage. Marcella, who had been waiting outside, bowed deeply again, and he responded with a firm nod of the head. As Bernigi walked back to his manor under the night sky, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. If he’d had the choice, he would have taken Marcella along and introduced him to his wife and sons. He still wished to gather all of his family together. But knowing that his grandson was alive and present was plenty. Until yesterday, Bernigi had thought to straighten out everything, for he would not remain in this world for long. Now, he begged to live for as long as he could. How easily a man could change, how greedy a man could be—he could but laugh.

But the man named Guido Scalfarotto was beyond his title in every respect, whether it came to his capable subordinate, the matter with the Intelligence Office, the expedition, his connection with the Rossetti Trading Company, or Marcella. Guido had long been on the same level as a marquis, namely Bernigi. If anything, Bernigi ought to spur on his son so as not to be surpassed. Or perhaps it would be more favorable for the D’Orazis to make interfactional ties with the Scalfarottos.

There was so much for Bernigi to discuss with his wife tonight; he hurried his steps, only to totter because of his prosthetic leg. His guards rushed to support him, but Bernigi was still sharp, and he managed to remain upright with his cane. If he was going to the Scalfarotto villa, he would need to get his act together. That included figuring out what to bring for gifts, what to wear, and how to explain the situation to his faction. Though Bernigi did not know how far he could or should meddle with their business, he ought to also devise a plan for his grandson and great-grandchildren’s educations. There was so much to think about, to worry about.

Another thing for Bernigi to worry about was writing his hand for his great-grandchildren, who now had bright futures to grasp. Two great-grandchildren, so two hands—it would be embarrassing if one of them featured terrible penmanship. But it would not do to have his wife write both; he yearned to do one himself. Swords and bows were no trouble to him, but the pen?

“Time to devote myself to practice!”

From tomorrow on, his study would be his battlefield.

Back-Embroidery and the Company Emblem

Last night had been rowdy at the Beast Hunters’ party. Volf had outdrank Randolph, an impressive showing by the sea serpent. He had even managed to take Dahlia back to the Green Tower with not a single stumbled step. On the other hand, Randolph had been laid out on a bench to sleep off his drunkenness, and Dorino and some of the more senior knights had promised they’d carry him to the barracks. It would have made sense to take a carriage back—so Dahlia had suggested—but apparently, “that was what body strengthening is for”; their smiles had implied they were both willing and used to it.

So Volf had escorted her back home, and at the door, they had bidden each other “good night and pleasant dreams.” Then, in the quietest voice, he had said, “I’m looking forward to the back-embroidery.” That moonlit face belonged to the man they called the capital’s prettiest boy, and Dahlia had figured they were onto something.

She had tried to take off her coat, only for a sleeve to get caught on her golden bracelet. It was for protection, and perhaps because she had been wearing it, she had been spared from total intoxication. She had realized her cheeks were hot, and to sober up a little, she had begun to think about what to do about the back-embroidery.

Dahlia retrieved her stationery set and began peeling the paper around the charcoal core, her fingers brushing against the coarse notepaper. “The Scalfarotto name itself? Their family crest? Since I’m making it, maybe ‘Rossetti’ or ‘Dahlia’? Hmm, what else...”

Volf—that would kinda feel like putting a child’s name on their shirt. Denied.

Scalfarotto—Guido’s face came to mind, and that didn’t feel right. Denied.

The Scalfarotto crest—the ice crystal was too intricate and, well, too chilly. Denied.

Dahlia—way too embarrassing. It wasn’t as though Volf was part of her family or anything. Denied.

Rossetti—Carlo’s smile came to mind, and that didn’t feel right either. Denied.

Was she doomed to never hold a needle here? Was she just going to groan on and on without ever coming up with a pattern? Dahlia took off her glasses and did a big stretch, and when her arms came down, her pendant—the one to prevent stiff shoulders—danced on her chest. The obverse was cragsnake fang, the reverse, unicorn horn. The latter had a depiction of a small flower, while the former had a nightdog. Nightdogs were a breed prized for their ability as guards. Traveling from town to town called for bodyguards or sleipnir-drawn carriages, but many also brought those hounds as companions. Dahlia got the brilliant idea to embroider that very nightdog on Volf’s shirt—a prayer for his safety during his expeditions and to ward off any dangerous monsters.

She didn’t have any of his undershirts with her at the moment, but she did have a supply of black men’s tees that she kept for sleepwear; Dahlia brought out the one that Volf had used before to try her hand at it. The tools for this project were monster silk thread and a hardened mythril needle, a combination that made for very smooth handling, perfect for needlework. As one might’ve expected, these top-of-the-line items were courtesy of Lucia, who had lent them to Dahlia after they’d chatted about how a lot of sewing was done with magical tools. If the embroidery was to wish for Volf’s safety, then she had to do her best with the best, after all.

Hmm, a black dog on a black shirt? Dahlia encountered another roadblock; she hadn’t thought of asking Volf what color his undershirts were. She remembered Dorino saying that back-embroidery was often done in red, and if black on black was too subtle, she could add a red flower behind the dog to make it pop. Under the magical lantern’s glow, she stitched single-mindedly until her vision became bleary.

“Ah...” Back-embroideries were supposed to be these little needlepoint designs—who the heck stitched this fist-sized patch on here? This had got to tickle the back. As she went to take out the thread, she paused. Wait, this is a prototype. Yeah, just a test run. She convinced herself that everything was fine; when she did his shirts, she would make sure to make the embroidery a lot smaller.

Dahlia put the black T-shirt on the torso she had received from Lucia for test-fitting raincoats and came up with more excuses. The back-embroidery did in fact stand out due to its size, but it wasn’t a bad look at all. It wouldn’t be visible with a layer on top, and this was just a test product. Then, she got another bright idea: as a magical toolmaker, she ought to give the shirt an enchantment. The Beast Hunters’ expeditions were rigorous, so it might be good to make it more durable. Hardening would make it too, well, hard to wear, but what if she tried to strengthen the fibers instead? With that in mind, Dahlia checked the shelf to see what she had on hand.

The first material she grabbed was powdered kingsnake shed. The kingsnake was a fearsome monster that slithered through the desert, gobbling up any travelers who stepped foot into its territory. Capturing one was surprisingly easy, however—fill a large pot with alcohol, and it’d drink until it fell, making it a breeze to capture dead or alive. Really, that should be a cautionary tale. Humans generally avoided slaying it, though; the kingsnake ate the eggs and larvae of the desert worm, keeping their population in control—Dahlia had learned this, and the fact that maintaining ecological balance was a delicate thing, in college biology. As an aside, shed kingsnake skin was used to strengthen lantern wicks. Guards in the capital also used portable lanterns with these enhanced wicks for resistance against both heat and water.

The next material was yellow slime powder. This was not the usual yellow floury substance that she used, but a much more translucent form, like ground-up citrine—a gift from the slime farm’s chief researcher, Idaea. When Dahlia had visited the nursery, the two women had bonded over their shared passion for slimes. Afterward, she had consulted with Ivano to determine whether the company could support the slime research. Ivano had been slick with Forto, and the Tailors’ Guild ended up shouldering the financial burden, with the result that Idaea now regularly sent powdered slime to the Green Tower. Recently, Dahlia had gotten grade-A yellow slime, the top grade in the system of A to E. The document inside the package had explained that it was from specimens with “healthy color and luster, high magic, and high translucency.” Yellow slimes possessed earth magic, and they were good for hardening and strengthening. They weren’t as potent as other monster materials and thus saw less use, but they had just the right balance to make cloth a little more resistant to ripping.

The mixture for the shirt was similar to the one used for raincoats—Dahlia decided to use pennyroyal extract and armored crab acid. Using powdered desert worm would have made it a lot more durable, but it would also have made the enchanted cloth too hard. On paper, her calculations said the mixture should provide the fabric with hardening and strengthening, but she was unsure—and extremely curious—how this top-grade yellow slime would perform in practice.

After carefully stirring this liquid mixture in a glass, Dahlia poured in her magic, then added the kingsnake powder and stirred it again. It was time to add the yellow slime powder, but uh-oh, to her nose came a tingle. It was the wee hours already and she wasn’t wearing a jacket.

“Achoo!” There went triple the amount she had meant to put in. Her panicking was juxtaposed with the beautiful powdered yellow slime sparkling in the liquid. She’d already added the kingsnake powder, so it would not keep, and throwing it out would have been such a waste. With a sense of waste not, want not and more excuses, she stirred the mixture a third time. If it was to fail, then she’d just hide the shirt before Volf arrived. Dahlia shrugged. “Guess I’ll call this magic practice.”

She turned the back of the dress form toward her and brought the mixture close to the embroidery. Whereas she would have spread it on a flat surface in making waterproof cloth, Dahlia would use magic to lift the content in the glass out. This was an enchantment that needed grade-ten magic, so it would be a difficult one. She mentally prepared herself for failure, then secreted magic from her finger.

“May Volf be safe and sound...” The mixture responded to Dahlia’s prayer and magic, and it floated up as a pretty sphere, pale yellow like the moon herself. It spun around twice and then was fully absorbed into the embroidery. However, it rippled out and coated the entire shirt. “Huh?”

In making waterproof cloth, shooting a weak but steady stream of magic was quite difficult; Dahlia was able to do it, but she could hardly call herself good at it. But this? This enchantment had her flabbergasted. Not a single drop dripped from the shirt, and the coating was even and thorough. She should have been happy, if anything.

“Let’s see, let’s see...” She touched the shirt, and gosh, was it weird. It was softer than waterproof cloth yet squishy enough that her finger was enveloped when she poked it. The texture was similar to the rubberized fabric of her previous life, but different in that the shirt was not elastic. Dahlia assumed this was what a thin layer of kraken skin would feel like. She poured water over the shirt, and it absorbed about a third while repelling the rest. In essence, this fabric was neither water-repellent nor very sweat-absorbant—good as neither a raincoat nor an undershirt.

“Welp, I must be drunk.” Maybe her intoxication had made her fingers a little less sensitive than they should have been. Maybe the shirt would harden over time, or at least she clung onto the unlikely hopes that it would.

She was sleepy, she was tired, and her eyes ached; nothing else to do but to sleep on it now. The morning sun illuminated Dahlia’s steps as she headed toward the bathroom.

Sleep came after the shower, and when Dahlia awakened, it was close to midday. Volf had today off, and it wouldn’t be long before he came by, so she hurried to dress herself, then headed down to the workshop. Dahlia felt the black tee again—it would still be uncomfortable as an undershirt. She intended to clean everything up before Volf got here, so she stripped the torso and placed the garment on the workbench.

“What is going on with you...?” Dahlia was stunned by the shirt she was talking to—it stood up straight on its hem atop the workbench, as though an invisible person were modeling for her. She slowly backed away, then the doorbell rang. Amid her shock and fear, she ran to the door, hoping to find the knight she was expecting.

“Hi, Dahlia.”

“Vooolf!”

“What’s wrong?!”

“There’s...”—she hesitated before continuing—“something inside. Maybe.” Volf would later describe her as having looked like she was on the verge of tears.

He threw his bag to the floor and, in one motion, put Dahlia behind him and drew a shortsword. His blade pointed at the freestanding black shirt. “What is that thing, Dahlia?”

“That shirt, uh, for some reason, has become like that...” To explain would be difficult, if not nigh impossible.

Rolling around on the tarps were beads of uniform size and color, and touching them confirmed that they felt just like the ones made in the workshop. The material went beyond filling the large basin; it formed a small hill of light oxide-brown beads—enough to fill plenty of cushions.

“Aha ha ha!” Though it wasn’t clear who was first to laugh, it was clear that—after the nerves of learning how to enchant, doing the experiments, fatigue, and this unspoken camaraderie that had emerged—whoever it was had infected everyone else, and soon all were guffawing here at the grounds of the villa.

Guido brought a pile of cloth and suggested that everyone help erode that mound of pale brown beads by taking some home. Their safety would be tested by the Scalfarottos’ mages and alchemists, who would even stabilize their state as a precaution. Multiple enchantments were difficult enough under ordinary circumstances, so the fact that these mages could conduct them freely must have meant they had tons of magic in their reserves; Dahlia was more than a little envious.

Just wrapping up the fine beads in a large cloth made for quite the comfortable seating surface. Once the cushion was made, the question became where to put it in the Green Tower—her bedroom or the living room? Furthermore, the enthusiastic letters requesting priority delivery would come to Dahlia and Forto the very next afternoon.

“I really can’t thank you all enough for your help!” Back at the workshop, Dahlia bowed deeply, followed by Ivano and Jonas.

“Everyone will receive a copy of the experimental results once I have them compiled.” Beside Idaea was a stack of papers containing the data.

She and Ivano had also collected notes during this session, which were now being passed around the group. “As we will also be testing the materials for durability and longevity, it should be a while before they can be put into production. I humbly ask that everyone continue to lend us their strength through this endeavor.”

“The Tailors’ Guild promises our full support.”

“You have the Adventurers’ support as well.”

Given how unreasonable she was being, Dahlia couldn’t have been more thankful for their cooperation. As mentioned, the work was yet to be completed. She would experiment and make similar products; test for durability, safety, and the effects of time on the materials; and check for degradation from sunlight and susceptibility to water, among other things. Literature could provide a frame of reference, though there was very little writing done on slimes. Still, this wasn’t something that only she could do—she had the help of the guilds with commercializing these materials; when it came to research, she had Idaea and the Scalfarottos’ mages, alchemists, and blacksmiths. Dahlia’s role would be to come up with new potential products and conduct quality assurance.

“These materials you’ve made today have all been so wonderful, and I’m excited to see what becomes of them. One way or another, I’m certain that they will bring prosperity to the Rossetti Trading Company.”

Leone agreed with Augusto. “Implementing these materials would indeed be quite profitable. They can be registered before they become commercial products; this cushion fill, for example, ought to be registered as soon as it is confirmed to be safe.”

A magical tool registered in a contract at the Merchants’ Guild guaranteed its inventor the profits they deserved, granting them royalties much like a patent had in her previous world. And though knockoffs or otherwise similar products could be made in secret, the Guild would be totally barred from dealing in them. Furthermore, the counterfeiter’s credit would plummet, and any business they conducted within the capital would be strained at best. This system was an inventor’s best friend. Naturally, there wasn’t much that could be done about counterfeits smuggled out of the country or wholesaled to a fence, and a product could not be registered at the Merchants’ if it and the processes involved in its manufacture required absolute secrecy.

“Thank you for the advice,” Dahlia said—to Leone, but also to everyone else at the table. “I understand this will be a bother, but I ask everyone to please add your signatures when the contracts for the magical tools are prepared.”

“Huh?”

“Hmm?”

“What?”

It was a little surprising how all eyes pointed in unison toward her, but she reflected upon her words—she had essentially said, “Every one of you, get over to the Guild the minute the contracts are ready.” She scrambled to correct herself. “Oh, um, I understand that you all are very busy! I did not intend to trouble you to visit the Merchants’ Guild, but once I scrutinize the contracts, I will have them sent around for everyone to sign. I understand it might be very inconvenient, but I hope I can have everyone’s suggestions on how to split the profits.”

Augusto raised his right hand. “That isn’t the problem, Chairwoman Rossetti. Rather, you would like my signature on the contracts?”

“Yes.”

“Erm, you are saying that includes me as well?”

“Yes, Mr. Forto. Everybody here helped, so I would like everybody here to sign them.” I mean, that much is obvious. Each person’s share was based on their contribution, but they all had exchanged ideas and taken part in the experiments—they could not have achieved what they had today without this communal labor. But maybe this would be difficult for the Guild. “Um, is there perhaps a rule prohibiting individual names on the contracts?”

Leone returned a smile. “Not at all. I would be grateful to put down my signature.” Augusto and Forto were likely shocked because they had never collaborated on developing a magical tool before, then.

“Marcella and I are employees of the company, Chairwoman, so we shall exclude ourselves. As we shall continue prototyping and adjusting, we would be extremely delighted to split it sixty for the Rossetti Trading Company and forty divided equally among the rest of you. Once we come to an agreement, we ask everyone to sign their names. Furthermore, we hope to have the assistance of Mr. Jonas of the Scalfarotto Arms Works and Ms. Idaea on future research.” Ivano had already thought up a brilliant way to share the profits: Bernigi, Guido, Leone, Forto, Augusto, Jonas, Lucia, and Idaea made eight, meaning that they would each get five of the remaining forty percent. It made the math easy, but Dahlia couldn’t tell whether it was fair.

“That is better than I would ask for. I accept.” The Merchants’ guildmaster gave his response immediately; he always had and still did look out for them.

“I thank the Rossetti Trading Company. Please know that you always have my support should you ever need it.”

“It’s an honor. I will help to the extent of my capabilities. I’ll have farms developed for kingsnakes and armored crabs should the need arise, and if it does not I’ll send our guildmaster to hunt whatever monsters you need.” Augusto’s joke elicited a few laughs.

Guido and Jonas were speaking among themselves, too quietly to be heard. Lucia muttered to herself that maybe she would save up enough money quicker than she’d expected; this was likely in reference to her atelier, and Dahlia would be overjoyed if that were the case.

“With just half a day, you have made gold rain—is there perhaps anything the Rossetti Trading Company would like?”

Ivano answered Bernigi’s flattery and question, summing up Dahlia’s thoughts beautifully. “We hope that everyone will forever sail alongside the Rossetti Trading Company in this same boat.” The room fell silent, maybe because his words were that beautiful; the men seemed to be touched. Now that he commanded everyone’s attention, he continued, “The only question remaining is what to call them—the product names. ‘Yellow Slime Cloth’ and ‘Yellow Slime Cushion’ would hardly be appealing.”

“The yellow slimes did give up their lives for this, so it makes sense to me...” Idaea was visibly disappointed, but even Dahlia wasn’t too keen on the two names.

“Since the sturdy cloth is somewhat impervious to blades, perhaps ‘light protective fabric’?”

“Good idea, Lord Bernigi,” said Dahlia. “That would make its purpose unmistakable.”

“In the same vein, how about ‘impact absorption material’ for the cushioning?”

“I agree with Lord Guido’s suggestion. As blacksmiths and arms craftspeople will likely interact with these two products frequently, I believe it would be prudent to give them straightforward names.”

The group had arrived at their decision readily. It might lack romance, but it was fine just as long as it was easy to understand. Out of nowhere, though, Dahlia was struck with the thought of what Volf would name them were he present. Too much magic sword making. “That leaves us with the pellets formed by earth and fire magic. They look like little bits of pumice, so how about ‘pumice bits’?”

“Perhaps we ought to give that a second thought, Master Dahlia. Hmm...”

“They are light as bubbles and the insides are sand, so perhaps ‘bubblesand’? Or does that sound too much like some sort of bodywash?”

“Ivano’s idea isn’t bad, but if we would like to prioritize aesthetics, then how about something like ‘dunasphera’?”

“Dunasphera? That rolls right off the tongue!”

“You are quite the poet, Lord Forto. What a wonderful mental image that name evokes.”

As the name zephyricloth proved, Forto really had a way with words. It wasn’t like Dahlia hadn’t known coming into this, but it really drove home how lacking her own nomenclature skills were.

“Lord Bernigi mentioned that the large red slime grains could potentially be used in beds for infants and the sick; would a plainer name be better for medical use?”

“What say you all about ‘body heat conservation material’? It does exactly what it suggests.”

“That is very accurate indeed.” With Bernigi’s help, another decision had quickly been made. It was good to have a name that was to the point.

“It’s rather unfortunate that the green slime material could not be used as textile fibers.”

“It might just have some sort of use after exsiccation, though...” Idaea responded to Forto’s disappointment with her own dissatisfaction. They were both very passionate about fabrics and slimes, respectively, but the product’s merits were not plain to see.

With all of the names decided, it was time to wrap up the day—not much of a day anymore, as stars were scattered across the sky already. Everyone made ready to depart, and as they finally approached the door, Augusto spoke again. “It is amazing how you came up with that name in an instant, Lord Fortunato.”

Guido apparently felt the same way. “You might be wasting your talents at the Tailors’ Guild, Lord Forto. How about trying your hand at writing an opera?”

“Your words flatter me, gentlemen,” he replied with a graceful smile.

“Lord Luini, would you come over sometime soon to help me proofread a love letter for my wife? I shall be more than happy to pay you for your services, of course.”

“Pff—it would be my pleasure. I shall sit beside you, and we can work on it together if you would like; uncork a nice bottle of wine for me?” Forto somehow managed to hold back from bursting out laughing at Leone’s deadpan delivery, but Dahlia and the others lacked the fortitude.

The only person who understood the gravitas and earnestness of that request was the grimacing Ivano.

Boar Hot Pot and Yuzu Liqueur

“So gently do you yield support, so tender your embrace. From me to never part again, beg I for you to grace.”

“Volf, how about you get away from my cushion right this moment?” Dahlia knew her brand-new bead cushion was comfortable, but there was something off about the way he’d phrased that.

The weather was a little chilly that evening after the group experiment, and knowing Volf would be traveling by horse, she’d preheated the heated low table in the living room and laid out her long cushion filled with dunasphera; he had marveled at how the fine beads clung to his touch. Dahlia had told him to warm up as she finished her preparations in the kitchen, and he had really taken her words to heart—Volf had really let his hair down, so to speak, as he snuggled shoulder-deep into the heated low table, cuddled the cushion, and squeezed his eyes shut. People joked that locking eyes with the capital’s handsomest man was enough to enthrall anyone, though tonight, the reality seemed to be the other way around—the boy splayed out across the floor was himself enthralled by the heated low table and dunasphera cushion. Dahlia had always found that Volf reminded her of her pet dog from her previous life, yet today, he was nothing but a little house cat.

Those golden eyes still hidden, he made an appeal. “Sorry, Dahlia. Just a bit more.”

“Okay. It’ll take a little bit longer before the hot pot is ready anyway. You must be exhausted, Volf.” She found herself worrying for the balled-up boy; he had only returned from his expedition this morning, so he must’ve pushed himself to come visit.

“Maybe just a little.”

“Next time you’re so worn out from an expedition, please don’t force yourself to come. You can always send someone to deliver the things and come another day yourself, you know?”

“Hey, I’m resting right now. Hope I’m not bothering you and getting in the way of your work, though.”

“You’re never a bother, Volf. And I’ve already finished today’s tasks anyway.” She’d had a feeling Volf might show up today, so she had woken up early to draft the documents and finish other work—that wasn’t something he needed to know, though.

“This cushion is, like, really, really nice. It goes perfectly with the Table of De—the heated low table.”

“The fill is a new material we’ve come up with called dunasphera; Mr. Forto came up with the wonderful name.”

“Dunasphera, eh? Did you have another name in mind, Dahlia?”

She paused. “Pumice bits.”

He paused. “Yeah, that’s pretty good too.”

There was something ever so slightly painful about the way Volf covered his face with the cushion to avoid eye contact. I’d rather you laugh at me. “What would you have named it, Volf?”

Another pause. “The Sands of Sloth.”

Yet another pause. “I can see the connection, yes.” That was more or less what she’d expected from him. Neither of them could really come up with marketable names.

“I’d heard from Master Jonas before coming, but it really is true you can relax with this thing.”

“You heard from Master Jonas?”

“Yeah, I dropped by before coming here. I’m presuming this is the same thing, but he said he really likes the new big, long cushion he’s put in his room.”

Dahlia had heard that Jonas had installed a large heated low table in his room to get through winter; he must’ve been basking in its warmth right now, just as Volf was doing. She stifled a giggle as she remembered that Guido had said Jonas looked like a colossal turtle. “I’m so glad he does. Lord Guido didn’t seem to enjoy it very much...” Guido had looked a little uncomfortable sitting on the cushion yesterday; maybe it wasn’t to his liking.

“It’s the texture that my brother doesn’t like. ‘You know how your feet get stuck in the sand at the beach? I get this terribly uneasy feeling down my back,’ he said. They had company, so Master Jonas had to hold back his laughter.”

She had to do the same just now. Everyone had their own preferences, and she didn’t want to be rude.

“This is from the squad, and this is from the giant hog farmer—all for you, Dahlia.” Volf pointed to the giant boar and giant hog meat that he’d brought with him today.

The targets of this expedition had been giant boars, of which the Beast Hunters had slain the male leader of the sounder and two of the three females with him. They had then brought the carcasses to the farm to turn them into bacon. As the meat needed to be smoked and cured, the farmer had instead given away some fresh hog meat to everyone who was interested.

Dahlia had visited that farm some time ago, accompanying the Beast Hunters on their picnic under the guise of the “rookies’ equestrian training,” and giant boars had attacked during that time too. The boars knocked down the farm’s fences every two years, and a few years back, one boar had even stolen fifteen female hogs. To prevent that from happening again, Dahlia and the Beast Hunters had devised a new device called the nebelfalle, an automated atomizer loaded with black chili concentrate. Any animal that approached the hog farm too closely would be pepper sprayed and disabled by pain and odor.

“Are you sure, Volf? This is quite a lot of meat.”

“Definitely. The whole squad got theirs already, and the farm said the nebelfalle is helping them out lots—they haven’t had a single giant boar or raider trespass since, they said.”

Fermo was manufacturing an improved version of the nebelfalle, and more black chili concentrate had been produced so that any intruders would be completely covered. Dahlia was afraid that might affect other wildlife, but at least the farm was okay.

“Since I always have you cook for me, why don’t you let me do the grilling today?”

“Just stay put for me, Volf. I’m getting the wild boar hot pot ready, and all that’s left to do is to bring everything to a boil.” Botan nabe is what she would have liked to call it, but that was a name from a lifetime ago. She was in the middle of prepping Welsh onion, napa cabbage, thinly sliced carrot and burdock, and mushrooms, and she would also add miso for flavor. Under the pretext of developing menus for future expeditions, Grato had passed the miso along to Volf, who had brought it with him today. During the field training day, Dahlia had asked where she could buy some; however, as the miso wasn’t from a regular store but a trading company that imported from Esterland, the Beast Hunters’ captain had also written her a letter of introduction—a very exciting development indeed.

Only when she set the heated low table did Volf finally crawl out from underneath. It was not without grim resolve and second thinking, but he helped fetch the rest of the tableware and carried the pot to the compact magical stove. As the thinly sliced boar and the vegetables gently simmered, Dahlia mixed in the miso. Unfortunately, there was no kombu to be had, but on the upside, giant boar was fattier than regular nonmonster boar, and it made a great stock.

Dahlia filled the pair of glasses with a pale yellow alcohol, then cut them with a bit of branch; it was equally good neat, but she felt soda water was most appropriate with botan nabe.

“Oh, this has a wonderful aroma. Is it yuzu?”

“That’s right. It’s been steeping since the summer.” Quite a while back, she and Volf had talked about yuzu liqueur. He’d mentioned that he liked it, so she’d macerated some summer yuzu with neutral spirits and rock sugar. The latter was rather pricey here in Ordine, but she’d splurged on enough for three big bottles and produced a beautiful yellow drink.

“Does yuzu dissolve in alcohol?”

“No, I took them out after a bit more than a month.” They clinked glasses as she explained the process. The liqueur had the sweetness of the fruit, and just a touch of the bitterness too. Its initial notes were fragrant, it was supple in its development in the mouth, and the finish had a refreshing quality that was characteristic of citruses. The ethanol and astringency lingered on the tongue, beckoning the drinker to take another sip of that sweet liqueur, so busy on the nose and palate.

“It’s odd how it tastes even more fragrant than it smells...”

“Summer yuzu readily imparts its flavors to the spirits. If you don’t find it mellow enough, I could make some more with winter yuzu.”

“I think I’d like it better as is. With this, you know you’re drinking something alcoholic, and this aroma—it’s really something else.” Volf examined his glass, then took another sip with great satisfaction on his face; Dahlia vowed to herself to make five bottles next year.

She took a big ladle of the steaming hot pot into her bowl, then tucked in. Her chopsticks homed in on the giant boar meat. The color was a little pinker than pork, the texture quite springy but far from tough, the flavor was closer to beef, and it worked very well with the miso. It wasn’t heavy at all, despite it being a little fatty. The broth, having extracted the flavors of the vegetables, meat, and miso, was beyond words. Both Dahlia and Volf interspersed silent bouts of eating with sips of the yuzu liqueur. Less-sweet steamed bread soaked in the broth rounded off the meal. She had chosen it because it was also a little bit better for digestion; ever since Volf had gotten bashed in the pit of the stomach by a shield during training, his appetite had never quite recovered. Her original intent had been to have it with chicken stew, but it was just right with the boar hot pot as well.

The duo had worked up a sweat after dinner, and they extracted themselves from the heated low table. Dahlia refilled their glasses with yuzu liqueur on the rocks. “How did your expedition go?”

“The giant boar was a little more giant than we’d expected, and it charged at us and sent five of the guys flying. The priest quickly took a look at them, and they were as good as new.”

It was dangerous enough to hurt you guys was what she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. She’d heard that being charged by a giant boar was like being flattened by a fully loaded wagon; slaying one unscathed was likely too tall an order even for the Order of Beast Hunters.

“We shot its legs out with the Galeforce Bow, but it had too much momentum and didn’t come to a stop until Randolph smacked it with his broad shield.”

“A shield? Whoa...” It seemed that shields could be used as weapons too. Dahlia had thought armor would work better enchanted with weight-reduction magic, but that wouldn’t help Randolph in cases like these.

“A broad shield is like a thick slab of steel that has been hardened as much as possible, so you can imagine how well it works against a wild boar. Randolph’s fists and elbows were twinging afterward—he was one of the five guys who needed healing by the priest.”

“Is that maybe because the impact goes to his hands?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t matter how much you roll with the punches, crashing against a monster that heavy is going to hurt.”

Perhaps what they’d named the impact absorption material would help with that kind of attack. “Um, I’ve made a much thicker version of that yellow slime shirt, and it might be good for cushioning. It still needs a bit more testing, but—” She proceeded to explain the effects of the impact absorption material, and they discussed whether it should be applied to the back of shields or the grip to lessen recoil. Dahlia and Volf decided to get the opinions of Jonas and the shieldmen.

“Oh, speaking of slimes, Master Jonas has a message for you. ‘The frozen blue slime liquid has not completely thawed, and it remains cold,’ end quote.”

“Huh?” A question mark popped up over the blue slime inside Dahlia’s head.

“He asked you if you could go over tomorrow to check it out, as the blue slime mixture that Guido froze has turned into some kind of gel.”

“Oh, okay...” Perhaps this would be the birth of yet another new material; half of her was excited, while the other half was hoping it wouldn’t be ruined and completely thawed by tomorrow. She decided she would get in contact with Idaea first thing in the morning. Dahlia was once again reminded that slimes had a lot of untapped potential. She explained how Guido had used his ice magic on the blue slime mixture, then told Volf all about the experiment that had taken place yesterday.

Afterward, Volf looked deep into her eyes. “Was it fun doing magical experiments with everyone, Dahlia?”

“It was lots of fun! I don’t really have many chances to do so, you see...” The truth was that once she’d calmed down and reflected on what happened, she had broken into a cold sweat. Fortunately, everyone had been very sympathetic to her endeavors, but perhaps the noblemen had felt she was disrespectful. She promised herself she would apologize to Ivano the next time she went into the office, even though he hadn’t said anything.

“I wish I coulda been there...” She was surprised at how melancholic he sounded, but just as she was about to speak, Volf shook his head, flinging the negativity away. “Actually, I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I would’ve been so jealous seeing everyone using magic and enchanting...” His inferiority complex came out in his soft voice. Though he was the son of an earl, Volf could not use any of the five major schools, nor could he express his magic. And perhaps because of his lack of capability, he had long admired magic swords.

Dahlia knew all of that, so she raised her voice. “What are you saying, Volf? Isn’t it obvious that I would’ve asked you for your help with my work if you had been there? I could have used your help making all the liquid mixture, you know?”

“I would’ve been your assistant, then?”

“Mm-hmm. I definitely would’ve asked you to be my assistant.”

“Aw man, I wish I could’ve been there...” As she racked her brain thinking of how to respond to his utter disappointment, he rattled the ice in his glass. “To be honest, I kinda wished I had a blight like Master Jonas so I could use magic and fight with it and stuff.”

“Volf,” she said sternly. “It’s not easy living with it.” Jonas had gotten his blight from a fire dragon. Slaying one was no easy feat, and to be blighted was said to be a curse. She’d heard that if the monster’s magic was incompatible with that of the blighted, it could make them fall ill, affect their sense of taste and smell, and adversely affect them in other ways. Why must Volf go fight terrible monsters and embed their magical cores in his body anyway? It didn’t matter how much he yearned for Jonas’s power, his safety was more important.

“It’s okay. I know it’d be impossible for me anyway.”

“Well, slaying a powerful monster isn’t exactly beyond your ken, but...”

“I— Thanks, Dahlia, but that’s not what I mean.” His eyes emitted a golden light. “If I couldn’t taste the flavors of the Green Tower Diner anymore, the joy would go out of my life.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was, but that was also a very low bar to set for happiness. He did have a point, though—appetite was a very important thing. The strongest desire when a person grew old was appetite. If Volf found her cooking so delicious, then maybe she could continue to share meals with him even when they grew old? The yuzu liqueur must’ve hit her quicker than she’d expected. Dahlia hurried to drive the thought out of her head. Save the future for the future; focus on the joy that could be had here today. “Let’s add to your joy, then—I’ll take some yuzu-flavored quick pickles out.”

“Thanks!” But Volf’s smile was already full of joy.

Interlude: The Fledgling Takes Flight

“The handover is now complete. I have also provided manuals on my previous responsibilities for reference.” A heavy thud resounded through the office of the Merchants’ guildmaster as Ivano laid a stack of parchment on the desk; only after compiling everything had he realized he’d once overseen so many tasks.

It had been a few months since Ivano filled out that resignation form in front of Gabriella, and on paper, he had long since left the Guild. However, his replacement’s stomach had churned—the unfamiliarity and number of duties, as well as the suddenness of it all, were too much. Despite the fact that they were in the same building, coming over to the Rossetti Trading Company’s office to ask Ivano questions was surely too difficult a task. After discussions with the vice-guildmaster, it had been decided three people would take Ivano’s place, and he would lend a guiding hand whenever he had the time.

And, as of a few days ago, everything had been settled. Ivano had assembled all the documents, and today, he had come to formally depart from the workplace—the final meeting between guild clerk and the guildmasters.

“I also have a recommendation regarding the organization of documents. Please take a look.” Ivano had come to say goodbye, but there was one more thing he could improve. His suggestion was to forgo the titles and numbers on documents in favor of inserting colorful little strips of sticky paper between each section so that it would be visually obvious where they began and ended even when the reference ledger was closed. This was also the way he and Dahlia did things in the company, and it made searching through files dramatically quicker.

“Seems rather convenient.” Leone, seated across the table, ran his eyes over the documents.

Beside him, Gabriella smiled. “It does indeed. Let’s implement this.”

This scene warmed Ivano’s heart. Come to think about it, this arrangement was how he’d first met those two as well.

Sixteen years ago, Ivano and Loretta, his girlfriend—now wife—had come to the royal capital. His father, the chairman of the family business, had been a guarantor to a friend’s company, which had failed, saddling him with a large debt. Ivano’s parents had committed suicide and taken his sickly younger sister along with them, leaving none in his family but himself. Their hometown had been a speck of dust on the map compared to the capital; Ivano could not bear the deafening whispers behind his back. He did not want to bring trouble to his relatives either. And so, he had separated with his girlfriend and decided to move to the capital alone.

However, his tragic resignation had borne no fruit—his girlfriend had been waiting at the stagecoach station for him. With a load of baggage packed (Moving somewhere?—he would’ve quipped had he not been overcome with surprise), she had declared, “I’ll be your family now!” as she thrust an engagement bracelet onto his wrist. Silver and set with blue moonstones, it was the most beautiful one Ivano had ever seen.

The capital the two of them had entered hand in hand was a spirited, glorious, yet dizzyingly hectic place, not to mention expensive given the high cost of living; even the rent for a small room had been a daunting sum. Love alone could not fill the stomach, and he’d had little money on hand. Ivano would take the first job that would hire him to ensure his wife did not live a life of want—so he had sworn.

When they unpacked their belongings in that small room at a cheap inn they now called home, they were stunned. Her father had had Loretta bring her favorite cooking pot—and it was indeed a pot—but packed inside were gold and silver pieces bundled up with cloth. “After registering your marriage, go rent a home. No need to rush finding a job, and take care of yourselves,” read the now unfolded, hastily written note, the ink feathered and smudged. Ivano and Loretta bowed to the little pot.

They soon registered their marriage at the city hall and rented a small apartment, and Ivano began the job hunt—just as the note had instructed. He had gone to the Merchants’ Guild to look at their job listings, and only because he was there already, he figured he’d test his pluck and applied to take the Guild’s employment examination. He’d vowed that he wouldn’t become a merchant here in the capital, and, other than involvement with trading companies, the pay and working conditions for a guild clerk were better. He was told that the examination would be tomorrow, and he rushed to a store to rent a navy suit.

Ivano felt so very out of place that day. Interviews were conducted individually, and there he sat in the conference room at a large table across from the silver-haired, black-eyed Viscount Leone Jedda—a nobleman and guildmaster, a man who led a godlike existence. Next to him was a stunning but somewhat formidable woman with ivory hair and navy blue eyes—Gabriella Jedda, the Guild’s vice-guildmaster and spouse of Viscount Jedda.

As the guildmaster sternly perused Ivano’s résumé, Gabriella asked the petrified prospect, “Could you please tell us what your strengths are and what you wish to do?” They didn’t seem to care about why he wanted the job.

Ivano swallowed his nervousness and answered that calculation was his forte, and that he wished for work in which he could make use of his experience and knowledge from working at a trading company—an inoffensive answer. Those deep navy eyes staring back made Ivano acutely aware that his efforts to put on a brave face were futile.

Leone had finished reading the résumé. “1,145; 3,707; 1,511; 2,212; 1,424.”

The sudden outburst of five four-digit numbers had Ivano flicking an invisible abacus on his knees.

“How much is that?”

“9,999 coins.”

Leone’s slight nod was accented with a smirk, while Gabriella put her fingers to her lips as she giggled. How devilish.

Then, two days later, Ivano became a guild clerk. The role offered favorable working conditions, so many of the applicants were children from noble families or college graduates, and supposedly many had been vying for Ivano’s position. That was when he learned that a great deal of importance was placed on an applicant’s guarantor. At the time, the one person he’d had was an uncle who lived far away, and the only thing to show for it was a slip of paper; his uncle wasn’t even a nobleman or a well-known businessman. Only after he had entered the Guild did Ivano learn how unlikely he was to succeed.

As he would be interacting with the nobility, Ivano needed to learn the requisite etiquette. Thankfully, on-the-job training was thorough, covering everything he needed and wanted to learn. He even got a referral to a short course and a teacher after asking for them, and the Guild went so far as to cover most of the fees. There were those who made snide remarks at his lack of knowledge, his lack of education, and his bumpkinly origins, and he freely admitted to them, as not one word said was incorrect. Ivano put his all into absorbing everything they taught and then immediately applied his newfound knowledge. The job was far from easy, but the more he learned, the more interesting and profound it was. As someone who had worked abaci from an early age and had been employed in his father’s trading company, Ivano knew exactly what the businessmen wanted. As such, he gradually received more requests for his services. The more years he lived, the more work he received directly from Gabriella. Before long, they called him Gabriella’s mentee, and the snide remarks were no more.

Incidentally, with the first paycheck he received after joining the Guild, Ivano bought a cooking pot one size larger than the one he’d received from his father-in-law. Completely filling it with gold pieces and sending it back required three years’ time.

“You know, you look better in those clothes than you do in the Guild’s uniform, Ivano.” It was supposed to be a compliment, but trace amounts of wistfulness laced Gabriella’s words.

He pretended not to notice a thing and smiled. “Thank you very much, Madam Gabriella. I’m still getting used to them.” His current outfit had been put together by the Tailors’ guildmaster Forto. The deep navy suit matched well his combed mustard hair, and the white silk shirt underneath his jacket featured a pair of gold cuff links, one of which was also a magical tool with an anti-eavesdropping capability. It was an outfit suitable for meeting with nobles and for visiting the castle—things he hadn’t even imagined he would be doing just a year ago.

“You’ll be just fine. No one would bat an eye if you told them you’d always been one of them.” She left Ivano at a loss for words.

It had been Gabriella who’d first realized that he could no longer remain a guild clerk. She had said that she would “raise him to be a man who can run his own business.” That much did not seem to be a joke.

Leone had known as well. “This will be beneficial to you in the future, so commit it to memory,” he had prefaced his lessons, and all those turned out to be useful to Ivano as both a guild clerk and a businessman. The way Ivano had appended the word “coins” to that arithmetic question during the interview had shown them that he was a businessman through and through. He had striven to become a good guild clerk. He had striven to become a clerk whom friends and clients alike trusted. In spite of that, every time he spoke with other merchants, he felt compelled to consider what he would do if he were in their shoes. It had been these two who’d prized open Ivano’s eyes when he’d pretended not to see.

Then there was the goddess robed in gold—the magical toolmaker Dahlia Rossetti. The magical tools she crafted caused gleaming gold coins to rain down from the heavens, yet she was oblivious to her miracles—a combination most dangerous. Before other merchants or guilds could gobble up her rights, she ought to have a trusted merchant placed by her side—just as those thoughts came to him, Ivano had yearned to be that person for her. So, he’d advertised his services to her, become an employee of the Rossetti Trading Company, and been promoted to vice-chairman, hence Ivano’s reason for having come here: to thank the guildmasters for their support all these years—and to leave them.

“The way you asked to ‘board this same boat’ the other day was quite brilliant.” Leone was referring to what Ivano had said at the Scalfarotto villa; it seemed like it had made quite the lasting mark.

“Thank you for the kind words.”

“At the carriage lot, they all remarked how touched they were. Those who have their names on the contracts cannot ever disembark.”

“And I truly wish for them never to do so.”

“Neither will you disembark, will you? It goes beyond ‘sailing on the same boat’—you share a common destiny. A portion of all profits and rights that the company sees from now on will be yours, and in exchange, a portion of all risks and liabilities will be yours to shoulder too. The others were also quite astonished to realize you were the golden nail holding everything together. Though Madam Magical Toolmaker seemed not to understand completely...”

“Our chairwoman surely believes that it was only natural because the experiment was done and the products were created jointly.” All Dahlia had meant was that she wanted everyone’s help. It had been clear by that all-too-honest color of her eyes. Nevertheless, she was a competent magical toolmaker, but that wasn’t the whole story either. “However, I reckon that she has— What would you call it? An ulterior motive? At the very least, something that could be conveniently solved.”

“My, Dahlia has an ulterior motive? Do tell, Ivano.”

“I believe what she wishes for are people who have magic and would gladly join her in her experiments—friends, if you will. Our chairwoman is a magical toolmaker by nature, and she likely doesn’t want people who seem willing to keep her company—people who are her good friends—to leave her.”

“Oh, how very like her. I am certain that not a single soul would leave her, though.”

Ivano grinned at her words. “Indeed, is there anyone who would disembark from the Goddess of the Black Line’s large ship? Put out the gangways, and more would surely climb aboard.”

The guildmasters before Ivano joined him in laughing. But that was no joke. The noblemen present that day belonged to their own clans, factions, guilds, and professions; they knew the weight that their personal names lent to those contracts. But even if the seas got a little rough, they would surely be happy to stay onboard. They would undoubtedly help her with her experiments, as well as provide materials and magic, doing as Dahlia wanted—hell, they would provide her with much more than she would ask for. And, above all else, the noblemen would treat the commoners—Ivano included—as subjects for their protection. They would keep other merchants and nobles in check, and they would act as shields should anything happen. All this could be had for a few percentage points of the contracts; it was an exceedingly good deal.

“The goddess who keeps us in the black, eh?” Leone chewed the cud as the smile disappeared from his face. “I already regret it all. I ought to be celebrating your entry into the Rossetti Trading Company, yet my sincerest feeling is that of lamentation.”

“Thank you, sir.” Even if it was flattery, such high praise from the Merchants’ guildmaster was something to be cherished. Ivano had a feeling he could leave this room satisfied.

“Ivano, answer this one question for me. Never shall I ask it again.”

“Very good, sir.” Ivano straightened himself at the sudden severity and looked back into those black eyes, the very ones he had found so frightening in the past.

“Once the Rossetti Trading Company is on the right course, has the right people, and you can leave it behind, would you like to formally become our son and the vice-guildmaster? Won’t you aim to become the master of the Merchants’ Guild one day?”

Surely you jest, Ivano wanted to say, but it was clogged up in his throat. There was nothing to gain for those two if Viscountcy Jedda should adopt a commoner like himself. He might have had made a few connections through the Rossetti Company, but resigning from his vice-chairman position meant that he would lose them all; Leone and Gabriella had many more and much more powerful connections anyway. No abacus counting this exchange would show zero, no set of scales weighing it would equilibrate.

Deep blacks and deep navies—two different colors but with the same glimmer, earnestness, warmth, and steadfastness—looked deep into his own eyes. At long last did he understand that these two placed far too much esteem in this Ivano Mercadante. His family had no status, magic, economic power, or credit; there was nothing to him but this one man. Yet, in defiance of all those inadequacies, the Jeddas truly meant every word. What higher appraisal could one receive?

“Though I must decline, I will forever remember this kindness. I pray you can forgive me.”

“No, no forgiveness is needed. I knew your answer before I asked. I shall not mourn this outcome, and I shall be able to treat you as an equal from now. Forget it.”

Forget it? Now that was a good joke. Filing guild documents, hosting meetings, appraising goods, scheduling and timekeeping, diplomacy—everything he knew, he’d learned from these two. He’d absorbed so much more business acumen from the Jeddas than his own father and grandfather. “I will not forget. I cannot forget. Working in the Merchants’ Guild—working under you two is something I will treasure forever.” As Ivano bowed deeply, he saw a glisten in Gabriella’s eyes, but Leone spoke before Ivano could find something to say.

“Ivano, it is time you learn to dance.”

“Huh?” The sudden non sequitur had him making a boneheaded noise. Ivano had never had anything to do with dancing. Sure, he’d gone to the opera once or twice, but he’d never even watched a dance performance, let alone flittered on the floor; the closest he’d gotten to a ball was when he’d caught glimpses of one while he was making a delivery. It wasn’t as though a merchant needed to know how to dance, but perhaps, given that he was now socializing with the nobility more frequently, he’d have to do so. “Perhaps our chairwoman would need to, but me? I don’t see myself dancing.”

“Sooner or later, your daughters will enter college, where there will be musical education. The choices are either to learn an instrument or learn to dance, and girls tend to choose the latter. Rather than having them nestle up with people who have two left feet, they ought to learn from their father.”

“I see your point...”

“But more importantly, imagine your daughters all dressed up and ready for their first dance!”

“Sign me up for lessons!”

Gabriella chuckled at the fathers with daughters getting all riled up; the glisten in the corner of her eyes this time was likely due to exasperation, though. “All this talking has me quite parched. Let me go get someone to make us some tea.” She dabbed her eyes before exiting the office with a smile.

Leone watched her leave before continuing. “Does your wife dance?”

“No, she does not. She likely hasn’t seen a dance outside of the theater.”

“One ought to do so with one’s wife. Once you have learned well, partner with and teach her. That way, no other person will need to touch her.”

“Huh. All right.” Ivano avoided committing to the overly affectionate man’s suggestion.

“No other person will have the first dance of the night with her either.”

“I doubt you need to fret so much about that, Mr. Leone—it isn’t as though Madam Gabriella would go to a ball with anyone else but you.”

“Not necessarily...” Leone was rarely so cryptic. His black eyes turned to the window. “The person who took Gabriella to her first ball was Oz, and the person who took her first dance was also that guy—not that I would moan about it; this all happened before she and I were married.” His somber tone was entirely understandable.

During the slime experiments the other day, Leone had said that he had been the senior of Dahlia’s father, Carlo, and through transitive property, that made him Oswald’s senior as well—it stood to reason that Leone had been close with Oswald. However, Leone had always been strangely uncordial toward him, while he had always gracefully turned aside Leone’s attitude. Leone had never let his feelings affect business between the two of them—in fact, it had always gone well—so Ivano had reckoned that the two men simply did not get along. For his own relationships with Leone and Oswald, Ivano figured it might be worth learning more about the apparent history between them during their youth.

“There is another thing as well. You see, after my elder daughter went to the Goddess’s Right Eye, she embroidered a white handkerchief for that Oz. I did absolutely everything I could to prevent that from happening, and I paid the price for it—she refused to speak to me for two weeks and a day.”

“Ah...” So the history between them wasn’t limited to their youth. If one of Ivano’s daughters wanted to give Oswald her handkerchief of first love, he’d do everything to prevent it too. Just as a precaution, Ivano swore to himself that he would never bring his daughters to the Goddess’s Right Eye, Oswald’s magical tool shop in the nobles’ quarter; if they needed any sort of magical tools, he’d bring them to see his boss instead.

“I shall introduce you to our dance instructor.” And just like that, Ivano had lessons awaiting him. Regardless of whether it would come in handy when dealing with nobility, being able to dance with his wife was a very attractive proposition. It would even give him a bit of exercise that he sorely needed.

“Now, the time has come for me to drive you out of the nest. You have the capabilities to not only feed yourself but even feed mother and father bird; perhaps it is no longer appropriate to call you a fledgling. Allow me to celebrate you leaving the nest.” From his suit jacket, Leone took out a pair of thin silver keys—hazy, tarnished, timeworn—though the little black and white stones embedded into each of them had quite the shine.

“Thank you very much.” As Ivano took them into his hands, he felt soft waves of energy radiating out, indicating that these were magical tools.

“The one with white jadeite guards against poison and magical confusion, the one with the morion against soporifics and aphrodisiacs. Both are powerfully enchanted; I guarantee their effectiveness. Wear them around your ankle so that they are not visible to others. If they feel warm, that proves you have been drugged. Retreat as soon as possible, but do not let your guard down while on the move either.”

A pair of twice-enchanted magical tools with a quality silver chain—it took no guessing that this was a very precious anklet. “I am deeply grateful, sir, but, erm, if I may ask its price?”

“I do not remember seeing the price tag.” That was obviously rubbish coming from a man so observant of the value of goods; even the attendant behind him—who always extinguished his presence and never showed any emotion—placed a fist over his mouth as if to stifle a cough. It was most likely something for nobles and thus quite expensive, and it would have required a magical toolmaker with Oswald’s skills to craft something like this, perhaps even a noble’s mage or alchemist—

It deserved thanks. Ivano would like to know approximately how much it cost or, at the very least, who had made it. “If I may, then, the name of its craftsperson?”

The expression that showed on Leone’s face as he laughed was neither that of a nobleman nor that of a merchant but that of some young boy. “I did say I was Carlo’s senior, did I not?”

Interlude: The Weight of a Sword, the Weight of a Pen

“Forty-six...” Bernigi muttered softly as he turned over the page. On his desk in the D’Orazi manor were penmanship worksheets for children. As a small mound had accumulated, so had his sense of accomplishment. His handwriting was so awfully illegible that he had regularly delegated paperwork and letters to his wife and subordinates; it had become all too natural to simply scribble his signature on the bottom and call it done. As such, this situation had befallen him. But if it was for a great-grandchild’s hand, going through a child’s education again was no hardship—so long as his children and grandchildren did not witness this happening, at least.

His attendant and the maids had been dismissed from the study. His instructor and wife Mersela scrutinized the tip of his pen. Though she herself worried about wrinkles and becoming somewhat plumper, with her long, white hair tied into a chignon, she had the dignity and elegance of a mature noblewoman. “It is said that one hundred pages are required for any changes to your handwriting and three hundred pages for you to develop muscle memory, so keep working at it, my dear.”

“And I shall!” Bernigi boomed with enthusiasm as he began carefully scribing ink on the forty-seventh page.

When the boys were young, she had taught them to write as well. Bernigi had once secretly peeked at their littlest son Bernardi’s practice, and it had frankly been terrible—he had been told to take his time and try his best, but his printing had been large and messy, like what one would expect from a child; he’d gripped one edge of his sheet. “I can see that you have improved!” he’d commended his son—then, to add to the encouragement, Bernigi had flipped over the practice page and written, “Just like me” in his own large and messy print.

Bernardi had giggled and treasured that sheet of paper. He’d often said, “Father, I want to become a knight like you,” and in time, he’d done just as he’d proclaimed he would, despite having the magical strength to be a mage; he’d chased his father’s footsteps and become a knight in the Order of Beast Hunters.

How was it, then, that they had come to be at odds with each other? Bernigi hearkened back to the day twenty-odd years ago.

“There is a woman who I’d like to marry—”

In the study, Bernigi smiled when he heard those nervous words coming from his son, a knight who wore his Beast Hunter’s uniform far more properly than his father did. Just the day before yesterday, Bernigi and Mersela had been conversing about how it was about time their youngest son found himself a spouse, but Bernardi had gone on to tell them, “I am yet lacking as a knight, and I have failed to even find romance; I have no intention of marriage.” He rarely, if ever, participated in teas or soirees, so that he himself had found someone came as a surprise.

“Good. And have you told your partner?”

“Yes, and she said yes as well. However...” Bernardi paused and drew his lips tight. His hesitation suggested it was someone less than appropriate, perhaps a noblewoman from another faction or someone with whom he had a large age difference, perhaps even a maid or a worker whom he frequently saw at the castle.

If they shared the same feelings, then Bernigi would like to do whatever he could to facilitate the relationship. “From which family does she come?”

The son’s kite-brown eyes looked unflinchingly into his father’s. “Marcella is her name, and she is a woman from the red-light district.”

Bernigi heard him just fine, but there were a few moments between hearing and understanding. The D’Orazis were a marquisate that traced its lineage back to the founding of the kingdom. It had produced many royal knights and mages, and others even regarded it as possessing prestige. Bernardi had been educated and raised well as a D’Orazi. Why, then, had he been so easily fooled by a prostitute? Their relationship was founded on monetary exchange; there was no doubt she had deceived him. “What joke are you playing, Bernardi?” His words came out stronger and louder than he had meant.

“Father, I am serious.”

“Be rational—this is about money.”

“No, it isn’t, father. She does not wish for nobility or wealth. As long as Marcella and I can be together, I need neither status, my knighthood, nor money. All I want is to be with her.” There was no uncertainty, no humor in his gaze—it was obvious that his feelings were not superficial. But a harlot? Could the same have been said for her?

“Are you deliberately trying to sully the D’Orazi family?”

“If I may not receive your blessing, then please disown me.”

“Calm yourself, you fool!”

“Time will not change a thing! I have been thinking over this for the past two years, and not once has my love for her changed!”

Two years, but Bernigi hadn’t heard it mentioned once, nor had he noticed. The two of them continued their heated exchange, neither yielding one step to the other. This was the first time they had argued, and it hurt his head so.

“I shall return to the barracks, father.” In the end, Bernardi’s farewell was formal—distant, even.

Bernigi only nodded. There was no changing the boy’s mind when he was so infatuated, but perhaps time would cool him down—so he thought, as he pretended to go over some documents and his youngest son walked out of the room. This would be the last interaction he would ever have with Bernardi.

The next day, a hydra appeared at the border. By the time Bernigi found out, it was evening already, and the Beast Hunters had long since been dispatched on sleipnirs; Bernardi had joined the reconnaissance party. Bernigi could not find it in himself to express his concern. His son had never suffered any grave harm since joining the Order, and he would return with merit, or so Bernigi continued to convince and reassure himself, at least. He would return, and they would continue their discussion with cooler heads. And just as he repeated that to himself for the myriadth time, a messenger arrived—Bernardi had been killed in action.

At the same time, a mess of responsibilities fell upon Bernigi; there was no time to mourn his son’s death. The casualties within the royal orders and along the border had been great. There were too many dead and critically injured, and there was a call for others to take their place. Due to the appearance of the hydra, other monsters were moving about; they needed to be exterminated, and nearby settlements had to be on high alert. Then came rumors that the hydra was being chased toward Ordine so Ehrlichia would not suffer more damage, followed by rumors that Ordine was casting spells to direct it to Ehrlichia; the two nations were very tense for some time, to say the least.

As he assisted the orders and aided various organizations, time raged by. When it seemed like the worst had passed, Bernardi’s personal belongings arrived from the barracks. His estate was distributed among his brothers and his comrades. Bernigi kept one thing for himself: a brown letter case. It had been a present for his son to celebrate him entering college. It had been well cared for; the leather still had an impeccable shine. Any epistles or love letters, he would toss into the fireplace without reading; any debts, he would go and pay—so he had decided before he opened the lid. Inside were Bernardi’s letter of assignment from the Order of Beast Hunters, requests for leave, and other documents. There were even documents that detailed requests for equipment that had been denied as well as receipts for rations and consumables for expeditions.

Bernigi caressed the messy writing that was so like his. “You sure were a Beast Hunter through and through, huh, Bernardi?” The tears that had welled up were about to fall, and Bernigi grabbed all the papers from within. Stuck to the bottom of the case was a worn-out handwriting worksheet—in messy handwriting, “Just like me.” Bernigi fell to the floor. Grasping the pile in between his fingers, nearly ripping them from the case, he could but wail.

Busy days came and went. Bernigi went to gird on his sword as usual, but its weight caused it to nearly slip out of his hand. He had been maintaining his body despite losing a leg; what, then, was the cause for the sudden heft? And though his artificial leg had not changed, it had become heavier and begun to drag on the ground. This must be what was called age. From that day, Bernigi began preparing to withdraw from the public eye. He finished helping out the royal orders, then had his son and his wife succeed to the marquisate. Bernigi would appear if called upon and give advice if asked, but gone were the days of taking initiative. His wife and sons did not blame him, nor did others say anything.

When Bernigi went to the castle to say his final goodbyes, one of the Beast Hunters who had been under his command passed him by. “Vice-Captain! Would you allow me the chance to face you again sometime?” The knight shone the brightest smile.

Bernigi had long since retired, yet here he was being addressed by his old title. Ever since receiving a prosthesis and using a walking stick, he had lessened the intensity of his conditioning, and his body had become leaner. For the knight to request instruction was surely just a roundabout way of asking Bernigi to cheer up; this onetime bugbear of a knight had turned thoughtful and chivalrous. Rather than reveal his sword had become too heavy for him to wield, Bernigi did his best to act the role of a mean superior. “Once you get better, Grato.”

“Yes, sir!”

The cheer in the voice stung. Bernigi knew best of anyone that it was unlikely he would ever spar again. But for his health and so that he did not get even more out of shape, he swung his sword in secret and continued walking on his artificial leg. Regardless, neither sword nor prosthesis became any lighter.

Many moons had passed since then. Age spared no one. Bernigi had not been an exception, and it was time to square away his affairs—and then came an invitation to observe the Beast Hunters on their expedition. Its sender was the current captain of the Order, that knight he had called his junior. When he had still been a rookie, he had tended to jump into the fray even before the Scarlet Armors; Bernigi had had to grab him by the scruff all too often; that Grato had become captain was miraculous. The invitation mentioning armored crab reminded Bernigi that it was one of his late son’s favorite foods. With a pang of nostalgia, and considering the fact that it would likely be the last time Bernigi would see the Beast Hunters on an expedition, he accepted.

At the campsite, the knights enjoyed the fall day—they were enjoying themselves too much. They were too careless, too vulnerable, too easygoing. Bernigi could but worry unduly. He silently begged for them not to depart before him like his subordinates and his son Bernardi had, and he stepped away.

It was then that he met the chairwoman of the Rossetti Trading Company, Dahlia. In that chilly carriage cabin, she shared the thinking behind her magical tools and the warmth of her portable warm air circulator—she softened his stubborn heart. Since when had Bernigi come to a standstill? As they watched the Beast Hunters share laughs, he realized he wanted to use the time he had left to step forward and walk again.

He returned home in high spirits and told Mersela all about his day. Though she listened with a smile, a slight weariness plagued her due to the pain in her joints; he cut the conversation short. It was then that the Scalfarottos’ Jonas, with Marcella in tow, visited. Right after speaking with them in the carriage, Bernigi flew over to Mersela again; their grandson, their great-grandchildren, the hands—there was so much to tell her.

“Mersela!” He burst into the room gasping for breath.

“What’s the matter?!” Fearing that he’d gotten himself hurt, she went to examine him for any injuries. He had crossed swords with Jonas only metaphorically, but the alertness roused by the attendant’s blight still gripped Bernigi.

He had intended to tell her the whole story, but he couldn’t prevent his excitement from leaping out. “I saw our grandson—I saw Marcella!” When Bernigi realized he was causing a misunderstanding, he hastened to explain himself, stumbling over his words; he had not, in fact, seen the woman Bernardi had loved. She was no longer of this world, but she had given birth to a son and named him Marcella. He was a commoner and employed as a knight by the Scalfarotto family, who were sheltering him. His wife was also currently big with child. That Marcella had come to the D’Orazi estate’s carriage lot.

“What is he like?!”

“Just like Bernardi—a fine man!” Not only was his explanation lacking, Mersela seemed somewhat disappointed that she had not been able to meet Marcella as well; she grasped her husband’s arm. “Forgive me, but, erm, my bones will soon break.”

“You jest, my dear. My dainty little hands couldn’t possibly break your arm, surely.” Their magic was at the same grade, so her body strengthening magic was hardly a laughing matter. Bernigi knew better than to say anything to the contrary, though.

He then told her all about the current situation, Marcella, the business with the Intelligence Office, the happenings with Marquis-to-be Guido Scalfarotto, the attendant Jonas Goodwin, the Beast Hunters’ magical toolmaker Dahlia Rossetti, what was planned for the near future—until sunbreak, the couple chatted away, and the wine they shared had never been so delectable.

“I should like to place Marcella within our reach, but he himself does not wish for it. Furthermore, the Scalfarottos are soon to become a marquisate, meaning we would be at the same rank.”

“He is their knight, and our families are of different factions—we can’t simply take Marcella by force. The Scalfarottos must have some weakness to exploit, though.”

“I should also like to instruct Marcella and our great-grandchildren well, but that, too, would fall under the Scalfarottos’ jurisdiction. So that you and the boys can meet him, I shall have to find a reason to invite Marcella here.” When Bernigi realized he’d already begun to devise plans for what he ought to do, whom to use, and whom to involve, he laughed at himself. “Just as I had wanted to conclude my affairs, here I am wanting more already.”

Mersela smiled with utmost elegance. “Oh, my. How could a former marquis such as yourself not take what he wants? We simply have to create a reason for Marcella to visit, do we not?” Her pear-colored eyes were usually kind and gentle, but they were now lit by a green flame; they were so beautiful that Bernigi fell in love again. During the expedition today, he had received a delicate push on his back from that redheaded magical toolmaker, but the supportive shove he’d always relied on—a shove enhanced by body strengthening magic—came from none other than this woman.

“Aye, Mersela, you are right. As long as I still have sands in my hourglass, I shall see how long my arm can truly extend.” Bernigi showed her the smile he’d cultivated as a noble, to which she gave a resolute nod. “I shall have to make my return, then.”

“I look forward to dancing with you again.”

It was plain to them both—Bernigi and Mersela were to return to the proverbial center stage of nobility. It was time that they put on smiles, held daggers behind their backs, extended their long arms as far as possible, and saw as far into the future as they could. They had a desire, and now they had to reach for it. With the remaining time they had on this earth, they could not shirk away; they had to play the part of a greedy and cunning noble couple. That twilight, Bernigi and Mersela set out into the world again as former marquis and marchioness.

“You’ve stopped moving your hand, dear.”

Mersela’s voice snapped Bernigi back to the present moment. He was in the middle of practicing his penmanship, yet, unawares, he had let his gaze shift to the sword mounted on the wall. “I have been thinking about changing my sword.” The sword he’d always carried was fit for a knight, but after using the training sword against the Beast Hunters, he now found that his lacked heft and length.

“You mean—how about placing an order for a new one?”

Mersela always knew precisely what he wanted. In contrast with her serene demeanor, she’d once had the moniker of “All-Prepared”; though the current marchioness had inherited that title, she had learned it all from Mersela. The D’Orazi clan traced its lineage to the years of the kingdom’s founding, but it had never been one of wealth, and many did not understand that when there were no wars to be fought, the only thing that spoke within noble circles was money. When Bernigi had been the vice-captain of the Beast Hunters with no voice, Mersela had managed the family and accumulated wealth and influence, providing him with the opportunity to walk forward without needing to watch his back.

The day after they had decided to return to power, Mersela piled her desk high with letters. Her writing had always been so beautiful that young nobles would beg her to teach them. She had frequently written in the past: to say hello, communicate, send news, introduce people to one another—letters of all sorts. Since Bernardi’s death, she had stopped due to the pain in her joints, but now she had resumed with the help of analgesics.

She and Bernigi, along with the current Marchioness D’Orazi, had begun to participate in and host more tea parties and soirees, and Mersela was seeking new gowns and dresses; Bernigi had recommended her an up-and-coming couturier with boundless energy. Though she was bound to go over budget and buy more than she planned to, that was but a trivial matter.

“A new sword would be nice as well, but I have just the thing in mind.” Bernigi walked to a shelf and reached into the back. The sword he produced had nary a decoration on its scabbard or hilt, and its blade was painted jet black—the one he had used during his time in the Order. It was longer and heavier than the sword he carried now, and the weight was balanced toward the tip for faster swings; it was a difficult tool to handle. He stepped away from the desk and gave it a few light swings still in its scabbard, but the weight was no impediment to him. He decided he would resume carrying this sword starting tomorrow.

“Would you like to take your medicated bath for your pain soon?”

“I shall do so before I sleep—I would like to get some exercise first.” Bernigi had intended not to show it on his face, but apparently it was obvious by his movements—how shameful. Since he had received his magic prosthesis, he had dedicated a lot of his time to familiarizing himself with it and to moving around every day, which exacted its toll on his muscles; his unicorn horn magical tool helped, but it could only do so much. Afraid of being too conspicuous outside, Bernigi had been walking around in a room, and he had even begun running in the halls. He had tripped and tumbled at times, turned too quickly and run into the wall at others. The floor would end up covered in his sweat, and after he slipped and flopped on the ground a couple of times, Mersela had emplaced a maid with a mop in the room. When he tried skipping two steps at once, failed, and crashed down to the bottom of the stairs, Mersela had emplaced a healer by his side; she had not accepted his claims that he would be able to make it next time. What she never failed to do was smile so tenderly when Bernigi covered himself in new bruises every day. One could not ask more of one’s wife.

But there had been gains for his pains—he had even managed to spar with the Beast Hunters. That said, he was yet to move as perfectly as he wished, and he lacked the strength he desired. Furthermore, his hips and shoulders still felt too stiff. There was one measure, one that he had dared not to mention. With palatable disgust in his mouth, Bernigi uttered the monster’s name. “Mersela, please order skybat powder for me...” Powdered skybat flesh was not only good for hair and skin, it was also effective when one’s joints had limited range of motion—so the priest Aroldo had told him in secret.

“I shall also prepare dried forest serpent meat for you. Why don’t we both partake in them starting tomorrow?”

“Mm, aye...” Bernigi was hardly happy. Forest serpent was not a problem, but skybat? He had no intention of putting on the airs of a gourmand, but that—that could not be called food. Well, if he thought of it as medicine, then that was only natural, but seven whole days of it would be pain and suffering; it would even sour drinks. To think about it, skybats likely hated him more than he them: he had slain them in expeditions, used them in his leg, and even taken them as medicine.

That reminded him of the redheaded magical toolmaker who had said something along the lines of being on a high horse. Bernigi had asked her to replace the cracked pylon of his artificial leg, but what she had come up with was a beautiful sky blue magic prosthesis. After taking Marcella’s suggestion, she had worked the green horse bone with an intense focus; Bernigi had faith in her after seeing the utmost trust and bond between her and his grandson. Still, when he first put on the magic prosthesis and took a step, Bernigi had trembled within: it was so plain to see that it was artificial, so he had worried that it would be something he could only wear at home—just a few moments after, that thought had gone, never to return. The prosthesis had been even lighter than he had imagined, and it had provided sure support and a tight fit. When he’d flowed some magic into it, it had almost felt like his leg had regrown. It had been confidence-inspiring. Not only could he walk, he could easily run—hell, he had felt as though he could even leap and soar.

As he’d basked in the magic prosthesis’s glory, Dahlia had trusted Marcella with the task of supporting Bernigi. The two men had walked the halls back and forth, and they had walked the stairs up and down. Bernigi had used muscles that had been dormant for too long, and his physical pain had been searing, but that had then been eclipsed by a priceless, irreplaceable moment.

The desire to return to knighthood and the possibility of actually doing so had grown stronger the more accustomed to the magic prosthesis he had gotten. Magical tools were rather interesting things. In the form of the green horse bone replacing his leg, the skybat enchantment, and the various products made from slime powders, magical tools benefited the Order’s expeditions, and they might even be able to bring this retired knight back to the battlefield. It was now he realized: perhaps monsters loathed nothing more than that redheaded magical toolmaker. Bernigi patted his sky blue leg and grinned.

“I can tell you have taken a liking to your magic prosthesis, dear.”

“Aye, I sure have.”

“I imagine you can dance very well now.”

Still grinning, he nodded. People and interpersonal relationships were uncanny things. News that a young common woman had become the Orders’ advisor had raised Bernigi’s suspicion—was there something more than met the eye? But no, the magical toolmaker named Dahlia Rossetti not only did not have a hidden side, she carried her true self for the world to behold. When they had first met at the campground, she had lent him a supporting hand, and then she had earnestly illustrated that her creations were for the sake of the Beast Hunters. She had leveraged her connection with the Scalfarottos to save Marcella and his family too. And now, with this sky blue magic prosthetic leg, she had even enabled Bernigi to return to being a knight in fighting trim. How could he possibly thank her enough?

“The payment to Rossetti Trading Company has already been settled, and their vice-chairman expressed that there is no need for any sort of gratuity.”

“I figured that is Master Dahlia’s character.” Ivano’s refusal of more money or goods had been in accordance with his chairwoman’s wish that future clients could afford the same service. It was not in the spirit of mercantilism, but it was very much in the spirit of Dahlia to behave so. Bernigi had already racked his brains for a way to thank her, and he knew if he were to ask her directly, it would only cause her much panic and trouble in figuring how to politely refuse him; that, though, transferred the trouble onto him.

“We shall have to find a way to express our gratitude someday, shan’t we?”

“Aye, we can dwell on that some more—but we will return the favor eventually.” As a D’Orazi—no, rather, as an ordinary knight, Bernigi so vowed.

“There is also Lord Jonas Goodwin whom we must repay.” Warm were her words, but scorching embers were at their core. That a youngling such as him had so easily outplayed her husband must have given her a grudge. Perhaps it was somewhat unjust—never ever had Bernigi been so soundly beaten before, and that was worth merit—but perhaps this was a battle for them as a couple. With what time they had left, they would conquer their last foe.

“Ah! Forty-seven pages will have to do for today!” Bernigi grasped his sword and shot to his feet—one of them sky blue. “From today forth, I shall endeavor to return to Beast Hunter form. I shall mingle with them, then, with this leg and sword, run rings around them.”

“Then I shall return to social intercourse with other noblewomen. I shall write many more letters, host tea parties, and visit the opera.”

Neither the weight of a sword nor the weight of a pen was as substantial as the rapacity of the nobility.

“A good way to gather intelligence, I say.”

“Oh, there is naught but kindness in my heart when they speak to me about what they have on their minds.”

Women from other noble families spoke in soft whispers. “When something is troubling you, seek advice from Lady Mersela D’Orazi,” they often advised. Regardless of faction or age, Lady D’Orazi was always there for other women to provide good offices, aid the younger generation in their romantic pursuits, and even resolve troubles that they did not want the gentlemen to know—or at any rate, such was her reputation. She radiated a gentle grace, and she was influential within the nobility and various businesses, so many people placed their trust in her. The reality was that every word that reached her ears was used to enrich her own family. Though the current Marchioness D’Orazi was now known as All-Prepared, the name had originally belonged to Mersela until she retired from most circles due to her joint pain. Many noblewomen who felt indebted to her never ceased paying social calls, making Mersela far more popular than Bernigi had ever been. She was his anchor, and she was the last woman he’d like to make an enemy.

“Speaking to others eases many issues, you see.”

“Mersela, your grin betrays you for a villainess.”

“You and I are not so different, then, my dear husband.”

He needed not a mirror to know how wicked his own was, and how like hers.

The Sleipnir’s Trouble and Father’s Footsteps

“Oh, did we get a new carriage?” Waiting outside the Merchants’ Guild to take Dahlia home was not her usual horse-drawn carriage but one with gilded doors drawn by sleipnir.

Mena turned to her with a smile. “Our usual horse is ‘off to see a prospective partner,’ and it went back to the ranch. It’ll get colder and colder too, so the vice-chairman prepared this carriage with a closed, heated cabin and rented this foal to go with it.”

Though it was as big as a grown sleipnir, there was a childlike sparkle in its black eyes, which were pointed at Dahlia. There was something familiar about its appearance and its happy nickering. “Is that perhaps Purple Grape’s foal?”

“How sharp of you, Chairwoman. Number Twelve here loves purple grapes too, so I hear.”

What a delightful surprise reunion—this was the exact sleipnir that had been pulling her carriage when she had first met Volf, and maybe it even remembered him too. Something caught her attention, though. “What do you mean by ‘number twelve,’ Mena?”

“That would be the sleipnir’s name. There are many horses for hire, so they often resort to numbering them.” It made a lot of sense, but it was nonetheless a little unfortunate.

As she drew close to the beast, Marcella appeared, carrying a chest of goods to be delivered, as did Ivano, carrying a briefcase. “The new carriage looks very promising. You’re not afraid of sleipnirs, Chairwoman?” asked Ivano.

“No. In fact, I’ve hired this one before.”

“Oh, what a coincidence.” Ivano sandwiched his briefcase under his arm and approached the sleipnir. He demonstrated his familiarity with horses by locking eyes with it and slowly stroking its mane. Number Twelve was enjoying the attention when it suddenly began sniffing him. “Sorry to say, but I don’t have any apples or pears for you—oh, I forgot about this; this is what you must be smelling.” He took a step backward and retrieved from his jacket pocket what appeared to be a crusty green bar of agar but was actually the result of the experiments some time ago—the thing created by enchanting green slime mixture with fire magic. “I had forgotten I’d scraped this off the table and stuffed it in my pocket. Mr. Forto said this is unsuitable for weaving into fabric, unfortunately.”

“Lucia expressed the same, saying that it was too fine and delicate.” The magical toolmakers at the Tailors’ had run some experiments on the fibers, but what they had made was closer to paper than cloth, and they had found out that it even dissolved in water given enough time; it was far from suitable for clothes.

Marcella demonstrated his experience as a courier. “Green slimes not only eat plants but just about everything else, so I can’t imagine it could be turned into fabric.”

“It is what it is. It would be foolish to expect to run into nothing but succe— Gah!” Taking advantage of the situation, the sleipnir whipped its head toward Ivano’s hand and twisted its tongue around the green cake of fibers. “Hey, that’s not food! Come on now, spit it out!” He scolded the sleipnir like a father would.

Sitting on the coach box, Mena guffawed. “You’re sticking out green hay, Vice-Chairman—of course it’s gonna be eaten up. Sleipnirs are quite the gluttons, so you’re never getting that back, you know?” It whinnied like it was agreeing; its mouth was empty already.

“Ack, you’ve eaten it all already...”

Dahlia wasn’t convinced that it was a laughing matter. “That wasn’t hay, Mena, that was processed green slime. What if it hurts the monster? Should we call for a veterinarian?”

“You two don’t need to worry so much. Sleipnirs aren’t regular horses, and they’ll eat whatever they can get; grasses, meats, fish—nothing will really hurt them. They’ll even gobble up small monsters too.”

“But that was enchanted slime—dried and powdered, but still. I wouldn’t want the other properties in the mixture upsetting its stomach or anything.”

“Dahlia, sleipnirs eat green slimes. When they’re resting on the side of the highway and they spot one, they’ll use one of their front legs to crush its core and chow down.”

“Oh...” Well, what Marcella had just said wasn’t in the bestiary. Sleipnirs were far wilder than she’d imagined.

“It’s not like sleipnirs go hunting for slimes when they have time to kill—they’re more like treats,” explained Mena.

“The slime doesn’t need to be dried first so that it doesn’t burn their mouths?”

“Nah. It’s just like Mena said—sleipnirs eat whatever they can get. They’ll eat proper food, of course, but they’ll happily crunch on shells and bones alike after applying strengthening magic to their mouths.”

“Whoa.” She glanced at Number Twelve. Those pearly whites sure looked tough and healthy, but she had never imagined it could simply eat slimes.

“It seems to have really enjoyed it too.” The sleipnir brought its muzzle to Ivano’s breast and nickered as it looked up at him. “Hey, cut it out with the puppy dog eyes. But I guess I do have another piece in my pocket.”

“You’re a pushover, Vice-Chairman!”

“Very well, then, Marcella. You go ahead—look into its eyes and say no.”

As though the sleipnir understood the entire conversation, it pointed its glossy black eyes at Marcella. They stared each other down for a bit, but he was the first to give in. “Ah, well, I don’t think that stuff will hurt it; might as well give it the other piece.”

“See! You’re no better, Marcella!” Triumphant was Ivano, though they had both lost to a monster; Dahlia knew she would have fared no better, so she kept her mouth shut.

Mena chuckled at them from the top of the coach box. “That’s a pretty filly for you.”

“Sorry?” Dahlia needed a little clarification.

“She is very popular with the male horses, see, and they intended to use her as a broodmare, but her personality was far too strong for that—so the shop owner said,” explained Ivano.

“Are male horses too difficult to pair with female sleipnirs?”

“It’s likely that her standards are somewhat unrealistic. It’s said that she dislikes other sleipnirs too, and that she even kicks and runs away from would-be mates who get too persistent. She’s a high horse, if you get what I mean.” The way Number Twelve was squinting in bliss as Ivano petted her, she seemed like the gentlest creature, incapable of acting so aggressive; maybe it was a lack of chemistry.

“She’s got attitude, eh? Well, the stronger she is, the better she is at pulling a carriage,” said Marcella.

“That’s a good thing, then. I hope she’ll one day find a person—er, a partner she likes.” The sleipnir nodded in agreement with Dahlia.

Two days later, Dahlia and Volf went to the station in the West District near the Green Tower. Inside the basket she was carrying were two bunches of purple grapes—a slightly pricey treat during wintertime. In the back of the lot were the stables where the sleipnir named Number Twelve was. While Mena held down the fort, Ivano and Marcella had arrived earlier and were now speaking with the veterinarian.

“How is she, Doctor?” Voicing concern was Ivano—not only had Number Twelve not eaten since the evening before yesterday, she hadn’t slept a wink at night.

Normally, sleipnirs ate, well, like horses, but feeding it the processed green slime must’ve harmed it somehow, so last night, they had called for a veterinarian who also treated monsters. Dahlia couldn’t help but worry, hence her and Volf’s visit today.

“There is nothing wrong; in fact, she is extremely healthy.” With sleeves now rolled back down, the vet once again donned a coat.

“But for a sleipnir to lose appetite for so long surely can’t be right.”

“That is simply because she is full—she is brimming with magic.”

“She’s full?”

“She’s brimming with magic?” They looked on in confusion.

As though realizing a little more explanation was required, the vet smiled and continued. “Sleipnirs are monsters. Unlike regular horses, their sustenance is magic. Wild sleipnirs can go for some time without needing another meal when they feed on magic-rich monsters. Though it would be unlikely from a monetary standpoint, domesticated sleipnirs can be fed monster flesh or quality herbs; perhaps this one has eaten something like that. A sleipnir moving around the city also does not expend much magic unless it uses body strengthening magic, therefore I believe that she merely does not need to eat yet. Monitor her and feed her when she needs to be fed.”

“Whew.”

“If anything, Number Twelve is in peak physical condition. Her restlessness is due to excess energy, so I recommend taking her for a long ride and letting her gallop it off. Oh, and be sure that her rider is very experienced.” Thus concluded the vet’s visit, leaving behind a relieved party.

The sleipnir in question had had her eyes fixed on the basket. “Seems like you can give her a treat, Dahlia,” said Volf.

“Everything has a dessert stomach anyway, right?” As Ivano’s audience giggled, Dahlia extended the sleipnir a single purple grape. Number Twelve nickered and lapped it up, tickling the palm of her hand. “I’m glad she’s perfectly fine, though I have got to say that it’s quite surprising that such a small amount could fill her stomach for two days.”

“I suppose it must’ve contained a great deal of— Oh! With that stuff, we wouldn’t need to bring fodder on our expeditions!”

“Sorry?”

“Ah! I’ll go gag the veterinarian right now. Marcella, you handle the staff at the station later.”

“Will do!”

“Who do we go to first, Ivano? The squad or my brother? Guido is home today.”

“Lord Guido, and as soon as possible! See if you can request we experiment on the other Scalfarotto sleipnirs too!”

“On it! Dahlia, once you’re finished here, head back to the tower.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” She couldn’t quite follow the conversation, but with everyone in such a great rush, she found it even harder to question them.

“Sorry, Sir Volf, could you accompany me for a while after I speak to the vet? I am going to purchase this sleipnir, but if we were to go by ourselves, it would take too much time, and I’m afraid they would learn about what has happened, so I’d like to borrow your name to speed up the process.”

“Sure thing!”

“Chairwoman, after Marcella sends you back home, just wait there and I will report to you afterward! In the meantime, think of a better name than ‘Number Twelve’ for our new girl!”

“See you soon, Dahlia!” The two of them rushed out of the stable before she even had the time to respond.

“I suppose you would like an explanation right about now, Chairwoman?”

“If you would, please, sir.” The flurry around her had scattered her thoughts; she lost track of whom she was speaking to, and they giggled about the sudden formality.

“Horses graze on pasture, are fed hay, and are okay with the occasional fruit treat, but on long journeys like the Beast Hunters’ expeditions, they are fed fodder. Each can go through about half a large sack of wheat in a day, while sleipnirs eat close to double that. In the winter, a third of a wagon’s capacity could be dedicated to feed, and if space is at a premium, then expensive medicinal herbs are used instead.” A large sack of wheat was close to thirty kilos—a shocking amount. “Furthermore, both must be fed at least twice a day—horses especially cannot be fed too much at once—and they spend a long time eating. But if sleipnirs can be fed that dried green slime product, then they would only need to eat once a day. The stuff that was in Mr. Ivano’s pocket takes up hardly any room at all, and Number Twelve finished in a flash and came out of it in peak physical condition.”

“I get it now!” It took a while, but the light bulb finally lit up—the green slime fibers were good feed for sleipnirs and were good for long trips. No wonder Volf was in such a hurry.

“If this comes to fruition, then I’m sure the Couriers’ would use sleipnirs and that dried green slime stuff for everything.”

Marcella muttering and reminiscing about his former home brought to Dahlia’s mind the image of Augusto’s face—he was probably already swamped with yellow slimes, and now he might have to deal with green slimes on top of that; she felt rather sorry. Idaea would likely have a big smile on her face, though.

Marcella then left Dahlia so he could silence the station workers, which should be over with quickly. In the meantime, she fed Number Twelve more of the grapes that the sleipnir so dearly wanted. One by one, she sated herself on the whole bunch, then began sipping some water.

“Say, was the green slime yummy?” Of course, she wasn’t really expecting an answer, but the sleipnir pointed her black eyes at Dahlia and nodded twice; there was something special about how a monster seemed to actually understand human language. Dahlia had met Number Twelve the same day she met Volf, hired her by chance, and now would be purchasing her too—if that wasn’t fate, then what was?

On that day too, the sleipnir had loved her fruit snack. Dahlia looked at the remaining bunch in her basket and voiced her curiosity. “Which do you like better—purple grapes or green slime?” Number Twelve’s eyes grew wide before her gaze turned gloomy and fell to the ground. She moved her mouth as though she were chewing something. Dahlia learned that sleipnirs, too, had troubles of their own.

The villa had recently begun renovations on the headquarters of the Scalfarottos’ Weapons Development Team, and its two rooms had been expanded today. Volf and Ivano entered the building and found Guido and Jonas there examining the work.

“Oh, have you come to learn about construction, Volf? I can’t help but notice Madam Rossetti’s absence, however.”

“Dahlia is at home today. Would I be able to take up some of your time today, Guido? There is something I would like to speak to you about.”

“For you? Absolutely. I recently acquired some very delicious green tea—let me get someone to put on a pot for us.” He seemed to be in an especially good mood today.

Ivano stopped Guido on his way to the parlor. “Excuse me, Lord Guido, I believe our conversation would best be held somewhere our voices will not travel.” His quiet voice was accompanied by a red glow from his cuff link—an anti-eavesdropper.

Guido narrowed his eyes and pointed his feet in a different direction. “Very well. Let us go somewhere more private.”

Their destination was deep within the estate, where Volf and Dahlia had gotten their scolding about magic swords. In that windowless room, each took his seat, then Guido folded his hands atop the table. Jonas stood in silence diagonally behind him, though he did not completely erase his presence.

“Brother, the truth is that—”

Volf jumped straight in sans pleasantries, explaining about how the sleipnir had eaten the enchanted green slime, her condition afterward, its versatility, the potential for the Beast Hunters, and so on.

After he had finished listening, Guido slid his gaze over to the person beside Volf. “Ivano, aside from those of us at the meeting, your employees, and the workers at our carriage station, does anyone else know about this matter?”

“The veterinarian, whom I have hushed already, does.”

“The one that we use? Good. Any others? Would there perhaps be anyone at the carriage lot at the Merchants’ Guild who might have overheard or overseen this?”

“I doubt it. We spoke in the stables at the station, and the workers there should be affiliated with the Scalfarotto family; Marcella has silenced them as well.”

“Very good. I shall send a directive to make sure. Oh, Jonas? Could you take a fast horse to Lord Bernigi’s and request his presence for urgent business?”

“At once, sir.” He bowed, then left the room as silently as he had stood.

Why was Guido clarifying the situation with Ivano, despite Volf being the one who had been speaking to his brother? Why the rush to summon Bernigi? Questions coursed through Volf’s head as he, without a word, looked to his brother.

“Now, then, Volfred.” When he called out his full first name, Guido’s tone was affectionate—terribly so, and it sent a chill down Volf’s spine. “I am so happy that you have done as you promised and come to speak with me, and for that, I thank you. This would have become quite the nuisance had it gotten around to everyone’s ears. However, as long as you plan to be with Madam Rossetti, you must hold a higher ken.”

“‘A higher ken’? Forgive me, brother, I don’t think I understand.”

“If such good feed for sleipnirs were to be mass-produced, what do you think would happen?”

“It would enable the Order to travel during our expeditions and respond to emergencies much quicker. I believe it would also be very effective for transporting the injured back to the capital and managing supply lines too.”

“Yes, it certainly would. It would be very desirable not only for the Beast Hunters but also the other orders and people involved in transportation. However, there are not as many sleipnirs as there are regular horses. Well, even if more were caught or imported from Ehrlichia, they would still ordinarily eat pasture, hay, or other fodder. What do you think could arise from this?”

“Erm, perhaps sleipnirs would be captured in excessive numbers, there could be a potential for scrambles, or negatively affecting the breeding regimens and feed production for current horses?”

“Indeed. Well, the kingdom has a hand in the management of raising sleipnirs, so they would likely subsidize ranchers to acquire more of them and switch feed production to raising slimes. What, then, do you think would happen afterward, Ivano?”

Volf looked to his side—Ivano was pale in the face. “It would lead to military use.”

“Precisely. Those who make decisions in the kingdom would undoubtedly consider it. Terrifyingly fast horses that need not eat nor rest? Riders who can go wherever they please as long as the horses have a path? What could be better for ambushes and assaults? With just twenty sleipnirs, a squadron of advanced mages could storm and take any stronghold along the border. Then Ehrlichia would send out dragoons.”

Guido spoke with such detachment that it seemed no more than a hypothetical, but the threats were real. Then again, the advanced mages, mystic knights, and magic crystals of Ehrlichia were no less dangerous.

“Like with magic crystals, would it work if we get the kingdom to establish regulations, keep the manufacturing processes a secret, and set a maximum on the amount that can be sold? That way, it should not become a problem for our neighbors.”

“You have to understand that other nations will analyze the product. Besides, do you know how they use our crystals?”

“Do they use them differently elsewhere?”

“They in fact do. Fire crystals are used in war to set things and people ablaze, freezing rings are used for assassinations by freezing the inside of a target’s mouth, barrels with crystals of various elements can be thrown as bombs—the list goes on. There has even been a case in Išrana in which someone used fire and wind crystals to explode their emperor’s horned camel and themselves along with it, you know?” Magic crystals and magical tools were so commonplace in Ordine that Volf had never imagined they could be used that way; he gulped. “The Kingdom of Ordine is referred to as the crystal kingdom and Ehrlichia as the land of herders. There, they use magical lanterns on night patrols and waterproof cloth on the roofs for livestock. Those in the countryside who raise cattle, horses, sheep, and the like aspire to have all three—waterproof cloth tents, magical lanterns, and compact magical stoves. ‘Rossetti-mades’ are quite desirable too.”

As Volf thought how those words would please Dahlia, Ivano bowed. “I apologize for my indiscretion, Lord Guido.”

“No, no. Exporting wares and expanding one’s company is your duty as a merchant; it’s just that it happened much sooner than I had expected.”

Volf didn’t understand why an apology was warranted. But he did understand that if he’d been left out of this conversation, it was nothing good.

Guido saw through Volf and began again in a soft voice. “Allow me to explain, Volf. There are fewer advanced mages or mystic knights in Ehrlichia than in Ordine. They do, however, have many, many more sleipnirs. Once the Ehrlichians, who place such great importance on animals and monsters, find out about this slime-based feed, think of what they would do to learn how to make it for themselves—or even what they would do to acquire its inventor?”

“That won’t do!”

Volf hadn’t even considered the effects the product would have on international relations or equine husbandry. “Brother, I—I don’t wish to expose Dahlia to danger. Would it be best to set this matter aside?” Yes, he wanted it for the Beast Hunters, but absolutely not at the expense of her safety.

“I shall not ask you to give up on this project. If it can be produced once, it can be produced again; it would also be good to have something like this as emergency feed. Hmm, let’s see... How about keeping a limited supply for when emergencies arise, like dispatching orders or transporting the injured? It could be framed as something along the lines of a special sleipnir potion. There might also not be much of a choice but to feign that this was an experimental accident in order to delay its spread and adoption. It might also be wise to begin with reducing its efficacy as well.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“It would put us in a precarious situation if our Weapons Development Team were the sole party, so I shall speak to Lord Bernigi, as he is from a different faction, and see if we can come up with a way to disguise the product’s laboratory and development. We shall also need to bring in an alchemist skilled with medicinal herbs. And of course, the profits will be privileged to the Rossetti Trading Company, though, as whatever front we devise will receive all the credit, the company shall also be remunerated by coin or otherwise. Does that sound fair, Ivano?”

“Certainly, Lord Guido. Thank you very much, and we shall entrust this matter—”

“Would that keep Dahlia safe, Guido?”

The elder brother smiled, and he looked at his youngest brother as though he were a child. “This time, yes. But you must be more careful from now on. Would you like to learn how to protect Madam Rossetti in the future?”

“Yes, please.”

“There are three ways of accomplishing your goals. First, you could forbid her from inventing anything too conspicuous.”

“Dahlia is a brilliant magical toolmaker. I cannot do that.”

“My thoughts exactly. Then on to method number two: have the kingdom or a high-ranking noble protect her. That can be achieved not by staying as an advisor to the Beast Hunters but by becoming a resident magical toolmaker for one of the larger royal orders; I can give her my referral should that path be chosen. Another path along the same lines would be to have an aristocrat hire her as a magical toolmaker. She would not enjoy the same degree of freedom, but her safety would nearly be guaranteed.”

“If possible, I wish that Dahlia can continue to make the tools that she wishes to make.” The way that a glint appeared in her green eyes as she assiduously experimented could not be shackled—should not be shackled.

Guido nodded. “The third option is for you and Madam Rossetti to wed. She would have the freedom and protection that our family and faction can afford.”

“Your jokes have gone too far, brother!” Volf’s shouting elicited neither laughter nor shock from the two other men but rather awkward looks.

“I’m dead serious. I am Madam Rossetti’s noble guardian. Surely you can see our protection would only be strengthened were she to become one of ours?”

“In that case, could we not adopt her too?”

“That would make her our father’s daughter and your sister or my daughter and your niece—either way, you would not be able to marry—”

“Please, lay off the ribbing—Dahlia and I aren’t in that kind of relationship.” Guido had always harped on with his teasing; Jonas too, for that matter. I wish they would stop making light of her.

“If you say so, Volf. Let us put down adoption as the fourth method, then. If Madam Rossetti so wishes, then I can arrange for it to happen.”

“Our family, really?”

“Lord Gildo or Lord Grato would not refuse either should we make the same request of them. She would become a noblewoman of a traditional marquisate family, making her not only safe but also eligible for quality marriage partners—nothing but long-term benefits, I say.”

“I...I see.”

“In any case, you ought to go to Madam Rossetti and have her keep mum about this product. You and I have more business to attend to, Ivano, so I shall be taking up more of your time.”

Volf looked beside him and, after Ivano nodded in confirmation, bowed to Guido. “Very well. I appreciate you giving me your time, Guido.” He made extra effort to prevent it, but his voice still squeaked.

After seeing the mixture of concern and affection that marked Volf’s footfalls as he walked out the door, Ivano righted himself in his seat. Aside from Jonas as attendant, that left the guest and the host in the room, who looked each other in the eyes for a few silent moments.

“You seem to have something to say, Ivano.”

Though Ivano felt like he’d grown just a bit more accustomed to speaking with nobles, this nobleman was an entirely different beast. But his nerves be damned. “I was thinking perhaps you were somewhat overbearing with Sir Volf.”

“Is that right? My baby brother may be too precious, but I could not spare him this time. I wonder why he is so adamant about not admitting his feelings, though.”

“Some operas have long preludes.”

“Well, so long as there is a finale, I shall wait with anticipation. Regardless, if this project proceeds with Madam Rossetti’s name on it, it would surely bring too much unnecessary attention and, therefore, danger to her. Her only notable invention being the waterproof cloth would also raise everyone’s suspicions.”

He looked into Guido’s frosty blue eyes and smiled. “That is because the chairwoman’s father had been protecting her.”

“I have heard that Carlo Rossetti is Madam Rossetti’s only kin, but I know little else besides his name. Would you please tell me about what he was like?”

“Certainly. Mr. Carlo was an unparalleled magical toolmaker, an upright man, and a wonderful father.” How many inventions he’d made, how many people he’d helped through business at the Merchants’ Guild, how much he could drink, how much care he’d given Dahlia both as his daughter and a magical toolmaker—ask anybody who had known Carlo and they’d tell the same tales.

Guido did not once interrupt but listened quietly and attentively; he only responded with a firm nod of the head after Ivano had finished. “It sure seems that Madam Rossetti’s father was very capable.”

“I have yet to become a fraction of the man he was—I doubt I will even when I get to his age.” And Ivano meant it. Carlo had been as refreshing as a breeze and always surrounded by voices of laughter. Even after receiving his barony, he’d never been prideful but remained as humble as he’d been when he was a commoner, yet he’d amassed enough power to protect his friends from the grasp of the nobility. Though he’d employed a maid at one point in time, he’d never remarried, raising Dahlia alone to become the exceptional magical toolmaker and woman she was now. The partner he’d arranged for her was questionable, but perhaps Carlo had done so due to his own health or lack thereof. It was almost as though he’d predicted his sudden passing—but Ivano shook that thought from taking hold of his mind; he’d never heard anything of the sort from Carlo, and it would have been disrespectful to make false assumptions.

“They say that a daughter chooses a partner using her father as a standard.” For Dahlia, that would be Carlo. He’d been her only family and her magical toolmaking master, and that was a high bar.

“That’s quite the heavy thing to hear.” Both Ivano and Guido had daughters, and they couldn’t help but think about Volf’s as well as their own situations.

The room fell silent, and the silver-haired man pointed his eyes to the closed door, undoubtedly thinking of Volf. Guido caught himself staring, then vaguely shaped his lips into something of a smile. “I feel for my brother—he has big shoes to fill.”

Boiled Turnips and the Youth’s Escape and Digression

It was nearly evening by the time Volf arrived at the Green Tower. Thinking that he might be quite chilly when he arrived, Dahlia had an early dinner prepared and waiting. “What’s the matter, Volf?”

“So, um, I spoke with my brother.” The gold in his eyes paled as his gaze found its way to her—bad news, most likely.

If it was so hard for him to broach the subject, then it was no time for her to be smiling. “Shall we eat first? We can take our time to chat afterward.”

“Sure. Uh, what is that anyway? Some sort of tuber?”

What she transferred from the large pot to fill each bowl were shiny white hemispheres. “This is a turnip boiled in salted water.” Nearly too big to cup in both hands, the turnip halves had been stewed low and slow. She’d originally planned to blend the whole thing into a potage, but she’d ultimately decided on this method since it was so sweet. “You can slather it with some butter and sprinkle on some salt, then scoop it out with a spoon. If you get bored of it, you can also try the miso sauce with ground chicken.” Fearing the turnip would be too plain on its own for Volf, she had made extra sauce with ground chicken and miso; the Beast Hunters had shared the latter ingredient with her after the field training session, and it tasted similar to the aged red miso found in Japan.

“It wasn’t too hard to cook that gigantic turnip, was it? Sorry to have you do this for me every time.”

“Nothing could be simpler than simmering it, and everything else was preprepared too. Besides, you brought me the ham and cheese last time.” She’d been rather busy as of late, so the warm veggie salad, salted cabbage, cut ham and cheese, and the egg drop chicken soup with turnip greens had been prepared ahead of time. Accompanying the meal was rather watered-down liquor with a squeeze of lemon, perfect to warm up with on a chilly day like today. Her father had dubbed this the “Common Cold Preventer,” which probably wasn’t too far off the mark considering the supplement of vitamin C. If anything, though, her father had drunk too much for good health. “Let’s eat while the turnip is still hot.” It wouldn’t do if the butter couldn’t melt.

The duo dug into the hemispheres with their spoons, blowing on the steaming bites before putting them into their mouths. With little effort, the halves of the turnip nearly dissolved, filling their mouths with its rich flavor and the sweetness brought out by the salted butter. This turnip must have been harvested as late as possible for it to be this size, making it a delicacy found only at this time of year. After a while, she reached for the miso and ground chicken sauce. The salty pungency of the miso and the savoriness of the ground chicken were tempered with a sprinkling of sugar, mixing exquisitely with the turnip’s flavor on the palate. The notes of butter sometimes shone through as well, providing a rather delicious accent.

Though it bore the same name, the miso found in this world was quite different from the ones of her previous world—it had a lot more salt and lacked the sweetness of soybeans. Still, its flavor reminded Dahlia of the dinner table of her old home; nostalgia swam in and stung her eyes. With a downward-cast gaze, she sipped from her glass, and it brought forth memories of Carlo. It would’ve been nice if I could’ve had my dad in this world try this too. It only made her eyes sting worse.

“There’s something off about this.”

Dahlia panicked and looked up at Volf, who was supporting his forehead with one hand, his eyes closed; he looked awfully troubled by something. “Sorry, what is it?”

“You’re telling me that boiled turnip can taste this good, taste better with butter, and even betterer with a drizzle of sauce? What is this, some sort of hop, skip, and jump?”

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t track and field.”

“Then tell me how it improves so rapidly.” The word “improvement” made it sound like it wasn’t very good to begin with, but it was just like Volf to describe food in peculiar sorts of ways. He was all smiles as he gracefully put the spoon to his mouth. “I’ve had turnip in soup or salt pickled but never like this before.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t find restaurants serving something this large as is.”

“Are turnips better the bigger they are?”

She had a feeling that he’d find the largest ones in the market if she answered in the affirmative, and she vehemently answered in the negative. “Its size isn’t proportional to how good it tastes; it’s dependent on the cultivar, the weather, the conditions of the soil, and so on.”

“No kidding? That makes them the same as horned rabbits and forest serpents, then.”

“Huh?” How had turnips turned into monsters? Never mind the horned rabbit, but the Green King that was feared by all travelers? The forest serpent was a source of rare materials, and though she’d heard that the Beast Hunters consumed it, it was by no means ordinary food for ordinary people.

“Horned rabbits and forest serpents are tastier when they’re plump.”

“I-I see.”

“That’s why they both go so well with a sweet barbecue sauce. Since horned rabbits make good ham, the squad and I were discussing whether the same might not be true of forest serpents. Unfortunately, we haven’t encountered one recently to test out our theories.” Upon hearing that the Beast Hunters would slay one on sight for food and seeing Volf’s excited smile, Dahlia felt nothing but pity for the monster. Forest serpents would probably be better off if they just stayed in the forest, didn’t attack people, and avoided the knights. “Speaking of monsters, have you thought of a name for the sleipnir?”

“Her eyes are a beautiful black that sparkles under the sunlight, so I was thinking of ‘Iris,’ meaning ‘rainbow.’ I’ll ask everyone for their opinions too.”

“Iris is a great name! I didn’t know you had such fantastical, cool names in you, Dahlia.” He had been looking into her eyes, but now he used his glass as a shield.

Her gaze sharpened as though to pierce through him, and she continued in a quietened voice. “Volf, what sort of name were you expecting?”

A pause. “She likes purple grapes, so ‘Grape.’”

Another pause. “Surely that’d be too on the nose.” Truth be told, that had been one of her top alternatives, but she’d reveal that to him when pigs flew; other top secrets included “Gray” because of the color of her coat and “Black” because of her eyes. Good thing she’d arrived at “Iris” after deliberating.

“Dahlia, about what my brother said,” began Volf before stopping to shift his body squarely toward her, his hesitancy slipping in and out of view.

She sat upright as well. “Don’t worry, Volf, you can give it to me straight. I know not anything and everything will go exactly as we hope. What I wish for is to keep making magical tools that provide convenience to their users.”

“Okay. The truth is that—”

Volf explained that because the matted green slime fibers could replace a sleipnir’s meals, they would greatly increase how far it could travel, potentially resulting in sleipnirs being excessively captured or fought over, as well as negatively affecting their breeders and feed producers. It was much more than Dahlia had ever imagined, and her eyes glazed over. He went on to describe how the product could be used in military affairs and how it might involve Ehrlichia—prolific use and adoption would come back to bite her.

Seeing her tension, Volf rushed to follow up with more positive points. The product itself was very useful and could save lives. Guido was her noble guardian; he would protect her to the best of his abilities and help her out if anything were to happen. She could and should also get the advice of Guido, Jonas, and the guildmasters before her invention was released into the world. If something truly awful were to arise, Grato and Bernigi—both from marquisates—would always be there to help. Everyone mentioned was tight-lipped and had either profited through Dahlia’s magical tools or been directly helped by her, and none of them would throw her to the wolves—so Volf fervently insisted.

“I appreciate it.” Her thanks were nothing short of genuine. She hadn’t ever imagined her invention could potentially impact international politics or anything of the sort. And as thankful as she was, she felt equally guilty. “I really should learn to think things through, huh?”

But Volf immediately put a stop to her sorriness. “You’re great because you’re you, Dahlia. The magical tools you make bring joy to the world. Me, the squad, Lord Bernigi, to name a recent example—you name it, we’ve all been touched by your work. I, um, wish I could say that I will keep you safe, but I unfortunately lack that power. What I will do is everything to the extent of my capabilities, and that goes for everyone else as well. That’s why I want you to keep inventing the tools that you do.”

Was that a request? A plea? A prayer? Whatever it was, his sincerity was found swimming in those golden pools pointed at her. It took a few moments before she could retrieve the words that his eyes had caused her to lose her grip on.

“Thank you, Volf.” Dahlia meant every word of it. She leaned over to refill his glass with more spirits, and Volf naturally squeezed a lemon in without any prompting. There was no toast, yet they put their glasses together; it was enough to ease her nerves.

As a magical toolmaker, she wanted nothing less than for her creations to make the lives of others just that little bit happier. However, the outcome of her craft and research could go in another direction. It was something to grasp and accept. To continue making magical tools with her friends’ support and other trusted people’s assistance was where she found her own happiness.

A few sips later, Volf cast his gaze downward. “We were just spitballing, but, uh, we thought that maybe we could protect you better if my brother were to adopt you, Dahlia.”

“Huh? Like, into your family?”

“Yeah. Guido will become a marquis next year, and that will make his protection quite formidable.”

His tangent suggested to her that this was just a silly joke between the two brothers; a commoner like herself couldn’t possibly be adopted into an earldom. She’d planned to keep her maiden name until the day she died, but if she were to be adopted, her surname would change. Dahlia imagined her name spelled out on paper. “‘Dahlia Scalfarotto?’ Jokes aside, that just does not fit.”

“Erm, it wouldn’t be so bad, I mean...” The way he trailed off there made it obvious he was just saying that to be nice, not to mention his golden eyes shifting about.

“I mean it just hypothetically, but if I get adopted, that would mean you’d become my older brother.”

“That’s, uh, yeah, that’d be correct if my father were to adopt you.”

There was that time when the shopkeeper had mistaken them for siblings when they went to buy that estervino set. It was weird, but also kinda funny. “Dear Brother Volf...”

“Pfft!” That was a perfect spit take if ever there was one.

Maybe that was disrespectful to a nobleman like him. Maybe “big bro” would’ve been slightly more acceptable. In any case, she felt terrible for saying it. “Sorry! I didn’t think it’d be that funny to you. Um, let me go get you a towel and some water!” She raced to the kitchen as he kept his mouth covered with a handkerchief.

“Whew.” As he had the borrowed handkerchief against his mouth, Volf somehow managed to catch his breath. He couldn’t tell if that had been shocking or funny. It was plain confusing. “‘Dahlia Scalfarotto,’ though...” It sounded better than he’d expected.

The other suggestion that Guido had made came to mind, but he desperately shook his head to rid himself of the thought; it was too rude to even bring up to someone who had become and would continue to be his friend. If Dahlia had been his little sister, how it would have been growing up together. Then again, if she were to become his sister now, it wouldn’t be a problem if they were always together. Any suspicious people who got too close to her would be dealt with by her brothers—that was to say himself and Guido. That way, he could keep Dahlia safer than ever, help her, and be with her forever.

“Maybe ‘Dear Brother Volf’ isn’t so bad after all...” The youth’s escape and digression had yet to end.

Bonus Translator’s and Editor’s Notes

[Osman/TL]

I think we’re seeing a trend—much like the previous, volume 8 had a few good food and drink scenes but also lots of magical toolmaking! I felt like there were many more emotional scenes and much more feasting on their payoffs this time around as well, and all that family stuff in particular really gets the waterworks going for me. Not only were we rewarded with Bernigi connecting with Marcella, but we were also rewarded with the chapter dealing with Carlo’s grief, lost love, and struggle to move on—emotionally devastating, in the best way. Here’s a theory: Teresa lost her memories because she gave birth to a child who was born with the memories of an adult Japanese woman.

For the next volume, I’m hoping for more drama and, dare I ask, romance. Dahlia hasn’t found herself in much trouble yet—the outcome of her setback with the slime feed for sleipnirs was just that Guido will take care of things—so I want to see true consequences for her inventions. Perhaps even more people will need her help next time around, and maybe she could find herself in a situation where she’ll need to make an important but unfavorable deal.

Dahlia: Volume 9 and Lucia: Volume 3 are also getting published in Japan on the same day this EPUB is releasing, so there’s lots to look forward to! Oh, and there’s also the anime in the works! Gosh, I’m so excited for it.

I have been trying something new for this volume, and I’m not sure if everyone has noticed, but I’m eliminating dialogue tags wherever possible to make the writing cleaner and, hopefully, better. For some parts, it’s quite easy, like preceding a line with “X answered Y’s question.” For some parts, it’s not quite as so. None of the dialogue is ever tagged in the Japanese, so when there’s a large group speaking at once, the reader has to rely on understanding speech patterns and character voice to merely guess who is speaking. I wonder if anyone has noticed this change, and if you did, was it natural?

Once again, my deepest gratitude goes to series editor Shakuzan. He never fails to give the writing those crucial fixes and extra spice. A lot of the clever wording comes from him, you know! As well, thank you Ryoko for the assistance and for being an intermediary. There was this very vague part in the Extra Story where it needed some extra light, and her wealth of knowledge and contacts made it make a lot more sense. Thank you both!

Finally, thank you, dear readers. I love interacting with all of you on the forums and the Discord server, so always feel free to reach out if you ever want to chat!

[Shakuzan/ED]

I have very little to add except that I think this is my favorite volume of Dahlia that I’ve worked on (both in terms of the story and in terms of Osman’s translation). I appreciate Osman’s forbearance and that of our project manager, Kristine Johnson, during the nearly three weeks in which I was editing while traveling in a non-American time zone.

You’ve Got Questions, We’ve Got Answers

heimdal7 asks: “How have you handled keeping all the different noble ranks correct?”

[Osman/TL]

Honestly, it’s simple! Niki, the previous translator, set everything up neatly for us—the names of each rank and the hierarchy they occupy are clearly defined. The ranks in Dahlia and Lucia are also a direct match with the kazoku system of Imperial Japan, so it’s easy to check the dictionary or Wikipedia if I forget.

[Shakuzan/ED]

Notably, kazoku was instituted as part of the Meiji-period trend toward Westernization; as such, it was designed to match European peerage systems to some degree. Thus, it’s less like Niki arbitrarily chose “baron” as a translation for danshaku and more like the nineteenth-century Japanese government introduced danshaku as a translation for the English word “baron.”

Lily Garden asks: “In this volume, we see Dahlia working with a sizable number of the cast to experiment with magical toolmaking. If you guys were given the chance, what kind of stuff would you make with Dahlia?”

[Osman/TL]

I’d love to come up with a magical vehicle with her. I love mechanical things, and I’m a bit of a gearhead, so I’d like to develop a car or maybe even public transportation. My second pick would be to develop some sort of magic weapon, if she and the people around her would allow it. Wouldn’t it be so cool to have your own personalized magic sword? (Oh, no, I sound like Volf now!)

[Shakuzan/ED]

I think about this question constantly! We know that magic cosmetics exist, so I’d have to believe that at least one variety of slime can be ground up into a sunscreen that doesn’t feel greasy or tacky after you apply it.

Based on the incredible heads of hair on every major male character in Dahlia and Lucia, regardless of age, I have to conclude that someone has already invented a cure for hair loss. Hopefully it isn’t skybat meat, but if that’s what it takes, I think I could endure the taste...

kingpendragon asks: “Since you have to read ahead to translate the story, how do you avoid accidental spoilers in the translation? Like, wording something in a way that makes sense to you but the characters wouldn’t yet know?”

[Osman/TL]

Yeah, this really is something a translator should keep track of, but it’s not as difficult as it seems! Dahlia and Lucia are written in third-person limited,* so the narration doesn’t generally reflect knowledge that a given character wouldn’t have. As long as I translate the text as is, it naturally avoids spoiling anything that would come up next.

*This rule is sometimes broken.

Geezer Weasalopes adds on to the previous question, asking: “The flip side of that question: what about the times it turns out you chose...poorly...when translating something due to not yet being aware of something impacted by it later on?”

[Osman/TL]

Indeed, I can’t know everything that may or may not happen, and sometimes, the best we can do is to make an educated gamble on how to play it safe. Most of these guesses we make are probably inconsequential. Take, for example, in “Field Training and Armored Crab,” where there is a line that goes “The warm glow of the magical lantern bathed a fresh sight: knights out of their uniforms.” The source text says it’s a warm light, but it wasn’t clear whether it’s talking about color or literal heat, and so we decided on wording that is ambiguous enough to account for both possibilities.

For parts that I truly can’t wrap my head around, I turn to the Dahlia wiki and my friends Ryoko and Motoko—you might have seen me thanking them in the TL/ED notes before—who are caught up with the web novel version. If anything stumps them, they can also communicate with God for me, if you catch my drift.

Geezer Weasalopes also asks: “How do you research things required to make proper sense of things you might not have had contact with before, such as prosthetic limbs, never mind all the tailoring and food-related stuff?”

[Osman/TL]

One of the mottos I live by is it’s not what you know, it’s how you use your resources to find out what you want to know. In short, I spend a lot of time searching stuff online. I’ll be talking about prosthetic limbs below, but for that case specifically, I exercised due diligence and looked up the proper real-life terminology—e.g., “socket” and “pylon.” You never know if anyone in the audience is an expert on any particular subject, so I feel it’s very important to do my utmost to get facts and details correct. I have no background knowledge on tailoring, so Lucia requires me to spend a lot of time researching, which means less time for actual translating. I have a deep fascination with food, cooking, and alcohol, so writing dining scenes and the descriptive prose within comes very naturally to me, fortunately.

Cidolfas asks: “With the main series and the Lucia spin-off already out there, what other spin-off from the Dahlia-verse would you personally want to see? (I’d be interested in a Magical Researcher Idaea Mustn’t Miss a Thing myself.)”

[Osman/TL]

Idaea is definitely a strong contender for a potential spin-off. I think I’d be interested in stepping back in time and seeing how shit everything was when Bernigi was a Beast Hunter, then it could expand how Grato became captain too. Since there’s a clear start and end point, it could be very neatly contained within a few volumes if it doesn’t sell, but also include many expeditions if there is a lot of interest.

[Shakuzan/ED]

Osman and I have discussed this a fair bit! Jonas seems like a character who probably has adventures of his own, but on the other hand, many of his formative moments have already been described in Dahlia and in volume 1 of Lucia, so I assume there’s more coming in future volumes of both series...

Doused Raven

His hair was the color of a doused raven, his skin of fine porcelain, and his eyes a deep gold.

[Osman/TL]

“Doused raven” is a term that has come up in volume 7 to describe the color of Volf’s hair. It’s a traditional term for a woman’s black hair, says Wikipedia, so it feels appropriate for a pretty boy like him. It would be just as easy to call it “raven” or even “jet-black,” but I enjoy how quirky the “doused” part is when translated literally to the English language.

Quarter Spoon

To one spoonful of water in a small white dish, Dahlia added a quarter spoon of the scales, then began stirring, turning the liquid into what looked like a snippet of lamé.

[Osman/TL]

The source text for this part is something akin to “two ear picks’ worth,” which I must admit that I do not enjoy the connection with earwax. Is it a standard phrase in Japanese? I haven’t encountered it before as a measurement unit, but even then...

Sashimi

[Osman/TL]

In the chapter “Field Training and Armored Crab,” raw fish and seafood was referred to as “sashimi.” Though it felt unnatural to have the people of Ordine use a Japanese term, I’m going to assume it’s translated in Dahlia’s brain and therefore parsed it in a way that made sense for her.

Miso and Tomalley

Afterward, it was simply a matter of continuing the feast, with some putting miso and tomalley into their crab soup, some cooking the treasurefish in the soup, and some still gorging on raw crab and grilled crab, all with drinks in hand.

[Osman/TL]

Incidentally, tomalley is 蟹みそ in Japanese (lit. “crab miso”), so this is them putting in miso and crab miso into the crab soup.

Speed Dial

The barrage of questions made Dahlia’s head spin; if only she could call Master Jonas over.

[Osman/TL]

The end product is exactly like what the source text says, but I originally liked “speed dial” for its flavor—i.e., “If only she had Master Jonas on speed dial.” Alas, I felt like I would be adding too much to the novel, and that the concept of speed dial is probably kinda dated because who still uses speed dial anymore when phones can store all your contacts that could be looked up almost instantly?

Desert Worm

Humans generally avoided slaying it, though; the kingsnake ate the eggs and larvae of the desert worm, keeping their population in control.

[Osman/TL]

In the source, 砂漠蟲 is read as サンドワーム. However, in volumes 3 and 4, the same kanji were read as デザートワーム instead. It turns out that was a typo—something I wouldn’t have known if not for Word of God.

Dame Chairwoman Rossetti

“Why, there are always more people looking for work. Those who were in a slump now sell ten times their previous output—they even revere her as ‘Dame Chairwoman Rossetti.’”

[Osman/TL]

In this part, I originally had “Lady Chairman Rossetti,” but I found it too literal and lacking pomp. It also arouses ambiguity—“Lady” as in the counterpart to “Lord” and not “woman chairwoman Rossetti.” Shakuzan came up with this alternative, which reads infinitely better.

Masks

With Marcella accompanying her as her assistant, Dahlia moved to the smaller testing chamber, where the two of them donned masks. She had forgotten to wear one the other day on account of intoxication, but yellow slime powder was extremely fine, and it irritated the throat without proper protection.

[Osman/TL]

Technically, if they’re hoping to filter out airborne particles like aerosolized slime powder, they should probably wear respirators—though I’m not sure if that technology exists.

Dahlia-chan

[Osman/TL]

Marcella is the only person who addresses Dahlia with the chan honorific. To paraphrase myself from Lucia Volume 1’s bonus content, those who consume Japanese media probably have come across the term before; for those who haven’t, it’s generally an endearing way to address girls or one’s close friend. I would’ve liked to use “Dali” or a similar nickname, but that one has been used for another purpose, and Marcella’s always called her “Dahlia” anyway, so I figured I’d best not change anything.

Dunasphera

[Osman/TL]

Ah, another brilliant name from Forto! Or perhaps...me? He he. In Japanese, this material was named 砂丘泡, read as ドゥナボーラ dunabōra. Both the kanji and the reading mean the same thing: literally “dune bubbles.” The reading is derived from Italian (or maybe even Latin). However, I didn’t think keeping the Italian “bolla” conjured up the idea of “bubble” or “foam” in English, so I traded that for more pizazz à la zephyricloth. “Dunesphere” was one of my alternative picks, as thought would be fully English like how “zephyricloth” is too, but we figured “duna” and “sphera” are simple enough to understand.

Welsh Onion

[Osman/TL]

In “Boar Hot Pot and Yuzu Liqueur,” Dahlia prepped some negi for the dinner. I’ve previously called it a leek for simplicity’s sake—and lots of people do too—but it’s technically not the same thing. However, negi hasn’t yet permeated English yet, and “Welsh onion”—what I ended up with—didn’t feel to me as though it was a common enough term in American English (nor my native tongue of Canadian English, for that matter), but I decided on the latter for accuracy. Surprisingly, kombu, “an edible kelp that is typically dried and aged and used especially in Japanese cooking as a seasoning in soup stock,” has permeated English enough for it to be included in Merriam-Webster.

9,999 Coins

[Osman/TL]

In “Interlude: The Fledgling Takes Flight” during a flashback scene, Ivano answered a math question as “9,999 coins.” The source has him saying 九千九百九十九枚です. 枚 is the counter for flat object like coins, and it’s dotted (an emphasis similar to bolding) to boot. “9,999 coins” sounded weird to me, but Shakuzan and I figured it was the best option as it avoided assuming the value of the coin (i.e., “9,999 copper”) and “9,999 pieces” might not evoke money clearly enough.

All About Prostheses

[Osman/TL]

In the chapter “Scientific Discourse and the Magic Prosthesis,” there is a subtle addition I made. I had “prosthetic” as the noun for when Marcella speaks, but I had everyone else use “prosthesis” as the noun as it sounds a little more formal. As well, the technical term for the post of a prosthesis is “pylon,” but I figured it might be too technical for some to understand, so I opted for “core” during dialogue.

-ass

“Your twins have earth magic too, aye? You had best brace yourself.”

“I, I see...” Welp. Looks like the Nuvolaris gotta get themselves a big-ass broom.

[Osman/TL]

The -ass suffix apparently has roots in AAVE and it was first attested in the 1920s, so I wasn’t sure if it’s completely appropriate for the setting or for Marcella to use. The source text was also nowhere near as vulgar. All in all, the current phrasing felt very Marcella to me.

High Horse

She jumped to her feet. “I am happy you liked what I made—er, not to put herself on such a high horse!”

[Osman/TL]

You might have seen a few usages of the phrase “high horse” in the last quarter of the volume. This all stemmed from the chapter “Scientific Discourse and the Magic Prosthesis.” Regarding the quote above, the source text says something closer along the lines of “I’m glad that a nobody like me worked out for this matter.” The “nobody” part was an idiom, and this is 馬の骨 (lit.: “horse bones”), meaning “person of doubtful origin.” As the matter gets brought up later, I had to preserve the meaning and the element of horse, which was no easy task.

Iris

[Osman/TL]

The name that Dahlia gave the sleipnir was Iris, pronounced [iːrɪs] and not [aɪrɪs]. The Japanese is イーリス, which is not the usual pronunciation for the name “Iris” either but rather, and perhaps specifically, for the Greek goddess’s name.

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[Osman/TL]

This past year and six volumes have been a highlight of my time as a translator, and I find it difficult to say that I will be putting a hiatus to this career, meaning that this volume is my final one. Perhaps you’ll see my name pop up in another novel or on another medium in the future, but for now, thank you so much. Thank you so much for being such great fans. I love your comments, jokes, and kind messages on the forums and on the J-Novel Club Discord server. I love the day of the week when I get to wake up to your reactions to the work Shakuzan and I have done. I will undoubtedly miss translation, but most of all, I’ll miss my dear readers. To paraphrase Niki in the notes of his final volume, this has been a magical series, and I’m glad this journey was with all of you. I’m sure the next translator will also do an amazing job, so please give them the same support you’ve shown me. Should you ever wish to drop a message to say hi or to ask me more questions, you can find me at the webbed site formerly known as tweeter @AVGTranslations. Until whenever and wherever we meet, farewell.

[Shakuzan/ED]

I have to echo Osman: it’s really nice to have readers who don’t kvetch too terribly much. When I look at the forum threads for other series, I can’t believe the chutzpah of some of the commenters. Translators have their work cut out for them without a bunch of kibitzers offering their input!

Anyway, I’ll spare everyone the schmaltzy farewells and simply wish Osman good luck in her future endeavors. I’m sure that she, being a maven translator, will find no shortage of opportunities! I struggle to imagine Dahlia without Osman, but now, in spite of my promise, I’m getting all verklempt, so I’d better stop here.

For Dahlia in Bloom: Volume 8, that’s the whole megillah!